A False Mirror - Charles Todd [120]
Rutledge let him paw through it.
“And you’re not armed?”
He opened his coat and gave Mallory time to inspect him as he turned in front of him.
“All right, then. I accept your word.”
“There are more sandwiches in the bag. Fruit. I’m not sure anyone is in the mood to prepare dinner.”
“When do you think he’ll come? If he does.”
“Late. When we’re tired and not as alert.”
“Yes, that’s what I’d told myself.” A gust of wind shook the windows overlooking the sea. “Damned wind. And this house creaks like all the imps of hell are loose in it. Felicity is waiting. She’s not taken the powder that the doctor gave her. Hester, I mean. She wanted to see you were here first.”
They went up the stairs, and Rutledge could hear their footsteps echo through the silent house.
Felicity Hamilton unlocked her door at the sound of Rutledge’s voice.
He stepped into the room, feeling the warmth of the fire, and said, “Not to alarm you, just a precaution. Are you certain no one can reach your windows from the outside? If not, we’ll find a more suitable room.”
“I prefer to stay here. But I looked, before the light went. I’d thought about that too.”
He showed her the sandwiches, pointing out that there was a variety, chicken and ham and cheese with pickles. “And here’s enough tea to see us through the night. Is there anything else you require? Water for your powder?”
“I have water, Stephen saw to that. I’m not sure I want to be asleep if there’s any trouble.”
“We’re on the other side of the door.”
He went out. Mallory was dragging comfortable chairs from other bedrooms, with pillows and blankets and a pair of heavy quilts. “It will be drafty,” he said in explanation, then added a decanter of whiskey to their makeshift night camp. “As a blind for shooting lion, I think the lion has the advantage.”
“A lion can smell us before we see him. A man can’t. What about the back stairs?” Rutledge asked. “He could come from there rather than the main staircase.”
“I’ve got a chair braced against that door. If he tries the knob, we’ll hear him. If he intends to reach us, he’ll have to use the other stairs.”
While Mallory was collecting matches and lamps, Rutledge double-checked the servants’ door to the back stairs. It was solidly braced, and anyone attempting to come through would find himself making a considerable racket.
They settled down in the silent house, listening to the wind outside, and prepared to wait. Mallory brought out a small portable chess game, but they were evenly matched and it palled after a time.
Mallory said, “I’ll wager he doesn’t come. It will all be to do over again tomorrow night. You have to remember, he’s been badly hurt. He may need a night’s sleep before he can make the effort a second time.”
“There’s that,” Rutledge agreed. “Still, I don’t want to run the risk.”
“Nor I.”
Felicity Hamilton called through the door, “Is anything wrong?”
“We’re just passing the time. Don’t worry. If you want to sleep at all, between now and midnight might be best,” Mallory replied.
“Yes. I don’t want to turn off my lamp. But should I?”
“The drapes are drawn. Be certain they’re tightly closed. It should be all right then.”
“I could set it on the floor on this side of my bed.”
“Too great a risk of fire.”
“Yes.” It was a forlorn affirmative, and there was silence again from her room.
“I pray to God she sleeps,” Mallory said grimly. He poured a little whiskey into a fresh cup of tea. “I can’t count the times I wished for Dutch comfort in the trenches. If only to keep out the wet and the cold.”
“I don’t want to talk about the war,” Rutledge told him shortly. “We can’t afford to be distracted.”
“But it’s there, isn’t it, in the back of your mind? Mine as well. Will it ever go away, do you think?”
“If God is kind,” Rutledge answered, and pulled a blanket across his shoulders against the cold that was inside as well as out.
Sometime close to midnight, Mallory said in the darkness, “Do you ever dream