Charles Todd - Legacy of the Dead

“Mrs. Holden. How did your husband come to know Eleanor Gray?”

“I’m not sure that he ever did. I’ve never heard him speak of her at all.”

“There’s some evidence that he could well be the man who drove her north, just after Captain Burns died. If he did, he may have been the last person to see her alive. I’d come to believe that he was after the boy because young Ian might inherit Eleanor’s fortune once it was established that he was her child.”

“He knows Ian is mine-it’s revenge that drives him, not money!” she cried. And then pressed her fingers against her eyes as if they ached. “I haven’t the strength to worry about this Gray woman too. I have enough sorrows already.” She looked out the window. “I should never have given my child life. I went to Glasgow once, did you know? Fiona took me. To a place where abortions were done. Never mind how I found out about it, another poor, desperate woman had gone there and later confided in me. But I couldn’t go through with it. I loved Ian’s father, you see. In spite of my fear of being found out, I loved his father…” She lay back, her eyes shut. “I love him still…”

Hamish said somberly, “Holden is driving her into her grave-she’s likely to die before Fiona’s trial! Does he no’ ken the risk he’s taking?”

I don’t think he does, Rutledge answered silently. It would spoil his game if his wife died prematurely. He wants the name of her lover, and he wants his wife to see that she’s caused an innocent woman to die a fearful death. Damn the man!

But contrary to what Mrs. Holden had said, Rutledge believed Holden had known that Eleanor Gray’s body lay in Glencoe. He might even have been clever enough to see how useful it could be. A remarkably tidy way of punishing Fiona and ridding himself of the past. The problem was, this was going to be bloody difficult to prove!

He stood up. “What do you want me to do, Mrs. Holden? I can’t bring your husband in and charge him-there’s only your word against his that he’s responsible for what happened to Fiona MacDonald. People would believe him if he told them your health is frail and that your mind has been affected by it.”

“There must be a way to stop him! You-I can’t go on like this! I can’t live with Fiona’s life on my conscience, and I can’t buy it back without destroying my child! I have come to hate Alex-but he’s the albatross around my neck, and I cannot be freed from it.”

“Will you kill someone for me?”

He heard Fiona’s voice quite clearly in his head.

“Tell me-did you live in Brae before your son was born?”

She nodded. “I was desperately in love. He-Ian’s father-was in Glasgow for some time and we met when we could. I was happy. I had closed the house here-with the horses gone and the servants leaving, it was an excuse.”

“And the initials on the christening gown?”

“My maiden name. I was born Madelyn Elizabeth Marjorie Coulton. But I was afraid to use it in Brae or the clinic. Because, you see, he’d gone back to sea and not long afterward was killed.” She stopped, let her voice steady once more. “He died and I had a baby on the way. I stayed in Brae as long as I dared, hiding the pregnancy as best I could. Then I took a hotel room in Glasgow for a time before going to the clinic. There was nowhere else that I dared to have the child. If Alex had died, of course, I’d have claimed that Ian was his. But Alex was alive and I couldn’t risk brazening it out. If I hadn’t met Fiona-if she hadn’t been willing to take the child as her own-I would have killed us both. The boy and myself.”

Rutledge left Mrs. Holden with some apprehen Sion-concerned for her-afraid that when Alexander Holden walked back into his house, his suspicions would be aroused by something in her face. It wouldn’t take him long to discover that Rutledge had been there. He was too intelligent not to know why. Mrs. Holden was very fragile. What would he do? Bully her-or find a new, unexpected strength in her?

“Whatever he does,” Hamish said, “it’s no’ possible to stop him. You canna’ go to Oliver until you hear what London’s learned about Holden! You canna’ go to the fiscal without proof. This is Holden’s ground, he’ll ken what to do-”

“There may be a way to distract him.” Rutledge had nearly reached his motorcar, concealed well out of sight of the Holden property. He pulled it to the head of the drive, where Holden couldn’t pass him.

Then he waited. With infinite patience. Even Hamish stood the long watch in silence. They had shared such watches many times in the trenches-there was almost that same comfortable sense of companionship. Almost-but not quite.

It was nearly dusk when Holden came. The long shadows of the autumn day had given way to clouds, and the first sprinkles of rain.

The lights of Holden’s car picked out the dark shape of his own, and slowed.

Holden called sharply, “What’s happened?”

Rutledge replied, “I’ve come to speak to you. Your maid told me you were out, and I waited.”

“For God’s sake, why didn’t you wait at the house?”

“Because I didn’t want your wife or your servants to hear what I’ve got to say.” He gestured around them at the dark road and the dark drive. “We have a little privacy here.” The sprinkles turned to the first heavy drops.

Holden looked for hidden ears before turning back. “Then say what you have to, and let us both get in out of this rain!”

“I traced you to Craigness, Holden. To Rob Burns’s house. I found written proof there that Eleanor Gray had come north with you that night in 1916 when it rained so hard. She waited in the car until the worst had passed before coming in. And Mrs. Raeburn didn’t see her. You left with her-and Eleanor Gray disappeared. Did you kill her? Did you drag her body on a blanket up the slopes of the mountainside in Glencoe and leave her for the jackals and the ravens?”

Holden said, “Don’t be an idiot! I never knew Captain Burns. His father will tell you that. And my wife!”

“It won’t matter what they say. You’ve left a trail behind you. And I’ve uncovered it. You thought, trained as you were, that you were skilled at deception. But I can bring witnesses who remember your face and who can place you in Saxwold, in London, in Craigness, and even in Glencoe. Unimportant people you thought we’d never be clever enough to find. There’s other proof. I’ll have it soon. It’s a loosely woven net at present-but it will tighten.”

The car’s lamps were fully on Rutledge’s face, but they cast macabre black shadows on Holden’s. There was no way to read his eyes. His hands, on the wheel, were white-knuckled. Rutledge watched them. If they moved Hamish said, “Is there a weapon in his car?”

I don’t know, Rutledge answered silently. He could feel the tensing of his body. A sitting target, pinned by the light. Holden had tried to shoot him once “Save your wife the disgrace of seeing you brought in by Inspector Oliver’s men. Tell me what happened to Eleanor Gray.”

It was meant rhetorically, but to his immense surprise, Holden did.

“I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. She wanted to find passage to the States. There was nothing to keep her here, she said. I drove her as far as Glasgow, and then went back to London on my own. I don’t know what became of her after that. And I didn’t see any point in telling Inspector Oliver about it. That was in the spring, and they tell me she died in late summer.”

“You’re a very accomplished liar. But you aren’t dealing with Turks now. Or with Inspector Oliver. Your name carries no weight in London. The Yard is handling Eleanor Gray’s death, not Duncarrick.” Rutledge’s voice was cold.