Charles Todd - A False Mirror

Hamish said, “She willna’ heed you. Open the door.”

Rutledge hesitated, unwilling to test the door. If it was locked, he couldn’t in good conscience knock it down. If it was unlocked, he would be violating her only sanctuary now in this house.

Hamish persisted, and finally he put his hand to the knob.

She was lying on the bed as she had been once before, her back to him, her hair falling in a tumble across the pillow. Asleep or pretending to be.

This time, there was a difference. Beside the bed, on its side and half empty, was the decanter of whiskey that Mallory had kept in the passage last night. Rutledge was certain he’d put it back where he found it this morning, along with the bedding and the chairs they’d used. But Mrs. Hamilton had found it. She had also emptied the box of powders Dr. Hester had left for her, taking them all at once with the whiskey.

Rutledge shouted for Mallory, and then was too busy to wait for him. She was breathing heavily, but he thought that could be only the whiskey and the fatigue of the long night as much as the sedative starting its deadly work. He picked her up in his arms and started for the stairs.

Mallory met him halfway and said only, “God in heaven.”

They got her to the kitchen and stretched her out on the worn table there, covering her with one of the blankets that had been in Nan’s room. Without ceremony, Rutledge thrust her fingers into the back of her throat, and as she retched, he pulled her head over the edge of the table.

She vomited only a little, and he tried again, this time more successfully.

“Strong tea, as strong as you can make it,” he told Mallory. “And then send the constable on duty for Dr. Granville.”

When nothing else worked, he got hot water from their breakfast tea and salt from the worktable down her throat, and the combination brought up the rest of the contents of her stomach.

She lay there, moaning in discomfort, but he held her head again and made her swallow the tea, though her throat was sore and she could hardly keep it down.

It was rough-and-ready treatment, without medical advice, but he had dealt with drunks, and what mattered was ridding her as fast as possible of what she’d swallowed.

There was no way to know if the powders would have killed her. Or if the whiskey mixed with them was a deadly brew. He had acted first and worried later.

By the time the rector and Dr. Granville had arrived, she was lying on the floor, wrapped in blankets with a bottle of hot water at her feet. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her hair on the pillow was dark with vomit and water and sweat. The kitchen was sour with the smell of sickness.

Dr. Granville, kneeling on the floor to examine her, said, “You seem to have got most of it in time. What was the sedative, do you know?”

“I don’t know.” Rutledge turned to Putnam. “What’s left is lying on the floor of her bedroom. Will you bring them down?”

Mallory said, “I’ll see to it,” and was gone before Rutledge could stop him.

Granville did what he could to make Felicity Hamilton more comfortable, speaking gently to her, bathing her face and hands to cleanse them of the smell of sickness, and promising to send some broth by Putnam, to give her a little strength. She responded, smiling wanly at him and clinging to his hand. It was as if such small kindnesses touched her deeply.

He said, lifting her shoulders to offer her a sip of water, “It will all seem like a nightmare, you know, when this has passed. Something you remember sometimes, but without the power to frighten you anymore.”

She answered, “It was a stupid thing, to take the powders all at once. But I was so tired and I didn’t know who to trust, what to believe. I wanted it all to be over with, I wanted to sleep forever, without having to think about anything again.”

“If Mallory will allow it, I’ll look in on you a little later. To make sure you’re feeling better.”

Rutledge, suddenly aware that Mallory hadn’t come back, turned and ran out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs.

He found the man sitting disconsolately on her bed, the revolver between his hands.

Rutledge said harshly, “Kill yourself here, and you might as well kill her. The effect will be the same.”

“I know. I’ve thought of that. I’m just out of solutions, Rutledge. I might as well give myself up to Bennett and let it be over. Granville can take her back to the rectory with him and find a woman to sit with her until her mother can get here. She’s never liked her mother. It will be the last thing she wants to happen. But we’ve come to the end of the road.”

Rutledge bent to collect the scattered papers that had held the sedative. “You’re a fool, Mallory, for getting yourself into this scrape and for dragging her with you. But I’m damned if you’re going out with a whimper, as you did in France. Get yourself cleaned up and come downstairs. This isn’t over, and you’ll play the role you laid out for yourself.”

“I’m too tired to care.”

“Then care about her, for God’s sake.”

Rutledge turned on his heel and left. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard Mallory shut Mrs. Hamilton’s bedroom door and walk heavily down the hall to the bath.

He gave Granville the papers the sedative had been folded into, and the doctor sniffed them before balling them up and tossing them away. “Mild enough. And probably not enough to kill her. But you did the right thing, though I doubt she’ll thank you for it.”

“She was frightened by the maid’s murder, and last night was not the best time to sleep well.”

“Yes, there were trees down on some of the farms. The Joyners lost an apple tree, and their neighbors had a large trunk come through their roof. They told Miss Joyner it sounded like the crack of doom. One of the roads was blocked as well.”

“You were out there?”

“The old man was having trouble breathing again. I doubt he’ll see the spring, but then he’s of strong stock. He may surprise me yet.” He stretched his back. “We ought to get her to bed. What shape is it in?”

“It’s ready for her. I was just up there.”

“Good.”

With Putnam going before them to manage the doors, they got her up the stairs and into her room. Rutledge saw that Mallory had taken away with him the decanter and the small bedside carpet where it had rolled and spilled. Dr. Granville tucked her in with surprising gentleness, and said, “I’ll have no more foolishness from you, my dear. You’ll see this through for your husband’s sake.”

“Thank you, Dr. Granville. I’m so sorry-after all you’ve been through.” It was the closest she could come to apologizing for what her husband might have done. She lay there, eyes overly large in her pale face, overcome by drowsiness after her ordeal. Putnam took her hand, and in the other she clutched the handkerchief he’d found for her. Tears seemed very near the surface. “It’s been very trying for all of us.”

“Sleep if you can. I’ll send along the broth, and if you drink that, it will strengthen you.” He turned to Rutledge, standing by the door. “We should have a woman come and sit with her. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Miss Esterley might agree,” he said. “Someone who won’t gossip.”

Mr. Putnam looked up and said, “Shall I go and see?”

“Dr. Granville will see to it, Rector. You’re needed here at the moment.”

“Don’t leave me,” Felicity Hamilton asked. “Not until I’m asleep.”

“Yes, by all means. If it’s a comfort to you, my dear, I’ll gladly stay.”

Rutledge accompanied Dr. Granville to the door. “Thank you for coming. There was no time to send for Dr. Hester.”