A False Mirror - Charles Todd [130]
He hadn’t been aware that he was betraying himself as well.
Hamish, his own voice soft in Rutledge’s ear, said, “She has lived wi’ blindness a verra’ long time.”
“We served in France together,” he conceded, and left it at that.
The rest of the story unwound like wire from a spool, tangled sometimes because she didn’t know all the players. And at other times, she would interject a question or comment that was remarkably astute.
She was interested in Miss Esterley, who had become friends with Hamilton after her accident. “He had a way of making it seem that you had his entire attention,” she commented, her first personal remark. “It isn’t surprising that someone alone at such a trying time might feel comforted.”
“I’ve not had the good fortune to know him at his best,” Rutledge said. “But yes, he was kind to her, and it was valued.”
When he reached his account of Hamilton’s disappearance, she was tense in her chair, her hands tightening and her body braced.
But she stirred as he once more described Mrs. Granville’s death, almost as if she were hearing it for the first time.
The sun had gone in, and darkness was coming down. She said, as if to gain a little time, “Could you light the lamps, please, Inspector Rutledge? And hand me my shawl? It should be there on the table by the door where you came into the room.”
He saw to the lamps and found the shawl where she’d told him to look. By the time he’d returned to his seat, she had herself under control again.
Nan Weekes’s death shook her to the core.
“How did anyone get into the house? Surely it must have been this man Mallory. What has become of Matthew’s keys? Have you thought to look for them?”
“His clothing was taken from the surgery the night he disappeared. If he’s alive, he must have the keys as well. Another reason why it’s imperative to know who may have them if he doesn’t.”
“But I don’t understand. If he was attacked, then he’s a victim.”
“Of the assault, yes.”
“I think your Inspector Bennett may be right, that this Lieutenant Mallory is behind everything that’s happened. Mrs. Granville’s death and the maid’s death,” she said, grasping for straws to build her case. “And Matthew has been made to look like the scapegoat.”
“I’m beginning to think Mallory was intended to take the blame. For that death and Mrs. Granville’s.”
“Well, there you are, then. Matthew had nothing to do with it.”
“Then where is he? Why hasn’t he come forward? And who besides Hamilton cares whether Mallory is hanged or not?”
“Surely there are other suspects?”
“A very short list. Perhaps you’re willing to help me add to it. Or take one away by telling me Hamilton is dead.”
She shivered. “Believe me, I wish I could help you.”
“Mallory may be innocent. If he is, he’s already suffered more than enough. There’s that to consider as well.” He waited. “I’ve come because Inspector Cubbins tells me you have something to say to me. I hope it’s true. Or I’ve wasted my time.”
She sat there for a time, a frown on her face, her eyes downcast. Finally she picked up the bell at her elbow and rang it.
Dedham came to the door, clearly expecting to see Rutledge off the premises. Instead Miss Cole said, “Could you bring us fresh tea, please, Dedham? I think we rather need it.”
She added as the door closed again, “You place me in a very awkward situation, Inspector Rutledge. But I can tell you frankly that Matthew Hamilton, when I knew him, was incapable of killing anyone. A good man, a fair man, a caring man. I don’t want to believe that he’s changed since then.” She looked toward the window, where the light had all but faded. But it was another light she searched for. “I’ve never been connected to murder before. It’s unspeakably frightful.”
“None of us can say with certainty that we won’t kill, if driven to it. I have killed men in