A Cold Treachery

by Charles Todd

  “I might ask the same of you.”

  “I must have fallen asleep. I didn't hear you come in. I didn't think anyone would be in the church—where were you hiding? And why are you spying on me!”

  “Hardly spying. I saw you come back into the village. Where have you been?”

  “Out, walking.” He retrieved his shuttered lantern and fumbled to light it. Shadows raced around the stone walls as his hands shook.

  “Beyond South Farm. Hardly an evening's constitutional!” Rutledge switched on his torch.

  “If you must know, I've been looking for the boy. If he's dead, there's no one to speak up and tell what happened that night at the farm. He's my salvation, that boy. Whether I like him or not, whether he killed them or not, my life's in his hands.” He set the lantern on the seat of a chair and looked up at the altar. “I can't sleep. I work all day, and then I walk at night. It's taking its toll. I began hallucinating tonight. I could see the boy, but I couldn't tell where he was. I went stumbling after him, and then I realized it wasn't a child after all, only a ewe.” He faced Rutledge again. “If I can find out what happened at the farm, I could sleep again. Instead, I shut my eyes and see them lying there. I didn't even realize the boy wasn't among them. It was so—grisly. I'd never seen anything like it.”

  There was a ring of truth in his voice, but Rutledge wasn't convinced.

  Elcott must have read his reaction on his face. “I don't understand why you won't take Janet into custody. Is it because she's a woman, pretty and persuasive? Or do you know something I don't? Why have I been left to my own devices to defend myself? No one cares what becomes of me! Except perhaps the Belforses.” A note of self-pity had crawled into his voice. “There's no money for a fine barrister from London or even Preston. I'll hang, if you put these murders off on me.”

  “And you claim you've been out looking for the boy?”

  “Yes. Hell, you just missed me the other night. I'd heard from Robinson that you'd found some candles or something up in the old ruin. I went to see if there was anything else. I know this land better than you. If he'd been living rough, I thought I could find out where it is he's hiding. Track him. I told myself he'd come to me. Out of desperation if nothing else. His father hadn't searched for him, after all. I thought he might be glad of me.”

  “You think Robinson could have found him, if he'd gone to the farm, called his name—made some effort to lure him out?”

  “Who could say what a terrified child might do? And it's hard to blame Robinson for not trying overmuch. He's afraid he'd only be delivering his son to the police and the hangman. Better for him to be dead, quickly, painlessly, of exposure. You can tell it's eating the man alive, this waiting for answers!”

  “You might just as easily have put paid to the boy yourself, if you'd come across him.”

  “I tell you, he's my salvation! Why in hell would I want to kill him!” He stirred uneasily. “All right, you've found out it was me walking about in the night. God knows how. But you did. Now go home to bed and leave me alone. If you can't take me into custody, then have the decency to leave me alone!”

  As Rutledge walked back to the hotel, Hamish said, “He makes his case verra well.”

  “If he's not guilty, then he has. If he is guilty, then he's built himself a very fine defense. Tomorrow morning—this morning—I'll have Greeley take him into custody.”

  “Because ye're satisfied?”

  “No. Because among other things, I want an excuse to search his rooms.”

  Elizabeth Fraser had gone to her room when Rutledge returned to the hotel. But there was a warm bottle for his bed ready on the table.

  As he closed his door, he realized how tired he was. He took off his coat and hat and set them in the armoire. For the last time?

  Twenty-four hours, he told himself. It was not long enough to finish what had to be done.

  As he fell into a deep sleep, Rutledge heard Hamish's voice.

  You havena' found the key!

  It seemed to echo around the room.

  Greeley was thunderstruck. “You can't believe Paul Elcott killed his brother! I know you've considered him from the start, on the spiteful word of Miss Ashton, but I never dreamt it would come to this!”

  “No? Then perhaps you've got a better solution to these murders?”

