A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [79]
“Catherine Tarrant?”
Warren shook his head. “Because of the German? Don’t be an idiot, man. I can’t see her lurking behind a tree with a shotgun, can you? If she had wanted Harris dead, she’d have come for him at Mallows, the first day he was back from the war. Why wait until now? But I’m not paid to find murderers. That’s your job. And if you ask me, you’re damned slow going about it!”
Hamish, chuckling deep in his mind, said derisively, “You’re half the man you were, that’s what it is. Ye left the better half in the mud and terror, and brought back only the broken bits. And London knows it!”
Rutledge turned on his heel and strode out, the doll still in his hand.
He tracked down Wilton having a whiskey in the Inn’s bar, morosely staring at the glass in his hand. Rutledge sat down at the small corner table and said, “Early in the day for that?”
“Not when you’ve come from the undertaker’s,” Wilton said, turning his glass around and around in his fingers. “The fool had never dealt with a headless man before. He was half titillated, half revolted. Would we be wanting the Colonel in his dress uniform? And how was that cut, sir, with a high collar or low? Would we wish a silk scarf to cover what was—er—the remains? Would we wish for a pillow in the coffin? To rest the shoulders upon, of course, sir. And will you be wanting to inspect the—er—deceased, before the services?” The Captain shuddered. “My good God!” He looked at Rutledge. “When Davenant died, the old vicar was still alive, and he went with me to attend to matters. Before we left, Davenant’s valet handed us a box with suitable clothing in it, and that was that. It was civilized, simple.”
“An ordinary death.” Rutledge shook his head as Redfern started toward them, to indicate that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. Then he put the doll on the table.
Mark Wilton stared at it, frowning. “What the hell is that?”
“A child’s doll.”
“A doll?”
“You told me that on the morning Harris was killed, you ran into a child who’d lost her doll. On the path near the meadow.”
“Oh, yes. I remember her. She’d been picking flowers or some such thing, and then couldn’t find the doll—she’d put it down somewhere or other. I see she found it.”
“I found it. Now I want to find her.”
Wilton smiled tiredly. “To ask her if I was carrying a shotgun when she and I crossed paths? First a drunken madman, then a child. Good God!”
“Nevertheless.”
“I have no idea who she was, or what her name was. Small, fair, cheerful—a child. I’ve had very little experience with them. I’m not even certain I’d know her again if I saw her.”
“But you won’t mind accompanying the Sergeant to visit the tenants on Mallows’ land and in the farms above the church.” It was not a question.
Wilton regarded him for a time. “You’re quite serious about this?”
“Entirely.”
Mark Wilton sighed. “Very well.”
“That night, when Lettice Wood left you and Harris together in the drawing room, she said you were discussing the wedding. Where did the conversation turn after that? To Catherine Tarrant?”
Wilton was surprised. “Catherine? Why on earth should we have discussed her—much less quarreled over her? Charles and I admired her.”
“If not Catherine Tarrant, what about Mrs. Davenant?”
Wilton laughed. “You are in desperate straits, aren’t you? Did you think I’d shoot Harris over the good name of my cousin? What has she done to merit your attention?”
Rutledge shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I grasp at straws?” He realized that he was quoting Lettice Wood. Had her words rankled that much? “There hasn’t been a rush of people breaking down the police-station door to volunteer information about Harris’s killer, has there? I’ve decided there’s a conspiracy to keep me from finding out what’s best hidden.”
Wilton stared at him, eyes sharp and searching. The thin, weary face before him was closed