A False Mirror - Charles Todd [34]
He said good-bye to Mrs. Granville and followed Miss Trining to the car, opening the passenger door for her.
He had met many women like her over the years. Imperious and self-important, accustomed to having their way, and as often as not a force in any community out of sheer natural gall and ferocious, driving energy. The sort of women who had connections and were never shy about alluding to them.
Her dark blue eyes were scanning him as he turned the crank and then climbed in beside her.
Hamish said, “’Ware!” and was silent again.
Miss Trining said, “I shouldn’t have thought Bennett’s foot injury was sufficiently serious to summon Scotland Yard to his aid.”
“I expect he felt he couldn’t remain objective,” Rutledge answered. “And rightly so.”
“I never liked that man, Mallory,” she went on. “I’m not surprised he attacked Matthew. What does surprise me is that he didn’t finish the job while he was at it. Lack of moral fiber, I expect. I’m told by a cousin in Sussex that he suffered shell shock during the war. I don’t hold with cowards. Watch where you’re driving, young man. You nearly hit that cart!”
He had. Her words had struck him like a physical blow, and he had swerved without realizing where he was.
Saying nothing, he fought to regain his composure, and she looked at him sharply, turning her head to stare at him.
“Don’t tell me you feel differently on the subject.”
“I was at the Front, Miss Trining,” he answered after a moment. “I saw firsthand what men had to endure. I can’t stand in judgment of them now.”
“I should have thought you would know, better than most, how they let their friends and comrades down.”
It was harshly said and harshly meant.
He remembered a line from O. A. Manning, the war poet who was in reality Olivia Marlow.
Without looking at Miss Trining, he quoted,
“Courage is not measured by
Marching bands and banners in the wind.
If you have not walked
The bloody lines and seen the faces,
You have no right to describe it so.
We die here to keep you safe at home,
And what we suffer
Pray you may never know.”
“Yes, yes, I know the poem. What does it say to anything?”
“That you weren’t there, Miss Trining. And have no right to judge.”
She turned away in a huff. “You can let me down here, if you will,” she said, pointing to a milliner’s shop to his left.
But when he drew up to the shop, he said, “You appear to know the Hamiltons well. Tell me about Matthew.”
“There’s not much to tell. He’s been a valued civil servant, he came back to England, married a much younger woman, and seems to have settled into his new life without looking back.”
“Did you know him before he came to Hampton Regis?”
Something in her face belied her response. “No. I must say that he’s been an asset to us here, recognizing his responsibility to set a good example for all of us. I admire that.”
“And Mrs. Hamilton?”
“She could do far more than she has, to be frank. I don’t think she realizes how she lets her husband down at every turn. Refusing to serve on committees, refusing to take up charitable work, refusing to entertain in the style that I’m sure Matthew was accustomed to abroad. After all, a senior foreign ser vice officer does have a certain social position. But that’s what comes of marrying someone so much younger, you know. No sense of what’s due a man of Matthew’s stature.”
“Does Matthew Hamilton have enemies?”
She stared at him again. “Enemies?” Her emphasis on the word was noticeable. “I shouldn’t think anyone in Hampton Regis has any connection with his past. Why should they? Most of them have never been abroad, unless they were in the war. Much less to Malta and Sicily and Crete.”
“I was thinking more specifically than that. Here in Hampton Regis.”
“You are entirely too young and inexperienced to handle this inquiry,” she said flatly. “I shall have a word with the Chief Constable about that when he comes to tea.” And without waiting for him to come around and open her door for her, she did it herself and stepped out. “Good day, Inspector.