A False Mirror - Charles Todd [47]
He quietly examined the woman more closely. She was indeed younger than her companions, perhaps in her early thirties. And taller. That was food for thought. He nodded to the woman serving, settled his reckoning, and went out to the desk in the lobby.
The middle-aged clerk was still there, reading a book that he hastily closed and put away when he saw that Rutledge was coming toward him.
“Can you give me the names of the three women seated together in the dining room?”
The clerk was surprised. He repeated, “The three women?”
“Yes,” Rutledge answered impatiently. The clerk took a sheet of paper from a drawer behind the desk and carefully printed out three names.
“How do I tell them apart?” Rutledge asked.
“Mrs. Jordan is in black. She’s a widow. Mrs. Tibbet is in blue, the one with the graying hair. Miss Esterley uses a cane since her accident.”
“Accident?”
“Yes. Mr. Hamilton struck her bicycle one night during a rainstorm, as he was coming down from London.”
“I see. Could you give me her direction?”
The clerk stared at him. “She’s still in the dining room, if you’d care to speak with her.”
Rutledge smiled. “In front of her friends? I think not.”
He was waiting by the gate to Miss Esterley’s front garden when she walked around the corner on her way home. She hesitated. Then, after a moment’s consideration, she continued in his direction, and as she came up with him, she said, “I’m to be favored by a visit from the man from London. I wonder why?”
Rutledge smiled and gave his name.
“Yes, yes, everyone knows who you are. Come in. There’ll be gossip enough as it is. We might as well sit and be comfortable.”
He followed her up the walk and into the house. It was small, comfortable, and nicely set up. The parlor, to the right of the door, was uncluttered, and a gray cat was curled up on a mat by the small fire in the hearth.
Rutledge had noted her stride. She seemed to manage quite well, and he found himself wondering if the cane was now an affectation. It was of rosewood, with a silver figure for a handle. A swan, he thought, although it was mostly hidden by her gloved hand. Feminine, and very elegant.
She ushered him into the parlor as a maid appeared from the back of the house and took Miss Esterley’s coat and gloves.
“That will be all, Nell,” she said, dismissing the girl. “Now, Inspector, why should you be standing at my gate? Has someone told you that Matthew Hamilton put me in hospital for three months? I hardly think that’s cause to batter him to death. But you may look at my cane, if you wish.”
He met her smile with one of his own. “I’m interested in anyone who has a connection with him. How did the accident happen?”
“It was my fault, actually. I’d stayed late with a friend who was ill. Reading to her. The storm came up rather suddenly, and I made a dash for it. Unfortunately, I didn’t dash soon enough, and the rain caught me halfway home. It was dark as pitch, wind lashing the trees, and I should have stopped. But I thought, Only a little farther, and I’m safe. His motor came around the next bend and struck me before he even knew I was there. I’d seen his lights but thought I had time to pull across the road and into the shelter of some trees. Ridiculous to be worried about being splashed, I was already as wet as I could ever be. But you don’t always think rationally, do you, on the spur of the moment?”
She had an interesting face, square jawed with a straight nose and deep-set eyes. The kind, Hamish was saying, that could lie well, without betraying the thoughts behind the words.
“Were you badly injured?”
“My knee took the brunt of the blow. It was weeks before I could walk on it again, and then it was stiff for ages after that.”
“Who was your doctor?” he asked, intending to verify details of the accident and how she might have felt at the time it occurred.
“Dr. Granville, of course, and I must say he worked a miracle.” But it was clear she preferred to talk about Hamilton. “It was my claim to fame, you know. Meeting Matthew Hamilton on his very first visit to Hampton Regis.