Charles Todd - A Lonely Death

"Gentle God," Rutledge said quietly.

"Indeed," Mrs. Farrell-Smith agreed.

Hamish said, "In France Indian soldiers served."

Although the British had crushed Thuggee, these men would have known about it-some said it still existed in dark corners of the country-and very likely could have shown Summers what a proper garrote was, if he hadn't found sufficient information on his own.

"If you had learned of this report when first you came to Eastfield, you would have suspected Daniel. It was damning," Mrs. Farrell-Smith was saying. "I think his father must also have feared this would come to light-he must have been worried sick when Anthony was killed, for fear that in revenge I'd betray Daniel. My aunts would eventually have told him about the garrote. Still, he needed to know that one son hadn't killed the other. And so he had wanted Scotland Yard, less prejudiced than Inspector Norman, to investigate. Daniel was his favorite, and now he has only one son."

"But you weren't pleased that the Yard was brought in. Why did you think I'd uncover this? Why were you afraid of me and not of Inspector Norman?" He set the garrote back where he'd found it.

She smiled for the first time. "He has no imagination. You do."

Would it have made any difference if Mrs. Farrell-Smith had trusted him sooner?

Impossible to say. Still, Marshall might still be alive. He'd learned, as a policeman, that people held their secrets close, and the common good often failed to have any bearing on that need to protect them.

"Must this come out, if Summers is arrested?" she asked after a moment.

"I'm afraid so." And then he said, "Mrs. Farrell-Smith, where is Daniel?"

The shadow of an old grief settled over her face. "I wish I knew. He's loyal to my husband, you see. They were friends at school. He thinks my husband killed himself because he was jealous of me."

"Did he have cause to be?"

She shook her head impatiently. "You don't understand. Michael didn't kill himself because Daniel loved me. He killed himself because Daniel didn't love him."

"And you never told the police this?"

"I didn't mind suspicion falling on me. It was Daniel I didn't want to drag into the inquiry. Besides, it would have crushed any hopes I harbored in that direction."

"Did Anthony know you loved his brother?"

"Not in the beginning. When I did tell him, he warned me that Daniel wasn't the sort to settle down, and he wished me luck. I think Daniel still has the war on his mind, if you want the truth. But I've waited six years. I can wait six more if I must. And I'll be here, in Eastfield, if he ever decides to come home again."

She returned the garrote to the envelope and locked it away again. "Don't let me down," she said as she came around the desk to see him out. "Find Summers. I don't want another scandal keeping Daniel away. I don't want another cloud over our names."

At the door, Rutledge said, "If your aunts knew what was going on, why in God's name didn't they protect young Summers? Or punish his tormentors? Why did they allow the bullying to continue for so long?"

She frowned. "They were old-fashioned. They believed that a boy should be able to take care of himself. Sticks and stones and all that. They felt that it was important for him to develop a backbone, stand up to his tormentors. But when one is so young, one doesn't have the skills to face down a bully and teach him a lesson, does one?" She considered Rutledge for a moment, then added, "In my opinion there was something else as well. Their father- my great-uncle, the Frenchman who founded the school-would have considered Tommy Summers slovenly and unfit. He'd have taken him in hand and made a man of him. My aunts weren't capable of that, and they must have felt that Tommy was a rebuke."

And so five men had died.

He left, then, letting himself out, and as he walked back toward the hotel, Hamish said, "Do ye believe her?"

"I'll have the answer to that when I catch Summers. For all I know, she hates Daniel Pierce and sees this as a way to punish him for his rejection of her."

At the end of the street, he stopped and looked back at the school, feeling as if he were being watched.

Mrs. Farrell-Smith was standing at her window, as if to be certain he had left the premises.

He was about to walk on when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow at a window above hers.

He kept going, showing no sign of having noticed.

The school was closed for a week. Was it Daniel Pierce waiting for Rutledge to leave, or was it Tommy Summers back in Sussex and using the empty building to hide from the police?

Out of sight of the school, Rutledge stopped and considered how best to extract Mrs. Farrell-Smith without alerting whoever it was at the window above hers. Surely she would remain in her office a few minutes longer. He had a little time.

Moving quickly, he went down a list of people he could trust. Constable Walker would arouse suspicion, coming on the heels of Rutledge's visit. Mr. Ottley, from St. Mary's? Neither seemed to be the best choice. Summers would be on alert.

Coming toward him was Mrs. Winslow. She was walking with her head down, eyes on the road, but she carried a marketing basket over one arm.

He thought there was a good chance that Mrs. Farrell-Smith would let her in. But with what excuse? She had no children in the school. No reason to call.

Just behind her was Tyrell Pierce's clerk, Starret, hurrying in the direction of the brewery with an envelope in his hand.

Rutledge touched his hat to Mrs. Winslow and after she had gone on her way, stopped Starret.

"Sir?" the man asked, looking up at him.

"I need a favor, Starret. Will you go to the Misses Tate School and hand a message to Mrs. Farrell-Smith? She's there at the moment. I'd like it to appear that Mr. Pierce has asked to speak to her."

"But he hasn't, and I have this account to return to the brewery office."

Rutledge smiled. "I'd like to invite Mrs. Farrell-Smith to dinner. But we got off on the wrong footing, and I'm afraid she won't see me. Perhaps you'd help me lure her out of the school where I could speak to her. I'll explain the subterfuge when I see her."

"I really can't oblige you, sir. Mr. Pierce was most strict in his instructions."

Rutledge said, "And I am most strict in mine." He reached for the envelope in Starret's hand, and as the clerk expostulated, he wrote on it, I must see you at once. Please come. He signed it simply Tyrell, and prayed she couldn't recognize the man's handwriting.

"Inspector-"

Rutledge lost patience. "The sooner you deliver this, the sooner you can return to the brewery," he said. "And make it look as if you really came from Pierce. If you fail me, I'll have something to say to Pierce about your conduct."

The man gave him a reproachful look, and then walked on without a word. Rutledge watched him go.

Five minutes passed, time enough, Rutledge thought, to deliver the message. But neither Starret nor Mrs. Farrell-Smith appeared.

He thought, "If it's Summers, I've given the man a second hostage."

But there had been no choice, as Hamish was pointing out.

Another five minutes passed. Rutledge paced impatiently, ignoring the stares of passersby.

It was time to take action, he thought. And prayed that he hadn't sent two people to their deaths. He was just turning away when around the corner came Starret, with Mrs. Farrell-Smith at his side.

Rutledge breathed a sign of relief.

She saw him waiting, and at once called, "Did you speak to Tyrell? I thought I could trust you!" She was very angry.

He nodded to Starret, dismissing him, and when Mrs. Farrell-Smith reached him, he took her arm and led her toward the hotel. "Don't say anything more," he commanded in a low voice. "Just come with me."