Charles Todd - Legacy of the Dead

“No. I need to fetch my notes. I’d like to read Mrs. Atwood’s statement to Miss MacDonald.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rutledge went out the station door and walked briskly in the direction of the hotel. Damn -he had forgotten that his motorcar was not there.

He reached The Reivers out of breath from the brisk pace he’d set himself. Please God Drummond is at home-! He has the other key.

Rutledge knocked at the door of Drummond’s house, and to his relief saw that his quarry was there.

“Come outside. I need to speak to you.”

“What about?” Drummond demanded, not moving from the doorway.

“Come outside, I tell you! Unless you’re willing to shout to the world what this is about.” A clear reference to his sister. Reluctantly, Drummond obeyed.

“Look, I need to go to the inn and search again. I want a witness there when I do. And I don’t want that witness to be a policeman. Or someone who is unfriendly to Miss MacDonald. Will you help me? Will you unlock the door and come with me?”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t be a bloody fool! I need to get into that inn- time’s short!”

“Ask Inspector Oliver to lend you his key.” Drummond read the answer in Rutledge’s face, and it seemed to persuade him. “All right, then. If it’s a trick, I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

“It’s not a trick.” They walked quickly to the inn, and Drummond took out his key. Unlocking the door, he blocked the way.

“Tell me where.”

“Upstairs in the wing the family used. Fiona’s room.”

Drummond grunted and led the way. Clarence came to greet them, stretching and yawning broadly. Drummond ignored the cat and stopped on the threshold of Fiona’s bedroom.

“I’m waiting.”

Rutledge said, “The tall bureau. Go to it and open the second drawer from the top. Go on, man, this is no time to be fussy about such things.”

Drummond reluctantly crossed the room to the chest and then pulled open the second drawer from the top. “I won’t touch her things!”

“No. You shouldn’t have to. There’s a small sandalwood box there. Do you see it? Probably the color of honey now. Perhaps a little darker. Just a small wooden box.”

Drummond grunted. “I don’t see it.”

“Look, man!”

With a rough forefinger, Drummond pushed at the contents of the drawer. “It’s here.”

“Then take it out. Take it over to the bed.”

Drummond did as he was told. The box was no more than six inches long, four wide, and perhaps not quite four deep. The color of the wood was a dark amber.

“All right. Open it. I don’t want to see the contents. But tell me, if you will, what is inside.”

He could hear the little silvery sound of things falling onto the coverlet of the bed. “Trinkets,” Drummond said.

“Name them.” Rutledge could feel his heart beating and hear the clamor from Hamish as Drummond pawed among Fiona’s jewelry.

“There’s a bracelet. Here are studs, onyx, from the look of them. A small teething hoop, silver, at a guess-it’s tarnished. A ring or two. Here’s a brooch. And that’s the lot.”

Rutledge could feel his heart stop.

“Describe it. The brooch.”

“I’m not one to describe a woman’s gewgaws-”

“Damn it, tell me what it looks like!”

“It’s gold, three strands twisted into three circles. Like loops. There’s a small stone in the center. A pearl. I’ve seen Ealasaid wear that of a Sunday.”

“And that’s all?” He was breathing again.

“That’s the lot. I told you.”

“Then put it all back into the box and close the lid.”

“What’s this in aid of?”

“I can’t tell you. If you’d found what I had hoped was there, it could have saved Fiona from the hangman. Now-” He put the box that Drummond gave him into his pocket and went to shut the drawer in the chest.

Drummond said, “I won’t have you taking her belongings!”

“I’m taking them to her. I’ll bring them back shortly. She wants to know if her mother’s brooch is still there.”

“But that’s Ealasaid’s brooch-”

“Yes,” Rutledge said as he led the way down the stairs. “And it isn’t enough!”

Twenty minutes later, Rutledge was back at the police station. Oliver wasn’t there, but Pringle was. Rutledge explained what he wanted and was allowed to go alone to the cell.

When he was sure that the door was firmly closed behind him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sandalwood box.

Fiona took it with trembling fingers, then smiled at him over the lid as she lifted it. “It’s so good to touch my own things again. Even if it’s for just a little while. I hate wearing these dresses, dreary and plain as this room! They are enough to make the angels despair.”

She went to the narrow bed and poured out the contents, just as Drummond had done, then gently sorted through them.

And saw that her mother’s brooch was not there.

She turned and stared at him, unsure what to say.

“There’s a brooch in the box,” he said. “Just as you told me there would be.”

“It isn’t my mother’s. It belonged to Ealasaid. I’d forgotten it was there-”

“Did you deliberately lie to me, Fiona? Or have you told me half-truths from the start?”

Her face flushed, and she bit her lip. “I haven’t lied. I have only refused to tell you secrets that aren’t mine.”

“Then what has become of your mother’s brooch? How did it come to be found miles from Duncarrick, over a year ago?”

“I don’t know. It was here! In this box. I will swear to that on my grandfather’s soul!”

He wanted to believe her. Hamish told him to believe her.

“Can you trust Drummond? Would he have stolen anything from you-would he have considered the brooch fair payment for the care of the child, then sold it?”

“No-he wouldn’t do anything of the sort-!”

“Does he owe loyalty to anyone else? Would he have taken the brooch and given it to someone else, not realizing that it might be used to incriminate you?”

“No. No, I can’t believe he would do such a thing! Not Drummond.”

“His sister, then? Could she take the key when he wasn’t looking, and use it-or allow someone else to use it?”

She hesitated. “No. She wouldn’t dare. No.”

“Are you very sure, Fiona?” Rutledge asked. “The brooch is gone, after all. When you had told me you believed it was still in the box.”

Fiona turned away and began to gather up the things on the bed, her fingers lingering over them as she felt the pull of memory. “I’m sure.”

“Then someone else may have taken it. Can you think who that might be? A cleaning woman? A patron when he thought your back was turned? Or someone who might want a souvenir of the wicked harlot?”

“There’s no one else with a key. Except for the police-”

The police. But Rutledge, standing there, facing her, was sure that the police had not had anything to do with the missing brooch. Except to retrieve it from a young girl who wanted a better life than she had had…

Rutledge sat down in the chair, watching Fiona while she paced, the box clasped tightly in her hands. Restless and uncertain, she asked him several times to tell her why the brooch was important, but he couldn’t. Instead he said, “You’d better give the box back to me. I don’t want Oliver to see that you have it.”

“Why not?” Reluctantly, Fiona brought it to him, and he put it in his pocket.

“Because, my dear girl, I’ve got to work with Oliver, and I don’t need to have him furious with me for interfering in his investigation. But you seem to be the key to mine.”

She said nothing.