A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [0]
Charles Todd
To Martha Lynn,
Whose voice is her gift,
As words are mine…
With much love for so many reasons
T.
Contents
1
It was nearing the full moon, and the night seemed…
2
Ian Rutledge walked into his flat and sat down in…
3
Hugh Tredworth, the ringleader, possessed a goodly amount of charm.
4
The dinner had, in many ways, been trying.
5
Walking back to his motorcar, Rutledge tried to see if…
6
It was a long drive to Yorkshire, and Rutledge…
7
Ten minutes later Miss Norton climbed into Rutledge’s motorcar and…
8
The next morning found Rutledge back at the Dilby school,…
9
Inspector Madsen, in fact, was livid.
10
Rutledge was awake when at the back of the inn…
11
Where to begin a search? The only information Rutledge had…
12
Rutledge wasn’t sure how he had driven to the Tomlin…
13
Addleford was a small dale village that had begun to…
14
Rutledge put in a call to Bowles when he stopped…
15
Frances was waiting, as she’d promised.
16
Rutledge dressed swiftly, asking questions as he worked. But Smith…
17
Rutledge found a telephone in a small hotel along the…
18
If she had intended to shock him, Sarah Parkinson succeeded.
19
It appeared to Rutledge, looking down at the body, as…
20
As soon as it was first light, Quincy had been…
21
It was late, but Rutledge went back to Rebecca Parkinson’s…
22
When he got back to The Smith’s Arms, Rutledge was…
23
For a time Rutledge stood by the hearth in Allen’s…
24
Sarah Parkinson was just leaving her house when Rutledge drove…
25
Rutledge arrived in London and went to his flat to…
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books by Charles Todd
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
BERKSHIRE
Early April 1920
It was nearing the full moon, and the night seemed to shimmer with light.
He walked down the lane and turned to look up at the hillside.
The graceful white horse cut into the chalk by ancient Britons galloped across the green slope without stirring from its place.
He couldn’t see it without remembering. That was the only reason he had chosen to live in this Godforsaken place. To torment himself until he couldn’t bear it any more.
The horses had died too, in that first gas attack. It wasn’t just the men. The poor beasts couldn’t know what the low-lying mist wafting toward them brought in its wake.
An eyewitness had likened the cloud to a great horse moving across a barren meadow, ambling toward the barn for its dinner. Not hurrying, not drifting, just moving steadily, without apparent purpose, without apparent design, following the wind as the horse followed the scent of its stall and the fresh hay heaped in the manger. But like the pale horse of the Apocalypse, on his back rode Death. And Hell had truly followed them.
He smiled grimly at the imagery.
He hadn’t been there when the Germans unleashed the chlorine attack against the Allies at Ypres. Yet it had changed his life in ways no one could have foreseen.
He wished he’d never heard the name of that medieval Belgian town. He wished the Germans had never reached it. Or that the British had left well enough alone and let them have the wretched place.
There was a silver flask of brandy in his pocket, and he felt for it, uncapped it, lifted it to his lips, then paused.
What if he drank it to the dregs and crawled into the ruins of Wayland’s Smithy to die, like a wounded animal hiding itself away until it either healed or breathed its last?
Would anyone care?
A shadow was coming up the road toward him. It was Andrew Slater, the smith. It was impossible not to recognize him, even at this distance. Andrew was built like a church tower, tall and broad and solid. But the man didn’t turn at the lane. He passed by without speaking, as if sleepwalking, moving on toward the Smithy. Like to like.
It would be crowded inside with the two of them there, he told himself with black humor. Not counting whatever ghosts lingered in that narrow Stone Age tomb.
I envy Andrew Slater, he thought, there in the darkness. He lives only in the