Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [139]
“You must make your story plausible, Fiona. I want Holden to be told what’s happening. I want him to believe it. It’s the only way to make Oliver and the rest recognize how they’ve been used.” He added, “There’s one last thing. Mrs. Holden didn’t tell me the father’s name. And I didn’t press her. But now I need it. It’s the one crucial piece of information I don’t have.”
She said, “It’s not my place—”
“Fiona—” He stopped, then went on. “Holden is extraordinarily clever and he will turn everything to his advantage, finding some way to destroy that child. We must get Ian MacLeod out of Duncarrick, out of reach. Tomorrow.”
“His father is dead—he can’t help you!”
“It doesn’t matter! Even a dead man’s name makes a child safer. Mrs. Holden has no family, but Ian’s father might.”
She bit her lip. Finally, struggling with her own conscience and fearful of his, she said, “Will you swear to me— on your honor—that you won’t tell anyone unless you have to?” He nodded. “He was a naval officer. His name was Trevor.”
Rutledge felt his heart turn over. “No.”
“You wanted to know—”
“I—Ross Trevor? Are you very sure, Fiona? That Ian is his child?”
She was frightened. “I should never have told you—I knew it was wrong!”
“No. It—it’s good news. I’m glad for him.” There had been nothing of Ross in the child’s face— Except for the eyes, Rutledge realized suddenly. Those changeable eyes. “I’m glad for him—” he said again. But what about David Trevor? Would he, like the fiscal, refuse to accept his son’s decision to love another man’s wife?
It was Hamish who reminded Rutledge that the man who mourned his son so deeply would have to grow used to this news. But Morag would love the child. For Morag mourned too.
“You have sworn!” Fiona was pleading, confused by his sudden uncertainty.
“I’ll keep my word.” But he must persuade Mrs. Holden to find David Trevor once Alex Holden went to trial.
“You’ve forgotten Fiona—” Hamish railed. “You promised to see that the child was given back to her!”
Rutledge could read the despair in her face. She also knew what she had lost. Not her trial, but her son.
No, Mrs. Holden and David Trevor would see that she was never alone again—
But Hamish refused to be mollified. He said, “How many promises will ye break?”
Rutledge leaned forward, kissing her cheek. “Fiona—it will be all right.”
She didn’t move. Her face wrung his heart. She said forlornly, “Will it? I wish I could be as sure.”
29
OLIVER BADE RUTLEDGE FAREWELL AND WISHED HIM A safe drive back to London. “Although I don’t know what you’re to tell Lady Maude Gray.”
“The truth. What I know about it.” But not the part Holden had played.
“Well, then, she ought to be glad to learn what’s become of her daughter. You can tell her, we’ll see that the accused is punished for what she’s done.”
Rutledge shook his hand, walked back through the downpour to the hotel, and notified the Ballantyne staff to draw up his bill. Then he began to pack.
It was shortly after luncheon that he drove out of Duncarrick. He let the motorcar stand in the street in the rain, for all the world to see, his luggage in the back and a hamper of food on the seat next to him.
Ann Tait, worried about her geraniums drowning in their pots, paused to look down the street at his car, then hurried back into her shop.
Mr. Elliot, coming back from calling on a parishioner, stopped to ask if he was leaving.
“Yes,” Rutledge replied. “I’ve finished my business here.”
“You left a message with my housekeeper that you wished to speak with me.” His black umbrella glistened with raindrops, and the sleeves of his coat were damp.
“I found the information elsewhere. I’m glad I didn’t disturb you.”
“I wish you Godspeed, then.”
Rutledge thanked the minister and went around to turn the crank, drying his hand on his trouser leg before reaching for it.
HE DROVE SOME miles out of town, then found himself a quiet spot in a small copse of very wet trees where the motorcar was nearly invisible from the road.
It would be a