Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [164]
This woman had lived a life with little security, on the edge of poverty as often as not, and never climbing to the dizzying heights of the great names of the legitimate stage. It had already taken its toll in her skin and in the hard lines around her mouth. He remembered all too well the woman dragged from the Thames. Had she chosen the water rather than falling into prostitution? If Iris was despairing enough of her future prospects to swallow her pride and anger, and come to offer Matthew Walsh her support, she was desperate indeed.
Hamish said, clicking his puritanical tongue, “You’re a fool, and will be taken for one!”
“Hardly,” Rutledge answered curtly.
He left Miss Kenneth in Mrs. Barnett’s care and walked into the lounge, where May Trent was writing a letter at the small white desk and Monsignor Holston was reading a book. They looked up, their faces mirroring an expression of impatience.
“Where have you been?” Miss Trent asked. “We expected to see you at dinner last night or breakfast this morning!” There was neither censure or anger in her voice, but he detected an undercurrent of strain.
“I’ve been busy, I’m afraid,” Rutledge replied. “I’ve spoken with the Vicar, for one, and Peter Henderson after that. Peter tells me that Walsh walked away from Holy Trinity through the trees just south of the vicarage, and past the houses there, taking a southwesterly course, where he could make good time in the pastures beyond.”
May Trent said, “But you said Walsh hadn’t done any such thing! You said he’d taken that poor farmer’s horse! That’s why we said nothing—”
Monsignor Holston interjected, “If Walsh had come across a search party, he might have doubled back, found himself some faster means of getting out.”
“In his shoes, doubling back could mean certain capture. There were farms ahead—”
Mrs. Barnett came in with tea. “I’ve settled Miss Kenneth for now,” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she sleeps for an hour or so. She tells me she came all the way from London. It must have been a very difficult journey for her!”
Rutledge said, “Thank you. Er—I understand you went to see Father James, the same day that he died.”
“No, that’s not true—” She paused. “Oh. You mean to the rectory! I stopped to ask Ruth Wainer if I might borrow a roasting pan for the weekend, when there would be a christening party here. I didn’t expect to find Father James in—at that hour, he’s usually in the church.”
“Did you go to the kitchen door? Or to the front of the rectory?”
“To the kitchen door, of course. I was hoping Ruth hadn’t left.”
“Did you see anyone near the house when you went there?”
She smoothed the collar of her gray dress. “I don’t recall seeing anyone else. Should I have?”
“Peter Henderson was there, near the lilacs, waiting to speak to Father James.”
“No. But of course I wasn’t looking for him, was I? Why didn’t he speak?”
“Did you meet a member of Lord Sedgwick’s family, by any chance?”
She considered the question. “Not Lord Sedgwick, no. I did pass his motorcar near Gull Street. I didn’t see who was in it, the lamps were right in my face, and it was traveling fast. It went on toward Wells, as far as I could tell. Occasionally that chauffeur of his takes it to The Pelican, if Lord Sedgwick is out of town. It could have been Edwin. He’s a fast driver, like his brother.”
“Do you know the Randal farm?”
“Oh, yes. Everyone does. I used to buy cut flowers from his wife, for the dining-room tables. She was a wonderful gardener.”
“Whose property is adjacent to Randal’s, to the south?”
“My guess is it belongs to the Sedgwick family. Lord Sedgwick has made a practice of buying up acreage when he can. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s bought the Randal property, when Tom’s too old to run it himself. There’s no close family, you see.”
What she’d told him agreed with the map he’d seen in Blevins’s office. “Thank you, Mrs. Barnett. You’ve been very helpful!”
“Will you be staying in for lunch?” Her glance ran around the room.
“Yes, if that’s