Charles Todd - A False Mirror

“Trying.” She seemed to spit the word at him. “It’s not what I’d use, not trying. They’re tormenting each other and tormenting me. I blame both of them, her for giving him false hope, and him for not seeing that he wasn’t wanted here.”

“You think that’s what has happened?” Putnam asked.

Nan Weekes said, “A decent woman doesn’t find herself pursued by a man she turned down. A decent man takes his dismissal. But my cousin has seen him watching this house of a night, from across the way. And she looks out that window toward him, in the morning. I’ve seen her when I go to bring down the ashes, and if I’ve seen her, so has Mr. Hamilton.” She turned away, as if she preferred not to face him for the next question. “No one tells me how Mr. Hamilton is faring, after that beating. I’m not to speak of it, she says. It’s too painful, she says. And who else could have given it to him, I ask you, but that Mr. Mallory? Is he dead? Is that why you’ve come, to offer comfort to the widow?”

“No. I don’t know how Mr. Hamilton is faring, Nan. I haven’t been to see him, you see. For several days he wasn’t allowed to have visitors, he was too ill.”

He had kept to the letter of his promise, Putnam thought. But not the spirit of it. With a sigh, he said, “Could you bring yourself to help Mrs. Hamilton through this ordeal? You may not approve of her actions, but you cannot judge what’s in her heart, you must leave that to God. For now, your strength and your willingness to be a witness to her ability to steer Mr. Mallory toward a peaceful end is your first duty to Mr. Hamilton. Will you keep that in mind? Will you stay here, make no trouble for either of them, and do what you can to help us while Mr. Rutledge is trying to bring Mr. Mallory to his senses?”

She said, “If you say so, Rector. But it was Mrs. Hamilton who gave him that revolver. And if anything happens to me, you must tell my cousin that I told you as much. He’s one of Mr. Bennett’s men, he’ll see things set to rights.”

“I think you must be mistaken-”

“That I’m not, Rector. I was there on the stairs, wasn’t I? It’s Mr. Hamilton’s revolver from his foreign ser vice that Mr. Mallory has, and I’ve been praying since I was shut up in here that he would turn it on himself and be done with it. It would be her punishment, wouldn’t it? And very fitting.”

Putnam stood there, rooted to the spot for an instant longer. Finally he said, “Nan, you’re no better than they are, when you say such things.”

“That’s as may be. Will you give Mrs. Granville a message from me, if you please? I’ve got her best sheets at my house, to iron them properly. They’d have been back by now if I weren’t shut away here. If she needs them, she can go and fetch them. I’ll understand.”

The rector replied slowly. “I expect to see Dr. Granville shortly. I’ll make a point of passing this information on.”

She laughed, without humor. “He wouldn’t know the best sheets from the everyday ones. No, it’s Mrs. Granville you must tell. I wouldn’t want her to think I’d mislaid them.”

He asked her, tentatively, if she would like to pray with him before he left, and she bowed her head stiffly while he did, drawing on his training to sustain him. But he saw that his hands were shaking as he locked her door again. And he wondered if Nan had noticed it as well.

Rutledge was driving back into Hampton Regis from Miss Trining’s house when he saw George Reston and two other men walk into a row of offices just up from the Mole. They appeared to be in earnest conversation, and the younger of the three carried a sheaf of papers in his hand.

He passed them without showing any interest in them. But when they had gone inside, he turned the next corner and drew up in front of Reston’s home.

The maid informed him that Mrs. Reston would receive him, and he followed her down the passage to a small room that was warm from the fire on the hearth and bright with lamplight.

“I was glad to see that Mr. Reston is feeling better,” he said. “He appeared to be with business associates just now, near the Mole.”

“He didn’t want to keep to that appointment, but he had no choice.” She regarded him coolly. “It had been arranged several days ago and one of the men has to return to Winchester tonight. Why have you come back, Mr. Rutledge?”

“First, I should like to ask you if your maiden name was Cole.”

“It was not. My father was Edward Farrington, we lived in London and Sussex. I don’t see that that has anything to do with your business here in Hampton Regis.”

He tried to place the name. Something to do with law or finance, he thought. Certainly a firm connected with some of the best families in the country. Mrs. Reston had indeed come down in the world, and it was there in her face as she watched him search his memory. But he was careful not to let her see his conclusion.

“And your second reason?”

“Because I think you must know more about Matthew Hamilton than your husband is aware of, Mrs. Reston. And I didn’t feel I should say as much in his presence.”

“Our parents traveled in the same circles, we met a time or two, but it was not an event I remember with great fondness, if that’s what you are asking me. He was just one of many people invited to the same house parties and weekends in the country. I enjoyed them. One did then, before the war. It was a very pleasant way of life. I miss that, I think a good many people must. It was a golden time. By the time I married George, Matthew Hamilton was abroad. I don’t think he recognized me when we were introduced here in Hampton Regis at Miss Trining’s dinner party. I didn’t press the memory.”

“But your husband, if I’m not mistaken, is very certain you do remember Matthew Hamilton, and with some warmth.”

“Call it a matter of revenge, Inspector. It didn’t drive my husband to attack Mr. Hamilton when he was out walking Monday last. And it hasn’t driven him to do anything drastic now.”

“You can’t be sure of that. Revenge is sometimes bloody and swift.”

“My husband bought me, Mr. Rutledge. Like goods in a shop. Or so he feels. I’ve seen it in his eyes when he looks at me. He wanted to improve his position socially, and my father needed money rather badly. It was an arranged marriage. Two years later, my uncle died and my father had all the money he could ever wish for. And I had George Reston for my husband. There was no respite for me. But I have finally brought him around to my way of thinking-I have created a past I never had. Embroidering my relationship with Matthew Hamilton into something more than the brief acquaintance it actually was. And George can’t afford the scandal of divorce. We manage together very nicely at the moment. And I shall deny I told you a word of this, if you meddle.”

“You believe he couldn’t have beaten Hamilton nearly to death. But I’ve been informed he attacked another man in London, nearly as severely.”

“I know my husband. He wouldn’t have touched Hamilton. And as Mr. Hamilton has no way of knowing the role he’s played in my life, he’s not likely to give George any satisfaction.”

“Matthew Hamilton is probably dead, Mrs. Reston. And you can’t be sure that your fantasy hasn’t driven your husband to murder. After all, the last indication we have of Hamilton’s whereabouts was in that cottage that went over in the landslip.”

“I remind you that anyone could have found a way inside. It was known to be abandoned. We had no reason to lock it or board it up. There was nothing inside of any value.”

Except, Hamish roused himself to point out, a small vase painted with lilacs.

“Was the man your husband attacked in London another of your fantasy love affairs?” Rutledge’s voice was harsh, and he meant it to be.