A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [142]
He suddenly realized that he’d lost track of where he was, where the motorcar was heading. The darkness through which he’d spoken began to recede and nothing was familiar, nothing as it should be. But then he recognized the tower of a distant church and knew he was on the right road.
Miss Parkinson was opening her door. He braked quickly to keep her from falling out into the road.
“I’ll take my chances with the bicycle,” she said, tears on her face. “I should never have trusted you to keep your promise.”
Rutledge said, “You were the first to speak, if you remember. You were the one who said I didn’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough,” she said, getting out as the motorcar came to a stop.
“Go look at yourself in your mirror, Miss Parkinson. And ask yourself if your mother will be avenged by letting your father be buried in a pauper’s grave. It will be on your soul and not hers, if that’s what you do.”
He brought out her bicycle for her and set it on the road.
She took it, mounted, and pedaled off, her shoulders hunched, her head down.
This time he watched her go, not making any effort to stop her again.
Hamish said, “It wasna’ well done.”
“I think I’ll stay here a while, and see who comes back. Sarah Parkinson or her sister.”
He pulled the motorcar to the verge, staring across the fields at the rooftops of the next village, trying to interest himself in the people there. But all he could think of was what he’d said to the young woman disappearing in the distance.
It was all true. But who was he to judge her? Who was he to set his torment against someone else’s and make comparisons? He’d known Sarah Parkinson for a matter of days. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his duty.
He waited some time, thinking she might come back this way. It was useless trying to talk to Sarah when her sister was present and he could see no point in continuing on to Pockets to confront the two together.
Rutledge drove back to the inn, abandoning his decision to drive to London. He couldn’t remember the last meal he’d eaten, but he wasn’t hungry.
Upstairs in his room he stood by his window, looking out at nothing that was visible.
Hamish said, “What if you’re wrong about Singleton?”
“Then I’m wrong. The drawings were not Willingham’s style. I’ll stand by that.”
“Aye. But of the lot, there’s the man with the birds.”
“There is. If I’m wrong about Singleton, then I shall have to look at Quincy more closely. It isn’t his style either.”
“Ye’re no authority on drawing. There’s a darkness in him.”
It was true. He’d grasped his jeweled treasures in desperation, and he kept them with him because they were a talisman, in his eyes. Without hope, men go mad…
Small feathered defenses against the family that didn’t want him and enemies that wanted to see him dead.
Which brought Rutledge back to Parkinson. Two men, Madsen and Deloran, had tried to use his body for their own ends. Parkinson’s two daughters refused to claim it. And until they did, the case couldn’t be closed.
There were heavy clouds in the sky, shortening the day, and as the light faded, Rutledge considered turning on his lamp. And then decided against it.
Three lorry drivers were pulling in as another edged his vehicle back on the road. The men called to their departing colleague and then walked toward the inn, looking for food and something to drink. One of them was the man Rutledge had defeated at darts. Laughing, they made their way through to the bar.
In the distance he thought he saw a flash of lightning, but he could hear no thunder afterward. If there was a storm, it was far to the west still.
Hamish said, “Ye canna’ sit here in the dark and pity yoursel’.”
It wasn’t pity but a need for peace, he thought. In a little while, he would have to decide what to do next.
He hadn’t seen Sarah Parkinson