Chapter 33
Elizabeth dressed in a hurry, pulling on woolen stockings and her heaviest cardigan. She couldn't find her gloves and decided that she could keep her hands in her pockets. Colonel Rogers waited for her in the hall. She pulled on her outer clothes and followed him to the car, not daring to ask how he knew, what assurance he had that this boat was the Shetland Bus returning to port. Elizabeth could only guess that he had repeated this scenario multiple times over the years that he had been stationed on the island.
The moon was full, but clouds came and went. The harbor area wasn't completely deserted; men also waited for the fishing boats to return. The colonel drove past the fishing dock to the small wharf that the Shetland Bus used. No boat was moored at its end.
"No need to be out in the cold until they appear," he indicated as the motor was turned off. Elizabeth wanted to throw open the door and run to the dock's end to find William. The pair waited; Colonel Rogers smoked. After an immeasurable amount of time, she wondered why they had rushed to the harbor; but she knew that she couldn't have delayed.
Finally, figures stirred around them, and not merely around the other dock, but men paced from the headland along the harbor wall towards them. She realized that a sort of ground or harbor crew must be needed to see to the boat, its crew, and contents. These men had a better sense of timing about the ship's arrival because after a half-dozen gathered on the wharf, a dark shape appeared on the horizon. The colonel stubbed out his cigarette and opened his door; Elizabeth followed. The wind pushed at her, but she felt that it also drove the boat home. The gathered sailors moved down the wharf, but she and the colonel stayed on land.
The profile in the water took form, and the ship became visible, a long, low shape with multiple figures on its deck. Time stopped; her heart slowed down as the ship drifted closer without Elizabeth ascertaining if two particular figures were on its deck. The ship stopped being a toy and grew in size, but when it corrected course, the prow obscured the identities of the men who all wore coats and hats. It slid expertly, almost silently, beside the dock and stopped as the sailors on board threw rope to the men waiting to tie it off, voices called back and forth in Norwegian about the mission. The gangplank was maneuvered into place as the railing was pulled back, and figures stepped down its length to the wharf.
One sailor embraced a waiting friend and pointed back at a figure carefully walking down; one sleeve of his coat swung loosely without an arm. Elizabeth assumed he was injured. He spoke in Norwegian to others on the wharf. Another man quickly followed the injured one and then another, all talking to the men on the dock. She and the colonel waited at the end of the wharf and watched.
Then, a gaunt figure—conspicuous despite being wrapped in a heavy coat—appeared suddenly as if he had been conjured into being and walked slowly down the gangplank. Her Uncle Edward's thin face told of starvation and deprivation, though Elizabeth guessed that he would never share what he had faced. She thought those experiences had aged him ten years, and he now looked like the oldest sibling and not the baby of the Gardiner family. She started walking towards him, tears of regret and happiness mixed at this reunion.
"Uncle!" she cried, calling for his attention. He stood very still on the wharf; she imagined he felt incredulous that he was home and not in prison. "Uncle!" Elizabeth had no words but rushed forward and embraced him. He stood stiffly for a minute as if touch and hugs were foreign; she guessed that they had tortured him. His arms finally rose to reach around her and patted her awkwardly on the back; it was the best he could do just then.
"Elizabeth, my god! You're a sight for these old eyes," he said, pulling back. His chin was covered with stubble, and darkness circled his eyes as if he hadn't slept in years. The taunt thin muscles on his cheeks spoke of his mortality, but cruelty wasn't part of that visage; he had retained his humanity despite his ordeals and the deterioration to his body.
Tears still choked her, but Elizabeth finally managed to speak. "I'm…pleased, elated. Nora…" then she broke off as there was so much to talk about, too much, and Elizabeth feared she couldn't effectively do her part of being supportive and cheerful about what had occurred on the Homefront while he had been away. Jane would have been able.
"Mr. Gardiner, I'm Colonel Rogers and in charge here." John had followed her. "After we get you cleaned up and rested, I'll arrange for an RAF transport to take you home." Dark emotions churned on that gaunt face as if her uncle feared going home even if his heart longed for a reunion.
"Thank you," Ned Gardiner said brusquely, holding out a hand. Colonel Rogers shook it.
Tears trickled down her cheeks as she turned from the two to see William standing yards away. Her tears stopped, and a flush spread through her body, enough to fend off the night's chill. She heard the colonel explaining plans to her uncle as she stared at William; he stepped closer. His right arm was in a sling. The warmth shriveled and sank at the realization that the mission had not gone smoothly.
"You've been hurt," she said, rushing over. Elizabeth gently touched the sleeve of his free arm. Like all of the men who had returned, he sported stubble, but the darkness on his chin seemed excessive. His black eyes were ringed with shadows that indicated he had known too little sleep, but she found warmth in their gaze when there was little vibrancy in her uncle's eyes.
"I have," he agreed, "but it's minor." He used his good arm to touch her, reaching for a shoulder then a cheek. Elizabeth feared hurting him, so hesitated to return any caress, but William ran his hand down her back to pull her close and kiss her.
His stubble abraded and tickled as their lips met with both tender and urgent movements that expressed their happiness that the risk of danger and death was over, and he was back. Elizabeth may have whimpered partly in relief, partly in exhilaration.
