A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [82]
Rutledge laughed wryly. He wondered if Redfern had overheard part of the conversation or was simply, unwittingly, confirming the Vicar’s words.
Redfern picked up the empty glasses and wiped the table with his cloth. “It isn’t easy, is it? Being from London and not knowing what’s happening here. But I’ll tell you, there’s no reason I can think of for any of us to shoot Colonel Harris. Save Mavers, of course. Born troublemaker! There was a private in my company, a sour-faced devil from the stews of Glasgow, who was bloody-minded as they come! Never gave us any peace, until the day the Germans got him. I heard later that the ambulance carrying him to hospital was strafed. Everybody killed. I was sorry about that, but I was relieved that Sammy wasn’t coming back. Ever. Tongue as rough as the shelling, by God!”
“I understand that Mrs. Davenant was a nurse during the war. Is that true?”
It was Redfern’s turn to laugh, embarrassed. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when she walked into the ward the day I was brought in, still too groggy from what they’d been doing to my foot to know where I was. God, I thought somehow I’d landed back home! The next day she was there again, changing dressings. I told the sister on duty I’d not hear of her touching me! Sister said that was enough nonsense out of me. Still, they must have spoken of it, because she left me alone.”
“You recognized her?”
“Oh, aye, I did. Well, why not? I grew up in Upper Streetham!”
“And she never said anything? Then or later, when you’d both come back here, to the village?”
“No, and I can tell you it was a relief the first time she passed me on the High Street without so much as a blink! We’ve spoken since, of course, when she’s been here to dine, just good evening, and what will you have, and thank you—no more nor less than is needed.”
“Did she work primarily with the surgical patients, or only wherever she was most useful?”
“I asked one of the younger sisters about her. She said that Mrs. Davenant had shown a skill with handling the worst cases, and the doctors often asked for her. No nonsense, and no fainting, Tilly said. She was best with fliers, she knew how to talk to them. And we got any number of those. Of course, with her own cousin one of them, I expect it was natural for her to find it easy to talk to them.”
“Amputations, cleaning septic wounds, burns—she didn’t shirk them?”
“No, not that I ever saw. But she’s not one the lads would feel free to chat up and laugh with, not the way you did with Tilly. Good-natured nonsense, that’s all it was, but not with the likes of Mrs. Davenant!”
“Yet the fliers were comfortable with her?”
“Yes. She’d ask news of the Captain, and then they’d soon be easy around her.”
She’d ask news of the Captain….
It always came back to the Captain. But he was beginning to think that whatever her feelings about Mark Wilton, it would take more skill than he possessed to bring them to the surface.
Rutledge went upstairs and along the passage to his room. The sun was bright, showing the worn carpet to worst advantage, dust motes dancing in the light as he passed the windows. The vegetable garden looked like a vegetable garden again, not a sea of temples. He thought the onions had grown inches since his arrival. Even the flowers in the small private garden between the Inn and the drive, surrounded by shrubbery, were no longer flat and drooping from the rain, but stood tall and full of blossom heads. The lupines were particularly glorious. His mother had liked them and filled the house with them as soon as they began to bloom. She’d had a way with flowers, a natural instinct for what made them thrive. His sister Frances, on the other hand, couldn’t have grown weeds in a basket. But she was known throughout London for her exquisite flower arrangements, and was begged to lend her eye for color and form to friends for parties and weddings and balls.
His door was ajar, the maid finishing making his bed. She apologized shyly when he stepped