by Charles Todd
Then in a shambling run, he went down the passage toward the dining room, leaving Rutledge alone with Granville and the leaping blue-gold tongues of a strengthening conflagration.
Rutledge reached down for the doctor, dodging a fist wildly thrown in his direction. With a firm grasp on Granville’s collar and shirtfront, he hauled him out of the room and into the passage, slamming him into the opposite wall. While Granville cursed him, he wheeled and swung the door shut on the unbearable heat.
The fire would blow out the glass in a matter of minutes. But just now he had Granville to deal with.
Hamish said, “You mustna’ harm him!” As if he recognized the fury that was driving Rutledge.
In the distance, Rutledge could hear shouting somewhere, and then other voices.
Breathing hard from the smoke and his anger, he turned on the doctor. “It’s over, do you understand me? Give Hamilton or Mallory half an excuse and they’ll kill you with their bare hands.”
He reached for the man’s belt, turned him roughly, and secured his wrists behind his back. “Hamilton would like a private half hour with you. Make no mistake, he’s still capable of doing considerable damage. Don’t tempt him.”
It was a warning he hoped the doctor would take to heart.
Feet were racing toward him, and in the light of the blazing walls behind him, he could see Mallory, with Putnam not far behind him, and Hamilton struggling to keep up. The constable on watch was trying to pass all three of the men. And in the rear, Felicity stopped short, eyes bright with the fire’s reflection and her own fury.
They organized a rough water brigade and did what they could to stop the flames. Putnam found more blankets somewhere, and cloths for the table. They beat at the fire, beginning to make headway.
Suddenly they heard the roar of a revolver in the confined space of the passage behind them. It was deafening, stopping them in their tracks with the shock of the report.
When they turned nearly as one man to look, Dr. Granville was cowering on the floor, and Felicity Hamilton stood ten feet from him with her husband’s revolver clenched tightly in both hands.
“There are five more shots,” she told him shrilly. “The next one won’t miss.”
But he lay there, not moving, his face buried in his shoulder.
More people were coming now, Bennett leading the charge.
Ten minutes later the fire was out, though smoke still filled the kitchen quarters, and sooty faces paused long enough to catch a breath. Several of them coughed heavily before grinning at one another in satisfaction. Hamilton, exhausted, stood with both hands on his knees, head down.
Putnam was lying against the wall, his face gray with pain. Felicity had helped him take off what was left of his coat and the clerical shirt beneath it. The flesh was raw and wet, burned deeply. Putnam tried for a wan smile, saying to Rutledge, “I’ll have one of those powders you gave Hamilton. It will be awhile before Dr. Hester is here. Bennett has sent young Jordan for him.”
Bennett was busy with Dr. Granville. Rutledge felt in his pockets for the packet of Hester’s pills and found instead the box of powders that Granville had given him for Hamilton. He looked at them, glanced up to see Granville watching him with an unreadable expression on his face, and then made a decision. He put them away. It was too great a risk, he thought. Even if only one was tainted…how was he to know which?
He found the pills then, and went to kneel by Mr. Putnam. As he gave him one to swallow dry, he found that Felicity had already fetched a glass of water from the kitchen.
“That was a bloody stupid thing to do,” he told the injured man, infusing wrath into his voice. “Can’t you follow orders, for God’s sake? Why didn’t you wait to see if I was there, why did you take it on yourself to challenge him?”
“Old fools never learn. I was afraid you hadn’t come back from the fire-no, that’s not true. Don’t you see? I had to try to save him. I failed them all, Margaret and Nan, and even Matthew. If I’d waited for you to speak to him, I might not have got the chance. But I didn’t fail you-you have what you want, a full confession.”
Bennett was saying, “We lost Granville as he came up the hill. I see now why the constables never saw anything, it’s bloody difficult in the dark. I went back to see if he’d given us the slip and returned to Hampton Regis. Pity he didn’t try to burn the rectory down. We weren’t watching Miss Trining’s house. We can’t prove which boat hook it was, but we’ve got the hammer. The handle’s in a bad way, but the head is all right. You’re sure of your facts, then, Rutledge?”
“We turned the surgery upside down looking for a weapon, Bennett. Remember? And all the while that hammer was in the one place we never really searched-Granville’s medical bag. I was reminded when I watched Dr. Hester digging in his bag that it could easily conceal a weapon of the right size. Like a hammer. But Granville couldn’t leave it there, he’d have to hide it again. The rectory was ideal. Both Putnam and I saw it. He could swear it wasn’t his, that it hadn’t been there in his box of tools before Granville came to stay.”
“Granville should have thrown it into the sea,” Bennett answered.
“It’s possible he intended to use it again on Nan Weekes. But she was asleep and it was easier to smother her. It’s a hammer to work metal, not something you’d readily find in a surgery. For all I know, Granville or his wife kept it there to deal with a rusty damper in the office fireplace or a stubborn latch on the garden gate. But there it was, the perfect weapon. Something Mallory might have brought with him and taken away again. But then Mallory never came. Hamilton walked away under his own power. Granville didn’t know that when he murdered his wife. He thought in the end we’d find Hamilton dead and blame Mallory for killing him.”
“He covered it over well enough. Clever bastard. Begging your pardon, Rector. But there won’t be lettering left on that scorched handle,” Bennett said, fuming.
“We don’t need it now. We heard his confession tonight, Putnam and I, and that will see him hang.”
Dr. Hester had finished with Putnam and turned to Hamilton, who shook his head and pointed to the prisoner. Hester went over to look at Granville’s hand.
Watching them, Bennett confessed, “I’d never have suspected the doctor. We respected him, trusted him. It’s not right.” After a moment he added, “You took a hell of a chance with Putnam, you know.”
“If he’d forgot for an hour that he’s a man of the cloth, it wouldn’t have turned nasty,” Rutledge retorted. “And I needed him to look at the hammers.”
He glanced around, saw that Mallory was just bringing a chair for Hamilton, who looked out on his feet, one hand pressing hard against his ribs. Felicity Hamilton was leaning against the wall by the rector, forlorn tears running down her face unheeded, the revolver shoved into a pocket of her robe.
Mallory touched Hamilton on the shoulder, nodding toward her. He roused himself, tried to stand again, and then decided against it. But he held his hand out to his wife, and after a moment she came forward to take it.
Mallory crossed to where Bennett was standing with Rutledge. “I’d like to leave now,” he said tightly. “Am I free to go?”
“For the present,” Bennett agreed, after a glance at Rutledge. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
Mallory nodded and started to walk back down the passage alone. Rutledge caught him up. “You’re not to do anything foolish. I’ve had enough trouble for one night, by God.”
“No,” Mallory said wearily. “I won’t put that burden on Felicity. She doesn’t deserve it. And it would fuel the gossip. You needn’t worry.” He walked on, then stopped just before opening the door into the hall, his back to Rutledge.
“I was the best soldier I knew how to be. We weren’t all cut from the same cloth.”
“If you’re asking my forgiveness, you’ve come to the wrong person. For my sins, I have no right to judge you or anyone else.”
“Every time I looked in my mirror, I saw your face. The man I
ought to have been.”
“It was a false mirror. What you were searching for was someone to blame. I want no part of it. I have my own nightmares. I don’t need yours.”
“Then, damn it, forgive me and be done with it.”
Rutledge could hear Hamish’s voice roaring in his ears. But he stood there for a count of ten, then said, his words clipped and raw, “I forgive you.”
Mallory nodded and stepped through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Rutledge closed his eyes, and swore long and fluently under his breath.
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