Charles Todd - The red door

"Well. Her choice, of course."

He went to the nanny's room that had been Jenny's sanctuary and sat there until it was time to come down for the service. It was a quiet room, serene and seemingly distant from the tense atmosphere of the study, and from its windows, Rutledge could count the motorcars and carriages arriving for the funeral.

He made a point of attending. The church was larger by far than the one in Hobson. He watched the mourners gather and listened to a well-meant eulogy by Mr. Stedley, extolling the Captain's bravery, his sense of duty to God and country, and his love for his family.

And then Peter Teller was buried in rain that pattered softly on the cluster of umbrellas struggling vainly to keep the mourners as dry as possible. But the earth that was to be sprinkled into the grave struck the coffin in muddy clumps, and he saw Susannah Teller wince at the sound.

She had held up remarkably well, greeting the guests with quiet dignity, her face nearly invisible behind the long silk veil of mourning, her feelings hidden as well. But he heard her voice tremble once or twice.

Afterward, the guests returned to Witch Hazel Farm for the funeral repast.

Mollie and her cohorts had done their best, and the family stood about in the drawing room and the dining room, making the right remarks and responding to questions that must have galled them.

Rutledge watched Susannah Teller, with Edwin at her side, as she greeted each guest and thanked them for coming.

When the last of the mourners had left, Edwin went straight to the drinks table in the study, pouring himself a whisky. He held it out to his wife, but Amy shook her head, asking for a sherry.

He brought her a glass, then turned to Rutledge.

"Nothing. Thanks."

Edwin sat on the small settee and said, "God." He looked tired and drained.

"It was a nice service," Amy said. "Everything considered. A few gawkers, there out of curiosity. Three fellow officers and their wives came. Someone who'd known Peter in school. Three women who were widows of men who served under him in the war. One of them had the handsomest boy with her. Thirteen, at a guess. She said he was the image of his father, and you could hear the grief of his loss still there in her voice. I can't remember who else. Oh-someone who had served in the field with Walter. He must have been close to eighty but was spry as a man ten years younger. I think that pleased Walter. At least he seemed happy to see the man. A good number of people from the village, as you'd expect. Most of them remembered Peter as a boy. I think Susannah was quite touched."

"Where is she?" Edwin asked.

"She left fifteen minutes ago. Leticia told me. She stood up very well, didn't she?" Amy went on. "Women generally do. It's expected of them not to make a fuss. I remember Walter telling us that somewhere he was sent, the women beat their breasts and tore at their hair while making the most haunting noise. An ululation, he called it. He said it made him shiver."

"Did Inspector Jessup come?"

"No. His wife was there. She said he'd been called away."

Leticia came in. "Mr. Rutledge. There is tea in the dining room, and sandwiches. Please help yourself."

He thanked her and went to find Mary sitting at the table, crumbling bits of bread from her sandwich into little pills on her plate.

He poured himself a cup of tea, then took sandwiches from the platters set out on the buffet. "May I join you?" he asked before sitting down.

"Yes, please do," she answered, whether she was pleased to see him there or not.

"Mrs. Teller felt that the service went well."

"Yes, I'm glad. And there's still Jenny's funeral to get through. Today I wished myself anywhere but there. Still, one has to support the family. As they've supported me." She got up and set her plate on the small table already piled with used dishes. "I'll come in later and help Mollie with these," she said. Then after hesitating, as if of two minds what to do, she came back and sat down. "Have you seen Walter? He was here for a bit, and then I looked for him and he was gone. I thought he might have retreated to the study."

"I was there. I haven't seen him."

"Then he's in his room," she said, nodding. "Did he kill Jenny?" Surprised, Rutledge countered, "There's no real proof. Why should he wish to see her dead?"

"Well, that's what we've all been waiting for, isn't it, these past few days?" she said bitterly. "Proof one way or the other. About Walter's illness. About Peter. About that death in Lancashire. Then about Peter again, and now about Jenny. The other shoe dropping." She turned away. "Do you have any idea what the tension has been like, since Walter first took ill? I went through his study, trying to find out who to contact in the Alcock Society, I thought someone might come and speak to Walter at the Belvedere. I was foolish enough to believe he was worried about going back into the field and they might set his mind at rest. Imagine my shock when I learned about his other life. And all the time-it was Edwin who suggested that Florence Teller might have been here in London and Walter happened to see her. But of course she wasn't, as it turned out. So we will never know, will we, why he was ill?"

Rutledge said, "It doesn't matter now what made him ill."

"Yes, it does, because he still has to come to terms with it and choose. I think it has to do with Harry, with Walter's insistence that the boy be sent away to school. It was as if he didn't want him anymore. I couldn't for the life of me understand why. And then he recanted on Harrow, telling Jenny it would be all right to wait a few years. But now, this morning, he told me he thought it would be best for Harry to go after all, because he's motherless. I'd already promised to take him and look after him for a bit, but Walter is adamant. Harrow it is to be. I knew Walter long before Jenny met him. As a brother-in-law, he was kind and thoughtful and always willing to help me with the house where Jenny and I grew up. I couldn't have asked for better. And I could share Harry with them-they were always asking if I'd take him for a night or for a few days. I really care for the boy, I'd do anything to protect him. But I've begun to realize that Walter uses people. Not wittingly, purposely, but most certainly conveniently. I've even begun to wonder if he married Jenny to have a son again, to replace that dead one. He's capable of it, you know."

Her bluntness was almost brutal. And he found himself thinking that Mary had understood what was behind the two marriages better than anyone else, because she was so alone herself.

"I don't know, Miss Brittingham, what to say. But you may be right. As to what he intends to do, there's no impediment. Walter Teller can do as he pleases. I've every intention of closing the inquiries here, and asking the inquests to bring in a verdict of accidental death in both cases."

Before she could answer, Amy came to the door. "Inspector, Inspector Jessup is here. He wants to speak to you urgently." She turned to Mary. "Have you seen Walter? And what's become of Gran?"

"He must be in his room," Mary said. "I don't have the energy to go and see. Mr. Rutledge tells me he wasn't in the study. Your grandmother is lying down. Leticia settled her half an hour ago."

"Thanks. I'll go and look for him."

Amy closed the door again. Mary rose and said, "Needs must. I ought to join the others, whether I feel like it or not. I'm a guest, now that Jenny's gone. And so I must fit in with the wishes of others."

She went out of the room, and Rutledge followed her, in search of Jessup.

He was pacing the hall. When Rutledge came down the passage, he turned and said, "There's been an accident. Can you come at once?"

Rutledge followed him out to the waiting motorcar. "What is it? What's happened?"