Charles Todd - A Bitter Truth

“He’s back in England looking for revenge?”

“It’s possible. Bess, what was unique about Merrit?”

“He was blind.”

“That’s right. He couldn’t recognize faces.”

I remembered Lieutenant Merrit stepping out the door of Bluebell Cottage and tapping his way down the street here in Hartfield. “But the blind often compensate by developing acute hearing. He could recognize a voice. And when he learned that George Hughes was coming to spend the weekend with the Ellis family, he wanted him to see the owner of the voice he’d heard.”

“Men who have served on courts-martial seldom meet to share a glass of beer in the local pub and talk over the trial,” he agreed.

“William Pryor. Willy,” I said, getting up and walking across to the hearth to warm my hands.

“You can’t be sure of that. Only that someone here in Ashdown Forest could be Halloran.”

“Do you have any idea what this man Halloran looks like?”

“The description could fit half the men serving in the British Army. No distinguishing characteristics. Medium height, medium coloring.”

“I’ll never be able to convince Inspector Rother to look into this. I wonder if George and Davis Merrit actually did meet? Or if the killer got to each of them first?”

“Or if Merrit accidentally got the message into the wrong pocket.”

I shivered. “How awful! But George went to the churchyard that morning, didn’t he?”

“To meet Merrit-or to say good-bye to Juliana? We’ll never know.”

“Simon. There’s George Hughes’s accident. As he drove to Vixen Hill. He swore there was something in the road. But when he and Roger Ellis went back, there wasn’t.”

“Halloran couldn’t have known when he was coming to Vixen Hill.”

“But he could. George stopped here, at The King’s Head, to brace himself for talking with Roger about Sophie. He could have been seen in time to prepare the accident. If George was here in Sussex, Davis Merrit would be able to have any suspicions confirmed. And so both had to die.”

“It’s too late to do anything about this tonight, Bess. But I think tomorrow we ought to speak to Roger Ellis before talking to Inspector Rother or one of his constables. Meanwhile, I should lock my door, if I were you.”

I was halfway to the door when I stopped. “It all makes perfect sense. Except for the death of Dr. Tilton.”

“To throw us off the scent? It might raise eyebrows if the only victims had a link with Halloran.”

“Yes. Of course. He was found on the grounds of Vixen Hall. A case could be made for his learning something in the postmortems, and coming to speak to the family. Or to blackmail them. Who can say?”

He touched the wound on his cheek. I thought it must be hurting. But Simon would never tell me if it did. “I’ll walk you to your door. Don’t forget to lock it.”

“I’ll be all right. Good night, Simon.”

I opened Simon’s door and turned to walk down the passage to my room. And saw Gran standing in front of my door, staring in my direction.

“Gran? Mrs. Ellis?” I said.

“Can we talk, Sister? Isn’t there a parlor downstairs?”

“I should look in on Sophie. It’s nearly time for her to wake up.”

“It will take no more than five minutes.”

I hesitated, then said, “Yes, all right.”

We went down the stairs and found the little parlor empty. Gran closed the door after her, saying, “I don’t want to be interrupted.”

Sitting in the nearest chair, I reminded her, “You said no more than five minutes.”

“I’ve come to ask you if you thought that the nuns who had charge of Sophie could be persuaded to accept a large sum of money in exchange for allowing us to keep her. I should think, given the situation in France at the moment, money could buy many necessities for the children in their care. Medical treatment, food, soap, clothing. Shoes. Children grow so quickly.”

“It’s not a question of money. Sophie is a citizen of France. There are laws. The nuns would be guilty of breaking them.”

“At least you could ask, my dear. It could do no harm. And possibly a great deal of good. The other children would benefit, and Sophie would have a new life with people who care very deeply for her.”

“She isn’t Juliana,” I said.

“I’m an old woman, Elizabeth Crawford. I know this child isn’t Juliana. But we could watch Sophie grow into womanhood, which we were denied when Juliana died so tragically, and it would make up, a little, for all we’ve lost.”

“I will speak to the nuns on your behalf,” I said. “But I can make no promises.” I’d said that once before. To Lydia. Promising that I would at least look for the child.

“I can ask no more.” She nodded to me and opened the door.

“Have they taken Mrs. Ellis away?” I asked.

“They have. That idiot Rother wouldn’t allow Roger to accompany her. She insisted that she would be all right. God help Rother if she isn’t.”

She left then, striding out the door with the support of anger to keep her strong.

I went back up the stairs to my room. When I opened the door I called softly to Sophie, so as not to startle her, then crossed to the bed. The little nest of bedclothes that I’d made for her was empty. I looked around the room, thinking that she might have crawled out of it and fallen asleep behind a chair or under the bed.

She wasn’t there. I opened the door and went down the passage to Simon’s room.

Even before I got there, I knew what must have happened.

While Gran had kept me busy in the parlor, Lydia must have slipped up the stairs and carried Sophie away.

Simon answered my knock at once, saying as soon as he saw my face, “What is it?”

“Sophie is gone. I think Lydia took her. The elder Mrs. Ellis was just here-I think to distract me while it was done. We’ll have to go after them.”

“Yes, get your coat. I’ll meet you at the motorcar.”

I ran back to my room for coat and scarf and hat, then raced down the stairs. Simon had already cranked the motor and was behind the wheel. We were rolling almost as I shut my door.

“They couldn’t have too much of a head start,” I said.

“We’ll find them,” he said grimly.

Ahead of us, crossing the main street in Hartfield, was Willy. He paused in the middle of the street, staring straight at us, then moved to the verge. I looked at him as we passed and saw that same expression in his eyes. Sly, knowing that he was tricking us, enjoying the joke on us.

“He’s a healthy man, why isn’t he in the Army?” Simon asked with interest.

“He’s unfit mentally. Or so they say. He couldn’t take orders, follow instructions, be trusted in the field.”

“A very good disguise for a man who doesn’t want to fight.”

We were beyond Hartfield now, and there was still no sign of the Ellis motorcar ahead of us on the track. “They’re driving too fast,” I said. “The sheep-”

Simon said nothing, his eyes on the road.

We had turned into the lane that led to Vixen Hill before we’d caught up. To my surprise, I saw that Gran was driving I hadn’t known that she could. But then the war had taught women to do many things, and driving a motorcar was the least of them.

We caught her up before she’d even opened the driver’s door. She turned and stared at us over her shoulder, her face startled.

“Lydia isn’t with her,” I said sharply. “Look!”

Simon pulled up behind her motorcar.

“What is it?” Gran called. Stiff from the drive, she waited until Simon had come round to open her door and help her out.

“Sophie is gone,” I said, reaching her as she stepped down and quickly scanning the empty seats. “I thought Lydia had taken her-while you were speaking to me.”