Struggling to regain her composure, she said, “I thought he’d come back. I could hear someone walking downstairs. Didn’t you even think to call out? Warn me that you were here?”
“It seemed wiser not to. The house was quiet. I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Yes, well, you gave me the fright of my life.” Her hair had fallen down around her face, and she brushed it back impatiently.
It was then he saw the pink mark on one cheek.
“Who slapped you?”
“If you must know, it was Wyatt Russell. I told you. He was just here, and he was very angry.”
“Where is your maid? I couldn’t find her or anyone else.”
“She and my cook went to Hammersmith to attend a funeral. They won’t be back until midmorning. I couldn’t sleep, I’d been sitting downstairs reading when someone knocked. I shouldn’t have opened the door, yes, I know that now. But I did, and Wyatt was the last person on earth I expected to find standing there. I thought he was in a clinic somewhere.”
“He was, until late yesterday afternoon. What did he want? Why did he come here?”
“There was blood all over his face, and his clothes were stained. I asked what had happened, and he said he’d been in an accident and was feeling light-headed. And so I asked him to come in. But he couldn’t settle, pacing the floor. He wanted to know if I’d been to River’s Edge recently.”
“What did you say?”
“I thought it best to say that I hadn’t. I offered to bring a basin of water to him, to help him wash off the blood. He thanked me and asked if I’d bring water to drink as well. But when I came back with the basin and some towels, he drank the glass of water and said that the rest could wait. That’s when he asked me if I knew a man called Rutledge. I told him I did. I was surprised, I didn’t think you and he had met. Next he asked me if I’d given you my photograph, and I told him I most certainly had not. He called me a liar, he said he’d seen it for himself. I told him he was wrong. And he slapped me. I was so shocked. And I think he was as well, because we just stood there, looking at each other. He threw the empty glass in the hearth, shattering it, and then he turned and walked away.”
“What did you do then?”
“I cleared away the broken glass, then put away the basin and towels. I was in the kitchen when I heard something upstairs. A door creaking, I thought, and then footsteps. I believed that he’d come back again. I couldn’t remember whether I’d shut the door, much less locked it. I was afraid to go and see. I took the back stairs and shut myself in my room, hoping Mary would come soon. But of course it was far too early. When I heard someone coming up the staircase, I knew he was looking for me, and there was nowhere I could go. I took the scissors out of my sewing box and got into the wardrobe. If he opened that door, I’d know he was hunting me.”
But her attack on him had been far more serious than a response to a slap. Rutledge wondered if there was more to the account than she’d told him.
Tears started in her eyes, and she brushed them away irritably, going to stand by the window. And then, before he could speak, she whirled around and said fiercely, “Why are we standing here? I’m not accustomed to entertaining anyone in my bedroom.”
She crossed to the door, leaving him there, and he followed her down the stairs. When they reached the sitting room, she said, “What did you say to him that made him come for me? You must have found him, you must have said something, done something.” She was angry with him now. “And what photograph do you have of me? Not that silly one with the orchids?”
A motorcar backfired in the street outside, and she jumped, her eyes flying to the door before she realized what the sound was.
“She’s verra’ frightened,” Hamish said.
His appearance alone- Rutledge began.
Cynthia Farraday was staring at him. “What do you hear?” she asked, and the question shocked him.
Had she heard Hamish? Actually heard him?
And then he realized that he was gazing toward the window, distracted, unaware of where he was looking.
“A motorcar,” he said. “It didn’t stop, there’s nothing to fear.” It was all he could muster.
“The photograph? Well?” she reminded him,
He struggled to think. The photograph. He’d never shown her the locket.
“Sit down,” he said. “I want you to look at something.”
“You haven’t answered me. You do have a photograph, don’t you? When did you take it? Why?”
He took out the locket and handed it to her.
But she wouldn’t touch it, staring at it as if it could bite her.
“Where did you find that?” she whispered, sitting down quickly, as if her knees had failed to support her. “My God, did you show this to Wyatt? No wonder he was so upset!”
“You recognize it?” he asked.
“Of course I do. It’s Aunt Elizabeth’s. I don’t think she ever took it off. Where did you find it? ” she asked again, and then, her lips trembling, she said, “You’ve found her, haven’t you?”
“No. But someone must have done. Ben Willet was wearing it when he was taken out of the river. The locket was given to me by Inspector Adams in Gravesend.”
He thought she was going to faint. The color went out of her face, and she leaned back in her chair.
“No. No, Ben would never have done such a thing. He was one of the searchers.”
“It’s possible he found it when he was searching. It’s gold, quite valuable.”
“But he kept it, didn’t he-I mean to say, if that’s true, he never returned it to the family or sold it.”
As if, Hamish was pointing out, keeping the locket made any difference.
“He put it to another use.” Rutledge took the locket between his fingers and opened it. “This is what was inside.”
Cynthia leaned forward reluctantly, as if half afraid of what she might see.
“Oh,” she said, drawing back. “My photograph. I thought-she told me that her wedding photographs were inside.”
“According to Nancy Brothers, they were. She was surprised to see that they’d been removed.”
“This is what Wyatt saw yesterday? Before he came here? This is the photograph he claimed I’d given you? How could you be so heartless as to let him believe such a thing?”
“I didn’t. He jumped to conclusions and told me that a policeman was not good enough for you. He left the clinic, and while we were wasting time hunting him, he got a head start. I had the devil’s own time catching him up. And then he slipped away again. I was afraid he might be coming here.”
“But was there an accident? As he’d claimed? He was so bloody, one of his hands badly bruised, and I couldn’t be sure, but it appeared he was limping. You-the two of you didn’t come to blows? I thought that was why he was so angry.”
He told her about the stolen Trusty, and that Russell had refused treatment at St. Anne’s.
“I expect I should have been grateful he only slapped me. I was so frightened. I couldn’t know, could I, what had set it off or why.”
“He has a temper?”
“That was the problem. I’d never seen him so livid. At least not before the war. I’ve had very little contact with him since then. He hasn’t encouraged visitors at the clinic.”
“It would seem that he’s still in love with you.”
“He has an odd way of showing it,” she retorted with a semblance of her old spirit. “And for all I know, he could have believed that I’d killed his mother.”
R utledge had intended to leave as soon as possible and go after Major Russell, but Cynthia Farraday was still uneasy. He went down to the kitchen and made tea for her, then waited with her until Mary, her maid, and the cook returned later in the morning.
He saw the alarm in her eyes when she heard someone coming through the servants’ door into the hall, and then as she recognized Mary’s footsteps, the alarm faded.
When Mary reached the sitting room, Miss Farraday said, “Ah. Mary. Mr. Rutledge is just leaving.” And turning to Rutledge, she said coolly, “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue.”
