by Charles Todd
“Will everything be all right, Ian? I must tell you, I’m worried. I sit there alone in my room, and I find myself reliving those ten—fifteen?—minutes. Knowing that in spite of all I can do, this man Harry is going to die. And then it felt like a miracle when Mr. Trevose pulled himself into the boat and lent his strength to ours. You can’t imagine what it was like. Euphoria, which I think gave us what we needed to save him. I dream about it at night too.”
He wished he could give her a comforting answer, but he refused to lie to her.
“I don’t know, Kate. We’ll have to wait and see. I’m doing all I can.”
“I know you are, Ian. I don’t doubt you for a moment.” She managed a smile, and reached out to lay her fingers on his arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He put his hand over them for a moment, and then said, “Will you send Miss Langley to me next?”
“Yes, of course.” She walked steadily to the door, but when she reached it, she turned to say, “It’s the oar, isn’t it? That’s what is making us vulnerable. But I know Victoria, Ian, she’s a little headstrong and spoiled, but I worked beside her during the war, carrying trays of tea to the trains full of recruits and of wounded, making sure each man got his hot drink and sometimes a bun. She was so cheerful, so quick to understand what this man or that one needed. The tea, a kind word, a smile. No matter how tired she was, or how awful the wounds. Even when we recognized someone we knew among the wounded. I can’t picture her trying to hurt anyone.”
The problem was, and he couldn’t tell Kate, that if Victoria wasn’t believed, if she couldn’t convince everyone that she had meant to save rather than kill, she was very likely to condemn the others too.
The library door opened and Grenville stepped into the room, another man at his heels.
Rutledge rose from the table and waited.
The other man was Kate Gordon’s father.
His expression was stern, controlled anger with not a little fear behind that.
“Rutledge,” he said with a curt nod of acknowledgment, “Grenville told me you were here, and so I’ve traveled from London to speak to you. What’s this nonsense about my daughter being accused of attempted murder? You know very well Katherine would not be a party to any such thing.”
Rutledge hadn’t seen Gordon in six years. Not since September 1914. The man’s brown hair was grayer than it had been then, but he still had the carriage of a soldier despite the loss of his left arm. He had been part of the British Expeditionary Force sent to Mons, and he had fought straight through to the Second Battle of Ypres, where he’d been severely wounded.
“Hardly nonsense, Major Gordon. It’s a very serious matter.”
“It’s incompetence, that’s what it is. To have let it go this far.”
“The police have not been able to interview Harry Saunders. Until they can, until he can tell them what happened, there are conflicting accounts of events on the water.”
“You have four women telling you the truth, and one man, who was not on board that boat until the last few minutes, giving you a garbled version of it. I should think it would be straightforward enough to dismiss all charges, regardless of Saunders’s condition.”
“It doesn’t quite work that way,” Rutledge told him. “The women are being charged with attempted murder, and therefore their testimony is suspect. In the eyes of the law, Mr. Trevose is a witness with no known reason to lie. It will require Saunders’s statement to break the impasse.”
“I have never known my daughter to lie,” Gordon said, his anger breaking through. “I’m sure Grenville here can tell you that as well, about Victoria. That must count for something.”
“It will take a jury to determine who is telling the truth in this case, and I’m sure neither you nor Mr. Grenville wants to see the case go that far. I’m here to do my best to find not just the truth but proof of the truth. At this moment we’re waiting for Saunders’s boat to be brought up and examined. That may tell us something.”
But Gordon wasn’t to be persuaded that nothing could be done. “I should think that you of all people should have no trouble coming to conclusions. You were engaged to Katherine’s cousin. See that you remember that.”
He turned on his heel and left the room in long, furious strides. Grenville followed him, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Rutledge took a deep breath and walked to the windows. Rain was still coming down in buckets, sweeping across the lawns in gray veils that obscured the light and the view across the gardens. Nearer to hand, taller plants in the border beneath the window were already bending under the weight of the water.
He could understand Gordon’s distress. But this inquiry had nothing to do with Jean, his engagement to her, or any debt he owed the Gordon family for releasing her from her betrothal to him. Still, in those first weeks after news of her death had reached him, sometimes in the middle of a long sleepless night he had wondered if he’d done the right thing in telling her she was free. And yet what sort of life would she have had with him?
Rutledge could feel Hamish stirring in the back of his mind, and resolutely shut off the soft Scots voice as Victoria walked through the door.
“I know you were expecting Sara. I’ve come instead. I’m well aware that my actions have made this whole affair seem far more—sinister—than it is. I didn’t try to kill Harry. I like him well enough, but lately there had been apparently accidental encounters with him. I could see where this might be leading, and I didn’t want to embarrass either of us by having to tell him outright that I had no feelings for him. Not in that way. And so I’d tried to avoid him. When Sara and Kate saw him waving to us, I thought it was just one more of those chance meetings that generally ended with an invitation to lunch or tea or even a party his parents were giving. I never encouraged him, but it didn’t seem to matter to him that I refused him time and again.”
