A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [5]
Colonel Harris had been a relatively young man for his rank, serving in the Boer War as well as the Great War and making a name for himself as a skilled infantry tactician. Rutledge had actually met him once—a tall, vigorous, compassionate officer who had known how to handle tired, frightened men asked once too often to do the impossible.
Without warning, Hamish laughed harshly. “Aye, he knew how to stir men. There were those of us who’d have blown his head off there and then if we’d had the chance, after that third assault. It was suicide, and he knew it, and he sent us anyway. I can’t say I’m sorry he’s got his. Late is better than never.”
Rutledge choked as his tea went down the wrong way. He knew—dear God, he knew!—that Hamish couldn’t be heard by anyone else, and yet sometimes the voice was so clear he expected everyone around him to be staring at him in shock.
He waved Davies back to his chair as the Sergeant made to rise and slap him on his back. Still coughing, he managed to ask, “That’s all you’ve done?”
“Yes, sir, then we were told to leave everything for the Yard and so we did just that.”
“What about the shotgun? Have you at least checked on that?”
“The Captain says he used the weapons at the Colonel’s house, if he wanted to go shooting. But none of them has been fired recently. We asked Mrs. Davenant if she had any guns, and she said she sold her late husband’s Italian shotguns before the war.” The Sergeant glanced over his shoulder, and Barton Redfern came across the parlor to refill his cup. When the young man had limped away again, the Sergeant added tentatively, “Because of that quarrel, of course, it looks as if the Captain might be the guilty party, but I’ve learned in this business that looks are deceiving.”
Rutledge nodded. “And the murder was three days ago. After last night’s rain, there’ll be nothing to find in the meadow or anywhere else along the route the Colonel might have taken on his ride. Right, then, do you have a list of people to talk to? Besides the ward—Miss Wood—and Wilton. And this Mrs. Davenant.”
“As to that, there aren’t all that many. The servants and the lads who found the body. Laurence Royston. Miss Tarrant, of course—she was the lady that Captain Wilton had courted before the war, but she turned him down then and doesn’t seem to mind that he’s marrying Miss Wood now. Still, you never know, do you? She might be willing to throw a little light on how the two men got on together. And there’s Mr. Haldane—he’s the Squire’s son. He was one of Miss Wood’s suitors, as was the Vicar.”
Davies grinned suddenly, a wholly unprofessional glint in his eyes. “Some say Mr. Carfield took holy orders because he saw the war coming, but actually had his heart set on the theater. He does preach a better sermon than old Reverend Mott did, I’ll say that for him. We all learned more about the Apostle Paul under Mr. Mott than any of us ever cared to know, and I must admit Mr. Carfield’s a welcomed change!” He recollected himself and went on more soberly, “The two Sommers ladies are new to the district and don’t go about much. I doubt if they’d be helpful, except that they live near where the body was found and might have seen or heard something of use to us.”
Rutledge nodded as Redfern returned with a fresh pot of tea, waiting until his cup had been filled before he commented, “Miss Wood seems to have been very popular.”
“She’s a very—attractive—young lady,” Davies answered, hesitating over the word as if not certain that it was appropriate. “Then of course there