I hurried upstairs and dug through the bag with my personal correspondence to find Mrs Thrower's original letter. 

War widow, small pension, position in the house or caring for the men . . . and a letter of recommendation. 

How odd. Why didn't I remember that? 

I took the letter I'd been given downstairs out of the envelope and laid it on my desk next to the one I'd just dug out. 

The letter itself was exactly the same, but written in dramatically different handwriting and ink. The one that accompanied the original letter was written in fine sepia and with a practiced, sober hand, whereas the one that had just been forced upon me in the grand salon was a careful, but uneducated, attempt at a copy in plain, black ink.  

That could have been explained away easily enough -- if it hadn't been for the signature. 

The recommendation that had come with the letter was signed Arthur J. Mead, butler, and was followed by an address in Bath. The letter I'd just been given was signed Lady Bucking-Coombs, and had no address.  

A forgery was right! 

I'd have to show both papers to Agatha as soon as I could. Perhaps in a few hours after dinner when Mrs Thrower -- or whoever she was -- was safely tucked away somewhere. 

An image of Brooks utterly submerged in his detective novels suddenly appeared in my mind. What would he make of our mysterious guest? A murderess on the run? A poor servant who had witnessed a crime and was now attempting to escape the long-arm of the perpetrator? 

Did I really want to know? 

No. I didn't. Because I knew where it would lead him eventually -- to my reputation. 

Wasn't Brooks always telling me I was famous in a way, and warning me to be cautious? Hadn't he been terribly suspicious of James, thinking he was a stranger attempting to take advantage of my kindness?  What had he said . . . 'do you remember him or did he tug at your sleeve and claim to be one of ours'? 

And this Mrs Thrower, what was it she'd written? 

I took up the letter once again and found the sentence. "I have heard your name be spoken in connection with the good Christian work you do for men damaged in the War."

Assuming this letter actually did come from the real Mrs Thrower, then the fact that an anonymous housemaid in far away Bath had heard, and remembered, my name in association with the Hutch more than proved Brooks right. 

Perhaps I did have a reputation that spread further than I knew. Perhaps I was known for being a kindhearted, but ultimately foolish, woman who could easily be duped by displays of pitifulness if they were crass enough. Or at least I might attract those who were on the prowl for such victims. 

Especially the kindhearted  and foolish with an estate and a last name known in Parliament, don't forget that part, Olivia.  No matter the embarrassing state of your grand salon.

Sighing, I shoved the two letters into the drawer of my desk, locked it, and made my way downstairs to check in on our other mystery -- Montgomery. 

I found him in the former sewing room room playing cards with Link and Rhys-Jones, who had been half-relieved of their duties to keep him company. 

"I shan't interrupt," I said, taking a seat on the sofa and watching the men as they finished out the hand. 

Montgomery looked more presentable than I'd seen him in a long while. I was prepared to be called upon to play barber, but someone had obviously seen to the jagged mop on his head already. He was freshly and correctly shaven, and wearing clean clothes. 

The men seemed to have made an improvement project out of him. 

"No stranger to the card table this one," said Rhys-Jones, cocking his head to indicate Montgomery. "He's won a few rounds right out from under us."

"Had a lot of time play in the trenches," answered Montgomery, carefully keeping the damaged side of his face turned away from me as he spoke. 

Link snorted. "Too true. Between shelling rounds and the hours you spent monitoring the progress of a few beans through your guts."

Link was another one who shared Daniels' hatred of the military Brass. I couldn't blame him. If I'd lost my legs in a battle that had been ordered to increase the prestige of a general who felt he was being ignored by his peers, I'd have been bitter, too. 

The round was over and I asked Link and Rhys-Jones to leave Montgomery and myself alone for a few minutes. 

"Right, gasper break!" cried Rhys-Jones and wheeled himself out of the room with the same vim he showed everything. I wondered briefly if I'd ever seen Rhys-Jones upset, or sad. No, I didn't think I had. I knew he'd had a difficult time after returning home, but he seemed to be one of the few Cloud Hill men who had dealt extremely well with their injuries. 

 Link followed, turning to pull the door up after himself. 

I smiled at Montgomery, and he he smiled sheepishly back. "You look well. How are the men treating you?" 

"They're very kind, Miss. Found me some new clothes." He plucked at the shirt he was wearing. "And Link's been explaining me the things. But all of them are real kind, like. Forbis even shared some o' his gaspers with me." 

"That's good to hear. How are you sleeping? Any difficulties?" 