Rutledge, listening to her, couldn’t decide whether she was telling him the truth or what she believed he wanted to hear, in order to clear her of any murderous intent.
When he didn’t speak at once, she went on, her hands twisting together in some anxiety. “One doesn’t go about killing unwanted suitors. It’s ridiculous even to think so.”
“Unless his attentions had become so persistent that you were exasperated enough to stop them for good.”
“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. He might be Scotland Yard, but in her eyes he was only a few years older than she was, and she clearly expected him to understand.
“Did you put this information into your original statement, the one given at the police station before you were released to your father’s care?”
“No,” she admitted. “I thought it best not to. How would you like it if all the world were told you’d been flatly rejected? That’s how Harry would feel.”
He thanked her for giving him additional information, then asked her to write out her statement again.
She wasn’t happy about that, but didn’t refuse him.
Rutledge finished his collection of statements as quickly as he could. Major Gordon was still in the house, and he could feel the change in atmosphere. He rather thought even the four women, segregated as they were from the household at large, could sense the tension. He rang for the maid and told her that he was leaving. She stepped into the room and handed him a folded twist of paper.
“I was to give you this before you left, sir.”
He opened it, holding it under the lamp to read the words scrawled on the small square of stationery.
I am in the morning room. Please ask Alice to show you the way.
It was unsigned, but the hand was feminine, he thought, and he looked up at Alice. “Before I go, could you show me to the morning room?”
“Yes, sir, this way, sir.”
He shut the library door behind him and followed her down the passage to
a small room done in a silk wallpaper in a shade of rose that showed off the swirled patterns in the fabric. Around the ceiling, in place of the usual molding was a band of darker rose that was picked up in the ribbons that displayed an assortment of paintings. A large mirror in an ornate gilded frame above the mantel reflected the comfortable but stylish furnishings and the woman waiting beside a Louis XV table desk.
She was as dark as her daughter, slim and very attractive still. The soft green dress she was wearing was London tailored, he thought. She waited until he had closed the door before speaking.
“Good morning, Mr. Rutledge. I’m Victoria’s mother. Thank you for seeing me.”
“What is it I can do for you, Mrs. Grenville?”
“I wish you could make all of this nightmare go away. But I’m afraid no one can. Please, will you sit down?” She pointed to two formal chairs on either side of the hearth, and joined him there. “I’m not sure how to begin. But I think it’s important for you to hear what I have to say.” She stared into the heart of the fire, and began to talk to it, rather than to him.
“Mr. Trevose has every reason to wish this family ill. And it’s my fault. Some years ago, before I was married, I was invited to a house party at St. Michael’s Mount. Do you know it? Have you ever been there?”
“I know where it is. On an island in Mount’s Bay. I’ve seen it from a hotel in Penzance.”
“Yes, well, it’s an island as you say, and it was built up rather than out, rising well above the landing. The only access is by boat. We were all very young, and on a rainy Saturday evening, we were playing a game of hide-and-seek. It wasn’t a wild game, just fun. There were so many good places for concealment. We hadn’t heard the wind come up, but it had. I was looking for a place to hide and one of the footmen, hardly older than I was, showed me the door to one of the terraces, and I went outside. It was a warm summer rain, but it had made the flagstones slippery, and the wind caught at my gown. There was no railing at the edge of the terrace, and I thought I was going to be blown over into the sea. The footman snatched at my hand, and tried to pull me back. I found the handle of the door and clung to it for dear life. But he lost his footing and one moment he was there, the next he was gone. I was petrified. It took me what seemed to be an unconscionable amount of time to pull myself inside, and I ran screaming for help. The others thought it was part of the game, and ran after me, laughing and crying out that I was now it. I found someone finally, and I reported what had happened.”
She moved her gaze from the hearth to Rutledge’s face. “They discovered his body the next morning. On the rocky shore. Quite dead. I believed it to be my fault. Even now I do. But everyone said it was his for showing me such a dangerous place, and he must have had designs on my virtue, taking me out there in the dusk. But it was I who went out there, and he followed me only to keep me from falling. To protect my good name, it was called a tragic accident, and the footman’s family was told of his death.”
He wasn’t sure where she was going with her story, but he could see that she was still haunted by it. And so he waited in silence.
“When I was married and came here to live at Padstow Place, I didn’t know that the footman’s family lived on a farm nearby. I was out riding one day and I encountered Mr. Trevose. He looked me up and down in a rude way and told me that he could now see why his brother felt I was worth dying for. It shook me, Mr. Rutledge, and I thought I was going to be ill. I was already pregnant with Stephen, and I said nothing to my husband or anyone else. When I came in from my ride, they saw how pale I was and they put me to bed and called a doctor. He ordered me to give up my rides. And of course I did, but not because I was pregnant. I have seen Mr. Trevose many times since that day—in church, of course, and around the village—but we have never spoken since. It was as if that day hadn’t happened. But it had. And now I’m afraid he’s found a way at last to pay me back for his brother’s death.”
“Who knows about this encounter?”
