A False Mirror - Charles Todd [38]
But Rutledge waited patiently for Putnam to explain the significance of them. After a moment he said, quietly, “One morning Matthew Hamilton was standing where you are now, as we were discussing a vestry matter. The subject turned to mistakes we’ve all made in our lives, and he said to me, ‘There’s a Miss Cole who could tell you much about a mistake that altered my life. I’ve carried more than a little guilt about that over the years, and I’ve wondered how to make amends. Only I’ve put it off too long now.’” The rector shrugged diffidently. “I recall almost his exact words because whatever he had done still greatly distressed him. I asked if he’d care to tell me more, and he said it was his own cross to bear. This may have nothing to do with the attack on him. But you did ask if there might be someone who wished him ill. I would be grateful if you kept this to yourself. It could cause needless pain if I’m wrong.”
“Did he ever mention this woman again?”
“It was not a subject I cared to bring up myself.”
“I appreciate your advice,” Rutledge answered slowly. “And your wisdom,” he added after a moment.
Putnam smiled. “One learns diplomacy in many arenas, Inspector. I’m sure the police and the foreign ser vice have nothing on the Church when it comes to treading with care.”
He escorted Rutledge up the aisle to the west door and added as it swung inward, bringing in the cold air, “Some things are best left unsaid. And then there is no necessity for explanation or retraction.”
They shook hands and Rutledge left. Hamish said, “Yon’s a canny man.”
Bennett, fuming in the motorcar, demanded, “What’s so unique about the bosses, then?”
“Putnam takes pride in them,” Rutledge answered simply. “And sometimes it’s wise to give a lonely man a few minutes of one’s time. It may encourage him to remember something we ought to know.”
Grunting, Bennett let Rutledge crank the motor on his own. As the other man stepped behind the wheel, Bennett said, “In my view, finding our man is more important than pacifying the rector.”
“You live here. You know best,” Rutledge said without emphasis.
“Standing around on those cold pavestones has made my foot ache like all the imps of hell taking hot tongs to it. I’ll have to rest it.” It was obvious that the man was of two minds, torn between putting up his foot and staying the course.
“I’ll drive you home. After that I’ll call in again at the surgery. With any luck there should be news.”
“If he’s going to live, you mean. Hamilton. I’ve got a bad feeling about that. You could tell Mrs. Hamilton that her husband is dying, in the hope Mallory will let her visit him.”
“And if he won’t, she’ll be distressed to no purpose.”
“Her feelings aren’t our concern. Winking Mallory out of there is.”
“In good time,” Rutledge promised, driving through the town and turning down the road to Bennett’s house. “And Nan Weekes is still there, remember.”
“If Hamilton lives, Mallory won’t hang,” Bennett commented, ignoring his reply. “It’s a pity.”
He clambered down with an effort and hobbled up the walk to his door.
Hamish said, “He wants his revenge.”
“And I’m here to see he doesn’t have it.”
But there was no news, although Matthew Hamilton seemed to be breathing less stressfully.
“As if he’s coming up from the depths,” Granville said, “although it might be the body and not the mind that’s healing.” He examined Rutledge with some curiosity, and Rutledge found himself flushing under the scrutiny.
What did the doctor read in his face? Shell shock? Nightmares?
“I don’t quite see Scotland Yard’s interest in this business,” Granville commented. His blue eyes were concerned. “Was it Mrs. Hamilton who sent for you? Are you a friend?”
“I’ve never met her before this.”
“I’m worried about her, to be truthful.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If Mallory will allow it, I’ll be happy to come to the house and make certain she’s holding up well under the circumstances. Something to help