Charles Todd - A False Mirror

It was harshly said and harshly meant.

He remembered a line from O. A. Manning, the war poet who was in reality Olivia Marlow.

Without looking at Miss Trining, he quoted,

“Courage is not measured by

Marching bands and banners in the wind.

If you have not walked

The bloody lines and seen the faces,

You have no right to describe it so.

We die here to keep you safe at home,

And what we suffer

Pray you may never know.”

“Yes, yes, I know the poem. What does it say to anything?”

“That you weren’t there, Miss Trining. And have no right to judge.”

She turned away in a huff. “You can let me down here, if you will,” she said, pointing to a milliner’s shop to his left.

But when he drew up to the shop, he said, “You appear to know the Hamiltons well. Tell me about Matthew.”

“There’s not much to tell. He’s been a valued civil servant, he came back to England, married a much younger woman, and seems to have settled into his new life without looking back.”

“Did you know him before he came to Hampton Regis?”

Something in her face belied her response. “No. I must say that he’s been an asset to us here, recognizing his responsibility to set a good example for all of us. I admire that.”

“And Mrs. Hamilton?”

“She could do far more than she has, to be frank. I don’t think she realizes how she lets her husband down at every turn. Refusing to serve on committees, refusing to take up charitable work, refusing to entertain in the style that I’m sure Matthew was accustomed to abroad. After all, a senior foreign ser vice officer does have a certain social position. But that’s what comes of marrying someone so much younger, you know. No sense of what’s due a man of Matthew’s stature.”

“Does Matthew Hamilton have enemies?”

She stared at him again. “Enemies?” Her emphasis on the word was noticeable. “I shouldn’t think anyone in Hampton Regis has any connection with his past. Why should they? Most of them have never been abroad, unless they were in the war. Much less to Malta and Sicily and Crete.”

“I was thinking more specifically than that. Here in Hampton Regis.”

“You are entirely too young and inexperienced to handle this inquiry,” she said flatly. “I shall have a word with the Chief Constable about that when he comes to tea.” And without waiting for him to come around and open her door for her, she did it herself and stepped out. “Good day, Inspector.”

When Felicity wandered down for breakfast, there were dark shadows under her eyes and she seemed distracted.

“Rutledge was here again,” Mallory said. “You were asleep.”

“Just pretending. I heard him knock at my door and panicked.”

“I don’t think he believed the hostage story. But Nan gave him an earful.”

“Yes, I’m sure she did. I wish we could let her leave, just to be rid of her. I don’t feel comfortable when she’s in the house. I never have. She adores Matthew.” She hesitated. “Did he say-is Matthew all right?”

She was asking if he still lived. Mallory could feel his heart turn over. What would she do if Matthew died? Turn on him, slip out of the house in the middle of the night, when he finally sank into deep sleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer? And then he felt guilty for even considering such a cruel betrayal.

“Still unconscious.” He didn’t tell her that Rutledge had offered to let her visit her husband. He wasn’t sure how she’d respond to that.

Felicity shook her head and pulled her shawl closer, as if she felt cold. “You don’t suppose we could build a fire in the study or the sitting room? It would be so much cozier.”

“Felicity.” She looked up at him, then looked away. “What are we going to do?”

“I thought this inspector was here to sort it all out for us. That’s why you wanted him to come, isn’t it?”

“The question is, will he be strong enough to stand up to Bennett?” He hesitated. “He wanted to know if we’d had an affair.”

“Hardly an affair. I was in love with you long before I met Matthew. I was going to marry you. Only you didn’t want to marry me. Not then.” There was a hurt expression on her face, as if she remembered the past more clearly or, at the very least, differently.

“Dear girl! I told you, I didn’t want to come home to you a lame beggar-”

“But you didn’t, did you?” There was accusation in her voice, as if he had tricked her somehow. “You came home whole.”

“I couldn’t know that. It was you who refused to wait. Who didn’t have faith in the future.”

“How could I, when you’d painted it so bleakly?” She stood in the doorway to the dining room. “I don’t suppose you could make a pot of tea. Matthew always brought me my morning tea.”

He hesitated, and then said, “Yes, of course. Breakfast!” as if it had just struck him what time it was. “We’ve got to feed Nan, as well.”

Felicity frowned. “We’d be so much better off without her. I wish she was gone.”

“No, we shouldn’t be. She’s your chaperone.”

“Little good she is at chaperoning. Locked up belowstairs.”

He smiled. “Appearances, my dear, appearances,” he said, in a voice that was so like Miss Trining’s that she laughed. Nan must have heard it as well, for she began to bang ominously on the door of her prison.

“I wish she was dead!” Felicity said in anger, and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I didn’t mean that, truly I didn’t.” She waited to be forgiven, like a child.

“No, of course you didn’t.” But he turned away, his appetite gone, and went on to prepare a meal he couldn’t swallow.

Bennett was in a foul mood. His foot had kept him awake most of the night, and this morning Rutledge had proceeded to act without him. It was unprofessional, and in his present state of mind, unforgivable. He sat in his office hunched over his desk like a poisonous toad, waiting for Rutledge to appear.

Then he said, with understated anger, “I hear you’ve been busy.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Rutledge said blandly, his face giving nothing away. “And so I went to the house. The women are safe, but their situation isn’t the best. I’d like to bring this business to a conclusion today.”

And so would I, Bennett thought, if only to be rid of the likes of you.

His feelings were so clear in his expression that Hamish said, “Watch your back. He doesna’ care how it ends.”

“Yes, at least Mallory is right there,” Rutledge answered silently. And to Bennett, “Perhaps it would help if we could go over the evidence against Mallory again.”

“I’ve told you. Twice before. There was reason to believe he might have had a hand in the assault, and I went to confront him. He ran me down and fled. What more do you want in the way of evidence?”

“I believe you, of course. But what I’d prefer are witnesses, some sort of direct proof at the scene that he might have been there. I daresay Mallory can afford a decent barrister. We had better be prepared for that.”

“The only tracks were ours, the ones we made coming down to have a look at Hamilton. We didn’t know then he’d been beaten, did we? First thought was, he’d walked too far and his heart had given out. Dr. Granville was with us, I’d sent for him straightaway. And he was anxious. Hamilton’s had malaria, dysentery, and God knows what other diseases out where he’s been,” Bennett retorted, easing his leg in front of him. “Bones are the very devil! You’d think they’d have no feeling in them. At any rate, I cast about for footprints, a weapon, some sign of a struggle-and I came up empty-handed. Here was a badly injured man, he had no enemies that we knew of, and the only person with any reason to see him out of the picture is the man now hiding behind the skirts of two frightened women. That should tell you something. If he’s innocent, why didn’t Mallory stand and take questioning like a man?”