“No one. I told no one, not even my husband. I expect Mr. Trevose has said nothing about it either. There has been no gossip. If there had been, it would have come to my attention sooner or later.”
He regarded her, wondering if she was telling the truth or was willing to sacrifice herself to save her daughter. After all, she’d lost her son. Victoria was the only child left to her.
“You realize that you have given me information that I shall have to investigate before I can discredit Mr. Trevose’s statements. There will be no easy way to do this, and your name will eventually come out. I can’t protect you and get at the truth at the same time.”
“I wouldn’t have told you any of this if I hadn’t been prepared to accept the consequences.”
“How, for instance, did Mr. Trevose learn your part in his brother’s death? If it was treated as an accident?”
“I don’t know,” she told him frankly. “I’ve wondered. My best guess is that one of the staff wrote to him or his parents and told them what had occurred. At the time I hadn’t met my husband; I had no connection to this part of Cornwall. I expect Mr. Trevose was as surprised to learn I was to be mistress here as I was to learn that his family’s farm was nearby.”
“Are you sure that there was nothing between you and this footman?”
“Paul. His name was Paul. I had seen him, of course I had, and he was simply one of the staff.”
“What was he doing in that part of the house, when you were looking for a place to hide?”
“I don’t know. He was carrying a tray with a glass on it. Someone had asked for something to drink. It was thought that he’d stepped outside on the terrace for some air. The house was stuffy, closed up on a stormy evening.”
“You reported his death. How could you have known it had happened, if you hadn’t been present?”
“It was said that I heard a cry, saw the door swinging open, and realized that someone had fallen. That I had initially thought it was one of the players. The doctor came and gave me a sedative. He asked me what had happened, and I was so frightened I also told him I believed it was one of my friends. He passed that on to the police.”
“And did Paul try to force himself on you?”
“Good God, no, he was laughing and saying that no one would think to look for me on the terrace, and if I stood close to the doors, my gown wouldn’t get wet. He was a footman, but he was a human being. He thought it great fun to help me.” She covered her face with her hands for a moment, then dropped them to look at him. “We hadn’t heard the wind, it had come up with the end of the storm. And out in the bay, cut off from land, the Mount got the brunt of it. Certainly the sea was very rough. They couldn’t bring in the police or retrieve the body until later in the day. The fear was, it might wash away before anything could be done about it.”
“And you believe this is why Mr. Trevose has accused your daughter and her friends of harming Harry Saunders?”
“Of course I do,” she said impatiently. “What other reason could there be? Do you honestly think, for one moment, that those four young women are capable of trying to murder a perfectly respectable young man?”
“Your daughter tells me he has been running into her too often to be by chance. That he has feelings for her. Or at the very least, is infatuated.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Harry Saunders? She hasn’t—” She stopped herself in midsentence. “Would you find that so strange, Mr. Rutledge? She’s a lovely girl. And he’s unmarried.”
“Would you or your husband be willing to entertain his suit, if he came to you to ask for your daughter’s hand?”
Her eyes gave her away before she could answer him. There was no snobbery—she really believed that the heiress to Padstow Place could do much better than a banker’s son. “We would treat his suit with every courtesy,” she said.
“Victoria is no longer a young girl. I’m surprised s
he isn’t married already.”
Mrs. Grenville shook her head. “The war. Were you in it, Mr. Rutledge? Yes, of course you were. Most of her friends never came back. Or if they did, they’re like George St. Ives, so badly wounded that they can’t expect to enjoy a normal life. I don’t think Victoria or Kate, Sara or Elaine, having seen their world change so drastically, are as eager to marry as they might have been in 1914 when all the world was a happy place.”
Rising, she said, “I’ve kept you long enough. But I felt I had no right to say nothing when Mr. Trevose is apparently so willing to see my daughter and her guests charged with such a crime as attempted murder. Can you find your own way out? Or would you like for me to summon the maid?”
“I can find my own way, Mrs. Grenville.” He started toward the door. “I am grateful for your confidence. But I will use it as I think best. I suggest you tell your husband what you’ve told me. Before it becomes public knowledge.”
“I will choose my own time, Inspector.”
He left her standing there in the middle of the room, just as he’d first seen her.
He wouldn’t have been surprised to run into Grenville or Major Gordon as he found his way to the house door and made a dash through the rain for his motorcar.
Once clear of the house, he considered what he’d just been told.
Was it true? Or was there a great deal more that hadn’t been said? Either way, he came to the decision that he would say nothing until he was ready. If Trevose was out for revenge, then let him think he was successful for the time being. It would keep him out of further mischief.
And it wouldn’t go amiss to ask Sergeant Gibson to look into the death of Paul Trevose at St. Michael’s Mount. Meanwhile, he must find out more about the Trevose family.
And the best place for that might be the vicar, David Toup.
He drove through the village to the vicarage, where rivulets of water had turned the drive into a muddy glue. He could hear his rear tires spin as he made his way up the slight rise to the front of the house, and then picked his way through the puddles to the door. Someone had put a hemp mat there, and he wiped his feet as best he could before knocking.
