by Charles Todd
“That may be the man you know now. But what about ten years ago? Twenty? Thirty?”
“A wild youth? Mr. Tattersall? I think not. He did his duty, he voted in every election, and he paid whatever he owed. You’ve met his sister. They were very much alike.”
“And no problems between them? They’ve lived in the same house for how many years?”
“Wild horses couldn’t have forced her to do anything against her conscience.”
Rutledge was to remember those words in the weeks ahead.
8
He spent two more days in the village, taking his inquiry farther afield, even interviewing farmers’ wives who came in to market. But neither the shopkeepers nor the farmers had taken on anyone new in the past year, and no one had inquired about possible work. Stoke Yarlington was far enough off the main road to Wells that it saw very little traffic from the outside world.
And he was no closer to the truth than he’d been when he drove down the High and looked for the police station that first morning.
Constable Hurley was unconvinced that Simmons was clear of any suspicion. He held on to the whispers of gambling and the accusation of embezzlement in Tattersall’s unfinished letter. The doctor was of the same opinion. His son, who lived in Wells, had passed the story of drunkenness on to his father, and Dr. Graham believed him.
Irritated with their intransigence, Rutledge suggested they read the entire letter for themselves.
He went back to Wells to speak to Simmons, found him out of the office for the next hour, and walked on to the cathedral. With its exaggerated west front and wishbone pillars holding up the roof, it was a beautiful building, and the swans on the moat by the bishop’s palace moved majestically in the shadows cast by the trees overhanging it.
He was reminded of Jean’s wish for a lake and for swans. He wondered what she was doing on such a lovely day, and missed her more than he’d thought possible.
On his way back to Simmons’s chambers he decided to make a detour to find a telephone, and when he had, in the largest hotel in town, he called the Yard. It took several minutes before Sergeant Gibson came to the telephone, his voice rumbling down the wire with its usual brusqueness.
Rutledge identified himself and asked Gibson to speak to the headmaster at Eton, where Tattersall had gone to school. “Any trouble there? Any problems that might spring up years later?” When the conversation ended, he went to find Simmons.
The man looked tired. “Trying to scotch rumors is the devil of a task,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’m a drunkard who has squandered his clients’ money on horse racing and cards. Holliston has tried to make things right, but it will take years to undo the harm done. And Miss Barclay is not speaking to either of us.” He shrugged ruefully. “Well, at least Holliston’s chances are as dead as mine now.”
“Serves him right, don’t you think?” Rutledge asked.
“I feel no sympathy for him, if that’s what you mean. Any closer to solving Tattersall’s murder?”
“The inquest brought in the verdict of person or persons unknown. I’ve found no reason to dispute that.”
“It would help me if you found Tattersall’s killer.”
“I’m sure it would.” Rutledge shifted in his chair. “There’s something we’re missing. There must be. But I’ve found nothing. I shall have to tell the Yard as much, and ask if they wish to send someone else in my place to close the inquiry.”
“I don’t relish digging all this up again.”
“I wish I could have avoided it.”
“Well, we have larger worries, it seems. The news from Europe isn’t improving.”
Rutledge recalled what Major Gordon had said, that the Army was keeping a close eye on events. “It’s the middle of July,” he agreed. “Russia will have to choose—if she backs down, lets Austria punish Serbia as she sees fit, there won’t be any war.”
“Friends in London are saying that if the Germans cross the Rhine into France, the Government will consider it a purely European war and try to act as a broker of peace instead. You’re from London. Any truth in that?”
“God knows. I can’t afford to await events. I have a murderer to find.” Rutledge rose. “I’m running up to London. There are several matters I need to look into. You’re still on the suspect list, in the eyes of Constable Hurley in Stoke Yarlington. Both Dr. Graham and his son feel the same. I’d watch my step, if I were you.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ve volunteered to help out in the church fete. God forgive me, it was the only way I could think of to mend fences. At least for a few of my clients, this will appear to have the Church’s blessing.” He grimaced. “And to be honest, I’ll be very glad to see the end of you. Every time you walk through my door, there are those waiting to see you drag me out in chains.”
“Then they’ll be surprised to see me drive away without you.”
With a nod to Mr. Barry in the clerk’s room, Rutledge left.
He stopped in Eton, found a telephone, and put in a call to the Yard. Gibson had elicited the information he needed, and he walked into the headmaster’s rooms in Eton, to ask if anyone recalled a student by the name of Tattersall.
Apparently the man had not left a strong personal impression, but his marks were high and he appeared to have been liked by his fellow students. His sport was cricket, and he had been a good batsman.
The playing fields . . .
They had made men who helped rule the Empire. But Tattersall had been content to return to the village where he’d been born and to live out his life there. He’d surrounded himself with books rather than people, and yet he had done his duty when called upon to do so.
There was nothing in his record here to account for his murder some forty years on. Or his suicide.
Rutledge drove on into London, intending to confer with Chief Superintendent Bowles. But he had gone to a conference in Oxford and wasn’t expected back until the next morning.
Rutledge went home, spent an hour with his sister, and then drove to Jean’s house.
