Charles Todd - A False Mirror

It was not too many days ago that he’d gone out with Perkins to the landslip. A futile effort, but it had given him a key when he found the bandages.

Hamish said, “The church clock struck the half hour. There’s naething here. And you’ve been away a verra’ long time.”

He reminded himself that Hamish was a Highlander from the narrow mountain passes of Glencoe, where eagles soared high over the Pap and screamed down the slopes. But he himself had been accustomed to the sea, he’d learned to row a boat watching his father, and he’d spent his holidays by the water more than once.

Finally satisfied, he went back to the first boat he’d come to, reached down, and pulled out the best example he’d seen of what he was looking for. Holding it close to his body, he retraced his steps.

Someone was going to be unhappy with him in the morning. But he could make that right later in the day.

He stopped at the motorcar in the inn yard, looked around him at the night, making certain that there was no one in the shadows or walking along the street at the end of the drive. Then he reached into the back, where Hamish sat, for the rug he kept there. But Hamish now was at his shoulder. Wrapping up his find, he stowed it carefully against the back of the rear seat, glanced up at the windows above him, and saw only dark panes of glass. This was the kitchen yard of the inn, where the staff slept. Neither Stratton nor Hamilton could have seen him at work.

He went round to the front entrance and took the steps two at a time. He’d had almost no sleep the night before, and it had been a wearing day.

Quietly testing the lock on Hamilton’s door, Rutledge went into his own room and stretched himself out on the bed. It would be the second night he’d slept in his clothes.

In the high-ceilinged room, Hamish had full rein.

“She wasna’ strangled. She was bludgeoned.”

“I know that. But does Hamilton? It’s the only way to find out, damn it.”

“It was a trick.”

“It was a necessity.”

“And what will you do wi’ him in the morning?”

“Take him with me to Casa Miranda. And see what transpires.”

“Oh, aye? And after that?”

“For the love of God, go to sleep.”

There was silence in the room, and through the walls, he could hear Hamilton twisting and turning in his bed, the springs creaking under his weight.

It was a little after first light when Rutledge woke with a start. He had set his mental clock for an hour before that and slept straight through.

Rising to shave, he listened for sounds from Hamilton’s room.

Finishing dressing, he went out to the passage. He stayed there for nearly three minutes, judging the faint snores coming from Stratton’s room. So far, so good. He went on to unlock Hamilton’s door.

He was heavily asleep, a pillow under his bad leg, and one arm thrown across his face. Rutledge woke him with some difficulty, and said, “I want you to come with me.”

Hamilton scrubbed his face with his hands. “Where am I? I don’t remember.”

“The Duke of Monmouth.”

“Yes, of course. Give me a few minutes.” But he lay there as if the willpower needed to get out of bed had slipped away in the night. “I don’t have any shaving gear. I’d like to clean myself up a little before Felicity sees me. Are you going to tell her, or will I?”

“Leave it to me. Are you coming?”

It took Hamilton all of ten minutes to dress, but he walked through the door finally and said quietly, “The leg hurts like the very devil.”

“It’s damp out this morning. A sea mist again.”

And there was a white blanket over the village, drifting in off the sea with a softness that could be felt on the skin.

There was no way that Hamilton could have walked up the hill, though it would have been less conspicuous. Rutledge held the door of the motorcar for him, but Hamilton refused his help getting in. As the engine came alive with a smooth roar, Rutledge said, “You’ll do exactly as I tell you. I don’t want to frighten them. Mallory is armed. He’s held Mrs. Hamilton at gunpoint in that house since you were found on the strand. The rector is there with her, and I can tell you that Mallory hasn’t harmed her. Inspector Bennett tried to arrest him, and he bolted. Mrs. Hamilton came home to find him in the house. Mallory told Bennett that he wouldn’t cooperate unless I was brought in to get to the bottom of what was going on.”

“I thought you were a friend of Miranda’s. How do you know all this?”

“I’m from Scotland Yard, Hamilton. Don’t you remember my telling you last night? Mallory sent for me. That’s why I knew so much about the inquiry.”

“You tricked me into a confession.”

“Did I? I thought it was given of your own free will. Is there any part of it you want to change?”

“Sadly, no. I wish I could. How am I going to face Felicity, with this on my conscience? I’ve thought about that and still have no answer for it.”

Rutledge put the motorcar in gear and drove to the road leading up to Casa Miranda. “Why did you name your house here and in Malta for Miss Cole?” he asked.

“As a reminder that I owed her my career.”

They didn’t speak again until Rutledge had pulled up before the front door.

It was several minutes before Mallory answered the summons of Rutledge’s knock. He said at once, “Damn it, you weren’t here last night. Putnam and I had to hold the fort.”

“Any trouble?”

“No, but we couldn’t know that, could we? It was a bloody long night.”

“There was something I had to do. How is Mrs. Hamilton feeling this morning?”

“Better, if Putnam is to be believed.”

“I’ve brought someone to see her.”

Mallory craned his neck to look toward the motorcar. “If it’s Miss Esterley, she’s too-” He stopped, his face registering a variety of emotions, uppermost among them shock and then anger. “If you’ve taken him into custody, she’ll have my head. Where did you find him?”

“In Exeter. It’s a long story. I’d like to bring him into the house. There are things he needs. Razor, a change of clothing.”

“Did he kill those women? In God’s name, why?”

“More to the point, he doesn’t remember what happened to him. And very little of the time he was under Dr. Granville’s care.”

“I thought you said he was being kept sedated. For the pain. And that it had played with his mind, what he’d heard while he was half conscious. You told us that.”

“What he does recall is tangled now. Will you let him in?”

Mallory said with bitterness, “Why not? It’s his house, after all. Everyone else has come and gone. And I shan’t be taken up now for killing him.”

“You may still stand trial for the attack on him.”

“I didn’t touch him, Rutledge. Haven’t you asked him yet?” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to feel now that it’s over. I’m so tired I can’t think.”

“Not quite over. Will you go and make tea? I think he’s going to need it.”

“Tell him-tell him I never would have touched him. Not even for Felicity.”

Mallory was gone on the words. Rutledge went back to the motorcar and helped Hamilton alight. He stood there, staring up at the house, then walked to the door and inside.

“If I’m going to jail, I’d rather pack my things before I see her.”

“Go ahead. You know the way. You’ll find Mr. Putnam in the passage outside her door.”

Hamilton found it difficult to climb the stairs but kept at it until he’d reached the top.

Rutledge heard a smothered exclamation as the rector recognized the man coming toward him. And then Putnam was greeting him anxiously, his concern for Hamilton overcoming his alarm.