A False Mirror - Charles Todd [39]
“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, I’ll be here again,” Rutledge said, “as often as I can, until there’s news.”
“Is there any hope that Mallory will allow Mrs. Hamilton to come here to speak to her husband? He might respond to her voice, if not to ours. It’s worth trying.” His words seemed to fall flat in the small room.
“That might well depend,” Rutledge answered him, “on whether Mallory believes Hamilton will clear him or condemn him, once he’s awake.” He looked the doctor over in his turn, seeing the competent hands, the strong face, the dark hair prematurely graying at the temples. It gave the man a distinguished air, one that patients must find comforting, he thought, when they were very ill. He was wasted, here in Hampton Regis.
Granville said, “If you want my professional opinion, you’ll be wise to convince that young hothead to come to his senses. This is as vicious a beating as I’ve dealt with in many years. My guess is, Mallory’s unstable, and God knows what he intends to do with Mrs. Hamilton. If she rejects him, he may turn to murder and suicide as his only way out.”
“What are Hamilton’s chances? I need to be told.”
“Worst case? He could very well be helpless and in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. That’s my greatest fear.”
Hamish said irascibly, “He isna’ dead. Ye shouldna’ speak o’er him as if he were.”
And yet, it seemed that Matthew Hamilton had no reality, his bruises like Caesar’s wounds speaking for him. What would he have to say when he opened his eyes? Would he know where he was—or even who he was? Or would he lunge upright and swear at the memory of his attack?
What had Miss Trining had to say about Mallory? That he was a coward—and as far as anyone knew, this attack had been cowardly too, from behind. It was easy to see why guilt had been assigned so quickly. Mallory was the perfect scapegoat….
With a last look at the injured man, Rutledge left and this time openly drove to the Hamilton house. Mallory answered his summons reluctantly. “What now?”
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Hamilton, if you don’t mind.”
Mallory frowned. “Is he—have you come to say he’s dead?”
“No. But the doctor feels it would be a good thing to have his wife speak to Hamilton, encourage him as it were, something to cling to in the darkness.”
“For God’s sake, don’t tell her that, she’ll be frantic.”
“As she should be,” Rutledge replied. “She’s his wife, man, after all.”
Mallory shook his head. “I can’t let you talk to her. I can’t—it isn’t something that will work. Get me out of this, if you can. It’s the best solution for all of us. Matthew Hamilton included. I didn’t harm him.”
He shut the door firmly. But inside, Rutledge could hear voices, raised as if in anger.
Hamish said, “It’s no’ sae simple.”
“No. It never is. I have a feeling it will get worse before it gets any better.”
But how best to find this Miss Cole whom the rector had mentioned? Without asking questions and giving half the town something more to discuss behind their hands?
He went back to the hotel and stopped at the desk to ask if there had been any messages for him.
The clerk assured him there had not been, and Rutledge started toward the stairs, heading for his room. Then he turned back to the desk. “Friends in London,” he said, “asked me to look up someone here. A Miss Cole. Do you know where I can find her?”
But the clerk shook his head. “Are you sure of the name? The only Cole here was a friend of my father’s and long since in the churchyard.”
“It’s not important,” Rutledge replied, and went on his way.
Hamish, in his mind, reminded him that he should have asked the rector where to find the woman.
“If he’d known it, I rather think he’d have given me her direction,” Rutledge said, walking into his room and coming to stand by the window, looking out on the street. “I’m not sure why he was quite so guarded. That interests me. He may believe that Hamilton spoke of her in confidence.”
Below him in the street he glimpsed