  “Miss Ashton. I've never been completely satisfied why she was on the road to Urskdale in such a storm. For my money, she was on her way back to Carlisle when you found her in a ditch! But you refuse to consider that.”

  “I haven't refused. I've slowly come to the conclusion that she's been lying from the start.” For according to the farmer Jim Follet, Janet Ashton had been crying inconsolably even before she'd been told that her sister was dead. But had she reached the Elcott house? If she hadn't, what was it that frightened her away? Aloud he said only, “But we can't prove that at the moment.”

  “Speaking of proof, where's Theo's revolver? If that's what Paul was supposed to have used.”

  “Truthfully? I don't know. Out in the snow somewhere. Flung there by the killer or dropped there by the child. Or still hidden in the barn to keep it out of the hands of an inquisitive boy. Elcott may well have taken it off to war with him, for all we know.”

  “Well, then, you have precious little reason to take Paul Elcott into custody.” Greeley got up from his desk and began to pace the small office, studying the thin, tired face of the man seated in his extra chair. “I tell you, I don't understand you. It's all very well to come here from London and give assistance. I grant you, I needed your help to see beyond this crime. But to judge a man on so little evidence—it smacks of desperation! Is there something you've been keeping from me?”

  “Just do as I ask, if you will.”

  Greeley's mouth tightened. “Then you're grasping at straws.”

  “It's true. But if I don't have better answers for you in twenty-four hours, you have my permission to release Elcott.”

  And with that Greeley had to be satisfied.

  News swept through Urskdale with the speed of wildfire. Belfors was one of the first to storm into the police station and engage in a shouting match with Greeley.

  Janet Ashton, on the other hand, was irritatingly quiet when Rutledge told her the news. He had expected her to be smug.

  “I'm glad it's over with,” was all she said. “Grace and the children can rest in peace.”

  “And Gerald?”

  “Gerald.” She said the name with sadness. “I did love him, you know. I never understood why he couldn't have loved me as well. It broke my heart. And I was very foolish to think I could change his mind.”

  He said, “It could be that you were too strong for him. Grace was vulnerable. He may have found that attractive. Many men do.”

  “Yes. I've watched you fall under the spell of Elizabeth Fraser. She's stronger than you think. The difference is, she knows how to conceal it.” It was a bitter admission.

  He tried to disregard her accusation. “What was your first thought, when you saw they were all dead? That Paul had killed them?”

  Stunned, she stared at him. “When I saw— What are you saying!”

  “I think you knew what had happened. Before Jarvis told you.”

  “Be damned to you!” She got up swiftly and swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Paul Elcott's rooms were an indication of his condition. A man on the brink of failure, with nothing to show for years of hard work while his brother was in the war, nothing to show for his attempt to strike out on his own.

  Rutledge went through his possessions with distaste. How envious had Elcott been of his brother? he wondered as he searched.

  Hamish said, “It's in the nature of a child to be envious.”

  Had Henry Elcott, the father of the two boys, always found Paul lacking, and had his mother always made excuses for him, protecting him? The incident with Theo Elcott's revolver, when a young and rebellious Paul had tried to sell it, was a
reflection of the knotted relationships. And the fact that Paul hid on the fellside when he was unhappy at home told its own story.

  He should have been sympathetic to Josh, another lonely boy . . .

  Thorough as he was, Rutledge could find no boots without heels. They might already have gone to the rubbish heap. There was no hidden revolver, although Rutledge searched the bar and the saloon and the kitchen as well as the rooms upstairs. Only a coat with a missing button—but there was only Janet's word that she'd found the button in the hut above High Fell Farm.

  Above the hearth on a corner of the mantel was a pretty vase, out of place in such dreary lodgings. The sort of thing a woman might buy, for the sake of the roses that clambered up to the neck. Pink roses like those in the kitchen and on Grace Elcott's frivolous hat.

  Rutledge had seen it there before, but hadn't given it more than a passing thought. It was something Grace might have given Elcott. Or that he might have planned to give her.