Montgomery shook his head. "I keep the window open. That helps. Not so used to being where I can't feel the wind and all."

I didn't doubt it. He'd lived in a mud-and-planking dug-out, then a hospital, then a forest hut for the last years. A real house, especially one as large and grand as this one would make anyone with his background nervous. 

"Now, I'm going to have to ask you a difficult question, but it's important. Do you know why anyone would set a trap for you? Did you perhaps get into a disagreement with--"

Montgomery shook his head violently. 

"Listen to me! A disagreement with a local man?" I continued.  "Or was there trouble at a pub? I'm not looking to find fault. I only want to understand the situation fully."  

"No, Miss, not at all! I ain't had no trouble with nought. Keep to myself, so I do. Don't trouble others and they've got no reason to trouble me! I ain't done a thing to nought! When I go in the village to get me gaspers and such, I go so early only the shop keeper sees me! I don't trouble a soul. And I don't never go down the pub." 

"I believe you." I held out my hand in a calming gesture. "I believe you. If there's been no trouble, then there's no reason to worry. Mostly likely some bored young men having a laugh. We'll get it all sorted out."

I rose to leave. 

"Miss, when can I go back to me cabin? Soon?" He still kept most of his face averted, but the tone of hope in his voice was unmistakable.

What to tell him? That we had precious little to go on and weren't even sure how serious of a threat it really was?

"We're doing everything we can, but it might take a little time, you understand.  Try your best to get along with the other men and put your mind to doing different work for the next few weeks than you're used to."

"Yes, Miss." Montgomery nodded, but looked as if he'd expected exactly that answer. I had no idea how hard this was on him, but at least he had company here in the main house. "I'll do my best."

As I left, I signalled through the window to Link and Rhys-Jones to come back and distract Montgomery further from his worries. 

I could have used with a little distraction from my worries, as well. 

Charlotte hadn't come to my rescue and it would be another several days before I was due in London. That thick grey shawl of hopelessness was starting to settle on my shoulders again, and the insidious thought that I'd never have a normal life, that I'd be dealing with the  problems of all the Montgomerys of the world until I needed a Bath chair myself, began crowding for mental space. 

God knew it wasn't his fault. It was none of their faults. It just was how things were. 

These men had problems, and problems had the horrid tendency of generating more problems. And I'd be the one to rush in and stomp out the fire. 

How could I convince some of them to take up their lives again outside of the Hutch? Outside of Cloud Hill? That was beginning to become the underlying problem. I should write into my appointment book in large, bold letters. FIND MEN POSITIONS ELSEWHERE. 

And then what? More would arrive and the carousel would continue. 

Briefly my mind shot forward to the men who would be arriving from Elizabeth's estate shortly. What problems would they bring with them? Could we cope? 

I stood staring out the window of the Hutch office towards the Infirmary, biting my thumb. 

I don't know how long I stood there for, but by-and-by clusters of men making their way back over the lawn to the low building along the tree line came into my line of sight. One of them was James, I could tell by the height and the graceful way he moved now that he had two crutches instead of the one. 

Before I knew it, I was out the door and walking at a fair clip across the lawn to the gravel path leading to the Infirmary. Then I stood and waited. 

James saw me and slowed his pace, only to quicken it again, hoping to get past me without being addressed. Well, he wasn't going to be that lucky. 

"Davis! Tell me a joke." 

A few of the men walking near him turned their heads to look, but then continued on. 

"What?" he stopped a few paces in front of me.   

"I said, tell me a joke. I've had a disastrous day and it's far from over. Tell me a joke so that I have one reason to smile, at least."

His expression didn't change, but I could tell he was thinking. 

"I don't know any jokes," he said finally, and started to walk on. 

"That's odd. I distinctly remember you having known quite a few at some point."

He halted. "That was a long time ago. I've forgotten them all."

"Well, try to remember one. Just this once. I'm in desperate need of cheering." 

The wind was picking up and causing the trees next to the Infirmary to sway and roar a bit. I shivered  slightly and hugged myself to keep warm as I waited for him to decide what he was going to do. 

He looked from me to the house, and back again. I was sure some idiotic remark regarding Montgomery was about to come out of him, but he said, "When is a blow from a lady welcome?"

I knew that one, Father had told it on occasion.  

"When she strikes you agreeably," I answered, a slight smile starting to form along with the words.

James nodded, and without another word left me standing where I was. 

_____

A/N The joke James tells at the end is an actual Victorian one. It would have already been around for quite a while in 1921, putting it roughly on the level of a knock-knock joke.