The Confession - Charles Todd [93]
“Then why were you meeting him a second time?”
“He told me there was something he must tell me. Before he died.” Wyatt took a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to talk about Willet. Will you risk it, Rector? Taking me in? I can’t ask Nancy to do any more than she has done. She must be afraid her husband will find her out. I had trouble enough persuading her to bring me food in the old church ruins.”
There was another silence.
Russell said irritably, “If you’re afraid I’ll murder you in your bed, I’ll find somewhere else to go.”
“It isn’t that,” Morrison began, then before Russell could speak, he added, “there’s hardly enough room for one in the Rectory. Much less two.”
“I’ll sleep in a chair if I have to.”
But he must have read something in the other man’s face, because without waiting for an answer, Russell went on, “Yes, all right, I understand. I think there’s a bicycle in one of the outbuildings. It was used by the servants. I can manage. At least let me clean up a little. I’ve slept rough too long and I can’t very well bathe in the river in plain sight of anyone coming upstream.”
Rutledge eased the door closed, careful not to let the latch click to, and went back to his motorcar, driving off as soon as he was behind the wheel. Without turning on his headlamps he continued down the dark road until he was certain that neither the rector nor the Major could see his rear light.
Hamish said, “Ye didna’ think to search yon ruins.”
It was an accusation. But there was barely cover enough to conceal a human being. He hadn’t expected it to hide a stray sheep, much less a grown man.
“More to the point, how did he get there?”
“Ye must ask him.”
“I intend to.”
He drove for more than a mile past the gates of River’s Edge, then left the motorcar at the verge, as far into the heavy grass as he dared. Walking back toward the house, he considered where best to set his ambush.
Just past the gates?
But then if Russell knew a shorter way across the marshes—and Rutledge was fairly sure now there must be one—closer to the house would be wiser.
He chose his spot under the windows at the side of the house, leaned against the wall under the drawing room windows, and waited. How long would it take a man to bathe and shave, perhaps drink a cup of tea? An hour then, before Russell appeared.
But an hour passed. And then another.
Had Morrison taken pity on Russell after all, and allowed him to stay the night in the Rectory?
He’d been certain that Morrison wouldn’t change his mind.
Hamish said, “Ye could ha’ confronted him in yon kirk.”
“If Russell had put up a fight, Morrison would have had every reason to raise the question of sanctuary. No, it was better to wait for him here, alone.”
By half past two, it was clear that Russell wasn’t coming.
A wild-goose chase.
“Then go to yon Rectory now and ye’ll have him.”
It was the only option left to him. By morning Russell could be miles away from this part of Essex. The roads were rutted but flat, and a bicycle could make good time, given an early start.
It was a long dark walk back to his motorcar.
But when he reached the Rectory, there were no lights, and no one came to the door.
After an early breakfast the next morning, Rutledge drove to the Brothers farm. He found Nancy cutting flowers for the house, a basket over her arm and secateurs in her hand.
She looked up as she heard the motorcar come up the farm lane, straightening to stare warily at Rutledge as he got out and walked across to the garden. He was beginning to understand why she had been eager to see him go yesterday before her husband had come in from the fields. She was afraid her husband might learn that she was harboring the son of her late mistress, a man wanted by the police. And yet out of her feelings for the family she had served so long, she’d taken the