Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [91]
The sun was in his face, the cold gray eyes warmed by concern.
“Was there anyone else there that day who might have had words with the priest? Or showed any signs of unusual interest in the rectory?”
“On the contrary, as far as I could tell it was an orderly crowd, and the amusements seemed to keep them entertained. The afternoon appeared to be very busy, and I think Father James was pleased.” He frowned as he tried to remember. “There was one skinned knee, as I recall, when some boys ran out to play among the graves. My father quickly put a stop to that, and Mrs. Wainer bound up the wound. My brother was in some pain because of his back, and shortly after that, he asked my father to drive him home. I left with them.” He turned to May Trent. “The famous bidding war began just after that.”
She laughed. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Cullen saw a pitcher at the White Elephant Booth at exactly the same time. Father James finally had to ask them to draw lots. I thought it was clever of him.”
Sedgwick looked at his watch. “I must be going. Evans is waiting for me at the hotel. Inspector.” He smiled at Miss Trent. “I’ll speak to you another time.”
“Yes, indeed.” She watched him stride briskly down the walk and turn toward Osterley as he went through the gates. Then she quietly apologized to Rutledge. “I’m so sorry! I was nearly desperate, and you came along just when I needed rescue!”
“What happened?”
“He came looking for me in the church and asked me to have dinner with him in King’s Lynn. I told him I had other plans for this evening, and he was just about to ask me about tomorrow night, when I saw you out here. He’s an attractive man, and probably not used to rejection, but I’m—I’d rather not establish a precedent by accepting his invitations. It was such a relief to see you! Do you mind very much?”
“Not at all. But surely you could have managed, if I hadn’t come along.”
With a lift of her chin, she said, “Yes, of course. But you see, Peter Henderson wasn’t feeling well, and he was resting in one of the pews down by the altar screen, where it was cool. Wrapped in a blanket that the Vicar keeps there for him. I didn’t want Edwin Sedgwick to jump to conclusions—” Her face turned a becoming shade of pink.
Rutledge smiled, and it lighted his eyes. “I understand. Is there anything I can do for Henderson?”
“If you could drop me at Dr. Stephenson’s surgery, I’d be grateful. A headache powder would probably help him. He doesn’t eat regularly, I’m afraid, in spite of our efforts to see that he does, and I suspect that’s the root of the problem.”
“I’ll take you and then bring you back.”
“No, please. Peter sometimes uses the church as sanctuary, when it’s cold or wet. He knows I go there often; it doesn’t seem to bother him. But if you came in—”
“Whatever seems best,” he told her.
They walked together toward the motorcar, and she said, apropos of nothing, “You don’t believe Matthew Walsh killed Father James, do you? I wonder why.”
He studied her face. “Why should you think that?”
“A woman’s intuition, I suppose. And the way you go on asking questions. As if you seem to be waiting for something. A mistake. A false step. I don’t know. I have this rather uncomfortable feeling that one day quite soon, you’ll pounce!”
It was a very different attitude from Hamish’s.
And it made Rutledge feel ashamed.
How did one touch the spirit to test its scars? The reasons a man did things, the unconscious pressures behind ordinary decisions . . .
As he opened the door for her and went to crank the engine, Rutledge realized that he’d missed his chance to ask her about the photograph.
Outside Dr. Stephenson’s surgery, Rutledge stopped long enough for Miss Trent to thank him again and then disappear through the waiting room door.
He pulled out again in the wake of a milk wagon, and was halfway down Water Street when he saw Blevins walking in the same direction.
Blevins turned at the sound of a motor and recognized Rutledge at the wheel. He called out curtly, “You’re a hard man to find when wanted!”
“I’ve been to