He looked well, and I’d seen no twinge of pain as he’d opened the door to me. The shoulder must have healed completely.
“It has indeed,” I said lightly.
“I put the kettle on when I saw you walking down the lane. Tea?”
“Please.”
I came in and sat down by the window overlooking the back garden. It was a pretty place to sit, the sunlight coming through the panes and spilling across my lap.
We were silent for a time, waiting for the kettle to boil and then the teapot to brew.
Simon handed me my cup. “I haven’t thanked you properly for saving my life.”
“It was Dr. Hicks and Dr. Gaines who did that. Their skill.”
“Nevertheless.”
He brought his cup and leaned his shoulder against the mantelpiece as he drank.
“You were right about not going back to France,” I said finally. “But for the wrong reasons.”
“I know.”
“Mother has told me that it was arranged for Lieutenant Palmer to have compassionate leave. My father saw to that, I’m sure. Trelawney wrote to say that Mrs. Palmer is much better.”
“Yes, that’s good news. We thought at first that Mitchell had killed the Lieutenant as well.”
“And Julia has agreed to settle a sum on Sabrina. She and her son will be able to live comfortably wherever they choose. That’s to say, if Sabrina will accept the gift. But I think she will. My mother’s hand there.”
He nodded.
I set my cup aside. We’d come to the real reason I’d wanted to speak to Simon today. He already knew what I was about to say. But I needed to talk about it.
“Sergeant Mitchell will certainly be found guilty on all charges. Still, I’m told he claims that Julia Palmer had so turned his mind with her promises that he went mad and didn’t know what he had done.”
“It had nothing whatsoever to do with madness, Bess. He’s the sort of man who wanted his own way, and when he didn’t get it, he blamed everyone around him. Your father had nothing to do with the decision to ask Mitchell to leave Sandhurst. But he looked up Mitchell’s record, and it was dismal. The man had trouble following orders and taking responsibility for what he did-or failed to do.”
“He killed so many people.”
“They got in his way.”
It was a rather sobering evaluation, but Simon was right. No one set Sergeant Mitchell on the road to murder. Cold comfort, all the same, to his victims. And I’d nearly been one of them.
Simon collected the cups and took them through to the kitchen, setting them in the sink. When he came back, he said with a grimness unusual to him, “If you want my view, he will pay too easily for all he has done.” He’d known Captain Baldwin and Major Carson. He’d seen how close I’d come to dying, and my father as well. This man had not only struck at the regiment, but he had struck at the Crawfords personally. And Simon hadn’t been there. There would be no forgiveness on offer that could ever change his feelings about that.
He held out his hand, changing the subject. “It’s too fair a day to sit here. Let’s walk for a while, shall we?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHARLES TODD is the author of the Inspector Ian Rutledge mysteries, the Bess Crawford mysteries, and one stand-alone novel. A mother-and-son writing team, they live in Delaware and North Carolina, respectively.
www.charlestodd.com
