She lifted her eyes, startled and wary, to his. There was something moving in the blue depths, and he suddenly knew what it was: jealousy.
"This was your suggestion, Inspector, not mine."
And it was the last he could get out of her on the subject.
But he knew whom it was she accused. The name hung between them through the rest of the meal, like a miasma in the air, heavy and fraught with a mixture of strong emotions: Aurore Wyatt.
For the first time since she'd come to greet him in the hall on his arrival, Rutledge couldn't have sworn, with any certainty, whether this woman was telling the truth-or lying.
9.
They drove in silence through the night toward Singleton Magna, with Rutledge at the wheel and Elizabeth Napier by his side, wrapped in a light woolen cloak against the chill that had come with darkness. Her small leather case lay in the boot. A wind blew out of the west, and his headlamps picked up scatterings of leaves and dust as they swirled across the road. Shadows loomed black and indeterminate along the way, like watchers in mourning.
From time to time Hamish kept up a steady commentary on the issues in the case and the probability of Rutledge's skills coping with them. But he ignored the voice in his ear and kept his attention on the wheel and the two shafts of brightness that marked his way.
Once a fox's eyes gleamed in the light, and another time they passed a man shuffling drunkenly along the verge, who stopped to stare openmouthed at the motorcar, as if it had arrived from the moon. Villages came and went, the windows of their houses casting golden squares of brightness across the road.
Elizabeth Napier was neither good company nor bad. He could feel the intensity of her concentration, her mind moving from thought to thought as if her own problems outweighed any sense of courtesy or any need for human companionship before she faced the horror that lay ahead of her. He himself hadn't seen the victim. In place her body might have told him a great deal. The coroner had already done what he could, found whatever there was to find. The children had been Rutledge's priority, not the dead woman. Until now.
Then, as the first houses of Singleton Magna came into view, Elizabeth Napier stirred and said, "What was she wearing? This woman?"
He thought for a minute. "Pink. A floral print dress."
She turned to look at him. "Pink? Are you sure? It isn't a color Margaret wears-wore-very often. She likes shades of blue or green."
"Will you mind waiting at the police station while I send for Inspector Hildebrand? It's best if he makes the necessary arrangements." He smiled at her. "The sooner this is finished, the easier it will be for you."
She turned to him in surprise. "I thought you were in charge of this murder investigation?"
"I'm here to keep the peace between jurisdictions," he said without irony, and added, "My priority has been the search for the children. So far I've had other questions on my mind."
"Didn't you care about them?" she asked, curious.
"Yes, of course," he said testily, "but the problem has been where to look. Hildebrand has done everything humanly possible, with no results. I've tried to go in different directions. I've tried to ask myself, if they aren't dead, why haven't we found them? Did someone else see them at the railway station, or are they only part of Mowbray's wretched delusions?"
"Surely not? If he was so very angry, something set him off!"
"Precisely. That's an avenue I'll pursue next."
"And has it been successful?" She was interested, listening. "This rather different approach to police work?"
"I'll know when you tell me who the victim is-or isn't."
It took a constable half an hour to locate Hildebrand and ask him to come down to the police station. Once there he stared at Elizabeth Napier as if she had no business in his office at this hour of the night, and he said as much to Rutledge, his eyes wary and cold.
"Couldn't this wait until the morning? It's been a long day, and I'm tired."
"Miss Napier is Thomas Napier's daughter," Rutledge responded dryly. "I brought her here from Sherborne. It's late, yes, but I felt you should speak with her as soon as possible. Miss Napier, this is Inspector Hildebrand."
Hildebrand looked sharply at her. "Speak to her about what? Get to the point, man! Are you telling me she knows something about those children?"
Rutledge said, "It seems she may be able to identify our victim." He explained, and watched Hildebrand's face change as the man listened.
He didn't answer Rutledge directly but was consideration itself as he turned to Elizabeth Napier. Even in the dark cloak that hung to her knees, she seemed very small and utterly feminine. Lost in this masculine world of violence and dark emotions, where the dusty file cabinets and stacks of papers concealed the secrets and deeds of humanity's least fortunate. Outside the long windows, the shrubs dipped and swayed in the wind, like beggars imploring mercy.
