The Confession - Charles Todd [94]
“Good morning. I’ve come to ask you about Major Russell.”
She set the basket of zinnias and marigolds to one side, trying to decide whether he knew the truth or was merely looking for information. He could read the uncertainty in her eyes.
Rutledge said, “I’ve learned you’ve been taking food to him at the old church. Did your husband know?”
Flushing, she said, “Who told you?”
“You did. Looking back, I should have guessed you were hiding something. Or in this case, someone.”
She made no attempt to deny the truth. “He doesn’t know—Samuel. He was glad the house at River’s Edge was closing just as I was marrying him. That was my old life, he said, and this was the new. He didn’t want me keeping up any acquaintance with the others. Mrs. Broadley, the cook, and I were friendly, and Mrs. Dunner, the housekeeper, helped me sew my wedding gown. They told me they wouldn’t mind hearing from me from time to time. But Samuel told me he’d rather I didn’t. They were in service still, you see, and I was a farmer’s wife now. And so I never wrote to them. When the Major came, I hardly recognized him. I couldn’t turn him away, could I? And I couldn’t take him in, neither. I didn’t know what Samuel would have to say about it. Instead I agreed to feed him. I’d take sandwiches and fruit and a jug of tea to him, whatever I could spare that wouldn’t be missed.”
“That was rough living for a man like the Major.”
“Don’t I know that? But he said he’d learned to do without while in the trenches. That he’d be all right. And I couldn’t go as far as River’s Edge without taking the cart.”
He could see her quandary.
“Was this the first time you’d seen him since the war?”
“Since my wedding, in fact. He gave me away. I was that grateful. I couldn’t turn him away, could I?” she asked again.
“What did he tell you? How did he get out here to Furnham?”
“He came with the van from Tilbury that brings the meat to the butcher’s shop. It comes twice a week. He’d remembered that.”
“Didn’t you wonder why a Russell would be reduced to traveling in the butcher’s van? He owns a motorcar, I’m told.”
“I did wonder, but he told me that the doctors wanted him to stay in hospital, and he’d left instead. He said it would be all right, they’d stop looking and he could go his own way. I believed him. Why should I not? He’s not one to lie. I never remember him telling a lie to anyone at the house.”
“It’s true. What he told you. As far as it goes.”
“He’s not done anything wrong. He just didn’t want to be found and made to go back to hospital. He said he’d heal better on his own, if they’d leave him to it. I could understand that.”
“Did you ever see Russell come to blows with Justin Fowler?”
“Mr. Justin?” She was surprised at the shift in subject. “They weren’t as close as Mrs. Russell had hoped. But there was never any hard feelings between them. There was a time when Mr. Wyatt was jealous over Miss Cynthia, and all that. But it was silly nonsense. Like two cockerels discovering the new hen. I’ve seen it happen before and since.”
“Did Russell blame Fowler for his mother’s death?”
She stared at him. “What did Mr. Justin have to do with that?”
“I must depend on you to tell me.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I never heard any such thing.”
“Then what happened to Mrs. Russell?”
“You asked me that before, when you showed me the locket. The good Lord knows. I don’t. Samuel said once there must be a murderer in that house, but that’s nonsense. I don’t believe it for a minute. Who could do a thing like that?”
“Yet she disappeared.”
“I know. It troubled all of us. The Major most especially, as you’d expect. I never knew a suicide before that. But it was the most likely thing.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and Rutledge knew she was anxious that her husband not see her speaking to the man from Scotland Yard. Then, looking back at him, she said, “I thought you came here about Ben Willet’s death. Not about the Major. Unless you’re looking to take him back to hospital.”
“I’m more concerned about his welfare than returning him to hospital.”
“Then you should know