A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [130]
Rutledge turned to Dr. Pugh. “Did you prescribe laudanum for Mr. Masters?”
Pugh, watching the drawing Burke was completing, said, with some surprise, “Dr. Talbot in London prescribed it, among other drugs. It was agreed I’d see that the supply was replenished as needed. Going back to Harley Street so frequently was difficult for Mrs. Masters—sadly, her husband sometimes refused to allow it.”
Brereton—victim—or murderer? Either way, Melinda Crawford would be distressed. She had intended to remember Brereton in her will, because of his approaching blindness. Pitying him, as she had once pitied Peter Webber’s father and taken the tired ex-soldier to his house in her carriage.
Hamish said, “Aye. One soldier will trust another. Brereton would find it easier than most to walk a distance with a man on crutches, and then offer him a drink to pass the time.”
It was falling into place.
Rutledge felt an urgent need to find Elizabeth Mayhew and make certain she was safe.
Dowling had finished his search. Rutledge said to him, “I’m going back to Marling. Is there anything or anyone you need to be brought back here?”
Dowling turned to Pugh. “Doctor, are you ready to go back?”
“I’ve already missed my afternoon hours. I’ll stay until we are sure Brereton doesn’t need me.”
“Weaver’s just finishing up. I’ll send him with you, Rutledge. He can find us some six or a dozen men to walk through the wood back there. They’ll need to bring lanterns, oil, all the torches they can lay hand to. If Mr. Brereton’s out there somewhere, the sooner we find him the better. Alive or dead.”
THE YOUNG CONSTABLE was silent most of the way back to Marling. Tired and grubby from unstacking the wood, he picked at a splinter in the palm of his hand, looking up once to say to Rutledge in disbelief, “We’ve not been away more than an hour!” After a bit he added, “I was glad not to uncover him amongst the wood. The others were asleep, like. Not bloody. Do you think he’s dead, then?”
Rutledge, busy with his own thoughts, had no wish for conversation. But he said, remembering Janet Cutter’s son George, who had not liked touching dead bodies, “I wish I knew.”
He dropped Constable Weaver at the police station and then drove on to Elizabeth Mayhew’s house.
She greeted him with open hostility.
“He’s not here. I don’t know where he is. Lawrence made me promise I’d not try to contact him. I ought to hate you.”
“No,” he said, with more gentleness than he felt. At least she was safe—“You know I haven’t had much choice in any of this.”
“You can’t blame duty for callousness.”
He let it go. “Elizabeth. Tom Brereton’s missing—”
Her face tightened with shock. “What do you mean—missing?”
“Just that. The cottage is empty, there’s furniture overturned, blood everywhere, and no sign of him. Or of whoever came to call on him. And there’s a bottle of wine on the table. Most of it spilled out onto the floor, but there’s probably enough left to tell us if anything has been added to it.”
“Because of his blindness? But I thought only amputees were being killed!” Her hands covered her mouth. “I don’t understand—have you come for Gunter again—because of Tom?”
“I’ve come on my own. Inspector Dowling is still at the cottage, and they’re searching the wood that lies behind it. The problem is, we don’t know anything at this stage, but people will start pointing fingers soon. And it would be much better if I found Hauser myself, rather than wait for Dowling to do it. Time’s short, you see, and the longer it takes to catch up to him, the more suspicious it will look.”
“I tell you, Lawrence forbade me to speak to him—”
“Then I’ll go find Hamilton.”
“Take me with you!” Before he could argue, she ran for her coat and came back again, pulling it on with urgency.
Hamish reminded him, “Better under your eye!” It was true.
As they got into the motorcar, Elizabeth said, “Ian, I’m sorry. Lately we’ve been at each other’s throats, and I think it’s worry, and the strangeness of all of this business.”
And the fear, he thought but didn’t say aloud. She wouldn’t