A cold treachery - Charles Todd [109]
The tyranny, Rutledge thought, of the weak.
She glanced away, as if fearful that she'd somehow betrayed herself.
“I don't know what we'd do here without you,” she said bleakly. “You don't know how frightened I am sometimes. It's so lonely here, so much empty space beyond my windows . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she started for the door.
“Mrs. Cummins—”
“Yes, Inspector?” She was poised to hurry on.
“I'd like to speak to Miss Fraser, if you'd ask her to come to the kitchen.”
She tensed. “Is there anything wrong? It was I who burned the toast again this morning—”
He smiled. “No. It's—my hand. I hurt it, and I'd like her opinion about seeing Dr. Jarvis. Unless you'd care to look at it?”
“Oh, no! I'll just call Elizabeth—”
She went hastily out of the room, and he crossed to stand by the window, trying to force his mind to blankness, to seal off what he was feeling and thinking.
By the time Elizabeth Fraser wheeled her chair into the room, he was in control of his emotions.
“Vera tells me your hand is hurting you—”
“That was only an excuse. I know it's cold in the dining room but we can be more private there. Would you mind?”
She searched his face. “What's wrong?”
“Will you come with me?”
Wheeling her chair towards the dining room door, she replied, “I think I know what it is you want to ask.”
He held the door for her and watched her roll the chair to one side of the hearth.
“I told you once that it must be difficult to pry into the secrets of people you suspect. I told you too I thought it was rather horrid.”
“Yes.” It was all he could say.
“Tell me first why you think I could be capable of killing Gerald and his family.”
“I don't suspect you—”
“You suspect all of us. I can see it in your eyes, watchful and giving away very little.” She studied his face. “It troubles you, doesn't it, to hunt people down.”
“I did enough of it in the war.”
“All right. What do you want to know?”
“About your trial.”
“I was acquitted. You can't try me twice for the same offense.”
“I never suggested . . .”
“No.”
“Look. The Yard is sending someone else to take over this inquiry. He won't be as—kind. I'd rather end the investigation before he arrives. I need to know why you were tried.”
“Someone else? Was that the bad news—” After a moment she went on with such sadness in her face that he wanted to stop her and tell her he was wrong, he didn't need to know.
“Ronald was a man of the utmost integrity. I respected and admired him. We'd known each other for two years when he finally asked me to marry him. But then the war came along. And he refused to serve. He said that killing—for any reason—was wrong. That it was a last resort that governments chose to avoid working out a settlement in which they might lose something. It was horrible—the way he was treated. He got the white feather over and over again, until he was afraid to go out without a uniform on. But he stood by what he believed. And I honored him for that.”
She took a shaky breath. “His parents supported his decision at first. But then something rather odd happened. Have you heard of the Angel of Mons?”
He stared at her. “Yes. Some of the men fighting in Mons in the first days of the war swore they'd seen an angel one night. They were being forced back. The angel seemed to cover their retreat. It meant different things to different men. Many of them refused to talk about it.”
“Yes. Well. Ronald's brother died at Mons. And his parents turned against Ronald, then, telling him that God was surely on our side. That Ronald was going against the will of God. It was nonsense; they were grieving. I'm not sure they realized what their constant barrage of criticism did to him. He took it to heart, and I watched him suffer as he tried to come to terms with what they wanted. And then