Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

In spite of the tea, I felt cold. "How vicious!" I said. "Are you sure-"

"Oh, I'm sure. Once I found Miss Marjorie sitting in a corner of the rectory porch, crying her eyes out and wet to the skin. Her sister had flung a pan of hot water at Miss Marjorie, then told her father that Miss Marjorie had spilled it on purpose to get Miss Victoria into trouble. I took her home and dried her off in my kitchen and fed her her dinner there too, before sending her up the back stairs of her own house to her bed. The next morning her father wouldn't let her eat her breakfast until she'd apologized for lying."

"But did you tell the rector-anyone-what was going on?"

"I thought about it, but I could do more for the child than Rector could, because I was there. And if I'd told, I'd have been sacked. Mr. Garrison had been a wonderful man, stern but fair, but he'd changed, he was cruel and cold. Then after his wife died, he turned bitter. You might say a child couldn't do such things, but she did."

"Then what happened?"

"When the will was read, Mrs. Garrison's, I mean, she'd left money to Miss Marjorie, and as soon as she was of age she walked out the door of that house, went to London, and never set foot in it again. Even when her father died and she came for his service, she stayed here in the rectory."

"You've given me food for thought," I told Mrs. Eubanks. "And I'll keep what you've told me in strictest confidence."

"Oh, you can tell whoever you like. I don't mind. Mr. Garrison is dead himself now. And there's nothing Miss Victoria can do to me. Rector wouldn't let me go for a dozen Miss Victorias. He'd not know where to find anything and would starve to death if he had to cook for himself or do the wash." She was secure in her own worth. But I wondered if she'd have spoken quite so freely in Alicia Dalton's presence. It was one thing to assert that the rector would keep her on, but the parish priest served at the discretion of his vestry.

"Tell me about your sister."

"Nancy died young. Her and Dr. Hale were killed one icy morning coming back from a difficult lying in. Mare slipped first, then overturned the carriage, and horse, carriage, and my sister went into the river. Dr. Hale was thrown out and his back was broken. He lived a few hours, long enough to tell everyone what had happened. Otherwise I'd not have been surprised to find Miss Victoria had had something to do with the accident-young as she was."

The venom in her voice was palpable. I think she had talked to me not because I'd known Marjorie's husband but because this had been bottled up inside for so long it was like a boil in need of lancing, the pressure was so great and so painful.

"How old was she at that time?" I couldn't help it, I had to know. The story had left me shocked as it was.

"Fourteen."

We finished our tea. I saw Mrs. Eubanks eyeing the chicken, ready to garnish and put into the oven, and I knew that now she'd told her story, she was ready to get back to work on the rector's dinner.

I thanked her and rose to leave. She said, "I don't lie, Miss Crawford. I never did. What I told you is the truth. Not that it matters now with Miss Marjorie gone, and all. But it's been on my mind of late, hearing of how she died."

I left her to her cooking and walked around the rectory toward the road. I had hardly got to the end of the rectory's drive when I saw policemen just coming out of the Harts' house, and between two constables walked Michael Hart, his face black as a thunder-cloud. In front of them strode Inspector Herbert, mouth grim, eyes looking neither right nor left.

I stood there rooted to the spot, not sure what to say or do for all of several seconds.

And then I was striding across the street and brushing past Victoria Garrison, who was standing in the middle of it, a gloating expression on her face.

She said, as I passed her, in a voice pitched for my ears only, "He's going to the hangman, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it."

I ignored her. She wasn't the only person watching as Lieutenant Hart was being taken into custody. Alicia was there, looking stricken, and others I recognized from the church fete.

I caught up with Inspector Herbert as he came through the Harts' gate. He started with surprise when he saw me, then glowered.

"What are you doing in Little Sefton, Miss Crawford?"

"Visiting friends," I snapped, "and it's just as well I'm here to tell you you're making a mistake."

"Mrs. Calder isn't completely out of danger and they are keeping her sedated. But the doctors and the nursing sisters have told me that as she rouses a little, she repeats the name Michael over and over again. When she does, she's restless, and they believe she's afraid in whatever limbo she's in. A deeply rooted residual fear from her attack that she can't face."

It made sense, of course, but I wasn't ready to give up so easily.

"Nonsense," I said briskly. "That's merely one interpretation. I've sat beside men who were hardly more than boys, as they recover from surgery. They call for their mothers-or if they're married, sometimes for their wives. Am I to believe that these soldiers feel their mothers are responsible for their wounds?"

"It's not the same," he began.

"How can you be so certain? I've never once heard them cry out the name of a German soldier or the Kaiser."

"You're being ridiculous." But I could see he was weakening.

By this time Michael and his escort had caught up with us. He said sharply, "Elizabeth. Stay out of this."

"Oh, do hush," I retorted, barely glancing at him. Turning again to Inspector Herbert, I asked, "What other evidence do you have that Lieutenant Hart is guilty of murder?"

"He was in London the night that Marjorie Evanson died. And again last night."

I turned to Michael, surprise in my face. "But that's impossible!"

He had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry-"

"We found the marks. He dragged her. He's strong enough to do that one-handed. He gripped the collars of her clothing and dragged her into those shrubs. We found the bits of grass and earth on the heels of her shoes."

I swallowed hard. "And no one saw him? It was a summer's evening, and no one was looking out a window on Hamilton Place, to see a man loitering or to see him with Mrs. Calder, or in the square?"

"No one. I had men canvassing the street at eight o'clock this morning."

"How did he get to London? He required permission from his doctors before I could take him there."

"If you'll step out of the way, Miss Crawford, we'll finish our business here and take Lieutenant Hart to London."

Behind them I could see Michael's aunt in the door, her face white, her hand to her mouth. Next to her stood her husband, his face pale with shock.

I turned to Michael. "Who took you to London? Whose motorcar did you use?"

"My own," he said harshly. "Victoria agreed to drive me."

I stepped back, then. "Where was she when you were supposed to be killing Mrs. Calder?"

"Ask her. I left her at the theater. She wanted to see The Man Who Vanished."

I whirled on Inspector Herbert. "Have you verified that?"

"I spoke to Miss Garrison earlier. She paid for her ticket, handed it in, and took her seat. That much is certain. She was waiting outside the theater when Lieutenant Hart was to return for her. I have three witnesses to that."

A voice behind me said, "Let it go, Bess."

It was Simon. I didn't know he had already come back for me. I said, "But-"

And he repeated, "Let it go."

I took a deep breath and moved out of Inspector Herbert's path. He went directly to the motorcar he had waiting, and Michael passed me without a glance, taking his place in the vehicle as ordered. One of the constables was driving, and he slowly moved through the spectators cluttering the street; I felt like bursting into tears.