He rang the bell, only to be told by the butler that Miss Gordon and her parents had gone to Warwick to visit a cousin. They weren’t expected back in London until the weekend.
More disappointed than he cared to say, Rutledge thanked Simpson and turned to go.
Just then Kate came down the stairs and called to him. He waited for her, and she smiled at the butler. “Thank you, Simpson. I’ll see to him.”
And to Rutledge she said, “I’d just stopped by to borrow Jean’s lavender gloves.” She held them up like a trophy. “If you like, you can drop me in town.”
“I’ll take you to lunch. And you can tell me why you require lavender gloves.”
“Lovely.” She closed the door behind her and followed him down the short flight of steps to his motorcar. “I thought you were in the hinterland chasing murderers.”
“I was. But the Chief Superintendent is away today, and so I must wait for him.”
“Ah. Well, Jean’s misfortune at missing you is my good fortune at finding you. Dear Ian, would you mind terribly taking me to the theater tonight? We’ve got up a party, and we’re well chaperoned by the Merrimans. But I lack an escort, and I shall have to beg off.”
“What happened to your escort?”
“Timothy’s grandmother is quite ill, and he’s accompanied his parents to Canterbury to look in on her.”
“Yes, of course. Is this why you needed the gloves?”
“It is, and I was desperate enough to consider asking Teddy to take me, when you appeared like a gift from heaven. Besides, you know everyone who is invited.”
He laughed. “A gift from the Yard.”
“We won’t quibble. Now. Where is the most interesting place to have our lunch?”
“We’ll go to the Monarch Hotel. The dining room there is perfectly proper.”
And so he took Kate to lunch, and later called for her to escort her to the play. He could tell she enjoyed it immensely
, although it was a Shaw revival. She looked quite beautiful in a white gown with the lavender gloves and shoes with a sprig of silk lilac flowers in her hair. The play lived up to its reviews, and Rutledge found he was enjoying himself.
They went as a party to have a light supper afterward, and then Rutledge squired Kate to her door. Her family lived two squares over from the Gordons, and her maid was waiting up for her.
She thanked Rutledge for saving her evening, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and then went inside, shutting her door.
He drove back to the house. Frances had also been out most of the evening, and over a pot of tea that she made, they exchanged accounts.
“I do like Kate. I hadn’t met her before the party. She’s great fun,” Frances said. “My evening was lovely as well.” She hesitated. “Richard was there. He asked me to say hello.”
“He’s to be married soon,” Rutledge reminded her. He recalled that this was the second time.
“Yes, of course he is. He’s still allowed to speak to other women.”
He went up to bed soon thereafter. It worried him that Frances had neither parent nor aunt to chaperone her here in this house. But there was no one to call on but Melinda Crawford. And he wasn’t sure whether she’d leave her beloved Kent for London even for Frances. Still, he’d write to her in the morning for advice.
When he arrived at the Yard shortly after eight, he found Chief Superintendent Bowles already there. He was surprised to see Rutledge.
“I thought you were in Somerset. Or was it Devon?”
“Somerset, sir.”
“Indeed. Have you made any progress there?”
“Not as much as I’d have liked. The case is proving to be difficult.”
Bowles considered him, his eyes narrowing. “You got nowhere in Moresby. Are you telling me that you haven’t made an arrest in this inquiry?”
“I’ve been as thorough as possible. But the victim, Tattersall, appears to have lived an exemplary life. I’d appreciate any views on the matter.” He recounted what he’d learned thus far, but Bowles shook his head.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” Bowles snapped. “You’re sent out to do your duty, and instead, you rush back to London on the smallest excuse, pleading confusion. But my wife saw you at the theater last night, roistering with that party in the boxes. You’ve let your personal life overtake your good sense, and I’ll have no more of it.”
“Hardly roistering, sir. But yes, I was waiting to speak to you this morning, and in the interval, I went out with friends,” Rutledge snapped. He had done nothing to deserve a dressing-down.
“Everyone speaks of your brilliant rise at the Yard, how you never fail to find the evidence and bring in your man,” Bowles went on ruthlessly, ignoring the interruption. “‘Brilliant,’” he repeated, as if the word had caught in his throat. “And now you’re engaged, and you can’t find your hand in front of your face. No, don’t tell me that has nothing to do with it. I have the proof before my eyes. Well, you’ll have to make a choice, Inspector. The Yard or this social fling you’ve been putting before everything else.” He didn’t wait for Rutledge to reply. Instead he went on with rising anger, “Now get yourself back to Stoke Yarlington or Wells or wherever it is you ought to be instead of dawdling in my office, and bring me back a killer.”
With that he picked up a file, opened it, and began to study it assiduously, leaving Rutledge with no alternative than to leave.
He had come to Bowles to talk over the facts in the inquiry and look for new insights he might have missed. And he had learned a hard lesson. In the future, he would find his own way. Bowles be damned.
He got out of the Yard without encountering anyone or having to control what was left of his temper.
Stopping at the house for fresh clothing, he left a note for Frances, and then set out for Somerset once more.