They turned, his arm around her to watch the unloading activity; she saw Gene Carter speaking to the captain on the ship's deck. He wore his opposite arm in a sling. While it had been a successful mission, it hadn't been unproblematic. There had been injuries. Elizabeth wasn't sure that she wanted to hear the details.
"Elizabeth, William, we best get home and get the doctor in. I've got a multitude of people to contact," said the colonel. His eyes weren't on them, but the ship with its activity rapidly occurring. "Carter!" he called, and Eugene turned at his name and made his way to their small group. He was as rumpled, unshaven, and haggard as the others, but seemed less affected. As though youth gave him resiliency, something that Edward Gardiner certainly didn't have, and William once had but lost with his past experiences of this damned war.
"Let Captain Salen and his men finish up. We need to take care of some other details," Colonel Rogers explained, gesturing. "Grab your packs." Gene ran back onboard and returned with both his and William's duffels, and the group returned to Rose Cottage.
The house had seemed large the past week but now felt small with the activity of three additional people. Beatrice appeared and took Edward Gardiner in hand, directing him and the others first to take tea and food before any other consideration.
The men piled their coats on the floor in the hall, indicating they needed to be laundered even before they should be hung up. Their shirts were even grubbier than their coats. William and Eugene had to reposition their slings carefully. Elizabeth thought her uncle's clothes looked better. He must have been given new clothes for the return journey and shed his prison uniform.
The clock on the sideboard indicated it wasn't yet four, but hot tea and buttered toast were eaten, mostly in silence. Colonel Rogers asked general questions, which were principally answered by William. When a knock sounded on the door, their host went to answer it. A thin man entered; they all stared.
"This is Doctor Brown. Doctor, we've got multiple injuries for you this time," said the colonel. "I suggest you look at Mr. Gardiner first."
Elizabeth glanced at her uncle, unaware that he was wounded, but everyone rose, and Mrs. Rogers led the group upstairs. She showed Edward Gardiner and the doctor into the one free room where the radio resided. Gene returned to his originally assigned room; William followed Elizabeth into their shared one.
With the click of the door, they were alone together, and Elizabeth could examine him closely. The light revealed more of his trials; she suspected the stains on his jacket were dried blood. His hair swirled in an uncombed mess around his face and those dark, stubbly cheeks spoke of a long week. He hadn't bathed since he left. Elizabeth's instinct was to tear the clothes off and burn them, but they might be needed by another crew going over in the future.
William sat down heavily on a small chair at the foot of the bed—the one she had used to dry her wool stockings. He gingerly reached up to tug at the sling and pulled it over his head. As his arm was freed, he winced.
"How did you get injured?" she asked, coming nearer.
"Shot," he answered, using his left hand to pull at buttons. It was Elizabeth's turn to wince at realizing not just what actions had been called into service, but that his physical self had been on the line. His mind had probably focused on nothing but the mission for its duration. Her fingers came up to undo the buttons on the jacket while she looked down at him. William's right shoulder was injured; he was right-handed. He would be hampered for a while until it healed.
He attempted to tug the jacket off, using his left hand, but she helped ease it off the uninjured shoulder before peeling it carefully off and letting it fall onto the floor. The wrinkled and admittedly smelly shirt underneath showed even more signs of trauma. There was no bullet hole in this garment (so he had obviously changed shirts), but the wound had bled, and stains darkened the garment over his chest and on one sleeve.
"Is the bullet still in there?" Elizabeth squeaked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.
"No. One of Captain Salen's men dug it out, handy with a knife." He started to work on the shirt's buttons, but she helped undo those with careful fingers. Then she hesitated to reveal what might be underneath.
"Are you patched up?" she asked, her hands falling to her sides.
"For now. I'll need the doctor to see it, probably stitch it," he grunted that noncommittal sound that was so familiar as he tugged with his left hand at the shirt. Elizabeth overcame her hesitancy and helped to tug it off one arm, then carefully pulled it away from the skin on his injured shoulder. High on his chest below the collarbone, the wound was bandaged, though dried blood showed through. Her stomach turned over.
She gingerly pulled the shirt off. A thousand questions sprang to mind about the mission and what had occurred for him to sustain the wound—and for Eugene Carter to have a matching one. She warred with herself about asking and decided that time would reveal the details. For now, there was the necessity of caring for William, a bath, and sleep.
"Do you need help with your shoes?" she asked.
"Best wait until I bathe; you don't want me to remove them too quickly." William flashed a bemused grin before he sagged a little; weariness was hitting him hard.
"I'll see if the doctor is finished with Uncle Ned." She walked into the upstairs hall, but the door across to the spare room was closed. Voices echoed up the stairwell from below, and she bustled downstairs. Her father had insisted that she take a pistol. It still sat in her luggage, unused, and untouched. Elizabeth didn't believe she could ever have used it, especially now.
"…traumatized and doesn't want to go back to his family, though that is likely the thing to bring him around. Do you know anything about the wife? Hysterical woman or sensible?" Doctor Brown's voice floated towards her. She stepped off the last tread and moved towards the voices.
