A cold treachery - Charles Todd [43]
“No. So far I have only your word that he was a threat to his brother's family. I'll have to look into that and see if I can find evidence that bears it out. And when—if—we find the boy, he'll be my chief witness.”
“If he was there,” she said, the words drifting away on the wind.
The boy slept for hours. Sybil, curled beside the bed, kept watch, and Maggie herself fell asleep by the kitchen fire, dozing heavily in the chair that had been her father's. She woke once with a start, thinking she'd heard something outside in the snow, then was satisfied when the dog didn't bark. Her eyes closed again.
She had set the red-handled ax by her chair, where she could put her hand to it quickly. It could take a chicken's head off in one blow and chop through wood thick as her wrist. Perfectly weighted, it was all she needed in the way of protection.
Her father had taught her to use it, and had once said lightly, “Your Norse ancestors could cleave a man's skull with an ax. Right through the helmet. It's a fearsome weapon. Respect it.”
And she always had.
As Rutledge neared the inn, he began to wonder if he had overstepped his own welcome by bringing another guest for Miss Fraser to cope with. Certainly Mrs. Cummins was not up to caring for and catering to a house full of people. Now, besides himself, there were Robinson and Janet Ashton. Where he could make do with whatever meals were set before him, he doubted that they would.
Hamish reminded him, “It isna' a weekend in the country.”
But Miss Fraser took her new guest in stride and said, “I've a room that's quiet, and I think Miss Ashton will prefer it. Just give me a few minutes to see that all is as it should be.”
Dr. Jarvis, after asking if there had been any summons during his absence, helped bring Miss Ashton in from the motorcar and settle her in her room. As soon as he could politely excuse himself, he disappeared in the direction of his own house.
Miss Fraser said to his departing back, “His wife will be glad to see him. She never bargained for murder disrupting their quiet life.”
“Where is Robinson?” Rutledge asked.
“In his room. He slept a little, I think, and missed his tea. I've a ham in the pot, and if you could bring in some cabbages from the cold cellar, and the small bag of potatoes, I'll have dinner in an hour.”
Rutledge not only brought in cabbages and potatoes but helped scrub and prepare them. It was a surprisingly companionable domestic scene, Miss Fraser busy about her tasks while he, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, followed her instructions. As he worked, he asked, “What do you know about Paul Elcott?”
“A quiet man. He was engaged to be married before the war, but the girl ran away with a soldier she met in Keswick. I don't think he mourned her. It was an understood thing, without great passion on either side.” She smiled over her shoulder. “We don't see great passion in this part of the world. Most everyone has known each other since they were children. Life isn't easy, and no one expects it to be. A man provides and a wife keeps house and brings up the children. And so they drift into old age, considering they've had a happy marriage. Use the other pan, if you will, for those potatoes. I'll need that one for steaming the apples— Oh! I forgot to ask you to bring them up as well!”
Rutledge went out again to find them, and came back with them, small and shriveled by comparison with those in the south, and with a stronger flavor. He cored and cut them up and passed the bowl to her.
The passage door opened and Robinson came in, his hair awry from sleeping hard, his eyes bleary. He said, “I don't know what the doctor gave me, but I've had better hangovers!” He sat down heavily at the table, as if his body had run out of energy, and buried his head in his hands. “Christ!”
Rutledge said, feeling his way, “It's been a rough day.”
Robinson nodded. “I thought many times during the war that I was going to die. I never expected my family would die instead. Have you heard any word about Josh?”
“The search parties are sleeping,