Charles Todd - The Confession

He had died in prison, just as the solicitor in Colchester had said.

If there was a child, he couldn’t find it.

Satisfied, he thanked the clerk who had been assisting him and left.

At the Yard, he went to a telephone, and after some effort on the part of the operator, he found the house in the Midlands where Mrs. Dunner had taken up another position. When he was put through to the number, a butler answered, and Rutledge identified himself before asking for Mrs. Dunner.

“I’m sorry, Inspector. Mrs. Dunner is no longer housekeeper here. She is now the housekeeper for Mr. and Mrs. Linton’s daughter, who lives in London.”

“Is she indeed?” Rutledge asked, relieved to be spared the long drive north.”I should like her direction, if you please.”

The butler told him, then inquired, “Is there any problem concerning Mrs. Dunner? She’s always been an exemplary employee.”

“Not at all. We are looking for information about a family she once worked for in Essex. We’re hoping she can help us locate other members of the staff at that time.”

The butler thanked him and rang off.

Rutledge looked at the address in his hand. Belvedere Place.

Cynthia Farraday hadn’t chosen a house at random when she was intent on eluding him. She had chosen the residence where Mrs. Dunner was employed. It was not surprising that the constable he’d spoken to hadn’t recognized Miss Farraday’s name. She didn’t live there and she wasn’t a regular visitor to the Linton family. Hamish was echoing his own thinking: Miss Farraday was too clever by far.

By the time he’d reached Belvedere Place, it was nearly the dinner hour, but he lifted the elegant knocker, and when a maid in a starched black uniform opened the door, he stated his business.

She hesitated, repeating “Inspector Rutledge? Of Scotland Yard? To see Mrs. Dunner?”

He was tired and felt an urge to ask if any of the silver had gone missing, but resisted the temptation. Instead he repeated what he’d told the butler in the Midlands.

“The family has only just gone in to dinner.” She looked over her shoulder, then said, “If you’ll come this way?”

She led him through to the servants’ quarters, and tapped on the door of the housekeeper’s small room. Mrs. Dunner was just finishing her accounts, and she looked up as the maid came in. She was tall and slim, her dark hair only beginning to show gray, although he thought she must be well into her fifties.

“What is it, Daisy?”

“An Inspector Rutledge from Scotland Yard to speak to you, Mrs. Dunner.”

“Thank you, Daisy. They will be looking for you in the kitchen, I think.”

The maid nodded and went away as Mrs. Dunner invited Rutledge into her room and shut the door behind him. “What has brought you to Belvedere Place, Inspector? Is there a problem with one of our staff?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “It’s about the staff at River’s End. I’ve spoken to Nancy Brothers, and now to you.”

“How is Nancy?” she asked. “I had hoped to hear from her from time to time, but she’s never written to me.”

“I expect she’s been busy.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Does she have any children, do you know?”

“I don’t believe she has.”

“A pity. And now you have found me as well. What is it you need to know about River’s Edge? I believe the house has been closed since the war began. What interest does Scotland Yard have in it?”

But he thought she knew what he was about to ask her.

“You were there when Mrs. Russell disappeared?”

“I was. It was a terrible day. I don’t think I shall ever forget it.”

“What do you believe happened to her?”

“The most obvious conclusion was suicide, of course. But I could never reconcile myself to that. I found it hard to believe in murder, as well. Still, it seemed to be the most logical explanation.”

“Why murder?”

“Because Mrs. Russell wouldn’t have deserted her children. Yes, I know what was said about her belief that her son would die in the war that was coming. And I can tell you it was very distressing for her. She’d lost her husband. The thought of losing Mr. Wyatt as well was insupportable. There was no question but that he would join the Army once war was declared. He was his father’s son. She couldn’t forbid it. She was trying to make peace with her fears.”

“Did you tell the police what you believed?”

“I didn’t feel it was my place to stir up more trouble for the family.”

“If you were willing to consider murder, there must have been someone you believed was capable of it. Who could have wished her dead?”

There were tears in her eyes as she answered him. “That’s just it, you see. I couldn’t imagine it. Not one of the staff, certainly. All of us had been with her for years. Everyone that is but Harold Finley, but he was a quiet, responsible young man. And as for the people in Furnham, why should they want to harm her?”

“What about the family?”

He could see a shocked expression in her eyes.

“Justin Fowler, for one,” he suggested.

“Oh, no, not Mr. Justin.”

“Why not?”

“Poor child, he had nightmares when he first came to us. Mrs. Russell would go in and wake him up, then comfort him. It was terrible. My room was just over his, and I could hear his screams. Some nights she got no sleep.”

“Did her son or Miss Farraday know about this? Were they jealous, do you think?”

“How could they be? Mrs. Russell had put him in a room nearest hers, so they wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“What if they came looking for her, and she wasn’t in her room?”

“I doubt that ever happened. Mr. Wyatt was a deep sleeper. As for Miss Farraday, she never was one to need pampering. An independent little thing from the first time I saw her. I was told she was accustomed to her parents going away and leaving her with the servants.”

“Did you like her?” he asked, hearing an undertone in her voice.

“Not to say didn’t like her. She was such a pretty child, everyone liked her. Still, she wasn’t one to come down to the kitchen and beg a treat, or ask me to sew her ribbons on for her. Little things, but they endear a child to you. She lacked that quality.”

“Why did Justin Fowler have nightmares?”

“I asked Mrs. Russell, and she told me that he had been ill in hospital and I was not to worry, it would pass when he regained his health. But I always wondered, you know, if his father beat him. He had such fearsome scars. Not to speak out of place-but Mrs. Russell told me she was pleased that he had more of his mother in him than his father. I had the feeling Mr. Fowler had a dark past.”

“What sort of past?”

“She never said as much outright, but I gathered Mr. Fowler had been involved with a woman of the streets. It was a reflection on his character.”

“Did he marry this woman? Or live with her?”

“He couldn’t have married her, could he? She already had a husband and a child. It didn’t stop him from taking up with her.”

It was the first he’d heard of a child. Harrison, the solicitor, had assured him there was no issue in the bigamist marriage.

“A child of his? Or by her husband?”

“I should think her husband’s. Which made it all the more shocking that Mr. Fowler should have anything to do with her.”

“A boy or a girl?”

“I don’t think Mrs. Russell knew. You must understand, Mrs. Russell never confided in me, but sometimes she’d be distracted and say things, and I had eyes, I could see some things for myself. When Miss Cynthia showed a partiality for Mr. Justin, she worried that he might break her heart. Then he was off to university, and it all blew over. But sometimes the seed doesn’t fall far from the tree, as they say.”