Charles Todd - A False Mirror

“I can’t, don’t you see? If I’m shut in this house for days with Mrs. Hamilton without a proper chaperone, her reputation is ruined.”

“I hardly think the maid, locked away as she is, can speak on behalf of your honor or Mrs. Hamilton’s.”

“Yes, well, Nan’s staying. You don’t know the women in this town.”

“What if I offer myself in Mrs. Hamilton’s place? She can go to the surgery, look in on her husband, comfort him, and then come back again.”

Rutledge could see how torn the man before him was. A range of emotions flitted across his face before he said, “I can’t be sure Bennett will agree to that. He’ll leave you here to rot because you’ve invaded his patch, and you won’t be free to argue when he doesn’t make any effort to get at the truth. No. We keep things as they are. You’ll do what you can to learn who wanted Matthew dead, and I’ll give you my solemn word that both women are safe with me. In God’s name, why should I harm either of them?”

“Why did I drive all the way from London, if you’re unwilling to make any compromise now that I’m here, or show good faith? That’s foolishness.”

Mallory’s pacing stopped. “The trenches were foolishness. A stalemate within a stalemate. I’m just taking a leaf from the war’s book. Right now, it’s the only weapon I have.”

And then Rutledge asked the question that had been in the back of his mind all the way from London. “Why did you turn to me? Why didn’t you ask the bishop, your uncle, to help you?” It was flung at Mallory almost viciously, welling up out of Rutledge’s own anguish.

“He’s dead.” After a moment Mallory went on, the words wrenched from him. “I had promised myself I’d never have to see you again. Do you think I wanted this? Any of it? If there had been any other way?”

Rutledge stood up as well and took a deep breath, attempting to break off the unforgiving savaging of each other. Throughout the exchange, Hamish had been ominously silent, a dark presence like thunder in the distance. Like guns in the distance…Rutledge made an effort. “Let me speak to Mrs. Hamilton, before I go.”

“She’s in her room. Matthew’s room.” There was a bitter twist to his voice at the words. “At the head of the stairs, turn right toward the sea. It’s the last door but one.”

Rutledge climbed the stairs at a steady pace, neither hurrying nor taking his time. When he reached the passage at the top, he turned right, found the next but one door and tapped lightly.

There was no answer. He opened the door gently and looked inside.

The bedclothes were a tangle, spilling half off the bed. In the midst of them was a tousled fair head, buried in a sea of dark rose coverlet that matched flowers in the draperies and the fabric of one chair by the hearth. Her face was to the wall and out of his line of sight. He’d have to go round the bed to see it.

“Mrs. Hamilton?” he called quietly.

But she was deeply asleep. Or pretending to be. He couldn’t be certain. He wasn’t close enough to the bed to see how she breathed.

Hamish said, “If she sleeps sae soundly, there’s naething on her conscience.”

But women sleep deeply after love. What role had Felicity Hamilton played in the events of the last twenty-four hours?

After a moment, he closed the door and went back the way he’d come.

Mallory was waiting for him, and without a word led him to the kitchen precincts.

The maid, Nan, was wide awake and choleric. A thin woman with weather-reddened skin and pale hair that showed streaks of graying, she sat rigidly in her chair in a small pantry off the servants hall, her eyes alive with fury.

“Who’s that, then?” she snapped at Mallory as he brought Rutledge in. He ignored her.

But Rutledge answered her, identifying himself simply as a police inspector.

“You haven’t kept her locked up like this all this time, have you?” Rutledge asked, turning back to Mallory. There was no food or water in the room, no sign even of a chamber pot.

“Good God, no. But she was banging on the door of the servants’ hall at six this morning and I couldn’t have that. I think she broke that other chair against it.” He gestured to the chair flung against the wall, the splat shattered.

“And who wouldn’t be making a racket, kept here by the likes of you?” she demanded. “I’ve a cousin at home. A policeman. He’ll be wanting your blood if you lay a hand on me!”

“I haven’t touched you,” Mallory retorted, “except to shut you up down here so that we could have a little peace.”

Nan was on the point of answering him, when Rutledge asked quickly, “Has he harmed you in any way?”

“He’d not dare to. But who can say what he’s done to Mrs. Hamilton?”

There was something avid in her face that told him she wished for it. As if there was little love between herself and her mistress, and whatever Felicity Hamilton suffered, she had earned. So much for Nan as chaperone. Mallory was right, she’d blacken his character with a vengeance. And Mrs. Hamilton’s as well, relishing the chance.

Rutledge wondered how she felt about Mr. Hamilton, whether her loyalties lay there-or with neither of her employers.

She hadn’t asked about Matthew Hamilton. How he fared, whether he was alive or dead. Did she even know why she and her mistress were being held against their wills?

“She’s no’ concerned for them. Only for hersel’,” Hamish replied. “But her tongue will clack once away fra’ here.”

“You can’t leave them like this, you have to feed them, you know,” Rutledge said to Mallory. “It’s going to be a bigger problem than you think, keeping them here.”

“I’ll manage,” Mallory replied stiffly. “I can prepare food, tea. It won’t be fancy, but it will be edible. I’ve even mucked out the stables this morning for the damned horse. All right, you’ve seen both of them.”

They turned toward the door, Rutledge promising Nan Weekes help before very long and getting the sharp side of her tongue for letting “that man” get round him so. “Poor excuse for a policeman you are.”

It was as if she’d expected him to overpower Mallory in front of her, and set her free, and held it against him for failing to try.

Hamish remarked, “There’s the thorn in this dilemma.”

It was true. Mrs. Hamilton might sleep soundly under the circumstances, her door not locked. But Nan was another matter. Rutledge found himself more worried for her than for her mistress. Mallory’s stability would be fragile after days of strain and Nan’s belligerence.

Outside, as they walked to the back stairs, Rutledge said, “Look. Tell me what it is you want me to do? This has to end, you know it as well as I do. Tell me what it will take to set the women free.” It was an appeal to Mallory’s better nature, but even as he spoke the words, he knew they were empty.

“That’s simple,” Mallory answered. “Find out who nearly killed Matthew Hamilton.”

Rutledge went to Dr. Granville’s surgery next, greeting the doctor’s wife and asking for a few minutes of the doctor’s time. The waiting room behind him was crowded, and he could feel every eye on him as he introduced himself to Mrs. Granville.

Mrs. Granville said doubtfully, “He’s got his hands full just now. What with Mr. Hamilton and his usual hours. I don’t know if there’s been an epidemic of sore throats and unsettled stomachs or if people are hoping for news of poor Matthew.”

“Perhaps you could take me to see Mr. Hamilton, then. And I shan’t have to disturb the doctor.”

“Well, I’m not certain Mr. Bennett would agree.”

He smiled. “I’m handling the matter for Inspector Bennett. Until he’s fit to do more on his own.”