A False Mirror - Charles Todd [81]
Rutledge stood there for a moment, judging his man. “I am not accusing you of anything, Mr. Reston. But perhaps it would be wise to account for your hours last night between eleven o’clock and this morning at first light.”
“I was at home in my bed, as a decent man should be.” The words were spat out, anger barely controlled.
“And your wife can confirm that?”
“I will not have my wife dragged into a murder inquiry. She’s delicate, and I’ll not have her upset. You can accept my word, as a gentleman.”
But that would not stand up in a courtroom. Rutledge let it go. He had a feeling that Mrs. Reston might well tell him whatever it was her husband wished, whether it was true or a lie. Delicate might well be translated as browbeaten.
Bennett said, surprising Rutledge, “I have no choice but to ask her, sir, if you will summon her. The Chief Constable will insist. He was here earlier and made plain the fact that he expected full cooperation with the police.”
In the end, Reston sent for his wife, and after five or six minutes she came into the room.
Henrietta Reston wasn’t what Rutledge had expected. A tall, slender woman with reddish gold hair that seemed to shine in the dimness of the room and blue eyes that were intense in a long, aristocratic face, she greeted her husband’s guests with courtesy and waited for an explanation.
Rutledge put the question to her, choosing his words carefully. “Mrs. Reston, as a matter of course we are asking people where they were last night and into this morning, from perhaps shortly before midnight until dawn. In the hope that someone might have looked out a window and can help us with our search for Mr. Hamilton.”
Reston began to speak, then fell silent, waiting, his gaze on his wife’s face.
“My husband wasn’t well in the night, Inspector. I read for a little while, worried about him. But after a time, I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the children came in to say good morning. I don’t remember looking out my window.”
“And you cared for your husband in the night?”
She smiled. “We have separate bedrooms, Inspector. But I could hear him moving about, pacing the floor between visits to his dressing room, if that’s what you want to know. It was a very restless night for him.”
She turned as she said the last words, her eyes going directly to her husband. A message passed between them. But it wasn’t, Rutledge would have taken his oath, a message of collusion.
It was daring him to contradict her.
Outside, Bennett followed Rutledge down the walk to the motorcar. He said, as if continuing a conversation begun in the Reston house, “It’s an odd marriage, if you want the truth. The money is hers. But he’s built his empire, and he doesn’t let her forget it.”
It was the first time Bennett had been so honest about Reston, and Rutledge turned to look at him. “You’re saying that there are strains on the marriage?”
“There was talk that she’d been in love with his brother first. I don’t know the truth of that. The fact remains, she came of a better class. You can see it for yourself. Miss Trining has kept her tongue off Mrs. Reston. That will tell you which way the winds blow.”
A better class, but no beauty. Except for her hair, which seemed to give life to her face.
Rutledge cranked the car, his thoughts straying from what Bennett was saying. Then he heard part of it and said abruptly, “Sorry, I missed that?” He stepped behind the wheel and turned to stare at Bennett.
“I said, she knew Mr. Hamilton from her childhood. Or so I was told. Not well, but their families moved in the same circles.”
Was that what drove George Reston to fury? Jealousy, rather than a fanatical dislike for stone goddesses from foreign assignments that had kept Hamilton out of England most of his adult life?
And had