Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [114]
Some eight months ago, he himself had tried to kill the doctor who had forced the secret of his own ghosts out of the silence he had wrapped around himself like a dark and protective cloak.
May Trent had suddenly found herself in the running, with a better reason than Walsh for committing murder. . . .
Abruptly realizing that both May Trent and Mrs. Barnett were watching him, he made an effort to meet the younger woman’s eyes.
They flickered, as she read his thoughts.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said quietly, numbness washing all expression out of her face. “Truly . . .”
But what, Hamish was demanding, if the worried priest had backed away from confrontation, and written the codicil to his Will instead, hoping that in time May Trent might relent and do whatever it was that mattered so much to him? Only to learn that it was already too late; he’d set in motion a chain of events that couldn’t be reversed. . . .
Something that need never reach the light of day, if he lived to old age.
Rutledge said harshly, to the two women in his room and to the voice in his head, “I don’t know the answer. I wish to God I did!”
CHAPTER 18
THERE WAS ABSOLUTE SILENCE FOR A long, disturbing moment.
Mrs. Barnett’s eyes were wide with distress. The emotionally charged atmosphere had left her speechless, unprepared to take up either side.
May Trent, who had borne the brunt of Rutledge’s intensity, found the inner resources to stare back at him, a remarkable strength in her face. “You don’t mean that,” she told him. “You can’t.” But there were tears on her lashes.
The room seemed to shrink in on him, the walls squeezing out the air, the two women between him and the door a trap he couldn’t escape from. Taking a deep breath to shake off the sense of smothering, Rutledge fell back on the one thing that had always brought him through: His ability to command.
In a voice that sounded absolutely normal, despite the turmoil that racked him, Rutledge said, “Mrs. Barnett. Can you serve Miss Trent her dinner tonight? I think she needs food, and she’s not in any condition to go elsewhere.”
“In her room?” Mrs. Barnett asked doubtfully, rising.
“No. In the dining room. Miss Trent, go and wash your face, then come downstairs with me.” He added as she started to protest, “I promise you I won’t bring up Mrs. Sedgwick or—or your own experiences. But I need to hear about Father James’s interest in Titanic and her death. And if you will tell me that, I shall stay out of your way after tonight.”
A fierce pride touched her. “I don’t want your pity!”
“I’m not offering you pity. I’m searching for answers. If you can help me, I’ll take that help with gratitude.” Then he added with a surprising and unexpected gentleness, “Go on. It’s for the best.”
May Trent studied him. He could almost read what was going through her mind—that she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts—but neither was she up to enduring public scrutiny at The Pelican, if her emotional state showed as she must have felt it did. “Give me five minutes.”
She walked out of the room and toward her own. Mrs. Barnett, watching her go, said to Rutledge, “That was inexcusable.”
“No, murder is inexcusable,” he told her flatly. “I can probably understand her feelings better than most. But I won’t walk away from my investigation when there are answers to be had.”
“But she couldn’t have known Mrs. Sedgwick! Even if somehow they’d met on shipboard, it wouldn’t have anything to do with Father James, would it? As for accusing her of killing him—!”
“She accused herself,” Rutledge replied, weariness in his voice. “It got out of hand, Mrs. Barnett—it sometimes does, when people are being questioned. I’m not sure why you came up here, but once you were here, I had no choice except to ignore you.”
Still rattled, she said, “Inspector Blevins would never —”
“I’m not Inspector Blevins.” He turned to shove the photograph safely away