A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [110]
She didn’t want to leave, but Agnes said, “Go on, Meg. I’ll call you if I need you.” But Meg still went out reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder at Rutledge with worried eyes.
Rutledge waited until he could hear the familiar clatter of dishes and then said to Agnes, “I don’t want to frighten the child. Or make her uncomfortable. But if you’ll sit here and hold her, rock her as you must do, sometimes?” She nodded. “Good! I’ll be here by the door. And when she’s settled, at ease, I’ll tell you what to say to her.”
“I don’t know, sir!”
“It won’t harm her. It might help. And—I need to know what she saw! There in the meadow where Colonel Harris was shot!”
“I can’t take the chance! What if she saw the murder? What if that’s the thing that sent her into this decline? We don’t want to lose her! Not now!” She was an intelligent woman; she knew the risk he was going to run.
“Trust me,” he told her gently. “Let me at least try.”
And so she went to the bed, lifted the child in her arms, talking in that soft singsong mothers the world over know by heart. Lizzie whimpered, but seemed content enough when Agnes went no farther than the chair, sat down, and began slowly to rock, humming under her breath.
Afraid she’d soon put the child to sleep—in fact, he thought that might be her intention—Rutledge said quietly, “Ask her if she saw a man with a shotgun.”
“Did you see a man carrying a gun, love? A big long gun that made a big noise? Did you see that, love?”
Lizzie didn’t stir.
“Did the noise scare you? Loud and nasty, was it?”
Nothing.
Agnes repeated her questions, varying the words, probing over and over again, but Lizzie was silent. And still awake.
“Ask her if she remembers losing her doll.”
That elicited no response, although Agnes tried several variations on that theme too. But Lizzie began to pluck restlessly at the front of Agnes’s apron.
“It’s no good, sir!”
“We’ll try a different tack, then. Ask her—ask her if she saw the big horse.”
Agnes crooned to the child to soothe her, and then said softly in the same tones, “Was there a big horse, my lamb? A big shining horse in the meadow? Was he standing still or riding along? Did you see the big horse?”
Lizzie stopped sucking her thumb, eyes wide, tense. Listening.
Rutledge could hear Meg in the kitchen, speaking to someone in a low voice or singing to herself. He couldn’t tell which it was. He swore silently, irritated by the distraction. “And a man on its back?”
“Did the big horse carry a man on its back? High in the saddle the way you ride with your pa? Did you see the man, love? Just like Papa on the horse? Did you see his face—”
The words were hardly out of her mouth before Lizzie went rigid and began to scream. The sudden change was alarming in the quiet room, and Agnes cried out, “Now, now, lovey—don’t fret! Sir!”
“Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! No—no—don’t!” Lizzie screamed, the words tumbling over one another, the doll clutched tight as she struggled in her grandmother’s arms.
Meg came running, and behind her were other footsteps.
Rutledge had gone to Agnes, his back to the door and was bending over the child, speaking to her, when he was caught from behind and thrown hard against the wall, scraping his cheek and all but knocking the breath out of him. A man’s voice was roaring, “Don’t touch her—let her be! Damn you, let her be!” Rutledge wheeled, and Ted Pinter, face distorted with rage, charged at him again. Lizzie was standing rigidly in her grandmother’s lap, eyes squeezed shut, shrieking, “No—no! No!” over and over again.
Rutledge was grappling with Pinter, Meg was shouting, “Ted! Don’t!”, and her husband was yelling, “She’s suffered enough, God blast you, I won’t have her hurt anymore!”
And then the little girl stopped screaming so suddenly that the silence shocked them all, halting Pinter in his tracks. Over his shoulder, Rutledge could see the child’s face, startled, mouth wide in a forgotten scream. Her eyes were half scrunched closed, half opened. But the