A cold treachery - Charles Todd [42]
Before he could go on, Follet interjected, “How is Elcott taking the news? Can't be easy for him.”
“Paul?” the doctor asked. “I had to sedate him. He wasn't in any shape to join the searchers. More of a hindrance than a help, in my book.”
Rutledge turned from the window. “Is Miss Ashton well enough to accompany us back to Urskdale?”
“In my opinion, the cold and the rough ride will not do her any good!”
“On the other hand, it shouldn't do her any harm, if her ribs are sound?”
“That's true, but—”
Rutledge nodded to Follet. “I think we'll relieve you of your unexpected guest. If you'll escort me to the barn, I have some business there. Dr. Jarvis, if you'd be kind enough to ask Mrs. Follet to prepare Miss Ashton for the journey—”
“I'd rather not take the responsibility—”
“Nor would I, Doctor. But we need to be expeditious if we're to find our murderer.” He picked up hat and gloves from the table, and prepared to leave.
Shut off from the wind, the cavernous barn was not as cold as Rutledge had expected. Bieder sniffed his heels suspiciously as he followed Follet into the dim interior. Sizeable and sturdily built, the structure was at least as old as Follet himself, and probably well into a generation before that. Looking up, Rutledge said, “You had a fine builder.”
“That was my father and his. We have to build solidly, up here. The barn before this was probably well over a hundred years old.” He led the way to the tack room where harness and tackle were kept, and opened a wooden box that stood under a shelf. Digging inside, he brought up a revolver and held it out gingerly to Rutledge.
He found that the weapon was fully loaded and he emptied it, dropping the cartridges in one pocket and sniffing the pistol before adding it to the other pocket. “I'd not mention this to your wife after we've gone,” he told Follet. “It would upset her, I think, to know that it had been here.”
“I'm not likely to do that,” Follet agreed. “I'm just glad to be rid of it!” He didn't add that he could be just as happy to see the back of its owner.
In the yard, Dr. Jarvis was already setting Miss Ashton's valise in the boot, and Mrs. Follet had nearly filled the back of the motorcar with pillows and blankets. Rutledge shivered, thinking of Hamish on the long drive back to Urskdale. It would be crowded, and neither Hamish nor Rutledge himself took pleasure from that.
They managed to get Miss Ashton into the vehicle without causing undue pain, Mrs. Follet fussing around them. Rutledge retrieved his own rug and added it to the array of blankets. A warmed stone was wrapped in towels and set at Miss Ashton's feet, and within half an hour of the time he'd made the decision to carry her with him, Rutledge set out on the road.
She hadn't been willing at first to come with him.
“You can't ask me to walk into that house!” she had said in rising panic. “No, I won't go with you! You can't force me—I'll stay here, or go back to Carlisle if someone will drive me—” She turned to Mrs. Follet. “I'm sorry if I'm such a burden—”
“My dear, of course you're not a burden.” Mary Follet cast a pleading glance at her husband. “Jim, tell her—”
“I'll be happy to ask my wife—” Dr. Jarvis was saying, but even Rutledge could hear the doubt in his voice.
“I intend for Miss Ashton to stay at the hotel,” Rutledge had said, cutting across their voices. “Dr. Jarvis can treat her there, and she can help me with my inquiries.”
Miss Ashton stared at him. “The hotel—” she said. “Yes, that's all right, then.”
But something in her expression made him wonder what had really changed her mind. A fleeting moment of speculation—a conscious awareness of opportunity? It was there and then gone so quickly he couldn't decipher it.
Now she sat in the back of the motorcar in what appeared to be grieving silence. It made conversation between the two men stiff and uneasy.
After a time Jarvis drifted into sleep again, and from the rear of the motorcar an almost disembodied voice, husky and muffled by blankets, asked, “Will you