A False Mirror - Charles Todd [123]
But what he couldn’t determine, in spite of carefully searching for any sign that might confirm it, was whether that one branch had had the help of a human agency to ram it through the glass. He could have done it, tall as he was, and actually reached up to pull it out as Mallory shoved it toward him and then went for something to patch the hole.
He remembered what Hamish had said, that someone was toying with them. That someone had known the house was a trap and played with their nerves.
He hadn’t spoken to his watchers. And they might well tell him a different tale.
24
Felicity insisted that she would make breakfast for him before he left the house. Rutledge wasn’t certain whether it was because she wanted to keep him there until daylight had swept away the shadows of the night, or because she was afraid to be alone with Mallory any longer than was necessary.
And so the three of them sat in the dining room, chilled as it was after a night of wind pouring through broken glass. Mallory had patched it with a length of wood he’d found somewhere, but when the wind blew from the sea, it whistled incessantly. A reminder of their fears.
She had cooked rashers of bacon and boiled eggs to go with them, made toast without burning it, and found a pot of jam that tasted of summer. Rutledge had made the tea, reminded of a kitchen in Westmorland, the warmest room of the house and the busiest.
Hamish retorted that Rutledge had been a stranger there as well as here.
“Nan didn’t make that,” she said, setting the jam on the table between the two men. “It was a gift from Miss Esterley. She thought we might enjoy it. Matthew was saving it for some reason. I don’t quite know why. At least that’s what Nan told me when I asked what had become of it. I wrote a note to thank Miss Esterley, all the same.”
“How many days a week did your maid come here?”
“Three days. On Tuesday she went to Mrs. Granville, and on Thursday and Saturday she went to the Restons. She told me only last month that if I could do without her one of my afternoons, she’d go to the rectory. The elderly woman who has been housekeeper to Mr. Putnam is considering moving away to live with her daughter.”
“Miss Esterley has her own maid, I think?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Was Nan much of a gossip?”
“She never gossiped with me. Whether she gossiped about me I don’t know. Must we talk about her? It makes me ill, just thinking about her. How do you work as a policeman, Mr. Rutledge? I couldn’t bring myself to do what you do.”
“Someone must keep order,” he answered lightly. “It’s what makes life possible for everyone else.”
“I hadn’t thought about it in that light. Matthew said once that he could measure a country’s future by the honesty of its police force.” Her face clouded. “Where is he, Mr. Rutledge, and why is he doing such things to us?”
“We don’t know that he is.”
“We’ve assumed that he is. I was so frightened last night. I hardly slept.”
“And it’s to do again tonight,” Mallory reminded her. “Unless he’s found today.”
“I wish I knew what had happened to him when he went walking that day. I’ve wished so many times I’d begged him to stay home with me. But there was no way of knowing, was there, that it would be different that morning. Do you think he’s ever going to be—in good health again?” she ended, trying to find the word she wanted and failing.
“Dr. Granville felt he would recover physically. Bones knit and bruises fade. We can only hope that his mind will heal too,” Rutledge answered.
“But why would he kill Nan? It makes no sense,” Felicity said.
Mallory put in, “It makes as much sense as killing—” He broke off, appalled at what he’d nearly said.
Felicity Hamilton was sharp, in her own way. She stared at him, then asked, “Who? Who else is dead?”
Mallory tried to recover. “It makes as much sense as killing me,” he ended.
“No, that’s not what you were going to say. Mr. Rutledge? Has everyone