Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [21]
And that was all that Monsignor Holston was prepared to say.
Leaving the rectory, Rutledge paused to speak to Bryony as she showed him to the door. Around them the house was silent, shutting out the sound of the rain and the echo of shovels scraping against stone out in the street. “I understand that Father James was well thought of.”
“Now there was a black day, when Father was killed! I’ve not got over the shock of it. Well thought of? Of course he was, and well loved, well respected, too!” She took Rutledge’s hat and coat from the chair beside the door and held them to her as if they offered comfort. “You can ask anyone.”
“People always speak well of the dead,” he told her gently. “Even a priest is human, and sometimes frail.”
“As to that, I wouldn’t know! I’m not one to go around looking for failings. I can tell you Father James was a patient man, and generous. If someone had come to him with a tale of hard luck, he’d have given them the money, they needn’t have killed him for it! It’ll turn out to be a stranger, mark my words. A cruel and ungodly man with no regard for his own soul.” Her eyes remained on his, as if expecting him to make a pronouncement that would set her mind at rest.
“A non-Catholic? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Neither Protestant nor Catholic, in my view—no churchgoing man would murder a clergyman, would he? I’m saying that whoever it was killed Father James wasn’t hungry or in debt. He was calculating and self-serving, with a devil in him. Or her. Women can be terrible cruel sometimes. Are there so many of those walking about that it takes all this time for the police to track down the right one? It’s been days now since Father’s death, and what have the police got to show for it? I call it a crying shame!”
“Surely they’ve tried.”
“Oh, as to trying, now, I’d agree with you there. They’ve tried. But they’re not what I’d call clever men.” She moved to open the door for him, letting in the damp and the reek of the filthy mud being piled high at the roadside. “Housebreaking and petty theft, fire-setting or assault—they’ll find the culprit, because chances are he’s done it before. But that’s not clever, is it? It’s only a matter of knowing where to look!”
“And in this case, perhaps only a matter of finding out who has extra money jangling in his pocket, the money he stole from Father James,” Rutledge responded reasonably. “Six of one—”
“Is it, now?” She tilted her head to look up at him. “Father James was a family man, did they tell you? This past August his sister presented her husband with three little ones, and Father James was always helping out with the babes. What’s she to do now, with winter coming on and no one to come and stay a few days, when one’s sick of the croup and she’s up all the night? You might speak to Mrs. Wainer. She was Father James’s housekeeper, and a more decent woman you’ll never meet. Ask her about walking into the study and finding him there stiff and cold, blood all over the place. And for all she knew, the killer lurking in the bedroom, ready to strike her down as well! If you’ve set Monsignor’s mind at rest just now, it would be a kindness to reassure her, too. And only a few hours out of your way, mind!”
“Where will I find her?” He stepped through the doorway as she handed him his coat and hat. He could feel the blowing mist on his face, fine as silk against his skin.
“She’s at the rectory still, though I don’t know for the life of me how the poor woman can walk through the door. It’s her duty to be there, she says. Every day. Just as if Father James was still alive. Osterley is the name of the town. Surely they told you that in London? It’s closer to the sea in the north, and easy