A Test of Wills - Charles Todd [95]
“On a horse.” Hickam shook his head. “I don’t remember Monday morning.”
“That’s it, then,” Warren said quietly, still standing at Rutledge’s shoulder. “I warned you.”
“But I remember the Colonel. On a horse. In the—in the lane above Georgie’s house. I—was that Monday?” The creaking voice steadied a little.
“Go on, tell me what you remember. I’ll decide for myself what’s important and what isn’t.”
The eyelids closed once more, as if too heavy. “The Colonel. He’d been to Georgie’s—”
“He’s lost it,” Warren said at that. “Let him be now.”
“No, he’s right, the Colonel had been to the Grayson house!” Rutledge told him under his breath. “Now keep out of it!”
Hickam was still speaking. “And someone called to him. Another officer.” He shook his head. “I don’t know his name. He—he wasn’t one of our men. A—a captain, that’s what he was. The Captain called to Colonel Harris, and Harris stopped. They stood there, Harris on the horse, the Captain by his stirrup.”
And then there was silence, heavy and filled only with the sound of Hickam’s breathing. “There was a push on, wasn’t there? I could hear the guns, they were in my head—but it was quiet in the lane,” he began again. “I tried, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I could see their faces—angry faces, low, angry voices. Clenched fists, the Colonel leaning down, the Captain staring up at him. I—I was frightened they’d find me, send me back.” He stirred under the sheet, face agitated. “So angry. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”
He started to repeat over and over, “The guns—I couldn’t hear—I couldn’t hear—I couldn’t hear—”
Warren clucked his tongue. “Lie still, man, it’s done with, there’s nothing to be afraid of now!”
The unsteady voice faded. Then Hickam said, so softly that Rutledge had to lean toward the bed to hear him while Warren cupped his left hand around his ear: “I’ll fight you every step of the way….”
Rutledge recognized the words. Hickam had repeated them to him in the dark on the High Street the night he’d given him enough money to kill himself.
“Don’t be—fool—like it or not—learn to live with it.”
“Live with what?” Rutledge asked.
Hickam didn’t answer. Rutledge waited. Nothing. The minutes ticked past.
Finally Dr. Warren jerked his head toward the door and took Rutledge’s arm.
Rutledge nodded, turned to go.
They were already in the hall, Rutledge’s hand on the door, preparing to close it. He stopped in the act, realizing that Hickam’s lips were moving.
The thready voice was saying something. Rutledge crossed the room in two swift strides, put his ear almost to the man’s mouth.
“Not the war…it wasn’t the war.” A sense of amazement crept into the words.
“Then what? What was it?”
Hickam was silent again. Then he opened his eyes and stared directly into Rutledge’s face. “You’ll think I’m mad. In the middle of all that fighting—”
“No. I’ll believe you. I swear it. Tell me.”
“It wasn’t the war. The Colonel—he was going to call off the wedding.”
Dr. Warren said something from the doorway, harsh and disbelieving.
But Rutledge believed.
It was, finally, the reason behind the quarrel. It was, as well, the Captain’s motive for murder.
16
The Inn was remarkably quiet, but Rutledge stopped Redfern in the hall and asked to have sandwiches and coffee brought to his room. He wanted to think, without distraction or interruption, and Redfern must have sensed this, because he nodded and hurried off toward the kitchens without a word.
Rutledge took the stairs two at a time. In the passage near his room, he paused as the first rays of a sultry, overly bright sun broke through the heavy clouds. Storm signs, he thought, watching the light play across the gardens and then flicker out again. They’d had a remarkable run of good weather as it was.
His eyes caught a splash of color in the small private garden, and he looked down. A woman in a broad-brimmed hat was standing there,