Charles Todd - A False Mirror

But Rutledge wondered if she was protesting too strongly. A man could love one woman very deeply and still be unfaithful to her in his mind. As Felicity Hamilton herself could have loved Matthew and still dreamed of Stephen Mallory.

“Wi’ the right weapon, a woman could ha’ knocked Hamilton doon,” Hamish reminded Rutledge softly. “It doesna’ have to be a man.”

“Do you by any chance know a Miss Cole? I’m not sure if that’s her name still, or if she’s married now.”

“Cole?” She shook her head. “Should I?”

“The name had come up in another interview. I had the feeling she might live nearby.”

“Ask the rector, he should know. I haven’t heard of any Coles in Hampton Regis. Have you?” She turned to Mallory.

He said, “No, I don’t recognize the name either. Although there are a number of Coles in Kent, I think. I was in school with a Hugh Cole.”

Rutledge posed his next question. “What do you know about the Restons?”

She smiled grimly, her pretty face suddenly cold and hard. “He’s not what he seems, I can tell you that. He raised such a fuss about the goddess. As if he’d never set foot in a museum. And the rest of Matthew’s collection as well. Obscene and disgusting, those were his exact words. Insufferable little man. He thinks he’s the arbiter of morality here in Hampton Regis, but I happen to know for a fact that when he was an officer in a London bank, he had a vicious temper and nearly-”

She stopped, her hand over her mouth. “Gentle God. I’d forgotten. He struck down a man during a disagreement outside his London club. It was hushed up, of course, but the man was in hospital for days. He could have attacked Matthew! Over that stupid, stupid clay figure.”

“How do you know about this?” Rutledge asked her, breaking in.

“The mother of a friend of mine. When I told Clarissa I was coming to live in Hampton Regis, her mother said, ‘But that’s where that awful man went, the one your father saw, Clarissa, outside his club. Shocking to say the least.’” Her voice unconsciously took on the tones of the older woman speaking, giving force to the words.

“What weapon did he use in this beating?”

“He had a weighted cane. For protection, he claimed, since he often carried large sums of money for the bank. The other man wouldn’t press charges, he’d apparently said some very inflammatory things to Mr. Reston that he didn’t wish to be made public. But there’s your murderer, Inspector, you’ve only to arrest him, and our ordeal will be finished.” There was an expression of such hope on her face.

Behind her, Mallory’s lips tightened and his eyes met Rutledge’s in mute appeal.

“It isn’t that simple, Mrs. Hamilton,” Rutledge told her. “But thank you. I’ll look into this and see what comes of it.”

“I don’t see why it isn’t simple. Go to his house, inspect the cane, and you’ll have all the proof you need,” she pleaded. “And I can sit with Matthew.”

Mallory winced but said nothing.

“Yes, as soon as possible. Can you tell me who Clarissa’s mother is, and how I can find her? I’ll need to speak to her.”

Felicity Hamilton went flying from the room and came back with a sheet of paper bearing a name and an address. “Here. Call on her, whatever you must do. But today, please! I can’t bear any more of this.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. If there’s anything else you can think of, just ask Mr. Mallory to call to the constable standing near the gate. He’ll see that I get word.”

She seemed to have bloomed into brightness, her face flushed with the prospect of resolution, her hopes high. Like a child waiting for a treat, he thought. Would this soon grow tiresome to a man like Matthew Hamilton? Or was he still enthralled with his wife’s beauty and brightness and waywardness?

Hamish had no answer for that as Rutledge asked Mallory to allow him to look in on Nan Weekes.

She was still angry and resentful. After a time, he was able to calm her tirade sufficiently to say, “I’m here to ask if you’ve thought of anyone we might question or investigate. Someone who may have come to the house and quarreled with Mr. Hamilton, or someone who upset him in any way.”

“You know who it was struck down Mr. Hamilton. He’s standing there behind you. Or if it wasn’t him, it was her. You’d do well to arrest both of them before I’m murdered in my bed.”

“You think he might harm you, rather than Mrs. Hamilton?”

“He’s barged in here, hasn’t he, and had his way with her. When he’s tired of that, he’ll likely rid himself of both of us. And she’d like to see me dead now, so there are no ears in this house to hear what goes on.”

Mallory was already objecting vociferously, his voice rising in fury above hers. “No one has touched her, and if you say I have, then you’re a liar-”

Over his shoulder Rutledge ordered him to be silent. “This must be done, and you know it.”

Mallory turned his back on both of them and slammed the door behind him.

“He’s got a temper on him. It’s just a matter of time before he kills again,” Nan said spitefully. “Mark my words!”

Rutledge said, “Listen to me, Miss Weekes. Your anger does you credit but it won’t serve you here. Do you understand me? You’ll only antagonize your keeper. If Hamilton dies before he can speak, we may never get at the truth. And whether you like it or not, your life may come to depend on something you can tell us, something you may know that we don’t.” He tried to keep his voice level, reasonable, in an effort to break through the maid’s stiff resistance. “Put aside your feelings and help me. There must surely be others in Hampton Regis who had a reason to dislike Hamilton, or even his wife. You keep house for people, you overhear conversations in the course of your duties. You have friends who clean for other families and who gossip with you.”

“We were God-fearing people in Hampton Regis, before he brought her here. A good Christian woman wouldn’t have let him put those idols up in plain sight in his drawing room. She encourages him, if you ask me. All very well in parts of the world where people believe in such nasty things, but not here, rubbed in our faces. And when she tires of that sport, she lures her lover here. If she didn’t wield the stick that struck down her husband, she drove that man into doing it for her. If that isn’t true, tell me why she and her lover plotted this business of keeping us locked up here? Oh, yes, I saw it with my own eyes! You’d think if she truly loved her husband, she’d want to be there, sitting beside him, and nothing would stand in her way. That man has to sleep some time.”

“You’re telling me that it was Mrs. Hamilton who devised the plan to hold you both at gunpoint?”

“I heard them, didn’t I? And I’ll testify to that in a courtroom. See if I don’t.” With another spiteful glance at the closed door where Mallory must be listening, she added, “Ask anyone. At night he’d drive to the headland across the way and watch this house. He doesn’t think people know about that, but they do. They whisper behind his back. He’s been plotting to murder Mr. Hamilton for months, if you want my opinion, but as long as the poor man is breathing, she won’t leave with him.”

“Because she loves Hamilton, after all?”

“Because he’s better off than Mr. Mallory. She’s a little hussy, that one, and she married Mr. Hamilton for his money. Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you the same.”

And if Hamilton was dead, she’d inherit that money…assuming she came through this ordeal unscathed.

It was, Hamish commented as Rutledge left Nan sitting there and rejoined a very tense Mallory in the passage, a very good motive for murder.