  He looked at it, and then lifted it down from its place of honor. Something inside rattled.

  With Hamish already alive in his mind, Rutledge turned the vase upside down and spilled the contents out into his hand.

  A black button rolled into the palm of his hand. A black button, like the one that Janet Ashton had claimed she'd found in the ruined hut. But there was no sign of the broken cuff link that had once belonged to Josh Robinson.

  Rutledge went to the cell where Elcott sat morosely staring at the floor. Unshaven, wearing the same clothes he'd had on climbing the fell in the night, he looked both pitiable and exasperating. A man without spirit who seemed to prefer to wallow in his defeat than strive to overcome it.

  The gray walls, the cot to one side, and the slop jar in one corner seemed to reflect the stale, colorless atmosphere of prison.

  Holding out the vase with the clambering roses, Rutledge asked, “Can you tell me where this came from?”

  Paul glanced at it and resumed his study of the floor. “Grace gave it me. She thought it would brighten my rooms. She liked roses. Flowers of any kind.”

  Tilting it, Rutledge let the black button slide into his palm. “Is this from your coat? It's missing a button.”

  “I wondered where that had got to.” He frowned, sticking out a finger to touch the button almost as if to see whether or not it had reality. “That button was loose at the funeral. I was going to sew it back on and never got around to doing so. What was it doing in the vase?”

  “And this?” Reaching into his pocket, Rutledge held out the cuff link. It was the second of the pair, retained for interrogation purposes.

  “That belongs to Josh. A birthday gift from his father.”

  “Gerald?”

  “No, Hugh, of course. It's broken.” Elcott turned it in his fingers. “A pity. It's gold. Grace would have been angry if she knew Josh had been so careless.”

  “Did you find it up there in the hut?”

  “I never found it anywhere. It was too dark, and then you came at me before I could light my lantern. Are you now reduced to manufacturing evidence against me?”

  It was hard to tell if he was lying or telling the truth. Rutledge let it go. “I've a feeling Janet Ashton reached High Fell the night it snowed. And something made her turn around and go back the way she'd come. Do you know what it was?”

  “Ask her! I've told you until I'm tired of telling. I never killed them!” But there was undeniable wariness in his voice.

  “If you know anything about her movements, then you'd be better off answering my question.”

  Elcott sat there, stony-faced and silent.

  “Did she reach Urskdale at the beginning of the storm? Did you see her or her carriage?”

  “Ask her!”

  Hamish said, “It may be he doesna' want to gie away too much!”

  Rutledge left, taking the vase with him and setting it on Greeley's desk, with its contents. But he kept the cuff link in his pocket.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  He cornered Janet Ashton in the kitchen. She looked up in alarm when he strode in, closed the door at his back, and leaned against it.

  “Enjoyed your walks, have you?” Rutledge asked. The tone of his voice was pleasant enough, but his eyes were hard.

  She opened her mouth to say something, and then shut it firmly.

  “They've been very useful,” he went on. “Everyone was sympathetic. You were injured, grieving, the waiting was too much for you, and so you did what you could to keep your spirits up. Elizabeth even saw you at the churchyard. Paying your respects to the dead.”

  “They are my dead!” she told him flatly.

  “And the churchyard is close enough to The Ram's Head that you could see when Paul Elcott left for the farm. It was easy enough to put the broken cuff link in the vase on the mantel. He seldom locks his doors.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” she retorted. “You're saying, I think, that I've tried to make Paul Elcott look guilty. It's true. But I took back the button I'd twisted off his coat after the funeral. It was hanging on the coatrack in the hall while everyone was in the dining room. I thought I could use the button. Afterward I felt ashamed of myself. Grief does strange things sometimes. And I was so angry that you'd done nothing.”

  “And the cuff link?” He took it out and showed it to her, as if he'd found that in the rose-twined vase as well.

  “No, you can't blame that on me as well!” she snapped indignantly.

  “Where did you run into Paul Elcott, the night you arrived at High Fell in the early hours of the storm?”

