Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [31]
He had disappointed her. And her face let him know it.
Making amends as best he could, Rutledge said, “You tell me that goodness makes enemies. Can you give me the names of anyone who might have had a reason to harm Father James?”
“Don’t be daft. If I could have made such a list, I’d have handed it over to Inspector Blevins. And I never heard Father James speak ill of anyone. He had a way with him, listening to what was said to him, considering what was to be done for the best. And, good man that he was, he always looked for the best in people. But he didn’t always find it. There are some that are two-faced, smiling and agreeable under your eye, but mean-spirited and venomous behind your back. He knew that, just as any good policeman should.”
Her views on the failings of human nature met with approval from Hamish. He said, “Aye, a man owed my grandfather money, and said he couldna’ pay it back, his business was sae puir. But it wasna’ true. He was hiding the profits.”
Rutledge said, “You were in this house every day, going about your duties. How did Father James behave those last weeks? As he always had? Or could you see that he was worried, preoccupied?”
For the first time, he caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes. It was unexpected, as if she had locked it away and didn’t want to bring it into the light.
Mrs. Wainer was silent for a moment, then answered, “I’d find his bed not slept in, some mornings. And he’d often be standing at the kitchen window by the back garden, looking out, the tea already made, as if he hadn’t been able to rest. That last morning, he turned a surprised face to me when I came in at my usual hour. As if he’d lost track of the time.”
“Was there a problem in the parish that kept him awake?”
“If there was, it never reached my ears! But he’d been to the doctor’s, several times to my certain knowledge, and I was beginning to wonder if he was ill—a cancer or some such. And it was on his mind.”
“A local man?”
“Dr. Stephenson, yes. It’s all I could think of, that Father must have been given bad news. I waited for him to confide in me, but he never did. And then he was killed, God rest his soul, and I couldn’t help but think as they put him into the ground, he’ll not have to worry any more about the cancer.”
“Did he show signs of being ill? Coughing—complaining of pain—taking medications you hadn’t seen before?”
“No, I’d have come right out and asked him then! It was just—I don’t know—just a feeling that he was sorely troubled. I asked him the first time I found him standing in the kitchen if there was anything on his mind, and he said, ‘No, Ruth, I’m well.’ But there was something wrong. He wasn’t himself!”
“Something on his conscience, then?”
She gave him a stern and heavy look. “Priests like Father James don’t have evil on their conscience! I’d as soon believe that my own son was wicked, and him a respectable bank clerk in London!”
CHAPTER 6
JUST PAST THE FIRST TURNING FOR Water Street, Rutledge saw the small board indicating Dr. Stephenson’s surgery. On impulse he pulled over and stopped, left the car out in front, and rang the bell. It would do no harm to confirm or deny Ruth Wainer’s fears.
A woman admitted him, her apron crisp and her hair tightly pulled back into a small knot. It gave her face a severity that was belied by the kind eyes. Rutledge gave his name and asked to speak to the doctor.
“His surgery is closed for the afternoon.”
“It isn’t a medical matter. It concerns a police investigation.” He showed her his identification.
She considered him, uncertain what to do. Finally, as Rutledge smiled at her, she said, doubt heavy in her voice, “He’s in his office, writing up a patient’s record to send to London. If I let you go in, you won’t keep him long, will you? The post won’t wait!”
He was taken to Dr. Stephenson’s private door down the passage and admitted into the small office, where the doctor sat at his desk, papers