Charles Todd - A Cold Treachery

But a shaken Cummins was already leading his wife to the door.

Rutledge could hear Janet asking, “Is it true or a lie to comfort her? Is Josh alive?”

“He's safe for the moment-” His attention was concentrated on the woman on the floor.

Hamish was saying, “You canna' stay! Leave the doctor to his work.”

But Rutledge was unable to move. “Don't let her die,” he prayed. “Don't let her die!”

Janet demanded, “I have to know-tell me! What happened that night!”

Jarvis said, “Here-pay attention.”

Hamish said, “It was for you she got in his way. To give you time.”

“Damn Mickelson and Greeley both to Hell,” Rutledge said between his teeth. But he knew the blame was his. He should never have trusted either of them to act outside the bounds of express duty. And he cursed himself for not acting alone, as he so often did.

“You couldna' ha' been sure you would tak' him on your own.”

It was true, but it no longer mattered.

“If she dies, I'll resign,” he silently promised God. “I've seen enough death and killed enough people.”

Jarvis turned. “Rutledge? Lift her and carry her to her bed. I can't work here. I need more linens, a list of things from my surgery. Miss Ashton can see to that-” He began to give her instructions.

Rutledge came to kneel on the floor, gently putting his hands under Elizabeth Fraser's body. She seemed so fragile, and he cradled her close to his chest as he carried her out of the kitchen and down the passage to her room. He could feel her blood, warm on his hands.

Jarvis opened the door and pointed to the bed. “Put her down and find me pillows, as many as you can. And then hot water. The teakettle-a basin.”

Rutledge went to do his bidding, moving in a nightmare. He came back with pillows scavenged from the other rooms and helped the doctor lift Elizabeth so that she could breathe more comfortably. Then he brought the kettle and a basin.

The doctor grunted as he took them, and said testily, “Where the devil is Miss Ashton? I need those powders!”

But she was coming down the passage, Mrs. Jarvis at her heels with a basket of tins and jars and bandages.

“Now get out,” Jarvis said to Rutledge.

“Is she going to live?” he asked, not moving from the bedside.

“No thanks to you. It's going to be nip and tuck. Greeley told me in the street-if you'd moved sooner, this would never have happened.”

Greeley, Hamish snorted, was busily covering his rear.

Rutledge backed out of the room and stared for a time at his bloody hands.

If she dies, he told himself, I'll have both of them on my soul!

H e looked in on Mickelson, whom Sergeant Miller had brought back to his room after safely delivering Robinson to gaol. His cheek was still bleeding, and his face was bruising quickly. Rutledge thought, “It must hurt like the devil!” And was glad.

“If you hadn't moved, I'd have tripped him up!” he said testily as Rutledge walked into the room. “I hope to hell your evidence is better than your timing!”

Rutledge left without answering.

He retrieved the motorcar and went back to the Ingerson farm.

Maggie was sitting where he had left her, her face haggard, her leg stretched out in front of her on its accustomed stool.

The boy was there, sitting hunched over the dog, as if it was the only comfort he knew.

Maggie looked up and saw the blood. “What's happened, then?” she asked Rutledge.

“He'll stand trial. The boy may not need to testify. Robinson tried to kill Elcott, and nearly succeeded.”

“And the aunt will want the boy.”

“I don't know. I'll bring her later. She's needed now.”

“How do I tell him? He's sure his father's dead, there with the others. That he turned the gun on himself. I can't make him listen.”

“Don't try. It's better if he starts to forget.” He went to the boy and sat down on the drafty floor beside him. “Josh. I knew another young man who heard voices in his head. They were wrong. And so are yours. After a while, they'll begin to fade. You'll go with your aunt Janet to London and back to the school you remember. It's finished.”

“I don't want to go to London! I want to stay here, with Sybil and the sheep. My stepfather told me once I had the makings of a good sheep man. I don't like Aunt Janet. She made Mama cry.”

“We'll see what can be done, then,” the man from London promised. And then he rose. “I must get back to the hotel.”

“You're asleep on your feet.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It will if you drive into Urskwater.”

“Miss Fraser is badly wounded. I have to be there. If-she doesn't live.”

And he was gone, back down the road again, the rain beginning to pelt down on the bonnet and dance over the windscreen.

They wouldn't let him into her room.

But Cummins told him she was sleeping comfortably. “Nicked the lung, and two ribs, but that's all. It was a brave thing she did!” he ended admiringly.

“It was indeed.” Rutledge felt as if his knees were ready to buckle under him, and his eyes seemed to be blurring with exhaustion. “Where's Mickelson?”

“I turned him out.” Cummins said it with infinite pleasure. “As soon as he could walk. He's gone to stay with Greeley. Mrs. Greeley won't like that, but then I've never cared for Mrs. Greeley. Meanwhile, her husband has sent Constable Ward to send a telegram to London and to speak to the Chief Constable. They'll blacken your name between them, Greeley and Mickelson, I've no doubt of that. But it's to be expected.”

“Yes,” Rutledge agreed. “I've grown used to it.”

“It won't stick. I spoke to Constable Ward before he left. He's always been rather fond of Miss Fraser. I explained to him how it came about that she was wounded and who's to blame. He's a man of few words, is Ward. But he's no fool. The Chief Constable will be on the phone to London before the telegram arrives. And that strutting little gamecock Mickelson will have to mend a few fences. Now go to your bed, or we'll have another patient on our hands!”

But Rutledge refused to consider it until Cummins opened the door to Elizabeth Fraser's room and let him see for himself that she was resting and not in pain.

Janet Ashton was sitting by the bed, and she tiptoed out of the room to say to Rutledge, “You must tell me about Josh!”

He said only, “Will you want him in London with you?”

That took her by surprise. “London? I-I haven't thought that far ahead. But Hugh's not here, is he? I don't have much choice. Oh, dear

…”

“If you don't want him, he's found a dog he loves and a woman who loves him. I'd not meddle there if I were you. Not for a while. Not until he's healed.”

And he left her there, closing the door to his room and finding the bed with some difficulty.

At length he slept. But not before he had answered the question that Hamish had been drumming in his head for the last few hours.

“I shan't stay to see how she feels. It wouldn't be fair. Not yet. There's the invitation from my godfather to spend Christmas in Scotland. I must make my peace with him. Then there's Dr. Fleming.. .”

But Hamish said into the darkness and silence, “I'll still be here … Dr. Fleming or no'.”

CHARLES TODD is the author of The Murder Stone, A Fearsome Doubt, Watchers of Time, Legacy of the Dead, A Test of Wills, Wings of Fire, and Search the Dark. He lives on the East Coast, where he is at work on his next novel, A Long Shadow.