A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [103]
“He’s not Dutch, Elizabeth. He’s German. He must have been describing his cousin’s way of life, not his own. The papers he carries belong to his cousin. They aren’t his, either.”
Elizabeth stared at him, appalled. “No! It isn’t true—”
“I—saw him during the war, my dear. He was a German officer. There’s absolutely no doubt about that fact.”
She began to cry, the tears spilling through her lashes, her eyes awash. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll never forgive you,” she whispered. “Never!”
He reached out to take her hands in his, but she pulled them away, tucking them around her out of sight.
Rutledge offered her his handkerchief and after a moment added, “I think you should go to stay with Mrs. Crawford for a few days. It would be best. She’ll be happy for the company.”
She fumbled with the handkerchief then, and wiped her eyes. “I’ve got to go somewhere. I can’t bear to walk into that house now, where his blood was all over the floor, and Richard’s memory is everywhere I look.”
“I’ll drive you, if you like.”
“I’ve made a terrible fool of myself, haven’t I?” Her eyes begged for a denial.
“No. I think you were ready for comfort and love and warmth again. I’m sorry it isn’t possible.” He stood up, looking down at her. “I’ll take you home, and then come back in an hour—two—and drive you to Mrs. Crawford’s.”
“What will you tell her?”
“I won’t tell her anything. She won’t ask why you’re there. She never does. The rest is your decision.”
“Do you think she loved anyone else after Major Crawford died?”
“You’ll have to ask her that,” he said gently. “I never have.”
24
RUTLEDGE WENT BACK TO THE HOUSE WITH THE STONE gateposts while he was waiting for Elizabeth to pack her cases.
The German was sitting up, his face washed out by pain but his eyes alert. The fever seemed to have abated.
“How is she?” The question seemed drawn out of him by something in Rutledge’s face.
“Upset. I’m taking her to a friend’s house for a few days.”
Hauser nodded. “That’s best. So. It’s safe now to bring me to the police.”
“Have you driven the motorcar in the carriage house?”
“I’ve been afraid to. Someone might recognize it. I walk wherever I need to go. Or hire a carriage. I’m considered quite respectable in Marling, you know. I’ve told them that my ancestors came over with William of Orange—your king William the Third. London was overrun with Dutchmen then. They owned land here, some of it very valuable.” He smiled wryly. “I wish it were true, but my ancestors lived in Friesia, with its heath and sand and the North Sea wind. We didn’t meddle in politics. Except for the Friedrichtasse, we’ve never consorted with kings.”
Rutledge looked at the bread and sausage on the table. “You’ll need more to eat. I’ll see to it. Meanwhile, what about the doctor? I warn you, it’s the first step toward a prison cell. I can’t prevent that. But God forgive me if I let you die. Elizabeth Mayhew won’t.”
A flash of sadness swept over the handsome face. “She isn’t in love with me. Not yet. But she could have been. In a very different world from this. No, I’m going to be all right, if the fever doesn’t come back again. I’d like more water, if you don’t mind. I can’t work the pump yet.”
Rutledge brought him a pitcher of water. “More whisky?”
“No, it’s making my head thunder.” Hauser paused. “Look. Why should I have killed those men? It’s Ridger I’m searching for. Do I give the impression I’m someone who would be overcome by a murderous fit of temper? Laudanum isn’t hot-blooded enough for that!”
“Ridger is dead,” Rutledge told him. “Buried in Maidstone, where he was born. I doubt you’ll find your cup. His sort would have