  The switch in subjects caught her off balance. “I never saw him!”

  “But you did, that's why you're so certain he's guilty. You saw him leave the farm—you'd heard him arguing with Gerald. There in the barn? Or in the yard? Where you could see them and not be seen by them. But you heard something, didn't you? Loud voices, words both of them must have wished later that they could take back?”

  It was a shot in the dark, but she was staring at him as if he'd just produced a crystal ball. A small change in the line of her jaw, a sudden tension around the eyes, told him he was on the right track.

  “Paul saw you. Or the tracks of your carriage. You might as well tell me the truth. It might go a long way towards proving he was there, and angry enough to kill. A witness, since we don't have Josh to tell us what happened afterward.”

  The temptation was there, he could feel it. But she was wary, thinking through what could condemn her and what would surely put the noose around Paul Elcott's neck.

  “He will use it to convince his lawyers that you should be in the dock in his place. And in turn, they'll use what he knows to cast doubt on his guilt. A reasonable doubt . . . that's all the jury is required to feel. He'll go free, and there's no possibility of trying him a second time.”

  He had to admire her for having the courage to stand there and resist him. He remembered how little she'd cried out as he'd pulled her from the overturned carriage. In spite of the pain . . .

  “On the other hand,” he carried on, “there're a good many pieces of evidence against you.” He began to tick them off the fingers of his left hand. “James Follet will testify that you possessed a revolver. The police at the barrier in Keswick can testify that you never passed them—going in either direction. When I asked if you wanted us to contact any family you might have in the vicinity, to let them know you were safe, you told me you had none. If you hadn't killed your sister, how could you know she was dead? Fourth—the button you took—” But she stopped him before he could finish.

  “I didn't know! I came here to talk to Grace. Not to kill her! I wanted her to go back to Hugh, now that the twins were born and she'd finished her duty to Gerald. My leave was nearly up. I had to make a decision. Either stay in Carlisle or return to London. I couldn't put it off any longer!”

  “If you were only expecting to talk to her, why bring a revolver?”

  She turned away. “I have told you.”
/>
  “Gerald had a weapon. Grace could have used that if she'd needed it. Your story doesn't hold.”

  She said nothing.

  “Then tell me. What happened at the farm?”

  The tension in the room was so great that Hamish seemed to be there, just behind him, and yet his back was touching the door. Then, before he could stop himself, he stepped away from the door, so that he was no longer crowding the voice that was always there.

  She must have thought he had given up, and was leaving.

  “It had just begun to snow when I got there.” Her voice was muffled. “They were still alive. And you're right, Gerald was just outside the barn, and he was talking to Paul. I left the carriage in the lane and walked towards them. I could hear Gerald very clearly. I could see his face. He was absolutely furious. He was saying, ‘Get out of here. Get off my farm and never come back. I don't want to see you here again, do you understand me?' And then Paul said something I couldn't hear. But Gerald answered, ‘Blood ties be damned! That can never excuse what you've done. Be clear on this. I love my wife, I love my children. And I'll guard them if I have to. You stand in far greater danger from me than we do from you. So there's an end to it, before you do something you'll always regret!' At that stage I went hurrying back to my carriage, for fear Paul would turn to go and on his way find me there eavesdropping. And Gerald was not in any state for me to come riding up unexpectedly! I turned the carriage and drove to the church, pulling the horse around to the back where no one could see me. And I sat inside for a good hour, before venturing back to the farm.”

  She put her hand to her face. He couldn't tell if she was crying or not. But she managed to continue. “The church was dark. Quiet. Peaceful. I went back to the farm then, hoping Gerald might still be in the barn. The snow was worsening, and he'd stock to bring in. I looked, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen, and I assumed he'd gone to look for his sheep. So I went inside. Grace was nursing the twins. I don't know where Josh and Hazel were—I was just glad not to find them with her. She looked so happy, holding the babies.” Her voice broke on the last words.