Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [135]
But contrary to what Mrs. Holden had said, Rutledge believed Holden had known that Eleanor Gray’s body lay in Glencoe. He might even have been clever enough to see how useful it could be. A remarkably tidy way of punishing Fiona and ridding himself of the past. The problem was, this was going to be bloody difficult to prove!
He stood up. “What do you want me to do, Mrs. Holden? I can’t bring your husband in and charge him—there’s only your word against his that he’s responsible for what happened to Fiona MacDonald. People would believe him if he told them your health is frail and that your mind has been affected by it.”
“There must be a way to stop him! You—I can’t go on like this! I can’t live with Fiona’s life on my conscience, and I can’t buy it back without destroying my child! I have come to hate Alex—but he’s the albatross around my neck, and I cannot be freed from it.”
“Will you kill someone for me?”
He heard Fiona’s voice quite clearly in his head.
“Tell me—did you live in Brae before your son was born?”
She nodded. “I was desperately in love. He—Ian’s father—was in Glasgow for some time and we met when we could. I was happy. I had closed the house here—with the horses gone and the servants leaving, it was an excuse.”
“And the initials on the christening gown?”
“My maiden name. I was born Madelyn Elizabeth Marjorie Coulton. But I was afraid to use it in Brae or the clinic. Because, you see, he’d gone back to sea and not long afterward was killed.” She stopped, let her voice steady once more. “He died and I had a baby on the way. I stayed in Brae as long as I dared, hiding the pregnancy as best I could. Then I took a hotel room in Glasgow for a time before going to the clinic. There was nowhere else that I dared to have the child. If Alex had died, of course, I’d have claimed that Ian was his. But Alex was alive and I couldn’t risk brazening it out. If I hadn’t met Fiona—if she hadn’t been willing to take the child as her own—I would have killed us both. The boy and myself.”
28
RUTLEDGE LEFT MRS. HOLDEN WITH SOME APPREHENSION—concerned for her—afraid that when Alexander Holden walked back into his house, his suspicions would be aroused by something in her face. It wouldn’t take him long to discover that Rutledge had been there. He was too intelligent not to know why. Mrs. Holden was very fragile. What would he do? Bully her—or find a new, unexpected strength in her?
“Whatever he does,” Hamish said, “it’s no’ possible to stop him. You canna’ go to Oliver until you hear what London’s learned about Holden! You canna’ go to the fiscal without proof. This is Holden’s ground, he’ll ken what to do—”
“There may be a way to distract him.” Rutledge had nearly reached his motorcar, concealed well out of sight of the Holden property. He pulled it to the head of the drive, where Holden couldn’t pass him.
Then he waited. With infinite patience. Even Hamish stood the long watch in silence. They had shared such watches many times in the trenches—there was almost that same comfortable sense of companionship. Almost—but not quite.
It was nearly dusk when Holden came. The long shadows of the autumn day had given way to clouds, and the first sprinkles of rain.
The lights of Holden’s car picked out the dark shape of his own, and slowed.
Holden called sharply, “What’s happened?”
Rutledge replied, “I’ve come to speak to you. Your maid told me you were out, and I waited.”
“For God’s sake, why didn’t you wait at the house?”
“Because I didn’t want your wife or your servants to hear what I’ve got to say.” He gestured around them at the dark road and the dark drive. “We have a little privacy here.” The sprinkles turned to the first heavy drops.
Holden looked for hidden ears before turning back. “Then say what you have to, and let us both get in out of this rain!”
“I traced you to Craigness, Holden. To Rob Burns