A False Mirror - Charles Todd [134]
Miranda Cole opened her mouth to protest—whether his departure or Hamilton’s, he didn’t know.
Hamilton said, “Where’s my wife? Shouldn’t she be here soon? I’ve tried to think what’s keeping her.”
“You asked Miss Cole not to tell anyone you were here. She has followed your instructions.”
“Did I? I couldn’t have meant Felicity.” He was tiring again, his shoulders slumped. “See if you can find out what’s keeping her, Rutledge.”
Five minutes later, Miss Cole was scolding Rutledge all the way down the stairs. “I thought you would stay with us. Stay here, at the house. I thought you wanted to find Matthew and help him.”
“There are promises to keep in Hampton Regis as well.”
He could see her uncertainty, her belief in Hamilton wavering as the night drew in. Or was she afraid of emotions that were reawakening in herself? He couldn’t tell.
Rutledge tried to find the words to reassure her, but he had no assurances to give. He thought about Casa Miranda, and Mallory there alone with Felicity Hamilton in that dark house. He knew where Hamilton was now, but what about preventing the disintegration of two people with nowhere else to go? What about a murderer still on the loose, if Hamilton hadn’t killed anyone?
“Lock him in his room and brace a chair under the knob. He’s exhausted, I don’t think he’ll wake up before I’m here at first light.”
“I shouldn’t have sent for you, I shouldn’t have heard what you had to tell me. It’s only made matters worse.”
“You told me you couldn’t believe Hamilton was a killer.”
She brushed her hair back with her hand. “I don’t. Not the Matthew I remember. But I see him there, the bruises, the confusion, the way he rambles. It’s not like him. There’s something wrong. I’m not sure I know this Matthew.”
“I don’t think you’ve anything to fear. You have no connection with Hampton Regis. And it was there that it all began.”
“Then take him with you. Please. I’ll provide you with blankets and cushions. What if he had nothing to do with the deaths, but someone else learns he’s here? Three women alone—what could Matthew do to help us?”
Rutledge stood there, reading the anguish in her face.
In the end, he found a telephone and left a message for Inspector Bennett that he was delayed.
And prayed that he’d made the right decision.
Hamilton had nightmares in the night. Rutledge, sleepless in the room next door, heard him and went in to sit with him.
He watched as Hamilton twisted and turned until his sheets were a tangled knot. As they tightened around him, he began to call out. Most of the words were unintelligible, but there was anger mixed with fear, and then Rutledge held himself rigid in the shadows as Hamilton reared up in his bed and called, “Who’s there?”
A garbled, one-sided conversation followed. And then Hamilton was scrambling out of his bed, struggling to rid himself of the sheets and a blanket. He stopped, his gaze on the ? re. Before Rutledge could move, he’d picked up the small carpet in front of the hearth and was about to beat out the flames as if they threatened him. But even as the carpet was raised above his head, he froze and turned to stare directly at Rutledge, by the door.
Lowering the carpet, he said, quite clearly, “Stratton? What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
It took several minutes to make Hamilton understand who he was, but Rutledge, turning up the lamps, watched understanding dawn.
Hamilton looked down at the carpet he was still holding. “Good God, what’s this?”
“You were about to put out the fire.”
He blinked. “Was I? Yes, that’s right. Stratton said he’d burn me out if I didn’t burn my diaries.”
“When was this?”
“Before I left London to come to Hampton Regis with Felicity.”
“Did he mean it, do you think?”
Hamilton sat down in the nearest chair. “I think it was bravado. It was one of the reasons I chose a house backed up against the sea.”
“Did you know that Stephen Mallory