Matthew glanced at Lily; her face was pale, her chin tilted upwards. “How bad?” he asked.
“I don’t think there’s much hope,” a man in a dark suit said quietly as he stepped forward. He held the battered leather medical bag of a doctor. “But I have some chloroform. We could ease his pain, at least. Surely that is our Christian duty.”
It was only then that Matthew became aware of the piteous groaning coming from the dark pit; it sounded like a wounded animal, inhuman and awful, and he had an absurd urge to cover his ears.
“But it’s too small a space for any of us,” the man finished with a nod towards Lily. “But I think you’d do, Miss, if you weren’t too scared. You look small enough.”
“I’m not scared.” Lily’s voice trembled and her gaze darted towards the darkened hole. In one of her letters, Matthew recalled, she’d written about how much she hated small spaces.
He took a step towards the house and saw just how narrow the hole was, barely big enough for Lily to fit her shoulders through. It was like a tunnel into hell.
“She can’t go down there,” he said, sounding angry. What they were asking was outrageous, yet Lily was already undoing her buttons.
“I can,” she said. “But not with my jacket on.”
“Attagirl,” the man said approvingly, and the doctor began to prepare the chloroform, while Matthew watched helplessly. He did not want Lily to go down into that pit where such horrible moans were coming from, a place where he could neither protect nor comfort her, yet he knew she would not even think of refusing. She was gentle, yes, she always had been, but she was also strong. Brave, just as he’d told her she was. Here was the proof.
Lily’s face was pale with determination as she slipped her jacket off and handed it to Matthew.
“How will she get down there?” he asked, still sounding strident. “It’s too small for a ladder.”
The man grimaced in apology. “We’ll have to lower her down by her ankles.”
“What!” Matthew shook his head. “I wouldn’t even ask a soldier back in Normandy to do something like that.”
“We’re not in Normandy,” the man replied grimly.
Lily laid a hand on Matthew’s sleeve. “I’ll do it,” she said, and there was a note of quiet certainty in her voice that made Matthew feel ashamed.
He nodded and stepped back.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” the man crouching by the hole said, “I think you’ll have to take your dress off, as well. It’s going to be awfully tight down there, and we wouldn’t want your clothes catching on a bit of rubble and bringing the whole thing down.”
Matthew opened his mouth and then closed it as Lily began to undo the buttons of her dress, while the men respectfully looked away. He took it from her; she was so pale and slight in nothing but her slip, freckles dusting her shoulders, the hollow of her throat mak
ing her seem even more vulnerable. A breath of wind could blow her away.
“How do I do it?” she asked, and the doctor explained about the chloroform, how she should put a few drops on a cotton mask and hold it as close to the man’s face as she could, while trying not to breathe it in herself. She would have to grip the torch between her teeth.
Matthew longed to protest, but one glance at Lily’s tense body, bristling with determination, kept him silent. He watched helplessly as she clenched the torch between her teeth and two men held her by her thighs to lower her down into the ghastly hole. He could not imagine what she was enduring.
The next few minutes were an endless torture, worse than any Matthew had experienced in his five weeks in Normandy. He could hear the horrible moans coming from the hole, and then suddenly they stopped.
Lily called out, and the men hauled her by the ankles.
She spat out the torch, her whole body trembling as she began to retch helplessly.
Matthew caught her in his arms as her body convulsed again and again.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “His face… the smell…”
One of the men patted her clumsily on the shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did brilliantly, love.”
Still Lily continued to retch, doubled over, tears streaming from her eyes as she shook her head. “There’s nothing to be done for him,” she finally managed. “His face…”
“Don’t think of it,” Matthew said, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark as tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
“I have to,” she said. “Can’t you see that? That man… he’s every sailor I’ve written a letter for.” A shudder went through her. “And that hole… it was as if I was in a submarine, as if I were going down into my nightmares, the things I try so hard not to see.”