A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [114]
After a time he could hear someone coming, heels tapping on the floor. It was Lettice, face still flushed with sleep, hair falling in dark waves down her back, a dark green dressing gown on over her night wear. She came slowly down the stairs with her eyes on him, and he said, “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been so important. It won’t take long, I promise you.”
“What’s wrong, is something wrong?” she asked.
“No. Yes. I’m in a quandary of sorts. I need to talk to you.”
She hesitated at the foot of the stairs, looked toward the door of the drawing room, then made up her mind. “Come this way. To the small parlor.”
He followed her there, and she found the lights, bringing an almost blinding brightness into the room. Turning in the middle of the floor, she gestured to a chair for him and then curled up on the sofa, drawing her legs under her as if for warmth. Without the sun the room did seem chill, comfortable to him after his long walk in the fields, but cold to her after the warmth of bed. As he sat down he saw that the soles of his shoes and one trouser leg had mud on them. She saw it too, and asked, “Where have you been?”
“Walking. Thinking. Look, I’ll tell you what’s bothering me. I went to arrest Captain Wilton this—yesterday—morning, and he asked me to wait until after the funeral tomorrow—this—morning. It made sense. I could see no reason to cause any more grief or embarrassment for you.”
Frowning, she said, “Yes, that’s true, I’d rather not face it alone. But you’re telling me that the man who’s accompanying me to the services is Charles’s murderer. The man who’ll be sitting beside me while I grieve—I don’t see how that will make it any easier for me. Or for Mark! Do you think I only care about appearances? I survived last Monday morning alone. I can survive this.”
“I hadn’t expected to be telling you any of this. Not until afterward. But you know where my suspicions—and the evidence—have been pointing.”
She brushed a heavy fall of hair out of her face and said quietly, “Yes.”
“You know I’ve learned about the source of the quarrel. That the marriage was being called off. You told me yourself that Charles had decided to do it.”
“Yes.”
“It’s motive, Miss Wood. It explains why Charles had to die that particular morning—that Monday, not seventeen years ago or six months from now or next Friday.”
“All right. I can see that. I—I’d considered it myself.”
Which brought him back to his first impression of her—that she’d known who the killer was.
“But I need to know why your guardian called off the marriage.”
“What does Mark say?” she countered.
Rutledge leaned forward in his chair, trying to reach her with his words, with the sense of haste driving him. “He says the reason isn’t important. That it died with Charles. But I think it may be very important. In fact, it’s crucial. I’m concerned, you see, that if the cause was serious enough, Wilton might prefer not to stand trial and have it brought out into the open, afraid that in the end we’d discover what it was and use it in court, and the whole world would hear what it was. I’m afraid that he might—choose the gentleman’s solution instead.”
“Shoot himself?” Tears came to her eyes, darkening them, but hovered behind the lids, not spilling over. “Are you quite sure, Inspector?”
“I wouldn’t have come tonight if I hadn’t been sure it could happen. Not that it would—but that it could,” he said, forcing himself to honesty.
“But if I tell you—you’re the police, you’ll know what it is, and then it’ll happen just as he’s afraid it might. And I’ll be the cause of it!” Before he could deny it, she said, “No, I can’t tell you something, and then afterward say that I didn’t mean it, that you must forget I’d said it. You can’t forget it. It’s your job, you see—there’s no separating the man from the job!”
“Lettice—” He wasn’t even aware that he’d used her name.
“No! I’ve lost Charles, nothing will ever bring him back. I’m going to lose Mark, one way or another. I feel enough guilt already, I won’t add to it, I tell you I won’t!” The tears