Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [141]
If Holden had come here and found the christening gown with the telltale initials—if he had come again to take away the brooch—surely he would come now—
There was a chink! from somewhere in the house. The cat?
Rutledge was very still now, no longer waiting, feeling instead the adrenaline surge of danger. His breathing grew deeper, steadying him.
Rutledge had no illusions about Holden. He would kill . . . given the need.
Nothing. No one stirred in the bar below. No one came up the stairs.
Another quarter of an hour passed.
Suddenly he could feel the cool rush of air and smell the dampness of the rain. Someone had opened a door. Then it was closed again.
He waited, drifting silently behind the curtain surrounding Fiona’s clothes. The faint scent of her perfume reached him, evoking her image.
But no one came up the stairs.
He waited, and in the end decided to go closer to the stairway, where sounds from below would be magnified.
Moving to the top of them, he listened again. And then in the silence a soft footfall reached his ear.
It was too late to go back to where he’d been.
He moved back a very little, opening the stairs to whoever was climbing them with such stealth. After a few seconds he could—he thought—make out the dark shape coming toward him. The stairwell, like a pit, yawned into stygian darkness. But the shape moved . . . breathed. He could hear the quick, shallow breaths, the carefully placed feet on the steps. . . .
Rutledge stood where he was, letting it reach him. Go past him—
It went into the child’s room, out of his line of vision, and was there for some minutes. Rutledge could hear the clothes chest open and after a time close. And then it was coming toward him again, something white grasped in front of it. Without seeing Rutledge in the deep shadows, it made for the head of the stairs.
And then Rutledge acted, moving from the balls of his feet, taking full advantage of the element of surprise, catching his quarry from behind, pinning the arms hard to the sides before he realized that it wasn’t a man he held in his grip but a woman.
Dear God!
“I’ll see you dead before I let you finish this.” Her voice was husky, low. And breaking free while he was still absorbing the unexpected shock, his grip loosened, she lifted her arm.
He saw the flash of a knife and spun away.
She came after him, raising it again. Determined. He caught her wrist, and the thinness told him who it was.
“Mrs. Holden? It’s Rutledge!” He spoke quietly, the words no more than a hiss. But she gasped, and said, “Oh, no!” in horror.
He moved closer to her, whispering, “What are you doing here?”
“He told me there was proof at The Reivers. He said he was coming to find it. I thought he meant the christening gown— But he had promised Oliver and the Chief Constable to have a drink with them first. So I came ahead, to stop him.”
She pressed something into his hands. He felt the cold steel of a dagger and the warmth of the hilt where her fingers had been. “It’s sharp,” she warned. “I was going to kill him with it. You must take it. You must kill him for me! If you won’t, I shall!”
“Mrs. Holden, you must go. Please! How in the name of God did you get in here without a key?”
“But I’ve had a key. Fiona gave me one after her aunt died. A precaution, if anything went wrong and I needed to reach Ian.”
“Then give it to me and go. I’ll see it’s returned tomorrow!”
“Will you kill him?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Not if I can help it.”
“You have the dirk. It was my father’s! If you won’t do it for me, do it for Fiona!”
And then she was gone, moving down the steps with the same silent care she’d used coming up them.
His heart still racing, Rutledge took a long breath. Then he listened. Somewhere a door opened and closed quietly. The only sign of it was the brief rush of cold, damp air. She was gone.
He went back into the bedroom. Something brushed past his leg, and this time he knew