The Confession - Charles Todd [19]
“You said the local people had helped in the search. Could they have seen to it that her body wasn’t discovered?”
“Dear God.” He was shocked. “I never thought of that.”
“Where is this Furnham mausoleum? Is there a churchyard associated with your parish?”
“Ah. The churchyard. The water table is too high, this near the river. It’s the reason there isn’t a crypt in this church. There’s a turning between here and the village. It doesn’t appear to be more than a dusty cart path. It leads to higher ground. The Rectory is there as well.”
“Forgive me, Rector, but isn’t it odd to have a church this far from a village? And the churchyard in another place?”
“It’s a long story,” Morrison answered. “And not a very pleasant one. I don’t know all of it myself. Suffice it to say, this church was built several years before Victoria ascended the throne. It was felt by the Bishop of that day that one was needed in Furnham parish. But over the years very few people in Furnham have availed themselves of it. I have a handful of elderly farmers’ wives, a few young children preparing for their first communion, often a bride and groom, and occasionally those who have nowhere else to turn in their misery but to God. I hadn’t expected to serve in a parish like this. It has tried my spirit, I can tell you.”
And Morrison had very skillfully directed Rutledge away from his questions about Russell and the woman in the locket.
“When was the last time you saw Russell?”
“I don’t believe he came home again once he’d joined the Army. Or if he did, I never saw him. I did learn that he was a major. His name appeared on a list of wounded.”
“And Miss Farraday?”
“Without Mrs. Russell there to act as chaperone, Miss Farraday went to London. A sad state of affairs, that. With Russell off to war, she might have stayed in the house without any criticism. But when she came to see me to say good-bye, she told me that the house was haunted.”
“Literally?”
“I asked her that question myself. She answered that it was filled with the ghosts of what might have been. It was ‘not a happy house,’ to use her words.”
“I understand that Russell was married.”
“Yes, on his last leave before sailing for France. I don’t believe he ever brought his bride to River’s Edge. I’d have liked to meet her. Later I heard she died from complications of childbirth, and the baby with her.”
“Perhaps that was why Miss Farraday chose to leave. Because of the marriage.”
Morrison smiled, a sadness in his eyes. “If anything it was the other way around. Russell would have married her on the instant. It was my understanding that she refused him. I feared that he’d married just to provide an heir for River’s Edge. If he did, it was not given to him, was it? But I understand he survived the war. So much for his mother’s superstitions.”
Rutledge reached for the envelope again and brought out the photograph of the dead man, taken in Gravesend. “I need confirmation that this is, indeed, Wyatt Russell. If you have any reservations, I’ll be happy to take you to Tilbury for the ferry to Gravesend.”
“Let me see the photograph, first.”
Rutledge passed it to him. Morrison took it and held it to the faint rays of sunlight coming through the plain glass windows high up in the sanctuary wall.
“But this isn’t Russell,” he exclaimed. “What led you to believe it was?”
“It’s not Russell? You’re quite sure of that? You haven’t seen him in six years,” Rutledge countered, making an effort to conceal his consternation.
“I’d stake my life on it!”
Chapter 5
“Could this be Justin Fowler?” Rutledge asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then you knew Fowler too?”
“He was a connection of Mrs. Russell’s, although I don’t believe she had known his family very well. She told me before he came that