A False Mirror - Charles Todd [7]
And that, thought Rutledge, was very likely the case. A warning to stay in line—or die.
But for what? From whom?
He had come to the end of the park, Buckingham Palace gleaming in soot-streaked glory in the late-afternoon sun. His father had brought him here as a child to watch the Changing of the Guard. The ceremony had impressed him, and for a week he’d wanted nothing more than to be a soldier, with a bearskin hat. He smiled at the memory. He’d fallen in love with pageantry, not war. Just as so many young men had done in August 1914. And they’d learned the difference soon enough in France.
There was a man leaning against a lamppost, his face shadowed by his hat. Rutledge saw him but kept walking. From where this man stood, he could watch the comings and goings in Green Park, the bare limbs of the trees offering none of the protection of summer’s shade.
Rutledge passed him by, ignoring him. A hundred yards farther on, he found a constable and surprised him by handing over the dog to him. And then Rutledge cut through St. James’s Park, made his way back again to The Mall, and found a bench from which he could watch the man still leaning against the lamppost.
A low profile.
The wind was cold, and he could feel his feet growing numb, but he sat still, his hat tilted over his eyes as if asleep.
When the man finally left his post and turned away, Rutledge followed at a discreet distance.
3
Felicity never discovered why Matthew went to walk on the shale beach below the breakwater that morning. He enjoyed strolling by the sea. It was, he’d often said, a way of clearing his mind. The fact that he’d made it a habit of late had begun to worry her.
She’d heard nothing by breakfast, and ate her meal in anxious silence, pretending that it was normal for her husband not to join her when he had business of his own in the town. By ten o’clock when there was no word, she began to grow uneasy. She went to find his diary to be certain he’d had nothing scheduled for the day. She couldn’t settle to anything, moving from task to task, humming to herself to pretend all was well. But it was a farce, and failed to comfort her.
While Nan, the maid, was dusting the stairs, Felicity slipped out to look for the motorcar, and saw it was still in its shed. The horse that drew the dogcart had been fed, the stable mucked out, chores Matthew always dealt with before breakfast. The cart was there where it always was. Nothing had changed.
He couldn’t have returned from his walk. If there’d been someone at the door, she’d have heard it.
Matthew wasn’t in the gardens. He wasn’t in the house. A mist still concealed the Mole from view but she thought it was beginning to lift.
And no one had come to tell her that something had happened to him.
He couldn’t simply disappear—could he? She remembered those frightful landslips that occurred from time to time along the coast just west of here, when an entire cliff face could vanish into the sea. She shivered at the thought of never knowing what had become of him. Then scolded herself for letting her imagination exaggerate her fear.
By eleven, she was verging on real anxiety, pacing the floor, listening for the sound of the latch lifting or a familiar footfall in the hall. Listening for the knocker to sound.
Where was Matthew?
She had just gone up to her room for her coat and hat when she heard the knocker clanging hard against the plate on the door.
Felicity stood still for a moment, her heart thudding. And then, calling to Nan that she’d see to it, she flew down the stairs, almost flinging herself at the door, pulling it open with such force it startled the constable standing there.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” he said, as if he didn’t know her at all.
“Yes, Constable Jordan, what is it? I was just on the point of going out—”
He cut across her words. “It’s your husband, Mrs. Hamilton.”
His tone of voice as much as Matthew’s name stopped her in her tracks, one hand outstretched as if to ward off the blow that was coming.
“He’s dead.” She said it so flatly that Constable Jordan stared at her.
“No,