A cold treachery - Charles Todd [40]
“Actually, I'd rather you went on saying nothing. Until Dr. Jarvis tells me she's fit to travel.”
Follet looked relieved. “Not that I've seen nor heard anything against the sister, you understand. But we don't know why the Elcotts died, do we? And I'd not be drawn into whatever it is if I can help it.”
“I can't blame you,” Rutledge agreed, and then after a moment, at Hamish's prodding, questioned, “There's something else, I think. That you haven't told me.”
Follet tugged at his earlobe. “We're all at sixes and sevens. You start reading omens in the milk pail, after a time! Still, when I got up at my usual hour that next morning, I tried to be quiet as I went past Miss Ashton's door so as not to wake her. I had my shoes in my hand, and was bent on where I put my feet, when I heard weeping on the other side of her door. And then her voice saying over and over again, ‘Why? Oh God, why?' It was as if she knew something was wrong.” His eyes were worried.
“There was the accident. The wrecked carriage and the dead horse—”
“You don't weep like that over a dead horse,” Follet said scornfully. “Or a broken carriage wheel. Even if both belonged to someone else. Something was keeping her awake that hurt her far more than those cracked ribs. The only time I ever heard Mary cry like that was when our youngest died. Inconsolable, beyond any help or comfort.”
Dr. Jarvis came into the kitchen at that moment and told Rut-ledge, “I'd prefer to leave Miss Ashton here a day or two longer. She's badly bruised. But nothing appears to be broken, I'm happy to say.”
“Is she fit for travel?” Rutledge asked. “Will it do her any harm?”
“I doubt it will harm her,” Jarvis answered. “But continued rest will do those ribs a world of good, and in my opinion she needs a little time to grieve as well.” He saw the expression on Rutledge's face and added, “I was surprised that no one had told her about her sister. When she commented that she wouldn't be much use to Grace and the twins for the rest of the week, I felt I was obligated to say something. You can't have intended to keep it from her!”
“I would have preferred to choose my own time and place,” Rutledge returned curtly. “What did she say?”
“She wept—”
Rutledge stood up, already on his way to the sitting room. Jarvis called after him, something about Mary Follet being the best person to comfort her, but Rutledge ignored him.
The sitting room door was open, and he found Mrs. Follet kneeling on the carpet, her arms around the sobbing woman in the chair. The farmer's wife looked up as he came in, and got stiffly to her feet.
“The doctor told her,” Mrs. Follet said.
“Yes. Miss Ashton?”
After a moment Janet Ashton lifted a red and tear-streaked face to him. He walked into the room, pulled a chair closer to hers and said, gently, “This isn't the time to ask you questions, I understand that. But time is what neither of us have to spare. We must find your nephew. Josh may have seen the murderer—”
Something flared in her eyes, a flame of emotion that galvanized her. “Josh is dead. Paul would see to that; he wouldn't leave the work half finished! Paul's your killer, I swear to you he is! Jealous, self-centered, cruel—he did it!”
Rutledge stared at the tear-ravaged face. Janet Ashton was a very attractive woman, but the twisted anger in her voice and the savagery with which she denounced Paul Elcott made him flinch. Mary, just at his shoulder, gasped in horror.
“I don't understand—” Rutledge began.
“No, no one ever did! I tried to warn Gerald—I told him over and over again—”