A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [149]
“I’m here.”
“When I was hurtling through the air, all I could think of was, God, let me live, and I’ll make amends, I swear I will.”
“It wasn’t a bad bargain.”
He stayed with her for some time, asking that a few more details be cleared up, but he couldn’t catch her in a lie or a mistake.
Afterward he found Rebecca in the waiting room, sitting there, he thought, like a martyr waiting to be led to the flames.
“I have no regrets.” It was all she said.
“No, I expect not. What had he done to you, Rebecca, that you could hate so well? I’d like to understand why a daughter could be—as your sister just said—so cold.”
She turned on him. “My mother lost a child when we were small. I didn’t know why she was ill, only that she stayed in her room with the curtains drawn for week after week. But then one day when I’d been a nuisance, the housekeeper we had then, Mrs. Fortner, told me what no one wanted us to know. The child was born alive, a boy. And so badly deformed that no one could bear to look at him. He died almost at once, and it was a blessing. My mother told my father it was because of all the things he did in the laboratory—that he’d brought something home that maimed and killed their son. And nothing was ever the same again.”
She broke down, alone and wretched and confused. “My mother was never the same either. And when she killed herself, she was holding the christening gown that was meant for my brother. Don’t tell me it was long ago in the past! She grieved for him until the day she died.”
Rutledge said, “He was born full term and died from natural causes. There was nothing in the doctor’s report to say he was deformed. I’ve read it.”
“But he was. The housekeeper was there.”
He remembered the words in the late Dr. Butler’s diary. “Had long talk with Parkinson, explaining situation. Question about who should see to burial. He left arrangements with me.”
What had that long talk been about?
And why had Parkinson slashed his hand in an angry moment in his lab?
Hamish said, “It isna’ wise to tell the lass aboot that.”
“I think your mother grieved for her son, and possibly even blamed your father for the child’s death. That much must be true. But the housekeeper created a monster for reasons of her own. She left shortly afterward, with no notice given. It’s likely your father discovered what she’d told you.”
Rebecca said, “I never told Sarah. I never wanted her to know. But I can remember the day, and the words spilling out of the housekeeper’s mouth, and her face leaning down to mine. I remember feeling sick, and not being able to eat my dinner. There must have been some truth to the story. Or my father would have come to me and tried to explain that Mrs. Fortner was lying.”
“He may not have known how to explain such cruelty. He could have told himself you’d forget in time. Remember, your father had suffered a great loss too. He couldn’t have been himself.”
After a moment, she got slowly to her feet. “I must talk to Sarah—”
Rutledge caught her arm to stop her. “You don’t intend to tell her this, do you? It would serve no purpose now.”
“No. Never. I couldn’t bear her to know.” She left the room.
Rutledge went to find transportation back to Uffington. That done, he put in a call to the Yard.
Hamish said, “How can ye be sure it was suicide and not murder?”
“Because,” Rutledge said, “it explains Rebecca’s behavior. That’s why she was ready to humiliate a dead man, because he wasn’t there to hate any more. If he came back to Partridge Fields to be buried in a churchyard, like a decent man, then it was over, he’d won. To be abandoned in Yorkshire was to leave him outside God’s grace, so to speak.”
He said good-bye to Rebecca. Sarah was resting and didn’t answer as he stepped briefly into the room. But Rebecca raised haunted eyes to his.
Then his driver was at the door and Rutledge left.
By the time he reached the inn, it was early morning, and Hill had left a message for him.
“Your motorcar is in Oxford. My sergeant will drive you there. As for Singleton, he was