"Aunt Eleanor has run the family business by herself since he disappeared. She's entirely sensible," said Elizabeth, stepping into the dining room. "She will see Uncle Ned through any transition he faces in returning from such an ordeal." The doctor frowned as if he didn't appreciate being overheard. Colonel Rogers smiled.
"Having had your company this week, Elizabeth, I can believe that if Mrs. Gardiner is related to you, she will help your uncle recover." She didn't point out that her aunt was only related by marriage, not blood. Elizabeth knew her Aunt Nora was practical, loving, and intelligent; Eleanor Gardiner would be the best person to help Edward Gardiner heal. She reiterated that belief. Doctor Brown finally nodded.
"William is ready, doctor, if you have time," she said.
"I'll come," said the doctor. When she stood to accompany him, he barked at her to stay, saying he needed to see Major Darcy alone. Elizabeth protested but was shot down, and he left.
"He is a bit old-fashioned about the abilities of women," said Colonel Rogers, pouring her another cup of tea. "But he's excellent at what he does." She pursed her lips in frustration.
"I'll admit to being a hodgepodge of emotions," said Elizabeth. "They've returned, and I should be thrilled, but it wasn't entirely successful." She sipped her tea. "And I never considered how I would find Uncle Ned. Right now, concern for him has surpassed even getting William back." She sought Colonel Rogers' eyes for assurance and guidance. The breath he let out indicated how many responsibilities he held.
"The team has only been home for an hour. Tempers are raw; the men are at their lowest. Give them time. This is when they relive the mission and its horrors."
"Horrors?" she prompted.
"Yes, without going into too many details, Elizabeth. Consider that to wrench the prisoners away from the German troops; they had to kill all of the guards," he said quietly.
She gasped at the information, thinking of William with guns raised in such a scenario (though she had once seen him do just that). Elizabeth hadn't thought what the rescue involved; she had blocked out considering any details. It was how she functioned through the years in Baker Street, not thinking about the reality of the men and women who left on missions and the difficulties, decisions, even horrors they faced.
Tears came; there had been a number that day when it felt she had given them up. "How do you carry on?"
"For my son," was John Rogers' instant reply. Michael slept peacefully and content upstairs, a symbol of everything right and good with the world.
She put down her teacup and wiped at her eyes. Saying thank you seemed inadequate. "He's the most adorable little angel I know," she said, pushing back from the table. He nodded and gave her a small smile.
Sitting in the dining room under the colonel's eyes made her uneasy, so Elizabeth walked down the passageway to the front hall and waited with her eyes on the stairs and listened for the sounds that Doctor Brown had finished examining William. She couldn't fathom what he had gone through to bring Uncle Ned home, but her mind considered his work while they had been separated—his time fighting in Greece.
William indicated that he was at a crossroads, but also that she figured into his choice. No longer was going to America a consideration (though as she thought about it, that choice seemed a safe one). But should he stay in Special Ops or join the regular armed forces? Elizabeth wasn't sure that her tangled insides could handle him on an SOE mission again.
The sound of a door opening and a voice echoing in the upstairs hall sent her flying up the stairs to see the doctor entering Captain Carter's room. She opened their door to find William lying on the bed with his eyes closed. Pristine white bandages had replaced the tattered ones from before.
"That was a trial," he said, without opening his eyes. "I better bathe before I pass out." He finally looked at her with one eye, a weak smile on his face.
"No washing your hair, just a dunk in, scrub off the worst of the dirt, then sleep," she said, coming around the bed. He lay on top of the bed coverings, a towel beneath his shoulders. Elizabeth held out a hand which he took, and he pulled himself up to sitting. While William oriented himself, she unlaced his boots and removed his socks. Then he balanced against her as she led him to the bathroom.
"Doc gave me something for the pain; it's tugging at me," he said, sounding far away.
She quickly drew a bath while he fumbled with the rest of his clothes. Elizabeth steadied him as he got in, handed him soap and a flannel, then discreetly left him for a few minutes to wash. She gathered his mission clothes, folded them in a pile near the door, and then went back to help William out of the tub. Between the shot from the doctor and lack of sleep, he could only stumble from the bathroom to the bed; she barely had time to pull back the blankets and sheets before he fell into them.
Elizabeth winced as he landed; William didn't seem to notice. His eyes were closed. She pulled the bedclothes up over him, quickly tidied the bathroom, and changed into a nightgown. Sleep came for her just as quickly as it had for William.
A/N: I found the ring. It is at the V&A. Thanks to the guest reviewer who said that the V&A's translation is wrong and we need to add 'to madness' as well! It was made in France between 1830 and 1860 and donated by Dame Joan Evans. Its museum number is M.172-1962.
I'm still feeling raw. The stolen work has been taken down, but I'm not sure what I'll do going forward. Normally I have a thick skin, but with that, FFN site troubles, and life, having a few nit-picky reviews about Elizabeth's hesitancy left a bad taste. I'm only human, if I am feeling just as betrayed as she (both William and her father betrayed her) why carry on? Normally I only delete reviews with bad language or slut-shaming, but I'm not apologizing for deletions this week.
