A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [116]
“You don’t know what he went through, you don’t know anything about the pain and the courage and the sheer will that carried him through the last year of his life!”
Hamish said, “It’s no use. His mind’s made up.”
“I don’t want to destroy Sunderland. I want to find out if we misjudged Ben Shaw.”
“How very considerate of you. How very enlightened.” The words were chill and offensive.
“We aren’t going to solve this,” Rutledge replied. “If you like, I’ll sit down with you and present my findings. And you can be the judge.”
“No.”
“If you tell me that I’m wrong—”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing more to discuss.”
Rutledge turned to walk back to his own motorcar.
Masters said, “Don’t walk away from me, Inspector.” It was a warning.
Rutledge half turned. “We have no common ground. It will do no good to savage each other.”
He walked on.
Masters said, “I know about your sister.” His voice was low, pitched not to carry beyond Rutledge’s ears.
Rutledge stopped, not sure he’d heard correctly.
He faced Raleigh Masters again. “You don’t even know my sister.”
“That’s true. I don’t know her. But she and your dear friend Richard Mayhew had an affair just before the war. They were very much in love. Mayhew betrayed his wife for her. And would have gone on betraying her, if the war hadn’t sent him to France.”
Rutledge, cold with anger, said, “You’re lying.”
“Am I? Richard Mayhew, alas, is dead. You must ask your sister, if you want the truth. If you dare. Or—perhaps you’d rather spend the rest of your life wondering . . .” Masters smiled. “Now you know how it feels to see your idol stripped of his honor.”
27
RUTLEDGE HAD NO REAL MEMORY OF THE REST OF THE DRIVE to Marling. He had stood there watching Raleigh Masters return to his motorcar and climb painfully into the rear seat. It moved off, as if Rutledge no longer existed, as if he were no more than another tree standing rooted at the side of the road.
It isn’t true.
That was his first thought.
And then came niggling doubt. How fond Frances had been of Richard Mayhew, how well she’d known him, long before Elizabeth had stolen his heart. How close they had been over the years. How devastated Frances had been when the news came that Richard had been killed in action, her letters to her brother at the Front full of grief. How willingly she had faced loneliness . . .
It wasn’t true.
The man was a master manipulator. It had been the signature of Raleigh’s success in the courtroom.
Hamish said, “It doesna’ signify. It had naught to do with you. What they did. Ye’re no’ their keeper.”
And that was true. . . .
It was something that lay between his sister and his best friend. It was not his business. Opening it up would only hurt Elizabeth Mayhew.
But the painful doubt had taken root, all the same. And he tried to find a way to accommodate it, and still love two people who were an infinite part of his life. . . .
He could see why Raleigh Masters had used this final weapon.
To explore it would hurt the wrong people.
“A lesson in the cost of opening up the past?” Hamish asked.
AT THE HOTEL, there was a quiet madness.
The dinner hour attracted a large group of diners, eager to glimpse the man who had arrived with such fanfare. The room was crowded.
The woman seating guests said affably, “I’m afraid it will be an hour at best. We’re quite busy tonight. Marling hasn’t seen this much excitement since the war ended.”
“I hear you have a guest from New Zealand.”
She frowned. “New Zealand? I hadn’t heard that he’d gone there.”
“The man with all the luggage—”
“Oh, no, he’s from Leeds! He’s just bought the Hendricks house near the church.”
Rutledge dredged in his memory for the name. “Mr. Aldrich?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I was misinformed, then. Where is he?”
“In his room, I expect. Cook says he’s ordered a tray sent up.” She smiled conspiratorially. “Everyone will have a good dinner and no satisfaction.”
“Shy, is he?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him myself! But I’m told he’s just sent for Mr. Meade.”
Amused, Rutledge