A False Mirror - Charles Todd [63]
“Ye ken, Mallory’s cottage is standing empty.”
“There’s that, as well.”
When Rutledge presented himself at her door, Mrs. Cornelius was reluctant to let even an inspector from London interview her son this morning. Her manner was polite but firm, her expression cool and distant.
“He seems to have got over his fright, and I don’t want to remind him.”
“I shan’t worry him about it,” Rutledge said with a smile. “But I need to have a better feeling for what was out there—if anything. You say the nanny never saw whatever it was?”
“No one saw it but Jeremy. I expect he was half asleep and hardly knew how to describe what he witnessed, except in terms of monsters. I’ve told you, he’s a child of immense imagination.”
“And too young to tell anything but the exact truth,” Rutledge reminded her. “I won’t do him any harm. I promise you.”
In the end he got his way, and the boy was brought down from the nursery to meet him. Well aware that his clothes were too wet to sit on the blue silk that covered the sitting room chairs, Rutledge pulled a wooden one away from the cherry desk under the windows and tried to make himself appear comfortable as he waited.
In the doorway Mrs. Cornelius stood aside and let her son precede her across the threshold.
A sturdy six-year-old, with intelligent dark eyes and a rather sensitive face, Rutledge thought as Jeremy walked into the sitting room. He was his father’s son in build, and his mother’s in looks. An only child, and not spoiled.
Hamish agreed. “No’ a lad to imagine something sae grisly.”
Rutledge greeted the boy and asked him to sit down for a moment. “Your mother tells me you enjoy looking out your window at night. Do you have an interest in the stars?”
Jeremy glanced at his mother, and then said, “I like the night. I see the fishermen going out, sometimes, and the stars when there’s no moon.” He smiled broadly. “Mrs. Ingram’s cat digs up Mrs. Witherspoon’s roses. She thinks it’s the Harmon dog.”
Rutledge laughed, pleased to find the boy so articulate. “I shan’t tell her that.”
“No. I like the cat. The dog is small and nips at my heels when my mother takes me to visit Mrs. Harmon. She always smells of peppermint, but the dog is always in need of a bath.”
His mother was about to admonish him, then thought better of it, standing guard at his back with her gaze fixed on Rutledge’s face.
But it was Jeremy who was more perceptive. “Were you in the war, sir?”
“Yes, I was. In France.”
“My uncle died of wounds at Gallipoli. I don’t remember him very well. He was quite brave, my grandfather tells me.”
“I’m sure he was,” Rutledge answered.
“Were you brave too?”
Mrs. Cornelius said, “Jeremy.”
But Rutledge, his throat tight, said, “I was given a medal.” As if that was a measure of courage. “There were others who deserved it more.” He coughed, then changed the direction of the conversation. “Tell me what you saw in the streets last night? Do you remember?”
The child nodded gravely, taking courage from his mother’s presence. “I didn’t like it,” he said.
“Was it shaped like a bear?”
“There aren’t any bears in Hampton Regis,” the boy answered him scornfully. “And I’ve never been to the zoo in London. Have you?”
“Many times,” Rutledge informed him. “My parents took me once. I particularly liked the giraffes. They have purple tongues.”
Jeremy seemed enthralled with the idea. “Truly purple?”
“Truly. Now tell me about what you saw. If it wasn’t a bear, what was it?”
“A man without a head,” he said uneasily, moving closer to his mother. “I didn’t like it.”
“A big man, taller than I am?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wider than I am?”
“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t like it that he didn’t have a head.”
“I expect that’s true. I wouldn’t care for it myself.”
Mrs. Cornelius was once more on the point of commenting, then fell silent again. But her eyes had grown anxious.
“You were quite a brave boy to tell