Charles Todd - A long shadow

A child's bicycle lay against the back steps in one, and in another a man was just visible bringing up a giant cabbage from the coal cellar where it had been stored. A wagon moved into view, leaving one of the shops. The rectory's slate roof was mossy, and he could see into the rector's bedroom, glimpsing the foot of the bed and the edge of a door through the open drapes.

He was staring at the Baylor house, beyond the rectory, when he saw that someone was at a window on the top floor, apparently staring directly back at him.

It was a shock, because inside this tight cocoon of wood, he'd felt invisible. The question was, could the figure at the window actually see him, or was he only gazing out at the church?

Rutledge brought up the field glasses, but it was impossible to pick out details through the windowpane. A dark, irregular shape, but certainly human. He'd have missed it altogether if the figure hadn't moved and drawn his attention. And yet he seemed to feel the intensity of the watcher's scrutiny.

Curiosity, or something more sinister?

On the other side of the coin, the sun had just come out from behind the clouds, reaching through the narrow opening beside him and touching the ladder on which he stood, highlighting his right shoulder. He was pinned there, vulnerable, with the long descent blocked by Hamish just below him. Caught like a bird in a sack.

But that was nonsense. Any threat to him would come from outside Dudlington, not from a house whose owner he knew.

He tried to shake off the sense of urgency pressing him now and concentrated instead on the placement of each foot, feeling his way downward. There was a sense of relief when he finally reached the mouth of the bell and the real stairs. However rudimentary they had seemed before, they felt sturdier and safer than that abominable ladder. He reached out to touch the bell for a moment, his hand against the icy cold metal. And from this angle, he noticed for the first time the mechanism that connected the bell to the clock.

"Hark!" Hamish warned, from somewhere below him, and he saw the gears begin to move.

The clock was about to strike, and he was standing there beside the bell.

Wasting no time, he went as fast as he dared down the next set of stairs, reached the last flight, the one of stone, and was halfway down it when the great bronze tongue over his head tolled the hour, the wash of sound enveloping him.

On solid ground at last, he went straight to the sanctuary and found a pane of clear glass facing the direction of the Baylor house.

But if there had been someone in the upstairs window, he was gone now. All Rutledge could see was the movement of clouds reflected in the dark glass, like the shadow of leaves stirring in the wind. He was beginning to think he'd let his imagination run away with him up in that spire.

Hamish taunted, "Aye, you've lost your nerve. It wasna' a stalker standing there, only a man looking out his ain window."

"To hell with my nerve. What I want to know now is whether someone's accustomed to standing there. And did he see what happened in Frith's Wood last Friday, or at any other time? If there was someone looking at me through the spire's opening, had he seen anyone else up there in the past few weeks."

"There's verra' little warmth at the top of yon house in winter," Hamish countered derisively. "And only two people, ye ken, with no' much time to stand about watching ithers. It's no' likely they'll ha' seen anything. Unless they were verra' lucky."

"Then it's time to find out how good their luck is."

When Rutledge used the brass knocker on the door, there was no answer. He walked around the side of the house to the kitchen garden.

The door there was ajar, and he stepped in, calling, "Baylor? Are you there?"

He could hear voices somewhere inside, and he walked down the passage to the kitchen. It was empty too. Although it was tidy, the room was masculine in tone- shades rather than curtains at the windows, and an oil cloth covering the table. The only feminine concession was a frilled but worn cushion on one of the chairs, as if this was where a woman had once sat.

The door on the far side led to the rest of the house, and he walked quietly down a second passage. He'd just reached a room with an open door when Baylor came out and nearly collided with him.

"What the hell!" he exclaimed, startled to find someone in his house.

"I've knocked on the front door and called from the kitchen-perhaps it's time to think of answering. You must have heard me."

"Damn you, you've no right to come in like this." Baylor was furious, his face red.

"I came to ask if I could look out your upper windows toward Frith's Wood. Surely there's no harm in that. It's probably the best observation post in Dudlington."

"What are you saying, that someone here used it to watch the wood? You must be mad. We had nothing to do with Hensley's attack that day. Except to save his life."

"Don't deliberately misunderstand me, Baylor. I simply want to stand at the window to judge how much of the wood is visible from there."

Hamish said quietly, "There's someone in yon room. And you must pass it to reach the stairs-"

Rutledge could feel the presence in the room, silent and apprehensive.

"Look, I'll just go up the back stairs to the attic, if you'll lead the way. I needn't disturb the rest of the household."

Torn, Baylor considered the alternatives. "Oh, very well. This way."

He brushed past Rutledge with the intention of irritating him and walked back toward the kitchen. Through another door were the back stairs, narrow, curving, and with short treads. Baylor went up them with accustomed ease, but Rutledge had to duck through the door and keep a hand on the wall as he climbed.

They came out on the floor above, and then walked a short distance to a second flight of steps going up to the next floor.

It wasn't an attic as Rutledge had thought, but another passage with small rooms intended for children or servants. The doors were shut, giving a claustrophobic air to the corridor, making it appear to be narrower than the one below. The carpet running down the center was worn with use but sound.

It would, Hamish was pointing out, muffle footsteps.

Baylor opened the door into a bright corner room, with square windows and an iron bedstead against one wall, a washstand nearest the door, and a tall chest of drawers to Rutledge's left. The room seemed unused, empty of personal touches or the ordinary signs of someone's presence. There was a desk between the north windows, and he went to it to lean his hands on the wooden top so that he could look out.

He could see the wood quite well, but not into it as clearly as he had from the church spire.

"It would be helpful if I could send someone into the wood and then stand here to observe his progress," Rut- ledge said. "A test of sorts. Would you be agreeable to walking there for ten minutes or so?"

"I don't set foot in the wood if I can help it. Find yourself another ferret."

Without haste, Rutledge turned to the west window, where he could look toward the church, and found himself facing the narrow east opening where he'd stood on the ladder not twenty minutes before. A pale light came through from the opposite side of the spire, illuminating the interior, and he thought, Someone could have seen me, it's not impossible.

"Do you have a woman who cleans for you?" he asked aloud, turning to Baylor. "Or perhaps your brother comes up here from time to time, to look out at the fields. It's really quite a fine vantage point."

"Nobody uses this floor. We haven't since we were children, and my parents were still alive."

"Can you be sure of that?"

"I told you. We don't use this floor."