Charles Todd - The Confession

“It’s logical, isn’t it? She knew you well, you stood to inherit from your parents when you came of age, which meant you were Russell’s equal socially and financially, and you were already friends. I should think she was pleased to see River’s Edge in good hands for another generation. Her son could have made a worse choice.”

She took a deep breath. “In fact, he did. The woman he married was hardly what any of us would have chosen as the future mistress here. She hated the marshes, for one thing. Justin told me that when Wyatt brought her down to see River’s Edge, she refused to spend the night. Even though her sister was with her. And she felt it was silly to keep a country house, servants and the like, when they could live in London.”

“Then why did Russell marry her?”

“I don’t really know. Unless he didn’t much care anymore. He wanted an heir, I expect. And she was enthralled with the idea of a military wedding, uniforms and raised swords and a husband going off to fight for King and Country. She told me that it was just too exciting for words. I told Wyatt he could have scoured England and not found anyone quite so selfish.”

“That was rather unkind, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I told him the truth. That his mother would have been appalled. That was the day before he was to be married, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Then why should you wish to buy River’s Edge?”

“Because it stands empty. I can’t bear that. I could live here. There are no ghosts here for me.”

But that wasn’t what she had told the rector.

“What do you believe happened to Mrs. Russell?”

“I don’t know. At the time I thought it was my fault, that I’d disappointed her and she wanted to punish me. I was too young to understand that it probably had nothing to do with me, or Wyatt falling in love with me, or Justin being angry with him for spoiling everything for all three of us. I heard him tell Wyatt that he hated him. But of course he didn’t. Not really. I remember telling someone that I’d wished I had been a boy, and then none of this would have ever happened. ”

“Someone? Who did you confide in?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped, as if already regretting she’d given so much away.

“Was it by any chance someone from Furnham by the name of Ben Willet?” As he spoke, he was watching her eyes, and he thought that once again he’d found his mark.

But she shook her head. And evaded his question. “I didn’t know Furnham very well. A few of the shops, where I could purchase things without having to go all the way to London. Or having them sent out to River’s Edge without the pleasure of choosing what I liked.”

“Ben Willet went on to become a footman in Thetford. Did you know?”

“Did he? Was he happy there, do you think?”

He smiled inwardly at her answer. But Willet knew you, my girl, and wore your photograph until the day he died. The question is, how did he come by that locket?

They sat there in silence for a time as Rutledge considered what she had told him so far. Certainly encountering her here had saved searching London for her. But it had brought him no closer to the truth about what had happened to Ben Willet or, for that matter, Wyatt Russell.

“Do you think it will be possible for me to buy River’s Edge?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye. “You must know I’ll see to the property. I won’t let him down.”

“I have no idea how Mr. Russell will feel about that.”

“But you will ask?”

“I think it would probably come better from you.”

She smiled, but it was twisted, as if the admission hurt her. “There you’re wrong.”

He rose. She would have to leave soon, and he was overdue in London. “And if he feels that he might wish to sell? How will he find you?”

“Tell him I’ll find him.”

“He might prefer to contact you himself.”

“My life is my own. If he wishes to find me, tell him to speak to my solicitors.”

Hamish said into the ensuing silence, “There’s the man who let her take the launch.”

“Shall I return the chairs to the house? Or do you wish to sit here a little longer?”

“I’ll close up,” she said, her gaze once more on the river, as if she saw the past there.

“I should ask. What’s left in the house that’s worth stealing?”

This time the smile was amused. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Still-” He left it unfinished.

“Anything of value is gone. Pictures on the wall. Jewelry. Silver in the pantry. Stored somewhere in London, I expect. I wouldn’t make my fortune selling what’s left. But it’s lovely and familiar, and I’d want to keep what’s here if I could.”

“Whatever happened to the locket that Mrs. Russell wore every day of her life?”

She was very still, her eyes on his. “If they ever find her-or her body-it will be there. I don’t know that I ever saw her without it.”

He nodded and walked down the broad steps from the terrace to the lawns, making his way around the house to the drive without looking back.

He had let her believe he was a family solicitor. She hadn’t realized that he was a policeman. He was of half a mind to go back and correct that impression. But then he decided that this wasn’t the time to put her on her guard.

If she had nothing to hide, then no harm done.

Hamish, who had only spoken once after Miss Farraday had stepped out onto the terrace, was busy now in the back of Rutledge’s mind as instead of taking the main road to London, he drove along the headwaters of the River Hawking, searching for any spot where a launch could be rented. There were only three tiny villages along this narrower section of the road, mainly inhabited by families who made their living from the water, and while there were any number of boats drawn up along the shoreline, they were mainly skiffs, rowing boats, and other small craft, hardly resembling a launch that someone like Cynthia Farraday could manage. He persisted, but everywhere he was met with a shake of the head.

Nothing to hire here.

He was ready to concede that she’d lied to him when he followed a rutted lane through high grass and saw his quarry actually stepping out of a sleek launch, greeting a tall man in a white shirt and trousers.

Realizing that this was a private landing stage used by sportsmen-the half-dozen boats here were a far cry from the rough craft he’d seen until now-he pulled up and waited.

It was clear that the man knew Miss Farraday well, for they were laughing about something as he helped her secure the launch and then gestured toward the newly built shed to the left of the landing stage. On the far side of that he could see the bonnets of two motorcars, the late afternoon sun reflecting off the gleaming paint.

He hadn’t been spotted, he was sure of that, and when the opportunity presented itself as Miss Farraday followed the man inside the shed, shutting the door, he reversed until he’d reached the main road, such as it was, and considered his situation.

He could hardly approach the man after Miss Farraday had gone, and ask who had borrowed the launch for the afternoon. Whoever he was, he would undoubtedly report Scotland Yard’s interest in her as soon as he saw her again.

But it was just possible that if one of the motorcars was hers, he could follow it back to the city through the evening traffic.

There had been a tumbledown barn some distance back the way he’d come, and Rutledge decided it would offer some semblance of shelter. He thought it likely that Miss Farraday hadn’t seen his motorcar outside the gates of River’s Edge because it wasn’t visible from the house. And he was fairly sure she hadn’t followed him as far as the gates to make certain he’d left. There was no reason then that she would immediately recognize it, even if he stayed behind her for miles.