It took a good two hours for him to calm down. He wasn’t sure whether Bowles’s antipathy was personal or professional—or both. He’d had glimmers of it before, but never such a bald display of what Bowles was feeling. Was it his engagement? Or was the engagement a convenient weapon to use against him? He resolved to keep his life as private as he could from now on. There were one or two men he could trust—Chief Inspector Cummins, for one. And that was the end of it.
He’d had no idea that Bowles’s wife had gone to the theater last night. As luck would have it, she had spotted him, but Rutledge hadn’t noticed her.
Because he’d been relaxed, enjoying himself, off duty as it were? There had been no reason to scan the sea of faces in search of friends or suspects.
What’s more, he’d had nothing to hide. He’d enjoyed the evening with Kate. He had no regrets.
Rutledge saw the headlines of a newspaper when he had stopped briefly for petrol. Affairs in Europe were looking increasingly ominous.
He’d begun to think that Paris was not the best choice just now for a wedding journey. There was no certainty that these rumblings of war would end anytime soon. It might be a wise idea to ask Major Gordon what he’d recommend. His father-in-law appeared to know more about the situation abroad than the newspapers.
Back in the motorcar, his Thermos filled with fresh tea, he concentrated on the case in hand.
He’d made very little headway by the time he reached Stoke Yarlington.
Beginning with Miss Tattersall, he said, “I want to go over your brother’s life day by day, if need be. We’re missing something.”
“But I’ve told you everything,” she replied, “I’ve hardly had time to mourn, thinking about his death. I’m tired, I can’t give you what I don’t have, myself.”
Rutledge smiled encouragingly. “Let’s begin with Eton. Did he enjoy his years there? I understand he was quite good at cricket.”
Astonished, she said almost accusingly, “You’ve been digging.” As if it were ill-mannered.
“I have indeed, Miss Tattersall. But you’re the only person left who shared your brother’s life. And so I must see the bare facts through your eyes.”
“All right, yes. He enjoyed Eton. His interest in so many things stemmed from those years. History, mathematics, art, music. Our father was a plain man with plain tastes. I’ve always thought he’d have made a fine monk. His life given over to contemplation and prayer, only in his case, it was his interest in his books. It was fortunate that he didn’t have to earn his daily bread. He wouldn’t have been good at it. My mother ran the household and my father. Without any fuss or dramatics. She just got on with it.”
“And when your brother came down from Eton, what then?”
“He wanted to go on to university, but my father viewed that as a waste of time. My brother then suggested that he read law, and he went up to London for six months or so, until he realized that the law was not his forte. He came home again and cast about for something else to do. My mother was ill just then, and so for her sake he stayed close. He was twenty-seven when she died of a lingering illness. I think her death affected him terribly. He told me he couldn’t bear to stay here, it brought back too many memories for him. Our maternal grandfather had left him a house in Bristol, and Joel opened it and lived there for a while. He took it into his head that he might stand for office. But he didn’t have that way with people that makes one a successful candidate for public office. Eventually he sold the house in Bristol and came home. After that, he seemed content to remain here.”
What she had failed to say—but Rutledge could read quite clearly between the lines—was that she herself had never been offered her brother’s opportunities. She had probably been educated at home and trained to run a household. If she didn’t marry, she would be expected to take her mother’s place in due course, keeping her father and brother comfortable. The trust fund should have afforded her financial freedom. Freedom to live on her own in London, if she chose, to travel, to make new friends. What use was it to her, here in Stoke Yarlington?
“Were you jealous?” He asked it outright.<
br />
Miss Tattersall smiled whimsically. “There were times when I thought I was. But I had more of my father in me than I knew. I was comfortable here. Safe. And so I stayed.”
“Will you lead a different life, now that you can choose your own future?”
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. No.”
“Let’s return to Bristol. Tell me about the house there.”
“It was simply a town house my mother’s father used when he did business in the city. He had large estates, and he spent time in each of his holdings. He had a very fine manager, but he loved the land and took great joy in keeping it healthy and productive. His son, alas, wasn’t as good a steward. I’m happy to say his son, our cousin, took after his grandfather.”
“Your brother never married?”
“I expect he might have, if he’d found the right girl. Someone like Mama, who would take him in charge and leave him to his own pursuits. For all I know, he found her but she failed to see him as her life’s work. He never spoke of it.”
“Could he have made enemies in Bristol?”
“I seriously doubt it. He took a course or two at the university. But he found history more satisfying than science. I think he enjoyed his brief independence. And when it palled, he came home.”
He asked her for the dates of Joel Tattersall’s time in Bristol, and it overlapped the time of Benjamin Clayton’s life in the village of Netherby by no more than a few months. Rutledge could see no real link there. Tattersall came from old money while Clayton had earned his by working with his hands.
Miss Tattersall put her hand on his arm. “You’re trying very hard to find my brother’s murderer. But what happens if you don’t?”
Rutledge had no answer for her. But he said, “The inquiry won’t be closed. It will stay open as long as it takes.” He paused for a moment. “I must remind you that you had the best opportunity to bring your brother a glass of milk with a little more medicine in it than usual. And when it was too late, when he realized that something was wrong, he tried to go for help. But you had quietly locked the door, then waited until morning, when you were certain he was dead, before going for the doctor and raising the alarm.”