A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [60]
Lettice gave a quick little shake of her head, as if she couldn’t think of anything to say in response to Wilton’s words. Or in denial?
Still holding Lettice’s hands, Wilton turned to Rutledge and asked, “When will you—er—permit us to make arrangements for the funeral?” Rutledge saw Lettice flinch, in spite of Wilton’s careful words.
“Tomorrow,” he replied briefly, “after the Inquest.”
Wilton stared at him, wariness behind his eyes. But he said only, “Then I’ll speak to you later. At the Inn?”
Rutledge nodded. Wilton was right; this was neither the time nor the place to discuss what form the Inquest was going to take.
There was an awkward silence, as if no one quite knew what to say next. Then Wilton went on, speaking to Lettice now, the words stilted, meaningless, even to his own ears. “Sally sends her dearest love. She wanted to come before this, but Dr. Warren insisted you were to have quiet and rest. If there’s anything she can do, please tell me. You know how fond she was of Charles.”
Lettice said huskily, “Thank her for me, will you? I don’t know what’s to be done next—the service, for one thing. I don’t think I can face the Vicar.” She made a wry face. “Not just now! Or the lawyers. But I ought to send word to someone in the Regiment—”
“Leave Carfield to me. You needn’t see him or anyone else, if you’d rather not. And I’ll deal with the Army, if you like. They’ll want a memorial service, of course, when you’re up to it. But that can wait.”
Rutledge walked away from them, to the still-open door.
And Lettice said unexpectedly, raising her voice a little as if suddenly afraid he was leaving, “I expect you and I must also give some thought to the wedding, Mark. I can’t—the white gown—I’m in mourning. All the arrangements must be canceled, the guests notified.”
Rutledge missed the look on Wilton’s face, but the Captain said only, “My love, I’ll see to it as well, you needn’t worry about any of that now.”
But her eyes were on Rutledge, and as he stopped by the door, he could see that they were nearly the same color.
“Something must be done,” she said insistently. “I can’t go through with it. So many people—the formality—”
“No, of course not! I understand, I promise you,” Wilton said quietly. “You can trust me to take care of it.” Taking her elbow, he tried to lead her down the passage by the stairs, toward the room where Rutledge had spoken with Mary earlier that morning.
There was a frown between Lettice’s eyes now, as if they weren’t focusing properly. “Mary was going to bring me something—some soup. I haven’t eaten—I feel wretchedly lightheaded, Mark….”
“Yes, I’m not surprised. Come and sit down, then I’ll see what’s keeping her.”
Rutledge quietly let himself out, finally satisfied.
But Hamish wasn’t.
“She’s up to something!” he said uneasily. “Yon Captain, now, he’s nobody’s fool, is he? But that one will lead him a merry dance before he’s finished, wait and see. Aye, you’ll find a woman at the bottom of this business, and a terrible hate.”
“Which woman?” Rutledge asked, getting into the car. “Or haven’t you made up your mind? The witch? The painter? Or the widow?”
Hamish growled softly. “Oh, aye, I’ve made up my mind. It’s you that won’t see where the wind’s blowing. You’re the wrong man for this murder, and if you had any wit left, you’d drive straight to London and ask to be relieved!”
“I can’t—if I quit now, you’ll have won. I’ve got to see it through or put a pistol to my head.”
“But you know what will happen if you drag that poor sod, Hickam, into court. They’ll crucify him, and you along with him. Because the women will protect yon fine Captain, mark my words! And there’s no one left to protect you.”
Turning out of the gates, Rutledge said between his teeth, “When I’ve finished, there won’t be any need to drag Hickam anywhere. I’ll have other proof.”
Hamish’s derisive laughter followed him the rest of the way back to Upper Streetham.
Bowles had called from Scotland Yard.
When Rutledge