Charles Todd - A False Mirror

The last thing Rutledge wanted was Bennett’s harsh impatience frightening an already frightened child. He compromised. “All right, I’ll come here after I have a chat with young Jeremy.” He glanced at the sky. The clouds had darkened again as another heavy squall approached. Not the best conditions for an open boat, as even Hamish was pointing out.

“If Hamilton is loose, he’s in that house.” Bennett shifted his umbrella against the shadow of more rain sweeping across behind them. “What I’m hoping is that Mallory was careless. If he was the one who took Hamilton away.”

“I’ve told you, I searched the grounds and the house carefully.”

“Not carefully enough, in my book. What better place to keep an eye on the man and his recovering memory than under your thumb? No one ever said Mallory was a fool.”

“That’s not something I want to contemplate,” Rutledge replied. “What’s even more worrying is if Hamilton went there under his own power, he could be out for revenge. Do you think he’s that sort? You know him, I don’t.”

Bennett gave it a moment’s thought. “If I were Mallory, if I didn’t have the man myself, I’d be looking over my shoulder about now.”

Then he was gone, making his way up the walk to the surgery door.

Hamish watched him go, saying, “It could be true.”

Rutledge answered slowly, “He could also have been taken to that cottage that just fell into the sea. In which case, we might never see him again, or find his body.”

“It’s no’ verra’ likely. A verra’ long way to carry a man’s body withoot being seen.”

Rutledge drew up in front of the Cornelius house. “I grant you. But if I were planning to do away with Matthew Hamilton, I’d have carried him as far as I could on foot, well away from Granville’s surgery, and put him somewhere out of sight, until I could come back with some sort of transportation.” It had been a risk, with the constable on duty. The horse, then, not a motorcar. But Jeremy hadn’t seen a horse.

“Ye ken, Mallory’s cottage is standing empty.”

“There’s that, as well.”

When Rutledge presented himself at her door, Mrs. Cornelius was reluctant to let even an inspector from London interview her son this morning. Her manner was polite but firm, her expression cool and distant.

“He seems to have got over his fright, and I don’t want to remind him.”

“I shan’t worry him about it,” Rutledge said with a smile. “But I need to have a better feeling for what was out there-if anything. You say the nanny never saw whatever it was?”

“No one saw it but Jeremy. I expect he was half asleep and hardly knew how to describe what he witnessed, except in terms of monsters. I’ve told you, he’s a child of immense imagination.”

“And too young to tell anything but the exact truth,” Rutledge reminded her. “I won’t do him any harm. I promise you.”

In the end he got his way, and the boy was brought down from the nursery to meet him. Well aware that his clothes were too wet to sit on the blue silk that covered the sitting room chairs, Rutledge pulled a wooden one away from the cherry desk under the windows and tried to make himself appear comfortable as he waited.

In the doorway Mrs. Cornelius stood aside and let her son precede her across the threshold.

A sturdy six-year-old, with intelligent dark eyes and a rather sensitive face, Rutledge thought as Jeremy walked into the sitting room. He was his father’s son in build, and his mother’s in looks. An only child, and not spoiled.

Hamish agreed. “No’ a lad to imagine something sae grisly.”

Rutledge greeted the boy and asked him to sit down for a moment. “Your mother tells me you enjoy looking out your window at night. Do you have an interest in the stars?”

Jeremy glanced at his mother, and then said, “I like the night. I see the fishermen going out, sometimes, and the stars when there’s no moon.” He smiled broadly. “Mrs. Ingram’s cat digs up Mrs. Witherspoon’s roses. She thinks it’s the Harmon dog.”

Rutledge laughed, pleased to find the boy so articulate. “I shan’t tell her that.”

“No. I like the cat. The dog is small and nips at my heels when my mother takes me to visit Mrs. Harmon. She always smells of peppermint, but the dog is always in need of a bath.”

His mother was about to admonish him, then thought better of it, standing guard at his back with her gaze fixed on Rutledge’s face.

But it was Jeremy who was more perceptive. “Were you in the war, sir?”

“Yes, I was. In France.”

“My uncle died of wounds at Gallipoli. I don’t remember him very well. He was quite brave, my grandfather tells me.”

“I’m sure he was,” Rutledge answered.

“Were you brave too?”

Mrs. Cornelius said, “Jeremy.”

But Rutledge, his throat tight, said, “I was given a medal.” As if that was a measure of courage. “There were others who deserved it more.” He coughed, then changed the direction of the conversation. “Tell me what you saw in the streets last night? Do you remember?”

The child nodded gravely, taking courage from his mother’s presence. “I didn’t like it,” he said.

“Was it shaped like a bear?”

“There aren’t any bears in Hampton Regis,” the boy answered him scornfully. “And I’ve never been to the zoo in London. Have you?”

“Many times,” Rutledge informed him. “My parents took me once. I particularly liked the giraffes. They have purple tongues.”

Jeremy seemed enthralled with the idea. “Truly purple?”

“Truly. Now tell me about what you saw. If it wasn’t a bear, what was it?”

“A man without a head,” he said uneasily, moving closer to his mother. “I didn’t like it.”

“A big man, taller than I am?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wider than I am?”

“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t like it that he didn’t have a head.”

“I expect that’s true. I wouldn’t care for it myself.”

Mrs. Cornelius was once more on the point of commenting, then fell silent again. But her eyes had grown anxious.

“You were quite a brave boy to tell your mother what you saw. I expect it was a fisherman with a heavy net over his shoulders. You weren’t likely to see his head then, were you?”

The boy was suddenly still. “You think so?”

“It could be,” Rutledge answered. “But I wasn’t there, and I didn’t see him.”

Jeremy appeared to be replaying the scene in his mind. “But I don’t think it was,” he finally said. “He stumbled as he walked. As if he couldn’t see.”

“Was it two men, do you think? One with another over his shoulders? Carrying him because his friend couldn’t walk far?”

The boy seemed to relax. “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that.” He smiled. “That was a nice thing to do, although I shouldn’t like to be carried with my head hanging down. It would hurt after a while, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps they didn’t have far to go.” Over the boy’s head, his eyes met Mrs. Cornelius’s.

And then Jeremy said, out of the blue, “I saw Mr. Harmon bring his son home that way one night. After he’d stayed late at The Merry Tinker. He was walking beside his father, and then didn’t seem to be able to find his legs. They went in different directions. And his father put him across his shoulder for the rest of the way.”

“Did Mr. Harmon have a head?”

“No. I couldn’t see it for Lawrence.”

“Well, there you are. You’ve been a very great help, Jeremy. Your mother must be proud of you.” Rutledge rose to leave.

“Yes, very proud,” Mrs. Cornelius replied.

But Jeremy was still thinking about other matters, and he said as Rutledge reached the sitting room door, “It wasn’t quite the same, you know, as Mr. Harmon. Somehow. I didn’t like it.”