Charles Todd - A False Mirror

“It isn’t your failure, Rector. Murder is a private matter. It’s when a man or woman has no other resources available that he or she turns to a last act of violence. Would that a priest could do our work for us at the Yard.”

“Small comfort, Mr. Rutledge, when it is one of your own who has been maimed and now murdered. I lie awake with that knowledge on my soul, and tell myself that somewhere I shall find that slim gleam of understanding I need to go forward.”

Alarmed, Rutledge said, “You’ll stay out of this, Mr. Putnam. Any knowledge you feel you possess, you must bring to me. Do I have your word on that? This is a cold-blooded killer, not a lost sheep from St. Luke’s flock who can be brought back into the fold with a prayer for guidance.”

Putnam smiled. “I’m not as brave as that. You needn’t fear. I’m no Becket, challenging kings or murderers. But I ought to be clever enough to understand my own congregation, don’t you think?”

With that he shut the door softly and left Rutledge standing on the rectory steps.

Miss Trining was not pleased with Rutledge and made no bones about it.

“I summoned the Chief Constable,” she said, sitting in the tall-backed chair in a parlor that was as grand as a drawing room, brocade and polished wood and floors that shimmered beneath the feet of elegant furnishings older than the house itself, possibly the dowry of an ancestress. “I felt it my duty to express my belief that events had got out of control. Inspector Bennett is all well and good, but his abilities are limited. And I doubt you have the experience to guide him.”

In the place of honor over the mantel hung a portrait of a Victorian gentleman, soberly dressed in black and standing in a pose reminiscent of paintings of the late Prince Albert designed to grace shops bearing the seal By Appointment…

Hamish had no difficulty with the family likeness. “The MacQueens bred true as well,” he commented.

“I appreciate your strong sense of duty, Miss Trining. It becomes your role in Hampton Regis.” The words rolled off Rutledge’s tongue effortlessly. He had dealt with busybodies before.

“What is going on?” she demanded. “I particularly asked the Chief Constable to come here and tell me who is dead. It can’t be Matthew Hamilton, I refuse to believe it. But if it isn’t, why is the surgery shut tight and guarded by Constable Coxe?”

“Miss Weekes’s cousin, I believe?”

“Yes.”

Not the young constable who had fetched Dr. Hester from Middlebury, but an older man with grim eyes. Rutledge had taken a hard look at him, thinking to himself that if anything happened to Nan Weekes, Coxe would be difficult to manage. Assuming the pair were as close as she had tried to make him believe they were.

“The truth is, Miss Trining, that Mr. Hamilton is no longer in the surgery. At some point in the night, he either was helped to leave it or was carried away.”

“By whom, pray?” Her anger was apparent. “Was it that foolish wife of his? It was my clear understanding that he shouldn’t be moved-I’d even suggested that he be brought here where he could be more comfortable, and Dr. Granville was set against it.”

“It was done without Dr. Granville’s knowledge or consent.”

“How like her. Then I was quite right to have brought this matter to the Chief Constable’s attention. Specialists should have been brought in at once for consultation. Indeed, I’d pointed that out to Dr. Granville myself. I must tell you, the man is arrogant about his skill at times. But then he doesn’t come from a refined background. He was adopted by the Granvilles, you know. A promising boy who showed an early aptitude for medicine and repaid his new family poorly for their kindness. Why else should he be looking after farmers and shopgirls here in Hampton Regis when his foster father is in Harley Street?”

Wasted potential.

“Unkindness?” he asked, with just the right level of curiosity to elicit information from her rather than the sharp edge of her tongue.

“I’m told there was a young woman whom he met shortly after he set up practice. Her father was a nabob, made his money in South Africa, you know, friend of Rhodes and so on. When he discovered that his daughter’s suitor was merely fostered and not a Granville by blood, he rather publicly put an end to the affair. Accused him of playing with her affections, in fact. The foster father, accepting the nabob’s version of the situation, refused to have any more to do with our Dr. Granville. Guilty or not, it finished him in London society, and of course he had to leave.”

“That doesn’t appear to me to reflect poorly on Dr. Granville. Rather, on his foster father.”

“Mr. Rutledge, it is ingratitude we are speaking of,” she told him in her severest tone. “Ingratitude for putting his benefactor in such an untenable social position. A man of his upbringing should have risen above the class in which he was born. And he failed to do that. The medical profession must be seen to be above reproach. That is why doctors are accepted in Society.”

He wasn’t in the mood to challenge her views. He said, “He married Margaret Granville after leaving London?”

“Yes. Entirely too timid to be a doctor’s wife, but I must say she’s shown herself to be a devoted assistant. Her father was a country vicar, no money at all, but her mother came of good family and left her a comfortable inheritance.” She glared at Rutledge. “You have intentionally diverted me from what Mrs. Hamilton saw fit to do in regard to her husband’s care. I find it appalling, but I will be charitable and put the greatest blame on the man with whom she is presently consorting.”

“Mrs. Hamilton as far as we can determine never left her house last night. And I don’t think she could have removed her husband without help.”

“Then the two of them are in it together. Just as I said. Mallory and Matthew’s wife.”

“We’ve searched the house and grounds. We’ve had to accept the possibility that Hamilton is very likely dead.”

She leaned forward in her chair. “He can’t be dead!” The shock was real and it took her a moment to recover. “I refuse to believe you.”

“We can’t find him, Miss Trining. The fact is, someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to be sure that we don’t have his body.”

“Was it that man Mallory, finishing what he’d started? Why did you not put a guard on Mr. Hamilton? It’s negligence, Inspector, sheer, blind negligence. What excuse does Dr. Granville put forward for this turn of events? I’d like to hear it.” She was furiously angry, beside herself with it. But Rutledge found himself wondering if she was afraid-afraid that he was tricking her.

“Dr. Granville has no excuses to offer. His wife was killed last night, presumably as she came to the surgery in her nightdress to see why someone was there at such a late hour.”

Miss Trining stared at him. After a moment she demanded, “And where was the doctor, pray?”

“He was attending a case of congestive heart failure.”

She digested that, nodding. “Will Joyner, I expect. His daughter is without doubt the worst cook in Hampton Regis. What she feeds him I shudder to think, but it has done him no good. I’ve been there when Dr. Granville gives her instructions, and never fail to wonder at her stupidity. I shall have to offer to bring Dr. Granville here. He can’t wish to stay in that house tonight.”

“Mr. Putnam has taken him to the rectory.”

“And quite right. Mr. Putnam has a very acute sense of what’s best. I shall send them their dinner. At least they’ll have no worries there.” She shook her head. “I find it hard to take in. I spoke to Margaret Granville only yesterday, we were planning the spring gala at the church. She was to make the table decorations for us to sell. And I shall have to find another volunteer for that.”