A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [117]
“True. If you’ll have a seat in the lounge—”
As Rutledge took her advice, Hamish said, “You willna’ have to travel to Leeds to speak to him.”
“That’s a small consolation.”
Most of the dinner guests had come in pairs or in groups. He felt a wave of loneliness. He was shut off from Elizabeth. Melinda Crawford was at her house. . . .
It was odd to find himself questioning her role in a murder investigation. It made him uncomfortable and uneasy.
Someone spoke behind him. “Good evening.”
He turned to find Inspector Dowling.
“My wife’s gone to stay with her sister for a few days, to look after her. Gallstones.”
“Painful,” Rutledge agreed. Beware what you wish for, he chided himself.
Dowling sat down in the next chair. “I oughtn’t be here. She left a meat pie in the oven. But I fed it to the dog.”
Rutledge laughed. “And how is the dog?”
“The last I saw, he was groaning in the back garden.” Dowling sobered. “I shouldn’t disparage her cooking. A man has to accept what he can’t change. The dining room is full. What’s on the menu tonight?”
“Gossip for the first course. Have you met Marling’s newest resident?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Sergeant Burke has. In his opinion, this man Aldrich will do. A rough diamond, but he’ll settle in. The gentry won’t care much for him, but the merchants will profit.” Dowling paused. “My prisoner swears he’s not involved in murder. I brought young Webber in this afternoon to have a look at him. The boy recognized him. And I’ve sent word to Inspector Grimes to have Miss Whelkin brought down when she returns to Seelyham. I daresay she’ll have no difficulty identifying him.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
“Is he a murderer? Or simply clouding the water?”
“God knows.” Rutledge turned to look out the window at the dark street.
“My men have been asking questions. It appears this man had lunch one day with Mrs. Mayhew. And that he’s met other important people in and around Marling, on apparently legitimate business—an exploration of his family’s activities after coming to England with William the Third. There will be repercussions if he’s innocent. There’s the Dutch government to consider as well.”
Rutledge said, “I warned you he would complicate the investigation.”
Dowling took a deep breath. “And we’re no closer to finding a killer.”
“I met Raleigh Masters today, on the road. He seemed to think the man who is heir to the Morton estate is here in Marling as well.”
“I expect he misheard. But I’m told John Boyd, the Morton solicitor—and Mr. Masters’s as well, I daresay—has had a letter from the heir. He’s made a fortune in New Zealand and has no interest in the bequest. The house and land are to be sold.”
“A pity—” And it was, Rutledge thought. The house deserved better.
The clerk from the desk came into the lounge, looked around, and then walked quickly toward Rutledge.
“Inspector Rutledge? There’s a telephone message for you.” He held out a folded sheet of paper.
Rutledge opened the sheet and read the brief message.
You must come at once. It’s urgent. And it was signed Margaret Shaw.
“Was there anything else?” Rutledge asked the clerk.
“No, sir. But the young woman was in tears, very upset indeed.”
Dowling said, “Is this another case?”
“In a way.” Rutledge stood up. “I’ll have to see to it—”
Fifteen minutes later, he was on the road to London.
THE SHAWS WERE not on the telephone. Short of contacting the Yard and asking that men be sent to the house to find out what the emergency was, Rutledge had no choice but to go himself.
It was a long dark drive, and weather was moving in from the east, a damp wind laden with the promise of heavy rain before dawn. Staying awake was a problem. And he was nearly certain that this was a wild-goose chase, another dramatic reminder from Nell Shaw that her husband’s fate ought be his foremost priority. On the other hand, he couldn’t risk ignoring Margaret’s cry for help.
To fill the time he turned to the past.
What had really passed between Shaw and the women he had been accused of smothering?