A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [59]
“Shall I get one of Dr. Warren’s powders for you, Miss? It’ll help, I’m sure it will!”
Lettice shook her head vehemently. “No, no more of those! I can’t abide them. The Inspector is leaving, Mary. Will you see him to the door?”
She stood up in dismissal, then faltered, catching her breath, her face even whiter if that was possible, her eyes wide with alarm. Rutledge, still carefully watching her, reached out to steady her. But Mary was there before him, quickly taking Lettice’s arm and chiding, “You must eat something, Miss, to keep up your strength. I keep telling you, it won’t do, sending your tray back untouched. Sit yourself down in the small drawing room and let me talk to Cook, she’ll find something you can fancy, see if she doesn’t!”
Lettice said, “Yes, all at once I feel as if I’m floating, I hadn’t realized—” She made an effort to smile. “Anything will do, it doesn’t matter. Goodbye, Inspector.” She was gradually overcoming the shock, her training and her own fierce will coming to her aid, and as she turned to Rutledge, her chin lifted a little. Pride, he realized. “About that other matter, I’m sure you’re wrong. You took me by surprise, but it’s a horridly convoluted theory, isn’t it, and not very realistic if you actually think about it—”
The bell at the front door sounded. Rutledge could hear it pealing distantly in the servants’ hall downstairs. Lettice closed her eyes, as if shutting out the sound. “I don’t want to see anyone!” she said quickly.
Distracted, Mary turned to the policeman. “It’s my duty to answer that, sir. Mr. Johnston isn’t here just now, he’s gone into Upper Streetham—”
“Take care of your mistress, I’ll see to it,” Rutledge said curtly, and moved to the door before she could stop him. Lettice stepped just across the threshold into the drawing room, a sanctuary of sorts.
He opened the heavy door only far enough to see who was on the step, prepared to be equally curt with the caller.
It was Mark Wilton, and the man’s face mirrored his own surprise.
“Where’s Johnston? What’s happened?” the Captain said sharply, and shoved the door wide with a suddenness that caught Rutledge off guard. “Is Lettice—?”
Lettice stood in the drawing-room doorway, her pale, troubled face turned in alarm toward the sound of the Captain’s voice. Her emotions were still raw, and Rutledge had seen her reaction, swiftly covered though it was. More to the point, so had Wilton.
Stepping into the hall, he seemed suddenly at a loss for words, his eyes sweeping her with a mixture of love and something else. Concern? Or fear?
Rutledge, intensely interested, watched the pair of them. For an instant neither of them moved, neither spoke. But a question was asked, an answer given, in a wordless exchange that lasted for no more than a matter of seconds.
He would have sworn, before God and in a crowded courtroom, that it was the look of silent conspirators that he saw pass between them.
And then Mark was striding across the marble floor toward her, while Lettice came forward to meet him under the glorious painted Venus overhead.
She moved with exquisite grace, a tall, slim woman in rustling black, her hands held out before her, palms down, a blind look in her eyes, a mixture of emotions in her face.
Mark grasped her hands in his as if they were lifelines, before leaning forward to kiss her gently on her left cheek. “This is the last thing that should have happened,” he said quietly, to her alone. “You know I mean that.”
Yet Rutledge could sense the suppressed feeling in the man, an intensity that was both physical and emotional. And was confused by his own reaction to it. As if his hackles rose…Then he remembered, with a jolt, the way he’d felt the last few times he’d seen Jean—wanting to hold her, desperately in need of her warmth to keep the darkness away, and yet afraid to touch her. Afraid of her rejection.
Hamish, deep in his mind, said ominously, “She’s a witch, man, this one’ll have your soul if you let her! Are ye no’ listening!”
Mary hesitated, then quickly made herself scarce, disappearing