A Fearsome Doubt - Charles Todd [77]
He said, as if moving on, “No, not wise at all. But Richard was intrigued by the concept of flight. He’d told me once that he would like to see the Downs as a bird could. And how the Weald stretched beyond the horizon we were limited to. He was intrigued with maps, and this was the ultimate opportunity to draw the face of the earth.”
“He once talked for hours with Melinda about the project to map India. I think, under different circumstances, he’d have been among the first to volunteer. He was drawn to adventure. Perhaps I never really had him in my heart the way I thought I did.”
“He loved you very deeply. It made dreaming very safe, because you were there to come home to.”
She moved restlessly. “I’d rather not talk about Richard just now.”
He changed the subject, and as they drove through the night reached a truce in whatever silent war lay between them.
RALEIGH MASTERS GREETED his guests with a chilly courtesy.
Rutledge saw his wife glance at him several times, an uneasiness in her eyes. But their host was pleasant and made an effort to draw out his guests. They were seated in a drawing room where the elegance was growing shabby around the edges, as if there was no money to renew the drapes or the gilding in the plastered ceiling. The house, Georgian and foursquare, possessed a beautiful staircase in the entrance hall and a collection of exquisite Venetian glass displayed in cabinets between the doors. The light from the lamps caught the colors and gave them a depth that was jewel-like. Whether the collection was valuable or not, Rutledge couldn’t judge, but the quality was there, in shape and design.
Bella had gestured toward the cabinets as she ushered him into the drawing room and said diffidently, “My father’s hobby. Glass. My mother traveled to Italy every winter for her health, and in his free time, my father roamed the old markets in Venice, searching for unexpected treasures. Raleigh doesn’t care for Italy.”
Nor for the glass, Rutledge thought.
Melinda Crawford, looking rather tired, greeted him with warmth and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek as if delighted to see her. Brereton, standing by the hearth, shook hands with Rutledge and asked quietly, “Any progress?”
“Early days yet,” Rutledge told him. It was the standard formula. But even as he spoke the words, Hamish was reminding him how empty they were.
Brereton said, “Kent has always had an independent spirit. My guess is that whatever people may suspect, they won’t point fingers.”
Rutledge was saved from answering by a query from Elizabeth regarding a mutual friend in London. Twenty minutes later, as they were finishing their sherry, dinner was announced, and Rutledge found himself escorting Mrs. Crawford. She pinched his arm, as if in warning, as they followed their host and hostess through to the dining room.
“Even if this meal is inedible, you must swallow every mouthful for Bella’s sake!” she hissed under her breath.
He smiled and said, “I’ll try.”
But it appeared the cook was intent on making amends. The roast of pork, seasoned with rosemary, was as delicious as any Rutledge had ever eaten. As the conversation flowed around him, he listened to two threads that seemed to intertwine and then separate.
Local gossip of the ordinary variety, to be heard at any country dinner table in England—and an undercurrent of speculation about the newcomer from Leeds who was buying one of the larger houses in Marling. Whether he intended to live there or if it was purchased for a son or daughter, whether he was the sort one would wish to meet or the sort one ignored.
“There’s money,” Bella was saying. “And I hear from John Sable that he’s renovating the house and gardens.”
John Sable owned a small construction firm in Helford, Brereton explained to Rutledge across the table.
“He won’t come cheaply,” Elizabeth responded. “I’d asked John about working on the drains, and he sent a note quoting an exorbitant sum.”
Brereton said, “Too bad our Leeds friend’s not interested in the old property out on the road to Seelyham.