A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [106]
There was no reaction in his face. “Who told you this?”
“I have two witnesses. I think they’re reliable enough. A third can prove that Harris was there, in the lane. Another saw him speaking to you.”
“And Lettice? Have you talked to her?”
“Yes. At first she denied it. Then she admitted that Charles had, for reasons of his own, changed his mind about the marriage.”
“I see.” He faced Rutledge quietly enough, but a nerve at the corner of his mouth twitched. After a time, he said, “Yes, all right, Charles changed his mind. I thought he was wrong, and I told him so. We argued. I didn’t think this was information that the world needed to know, that’s why I wouldn’t explain it to you. I felt that—given time—Lettice and I could work out the problem of what to do. Charles Harris was a very strong influence in her life. I had to keep that in mind.”
“Then she went along with his decision?”
Wilton shook his head. “I never had the chance to ask her how she felt. Charles was shot—she was given sedatives by Warren—and the wedding had to be called off anyway. My God, she was grieving, I couldn’t very well barge in there and say, ‘I love you, I still want to marry you, will you go through with it and be damned to Society!’ And then there was the funeral to discuss—hardly the proper ambience for a declaration of love, is it? Now—I haven’t much to offer her now, have I?”
Listening, Rutledge could hear the ring of truth—and the suspicion of a lie. He had to remind himself that Mark Wilton had spent four years in the air over France, surviving on his wits, surviving because he was intelligent, kept his nerve, never let himself be outwitted or outmaneuvered.
“Did she ask you if you’d shot her guardian?”
“No.” It was curt, haughty. Pride speaking.
“What will you tell her when she does? When you’ve been arrested?”
“That you’ve decided I did shoot Harris. That I’ll fight you in court, and with any luck make you look like a fool.” He frowned. “I’m not a barrister, but I’ve got a chance, I think. The evidence against me is circumstantial, no one saw me with a gun, no one saw me actually shoot the Colonel. Calling off the wedding might damn me, but we’ll see about that.” He caught the fleeting expression in Rutledge’s eyes and said, “Oh, yes, I’ve thought it all through! Most of the night. I’ve also considered something else. You’ll probably win in the long run; the trial will end with ‘not proved’ rather than an acquittal. And that doubt, that shadow will hang over me for the rest of my life. Did I or didn’t I kill Harris? In some respects that’s worse than the gallows. I can’t possibly expect Lettice to marry me, knowing she might wonder in the middle of the night if I had done it.”
“Then you won’t come with me now, and give yourself up.”
“If I do, it’s an admission of guilt. In the view of most people.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I can’t afford to damn myself. You’ll have to arrest me. Without fanfare, I can promise you there will be no trouble over it. But it will have to be a warrant.”
“Why did Charles Harris change his mind about you? About the wedding? What had you done to turn him against the marriage?”
To Rutledge’s surprise, a smile flickered deep in Wilton’s eyes. “Ah. I expect that information did die with Charles Harris!”
Then the smile faded, and he said quite soberly, “I need a favor from you, Rutledge. I don’t know if you can grant it, but I’m asking you at least to consider it. I want to go to the funeral with Lettice. She needs someone besides that idiot Carfield. Or Simon Haldane, who’s kind enough but damned ineffectual. The Regiment is sending a representative, but Lettice doesn’t know him, he’s a stranger. It won’t be easy for her, with her guardian dead and her fiancé in jail. You can lock me in a room in the Inn tonight, if that’s any use. I’ll agree to any terms you like. Just let me do this one thing, and I’ll be very grateful.”
“I can’t postpone an arrest.