A cold treachery - Charles Todd [31]
Hamish said, “There had to be hatred behind such murders . . .”
Rutledge set the photograph down, and without comment turned to finish his search.
The contents of the wardrobe were what he'd expected to find—mostly daily wear, with dark coats for market day and for church. One of the hats on the shelf had been worn by Mrs. Elcott the day of the christening, with frivolous silk roses still pinned on the brim. His sister Frances had told him once that a woman's choice of hat revealed her mood.
Hamish reminded him of Elizabeth Fraser's words: “We see each other at market or at christenings and weddings, more often at funerals.” And the same clothes served for each occasion, but the hats could define the moment.
As if mirroring his thoughts, Greeley said, “The Elcotts were no richer than the rest of us. There's never money for frills here in the North. Still, we're grateful for what we have. And through the war, we managed. We were used to making do. Nobody went hungry.”
It was a comment Rutledge had heard often enough. We managed. . . . The hardships of war and the ensuing peace had left many families struggling to survive. Few of them complained, making an effort to cope and rebuild their shattered hopes. But there were those who had prospered, and for whom there was no looking back.
Hamish said, “It's no' money, then, that's at the back of this killing.”
Rutledge, before he could stop himself, answered aloud, “There's the land—”
Greeley nodded, as if the comment had been directed at him. “We found Gerald Elcott's will. Here's how it stood. The farm has been in the family for generations. There's no one left to inherit now save his brother. Gerald was generally the one who worked with his father, and so Henry passed the land to him. Paul was set up in business as part owner of the licensed house in Urskdale. Of course when Gerald was away in France, Paul came back here to run the sheep. The Ram's Head had all but gone under, anyway, with no one coming of a summer to keep it afloat.”
“What does Paul Elcott do now?”
Greeley went back to the head of the stairs, saying over his shoulder, “He's trying to reopen The Ram's Head. On his own. Frankly, it's an uphill struggle.”
The inspector was eager to get away from the house, and it showed.
Rutledge followed Greeley back to the motorcar. A watery sun was strengthening, and the snow was beginning to melt. It was slushy underfoot, the first sign of thaw.
As they came around the corner of the house, Hamish said, “Why did yon brother come out to the farm on Tuesday?”
Rutledge asked Greeley as he cranked the motorcar.
“I expect to see if they needed anything. I looked in on two other families myself. One an elderly couple, and the other with very young children. The storm came through in a hurry, and there wasn't much warning. No time to come into the village for lamp oil or staples. There was barely time to bring in the stock.” Greeley stepped into the passenger's seat.
“Has it occurred to you that Paul Elcott could have killed his brother and his brother's family?”
Shocked, Greeley simply looked at Rutledge as he drove out of the yard.
“Paul Elcott would inherit the farm,” Rutledge pointed out. “There's your motive. And he must have visited the house often enough. Any signs of his presence at the murder scene could easily be explained by that fact.”
“That's foolishness! You didn't see him after he'd found them. He was sick as a dog in the barn—” He broke off, his eyes on the road.
A horse and carriage was coming swiftly towards them, moving