A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [41]
Rutledge was saying, “He was lying on his back, this man. He wore a respirator on his face and was wrapped in a dark cloak.”
Drawn out of himself, Hugh was staring, his face so pale Rutledge realized he’d touched on something that was shocking to the boy.
“Say again?” It was a croak, coming out of a tight, dry throat.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you, Hugh.”
“No, sir, tell me that bit again.” There was urgency in the boy’s posture and his voice.
“The dead man was wearing a respirator. You’ve seen them, during the war. We don’t know why this was on his face, and it was broken, but there you are. And the cloak was heavy, black. What is it, Hugh, what’s wrong?”
Rutledge was on his feet as the boy slumped in his chair, starting to shake as if he were running a fever.
His eyes stared at Rutledge accusingly, begging.
“For God’s sake, young man, what’s wrong?”
“You’re lying to me.” It was a whisper.
“I don’t lie, Hugh. I can take you to Elthorpe and show you these things.”
Hugh nodded. “I want to see them.”
But he sat there, as if he couldn’t manage to stand on his own two feet.
Rutledge was watching him. “What is it, Hugh? Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
Hugh struggled with himself, then got up and said, “Can I go now?”
Rutledge thought he meant, was he free to leave. Then realized he was actually asking to be taken to Elthorpe.
“Yes, now.”
Hugh nodded, followed Rutledge from the room, and in the passage outside he ran into another boy Rutledge hadn’t seen before. The boy was staring at Hugh, and he said shortly, “There’s nothing wrong, Tad. There’s nothing wrong!”
Rutledge said, “Do you want Tad to come with you?”
Hugh shook his head forcefully, and Tad seemed to melt back into the wall, making room for the policeman and Hugh to pass.
It was a silent ride to Elthorpe, though Hamish was still vocal just behind Rutledge’s right ear. At one point, Rutledge retorted sharply, “It was the right thing to do.”
Hugh looked across at him, startled. Rutledge tempered his voice and repeated, “It was the right thing to do, Hugh. You’re a brave lad.”
When they reached the doctor’s surgery, Rutledge explained that he’d come to show Hugh Tredworth the clothing that the dead man had been wearing. The doctor’s nurse took them back to a door at the end of the passage, and Hugh began to drag his heels.
“I don’t have to see him, do I? You didn’t say I had to see him. Just his things.”
“That’s right. I’ll bring them out to you.”
The nurse opened the door into a room lined with shelving, storage for blankets, medical instruments, an array of bottles, and other paraphernalia. On a lower one, tidily boxed, was the folded cloak and on top of it was the respirator.
On a bench outside the closet, Rutledge spread the cloak out for Hugh to see, and set the mask in at the head, the way it had covered the dead man’s face.
Hugh stood there, absorbing the image Rutledge had created. His eyes squinted, as if he were comparing a memory with what lay before him. Then he looked up at the man from London. There was a mixture of emotions in his expression. Understanding, alarm, confusion, distress. Rutledge could have sworn that among them was disappointment.
“It wasn’t the Devil, then.” The boy’s voice was flat, without feeling.
“The Devil?”
Hugh turned and marched out of the surgery, Rutledge hastily thanking the nurse and following him out to the motorcar.
Hugh was leaning against the wing, his face hidden.
Rutledge gave him time to recover and then said quietly, so that passersby couldn’t hear, “Will you tell me what you know, Hugh?”
“I want to go home now.” Hugh turned and scrambled into the passenger’s side, waited for Rutledge to crank the motorcar, then join him.
They were nearly out of Elthorpe before Hugh spoke.
“We thought