The Confession - Charles Todd [132]
Wyatt Russell could probably tell him what he needed to know. But Russell hadn’t seen his assailant. And Rutledge wasn’t eager to put words in his mouth.
Who could answer his question?
Nancy Brothers?
When he came to the junction with the road to the Hawking River, he took it.
But halfway to Furnham, he changed his mind. Leave Nancy Brothers out of it. Go straight to Constable Nelson.
The rector was wheeling his bicycle along the road, on his way from Furnham to the Rectory. Rutledge slowed to keep pace with him.
“Back again, are you?” Morrison asked.
“I’m afraid so. Willet’s death is still a mystery.”
“I thought you’d all but settled on Jessup.”
“In truth, I’ve yet to place him in London. But all in good time.”
They had reached the Rectory drive. Morrison went ahead and leaned his bicycle against the side of the cottage. “Come in. I’m making a pot of tea.”
Rutledge followed him inside and walked to the window to look out as Morrison brought down the teapot and filled it with cold water.
“I need more information. I considered speaking to Nancy Brothers or Constable Nelson. It’s possible you can help me as well.”
“If I can.”
“When did you take up the living at St. Edward’s? Were you here before Cynthia Farraday came to live at River’s Edge?”
“I don’t believe there was a priest here then. There hadn’t been since 1902, I think it was. I refused the living twice myself before my bishop convinced me it was my duty to bring God back to this benighted place. Or words to that effect. He’s dead now. I often wonder what he would have to say about my dealings with the people of Furnham. I’m not the most successful shepherd, I grant you, but this is not the general run of flock.”
Rutledge laughed. “What about Nelson? When did he come to Furnham?”
“About five years before the war, I should think. 1908? 1909? But you were asking me about Cynthia Farraday. I’ve told you most everything I can think of. Is there anything in particular?”
“I’ve spoken to her a number of times, and I’ve begun to think that she’s still in love with Justin Fowler. She refuses to believe he’s dead. She feels he must be among the missing. What she doesn’t know—I didn’t care to be the one to tell her—is that he’s been listed as a deserter by the Army.”
Morrison’s surprise was genuine. “Has he been, by God?”
Rutledge finished his tea. “Now I must beard Jessup in his den. Do you know where he lives?
“The house just past the bend in the road. On the right.”
But when Rutledge stopped in front of that cottage, he changed his mind. Reversing, he went instead to The Rowing Boat. It appeared to be closed, but he knocked at the door. There was no answer.
From there he drove to Abigail Barber’s house. She came to the door, and as soon as she recognized him, she said, “My father and my brothers are dead. There’s no more bad news to bring to me.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Barber. I need to ask you again. You had no word from your brother for months?”
“That’s true. I expect he didn’t want to tell us he was dying.” Her eyes filled at the memory. “He was so thin, lying there under that sheet. It broke my heart to see him.”
“Someone paid him a visit in London. The night before he died. He’d written a letter, and the visit must have been prompted by that.”
“He couldn’t have written. Sandy would have told me. Nor would he have gone to London without me. Not if it was Ben he was seeing. He wouldn’t have gone to London without me!”
“Your father was ill,” he reminded her.
“He would have taken me to see Ben. I’d have found someone to sit with my father. It would have been all right.”
He reminded her of the date again. “Was your husband away at that time?”
“No, of course he wasn’t. Besides, there’s the pub. He doesn’t trust anyone else to manage it.”
“Your uncle, then.” When she hesitated, he added, “I know about France. It’s not important.”
Her face wasn’t good at hiding what was going through her mind. He had his answer. Jessup had been away. But where?
Mind reading couldn’t put Jessup in London, and it was clear