A cold treachery - Charles Todd [106]
Nothing.
He went back to Robinson and said, “Did you go to the farm last night?”
“The farm? God, no. If I never see it again, it will be soon enough.”
“I thought perhaps you might have wondered if your son was there, hiding. And went to look for him.”
“I'll admit I thought about it—” He broke off as Elizabeth Fraser wheeled herself into the room.
“Harry isn't feeling well this morning. I knocked and he told me he thought he felt a migraine was coming on.”
“You'll no' see his boots this morning!”
Her bandages had been changed and were thinner. But she couldn't lift the heavy teapot, and Rutledge poured a cup for her. She thanked him.
Robinson went on, “I don't know whether to mourn my son—or hold on to a slim thread of hope. What do they do to children that age, if there's been murder done? I can't sleep for thinking about that. Surely they don't hang them—and prisons are no place for a boy. What do they do?”
Rutledge found himself thinking of the young man who had just been committed to an asylum. As an alternative, it offered little hope to a grieving father. Yet it had seemed to be a kinder choice to that man's parents. “It will be left to the judge to decide what's best,” he answered, watching Elizabeth Fraser's face. “That's his duty. Mine is to sift out the truth from the evidence. Where is Miss Ashton?”
“Still asleep, I expect. I saw her as she let herself in after a long walk. She says she finds it hard to lie down with her ribs still aching. And she's grieving for her sister. I saw her in the churchyard when I was doing my marketing yesterday.”
Mrs. Cummins opened the door and then stopped on the threshold as if uncertain of her welcome. She was more than a little tipsy, her eyes wide and not very focused, her hand trembling on the knob.
“I had the most awful dream last night,” she said to the room at large. “I was here in the kitchen and something came in that door from the yard. I could see it, but I didn't know what it was. The room was dark, and I was so afraid. I—I could see blood everywhere. And I didn't want to die.”
Her voice broke on the last word, and Elizabeth went swiftly to her, to comfort her.
“It was only a dream,” she told the other woman gently. “There was no one here. No one had come to hurt you.”
“Still—it was so vivid—”
Elizabeth took her trembling hands. “You don't have anything to fear, Vera. Inspector Rutledge is here—he'll protect us from any harm.”
“But he wasn't here. I went to his room and he wasn't here! I wish I knew where Harry had put his revolver. I'd sleep with it under my pillow—”
Rutledge went back to the ruined hut as soon as he could. Climbing with Hamish's voice in his ears nearly masking the crunch of snow, he could feel the mantle of fatigue settling over him.
“You canna' hope to gain anything with such tricks! It was foolish.”
“If I'd caught whoever walked here last night—”
“But you caught the lass instead. And ye believe her!”
“I don't believe her.”
“Aye, but ye looked for a missing button on yon coat.”
“Elcott has been out here painting day after day. She could have gone into The Ram's Head at any time and twisted one of the buttons off. He wore heavy sweaters painting, not his one good coat.”
“Do you ken, you're always making excuses for the lass!”
“I'm not making excuses for anyone—”
“Aye, and ye've no' arrested anyone!”
They had reached the hut, and Rutledge dug deep between the stones where he had hidden the broken cuff link.
His fingers searched diligently, working at their task with care.
But where the cuff link had been hidden, there was nothing.
The question was, what had been done with it? And who had taken it?
Janet Ashton, Paul Elcott, or a player who was not even on the board yet?
Hamish said, considering the implications, “It wasna' taken to condemn the boy. And a stranger wouldna' ken where to look.”
“It might well have been Hugh Robinson. He may be regretting his rash confession about his son and decided to conceal evidence. Sparing the boy's memory.”
“It would be a kindness