A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [72]
“I don’t know. I’d like a woman’s opinion of her.”
Sally Davenant laughed wryly. “Ah yes, the men flock to her defense, don’t they? I don’t know why. Not that they shouldn’t, you understand!” she added quickly. “It’s just that men and women see things quite differently.”
Which still told him very little about Catherine.
When the tea things had been set before them, and Sally had poured, Rutledge tried again. “Did you know the German? Linden?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. He worked on her land, and several times when I went to call he came around to take my horse. Tall, fair, quite strong.” She hesitated, then added, “He was a little like Mark, you know. I don’t know quite how to put my finger on the likeness. I’d never have mistaken one for the other. But a fleeting resemblance—something you felt rather than saw?”
Rutledge said nothing, reaching for one of the little cakes on a gold-rimmed china plate. They were amazingly good, he discovered.
After a moment, she went on, “He was an educated man—a solicitor, I was told later—and in the ordinary way, an acceptable suitor. If he’d been one of the refugees, Belgian or French, there wouldn’t have been any comment at all. Well, very little! But he was German, you see, those horrible monsters who shot Edith Cavell, spitted babies on their bayonets, killed and maimed British soldiers—the casualty lists were awful, and when they came out, you sighed with relief because someone you loved or knew wasn’t on it this time—then felt guilty for feeling relieved! We hated the Germans, and to think of loving one—of marrying one—seemed—unnatural.” A woman coming through the dining room spoke to Sally and walked on.
Rutledge waited until she was out of hearing. “I understood that no one knew of their relationship at the time Linden was taken away.”
“That’s true. But there was no doubt how Catherine felt, after the war. She went a little mad, trying to find him, and then when she learned he was dead, she was hardly herself for months. Carfield made matters worse by trying to make them better, and the town has shunned her ever since. Most of the women, and more than a few of the men, won’t even speak her name.”
“You said that Linden reminded you of Mark. Did he remind Catherine too? Was she, do you think, still in love with Mark?”
Sally Davenant shook her head. “No, that was over long ago. I could have told you at the time that it wouldn’t last. Mark always falls in love with the wrong women—” She stopped, her mouth closing firmly, her eyes defying him.
Rutledge waited. She shrugged after a moment and went on. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds, of course.”
But he thought she had. “What did you mean?”
“Catherine hadn’t discovered her talent when she met Mark. She painted, yes, but it wasn’t the focus of her life, if you see what I mean. I think it would have come between them, when she did. And she hated his flying. Even if the war hadn’t come along to separate them, what chance would such a marriage have?” Carfield came in, smiled warmly at Mrs. Davenant, then nodded briskly to Rutledge.
“And Lettice?”
She hesitated, then answered carefully. “I don’t think it would have worked. Not in the end. There was Charles, you see, and Lettice was devoted to him. No man enjoys living in the shadow of such a devotion. If he’d been older, yes, Mark could have relegated him to the father’s role. Mark could never bear to be second best. It would have been ‘Charles this’ and ‘Charles that’ every time he turned around.”
“Did Lettice fall in love with Wilton because he was the handsome hero her guardian had brought home for her? An infatuation, like Catherine’s, years ago?”
“No, of course not. She’s rather mature for her years, have you noticed? Probably it has to do with being orphaned so young, she had to learn to be independent early on. Charles more or less cultivated that too. Well, he could have been killed at any time, and he wanted her to be capable of carrying on alone! She wasn’t a dewy-eyed girl, and I think that’s