Charles Todd - A False Mirror

Noblesse oblige.

The Miss Trinings of this world coped. It was their duty.

She couldn’t have removed Hamilton alone. And Rutledge couldn’t quite see her as a coconspirator with anyone else in Hampton Regis.

He could safely strike her off his list of suspects.

Rutledge took a quarter of an hour to search out the man Joyner, the patient with congestive heart failure, and found him resting quietly in his bed, watched over by an anxious woman in her thirties. She looked tired, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and from worry.

“He’s only just drifted off, Inspector,” she told him on the doorstep of the small house on the road east, a mile beyond the churchyard. “Doctor says rest is what he needs.”

“I shouldn’t like to disturb him, Miss Joyner. Dr. Granville was here in the night, you say?”

“Yes, he’s good about that. I send the neighbor’s boy along, if Dad takes a turn. He’s pining for Mother, that’s what it is, but I don’t want to lose him. It’s his pension pays for this cottage, after all.”

Practical, the way the poor so often had to be.

Curiosity got the better of her. “What’s this about, Inspector? Mr. Bennett never comes to look in on us. Even when Dad had the influenza and nearly died.”

“Dr. Granville lost his wife in the night. We’re trying to pin down the time of her death.”

“Oh, the poor man! I shan’t tell Dad for a bit, it will upset him no end. And I asked after her, I remember I did. Doctor said she was in her bed and asleep, as I ought to be.”

“What time was Dr. Granville here?”

“I sent for him soon after one o’clock, it seems to me. And he sat with Dad until he was quiet. Five or six, it must have been by that time. I heard the neighbor’s rooster start crowing.”

“Thank you, Miss Joyner. I won’t keep you any longer.”

She said, “You’ll tell Doctor how sorry we are. I’d hate to think of him being here when his wife was so ill and needed him. Makes me want to cry.”

“There was nothing he could have done,” he assured her, and left, before the next question was asked: how Mrs. Granville had died.

Hamish said, “It wasna’ necessary to come here.”

But Bowles would ask for such minute attention to detail. It would balance what London would see as his unnecessary venture out to the landslip. Even if it had produced that tantalizing bit of bandage.

It also established that Granville had come east, not west, when he went out on the Joyner call. He wouldn’t have been a witness to whatever had been done on the road to Devon.

Worst luck. It would have helped to corroborate the story that young Jeremy Cornelius had told.

Mr. Putnam, leaving a note for Dr. Granville on the hall table, collected his coat and was standing in the rectory drive when the greengrocer pulled up with his cart.

The horse, an old hand at the game, stopped as soon as Putnam approached, waited for him to clamber up to the high seat beside Mr. Tavers, and then walked on.

Circling the drive to the gates in the low wall, Tavers said, “I’m not setting foot in that house. I’m not finding myself shut up there with a revolver at my head. Not good for business.”

Putnam said, his voice pacific, “You won’t be in any danger. Mr. Mallory isn’t a madman, he’s just frightened that what happened to Mr. Hamilton is going to be laid at his door, simply because he had had a quarrel with Mr. Hamilton. Well, not precisely a quarrel. A difference.”

“But Hamilton’s gone missing. And Mrs. Granville is dead. What did he have to do with that nasty business?”

“I don’t think Mr. Rutledge or Mr. Bennett has come to a conclusion about that. Not yet.”

“Mrs. Bennett has an opinion, and it isn’t in Mallory’s favor, I can tell you that.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure she’s worried for her husband. He blames Mr. Mallory for the injury to his foot.”

“My point exactly. A volatile temper, that’s what Mr. Mallory has, and it got the better of him this time.”

“Have you ever seen him lose his temper?”

“When he first came to Hampton Regis, Mrs. Tavers noticed how edgy he was, and uncertain in his moods. She said to me he was not one she’d like to meet along a dark road in the middle of the night.”

“I understand Mallory had a very rough time in the war.”

“And so did my son Howard, the youngest. But he’s not going about bashing in heads and keeping another man’s wife against her will, is he?”

With a sigh, Putnam said, “Don’t worry, man, I shall take everything inside the house. You need only set the parcels by the door.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Have you been considering one of these new lorries for your business?”

“Not as long as Fred here is still pulling his weight,” Tavers retorted.

It was a tense greengrocer who drew up in front of Casa Miranda and halted his horse to let Putnam step down.

Putnam tapped at the door and waited, wondering what his reception would be.

But Mallory, casting a swift glance outside, said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Putnam. Is there any news about Mr. Hamilton?”

“Sadly, I haven’t any. I wish I had.”

Mallory swallowed his disappointment. “Thank you for rescuing us from starvation. If you’ll just bring the parcels to me, I’ll carry them the rest of the way.”

“Of course.”

Tavers stepped down, turned his back on Mallory, and began to pull out a box of goods. Putnam hurried to help him and lifted the first box with a grunt. He ferried it to the man waiting in the doorway and went back for the second. When he had transferred the fifth box, and Tavers went back to his seat on the cart, Putnam approached Mallory diffidently.

“I shan’t presume on a mission of mercy,” he said quietly. “But I can offer my ser vices for what they are worth.”

Mallory said, “I wish you would pray for us, Rector. We’re tired and dispirited. And Nan Weekes has made the worst of this business. I hadn’t counted on that. I thought she’d do more to comfort her mistress.”

“Would you like me to speak to her. She may be frightened.”

Mallory gave a short bark that wasn’t amusement. “Yes, and while I guard the door, what then?”

Putnam said with asperity, “I do not represent the police, Mr. Mallory. My duty is to God. If you ask me to help you, I would be here as his representative, and no one else’s.”

Mallory wiped a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Rector. Yes, if you would have a word with Miss Weekes, I would be grateful. It would make life within this house a little less-” He shrugged. “I’m no match for two angry women.” Then as Putnam seemed to take a step forward, Mallory said, “I haven’t told either of them about Hamilton. Or about Mrs. Granville. It was unnecessarily cruel, to worry Mrs. Hamilton when there’s nothing she can do. You’ll respect that, won’t you?”

“I understand. I’ll just ask Mr. Tavers to wait.” In a moment he was back. He passed Mallory at the door and made his way into the hall, wondering if he would encounter Mrs. Hamilton on his way belowstairs. But she was not waiting for him. He found the room where Nan Weekes had been incarcerated and saw that the key was in the door. Turning it, he stepped inside.

The woman standing with braced shoulders where she could face whoever came into the room, raised her eyebrows as she recognized the priest.

“You’ve come to tell me it’s over,” she said flatly. “Did he kill her and then himself? It’s what I’ve been expecting, but I’ve heard no gunshots.”

“Nan, nothing has changed. I’ve come because Mr. Mallory feels you need the little comfort I can offer. It’s been a trying few days.”