Search the Dark - Charles Todd [114]
They had reached the bench, and Napier sat down, scanning Rutledge from head to foot. “You look like the sensible sort. In the war, were you?”
“Yes,” Rutledge answered, obeying Napier’s gesture and taking the other end of the bench. “I was.” The words were more curt than he’d meant.
“Hmm. Then I daresay you’ll understand when I tell you that Simon Wyatt is a man living on the edge, as it were. He’s my godson, I care deeply about him. The war came damned close to breaking his spirit, and he hasn’t been able to recover the balance of his mind. I’ve not encouraged him to stand for office, I’ve felt that he was probably better off working on this museum of his, finding his feet again in his own good time. Dorset is quiet, a healing place, as I know myself.” The tone of voice was fatherly, concerned. It was as if the rupture caused by Simon’s marriage to Aurora had never occurred.
“I understand, but I don’t see that this is important enough to bring you from London to tell me.”
“Simon may not know some of the terms of Margaret’s will. They may need explanation. But they have nothing to do with this murder, and they have nothing to do with Margaret’s affairs. Simon’s father was kind enough to arrange a loan for her when she needed it, and that was that. He wasn’t involved with her in any way, he simply felt that she deserved a measure of independence, and helped provide it. You never knew Margaret, but she was a very able young woman, very charming, very attract—”
His voice broke, and for several seconds he fought for control. “She was all that a man might want in his daughter,” he ended lamely. “I would have done the same for her, if she’d asked me, but she no doubt felt it was improper, since she lived in my house. It was the sort of arrangement that could have political repercussions, and she was astute, politically—”
“Unsafe for you—but safe enough for Simon’s father?”
Napier turned to look at him. “Don’t be purposely obtuse!”
“No,” Rutledge answered. “All right, then, you don’t want Wyatt to know why the house is left to him. But that’s out of my hands. Hildebrand is going for a search warrant for Wyatt’s farm. He apparently believes Aurore Wyatt killed Miss Tarlton because she was under the impression that Miss Tarlton and Wyatt had had an affair. That Simon Wyatt bought the Chelsea house. And that Simon Wyatt might well be the father of the child Miss Tarlton bore. She could hardly want his mistress moving in with them.” It was a mixture of fact and fiction, but Rutledge was interested to see how well this balloon flew. And what reaction it provoked. He might have only this one opportunity to confront Napier.…
The expression on Napier’s face was a mixture of shock and horror. “How do you know all this? About the child? And why should Aurore Wyatt know of it? It wasn’t Simon’s, he was away at war—”
“Was it his father’s?”
“God, no! Whatever you think about Margaret Tarlton, I assure you she—”
“Then who was its father? Daniel Shaw? You? I’m not interested in Miss Tarlton’s child. I’m only interested in what bearing it might have on her murder.”
“The child is dead—it was born dead! It has no bearing on anything!” There was an undercurrent of wild grief behind the defensive words. A wrenching pain.
“Mr. Napier, if Hildebrand learns of it, it could send a woman to the gallows. It gives her a clear motive, don’t you see that, to kill a suspected rival.”
“No. I’ve met Aurore Wyatt several times. She isn’t my concern; she can take care of herself, she’s clever and resourceful and strong. Simon is very vulnerable. Whatever this fool Hildebrand is trying to do, he’s wrong. I think Margaret was the unwitting victim of that poor sod they’ve got in the jail at Singleton Magna. There’s no more nor