Charles Todd - A test of wills

"What did you do?"

Royston hesitated. "I borrowed his car without his knowledge. There was a girl I desperately wanted to see down in Dorset because I thought I was madly in love with her. Colonel Harris-Captain, he was then-was in Palestine, and at the time it didn't seem like such a crazy thing to do, taking the car." He stopped, and then added quickly, "There was an accident. I wasn't a very experienced driver, and so it was my fault, whatever the law said. I paid for what I'd done-in more ways than one. And there were hospital bills. Among other things I'd badly damaged a kidney. That's what kept me out of the war, later. Charles lent me the money to settle it all. Within five years I'd paid him back every penny."

"It must have been a large sum."

"Any sum is large when you're twenty-one and frightened out of your wits. But yes-it was large. The car wasn't mine, remember. And-someone was hurt. It took every ounce of courage I had to confess to Charles. All he said was, 'You've had a bad experience. But there's no going back to change it. So try to learn from it. That's the only restitution you can offer.' "

"And did you?"

The eyes meeting his were level and sober. "For eight years or more I had nightmares about it. The accident, I mean. Reliving it. I don't hold with Freud's nonsense about dreams, but I can tell you that nightmares strip the soul."

Rutledge found no answer for that. Sally Davenant watched her cousin for a while, then said, "Mark, that's the fifth time you've read that page. Put the book down, for God's sake, and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," he said, smiling up at her. "I was thinking, that's all."

"Don't tell me 'nothing' when I know there is something. You've walked around like a man in torment for days now. And why aren't you at Mallows? Lettice must be frantic with grief, and surely there's something you can do for her, if only to hold her. You did that for me after Hugh died, and it was all that got me through those first ghastly days. And there are practical considerations-who's arranging the funeral? You can't leave it to that dreadful man Carfield, he'll give us a sickeningly long eulogy comparing poor Charles to Pericles or Alexander. And the solicitors in London could do worse, with something coldly formal and military. Lettice will know best what Charles would have wanted-the right scripture, hymns, and so on."

"She's still under Dr. Warren's care-"

"Do you think being drugged into helplessness is going to solve anything for her? What's wrong, I ask you again. Something is! You spent every free moment at Mallows until the day Charles died, and it's going to look decidedly odd if you aren't there now!"

He took a deep breath, then said, "If I'm suspected of the murder-and they wouldn't have brought in Scotland Yard, would they, if they'd believed it was Mavers, they'd have hauled him to jail and been done with it!-I can hardly go to Lettice with that sort of thing being whispered all through the county."

She regarded him thoughtfully, half in amusement and half in exasperation. "Mark, my dear, that's carrying good manners to absurd extremes! Do you think Lettice will care what the county believes? She'll want you beside her, and that in itself will silence most of the gossips!"

There was such desperate grief in his eyes now that she was suddenly appalled. "Mark-," she began, anxiety changing her voice, making it strained and wary.

"The first time I went, I was turned away-if I go again, and it happens a second time, what do you think will be made of that?"

Almost weak with relief, she said, "She'd been given a sedative! Did you expect Dr. Warren to invite you to her bedroom, with no chaperone in the house? Betrothed or not, he wouldn't have countenanced that!" Rising from her chair, she came to kneel beside his, taking his hands in hers. "My dear. Lettice probably has no idea what's been said. Who's going to tell her?"

"Rutledge for one."

She bit her lip. "Yes. Rutledge. The man's a menace, probing and digging."

"He's no fool, Sally. And he won't leave until he's got what he wanted."

"If only you and Charles hadn't quarreled so publicly that last night-"

"How were we to know that the servants were still about? Besides-" He stopped, then lifted her fingers, kissed the tips, and let them go. She didn't rise, but stayed there beside him, her hands dropping to her lap.

"I wish you would tell me what that was all about. How can I help you if I don't know?"

He rubbed his eyes, and they burned as if he hadn't slept for a week. They had felt that way in France, he remembered, when there was a push on, and the planes went up as long as the pilots could stay awake to man them. Until blind exhaustion sent you stumbling back to quarters and the nearest bed. "It wasn't even a quarrel, come to that. We never got to the point of quarreling. He said something that took me completely off guard, and the next thing we knew, we were both murderously angry."

Mark looked at her, his eyes bloodshot from the rubbing, his tiredness there for her to see. "It died with Charles. At least pray God it did," he added vehemently.

"But the timing-"

"Yes, I know, there's no getting around that, is there, Sally? And Rutledge will have me exactly where he wants me if he ever finds out the whole of it. Hickam was a bloody nuisance, but I could have dealt with him. As it is, Charles might still reach out from the grave and take me with him."

She got to her feet and said with conviction, "Then you must go to Lettice! Now, before everyone in Upper Streetham notices that you aren't there! Mark, don't you see? You're being very foolish!" Rutledge went to find Johnston before he left Mallows, but instead came face-to-face with Lettice as she slowly descended the main staircase. It was, he thought, the first time she'd left her room since Dr. Warren had taken her there, and she seemed abstracted, her body moving without the volition of her mind, which was turned inward toward private visions no one else could share. Whatever they were, she drew no comfort from them, for she looked tired, empty.

"I thought you had gone away," she said, frowning as she saw him and recognized him. "Well? Did you want some- thing-or someone?"

"I've just spoken to Royston. I wanted to let you know that the Inquest will be tomorrow-"

"I won't be there," she said quickly, with an edge of panic. "I won't attend!"

"I shan't expect you to attend. There will be-we must address certain formalities, and then I intend to ask for an adjournment," he amended, to spare her. There was no need to go into more detail than that, since Royston had identified the body, not Lettice.

She turned to go back the way she'd come, and he stopped her. "I went to see Catherine Tarrant."

With her hand on the banister as if she gained strength from its support, she came down the rest of the stairs. "And?" she asked when she was on eye level with him. It was almost as if she thought he might be tricking her.

"She told me about Linden."

"And?" she repeated.

"And I understand the debt you referred to this morn- ing-your fiance's life for her lover's. But there's another aspect of the situation, one less pleasant. Could Miss Tar- rant have shot Colonel Harris in revenge for Linden's death? Brooding over what happened and convincing herself that he might have saved the German if he'd tried? Punishing him-and indirectly, you?"

Lettice Wood began to laugh, bitterly at first, and then in wild denial. "Oh, God," she said, "that's too diabolical to contemplate!" The laughter turned to tremors that racked her body. "No, I won't think about it! Go away, I don't want to talk to you anymore!"

Rutledge had seen soldiers close to the breaking point begin to shake after a battle, and he moved quickly to lead her to one of the ornate chairs standing against the wall. Once he got her seated, he gripped Lettice's shoulders firmly and said, "Stop it! That's enough." His voice was quiet, but pitched to reach her through the emotional frenzy.