"I'm truly sorry you've been brought into this sordid affair, Miss Napier. And for no reason. Inspector Rutledge hadn't seen fit to confide his intentions to me-or I might have informed him of a decision taken this same afternoon. Mrs. Mowbray was laid to rest shortly before six o'clock. There's no body to show you. The matter is closed."
His eyes slid to Rutledge's face, triumph in them. "In our minds, there was no question of identity-I discussed that issue thoroughly with my superiors and the rector at St. Paul's Church. And Mrs. Mowbray had no family other than her children. There was no reason to postpone the-er-decent interment."
There was a wild fury rising in Rutledge's throat, choking him. He wanted to take Hildebrand by the neck and throttle him.
It had been a deliberate and cold-blooded decision on Hildebrand's part, to make sure that his investigation wouldn't be undermined by what he'd clearly seen as Rutledge's interference.
Satisfied to see the sudden stiffness in Rutledge's face and the anger that surged, barely contained, just behind it, Hildebrand smiled tightly. "I took the liberty as well of consulting your superior in London. He was in full agreement."
Bowles. Of course Of course the bloody man would agree! the bloody man would agree!
And the one person who might have verified the identity of the dead woman was standing here, puzzled by an interaction she couldn't quite follow.
Elizabeth looked from one to the other. "She's been buried? But why? I must see her, I've come all this way!" She turned to Rutledge. "You've got to do something, Inspector!"
Hildebrand said, "Miss Napier-"
"No!" she told him firmly. "No, I won't be put off! Will you please tell me where to find a telephone? I must speak to my father, he'll know what I ought to do about this problem-" Her eyes filled with tears, and Hildebrand, who suffered agonies of uncertainty whenever a woman cried, never knowing what to do or say to stem the flood, and inevitably making things worse whatever he did, looked frantically at Rutledge.
This is your doing! his eyes accused. his eyes accused.
Rutledge, still fighting against the anger burning inside him, said in a voice he himself hardly recognized, "How did you bury her? In the dress she was wearing when she was killed?"
Hildebrand stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "Dress? Good God, no! The rector's wife, Mrs. Drewes, offered to send the undertaker something, and-and the necessary undergarments. What's that to say to anything-" Good God, no! The rector's wife, Mrs. Drewes, offered to send the undertaker something, and-and the necessary undergarments. What's that to say to anything-"
"Then I'll see her dress," Elizabeth said, looking suddenly very tired and very distressed. "If you please?" The tears sparkled on her lashes, unshed but still threatening to fall, given any excuse. "I must have an end to this!"
Rutledge, angry as he was, heard Hamish admiring such a masterly performance. "Yon lassie's as useful as a regiment," he said, "though you'd no' think it to see the size of her!"
Hildebrand was replying doubtfully, "Miss Napier-are you quite sure that's what you want to do? At this late hour? It's not-there's blood blood over the front of it." over the front of it."
She nodded her head wordlessly. He took her arm as if afraid she might faint on the spot, already promising to ask the doctor to support her through the ordeal. Over her shoulder Hildebrand's eyes warned Rutledge to stay out of it. "You'll be at hotel, then?" he said.
For an instant Rutledge thought that Miss Napier was on the point of objecting, but she caught some nuance of tension in the air between the two men and said only, "Thank you, Inspector Hildebrand."
Rutledge grimly left him to it, still far too angry to trust himself. Instead he crossed to the Swan to wait in the lobby, Hamish already earnestly pointing out the unwisdom of tackling anyone about what had been done behind Rutledge's back.
"The man's no' one to see beyond what's clear in his mind. You must na' threaten his tidy view of yon murder. And he won't thank you or anyone for making him look a fool. If yon lassie from Sherborne tells him she has seen the dead woman's dress before, he will na' pay any heed."
"What is it you want?" Rutledge demanded silently. "Dead children-hidden in a place we may never find? Or their broken bodies brought in, to tighten the noose around Mowbray's neck? I came to find those children, and by God, after my own fashion, I think I have! And it's a conclusion to this investigation that I for one will find one hell of a lot easier to live with!"
"Aye, but Hildebrand's an ambitious man, and if you take away from him the one case that might ha' brought him a promotion, he'll no' forgive you for it. However many children you've spared! He'll no' care, except to see what's been done to him, and your hand heavy in it!"
Which was true. Even in his anger Rutledge recognized it. He made himself stop pacing the floor and silently responded, "It will be worse for him when the Napiers and the Wyatts begin to ask where Margaret Tarlton may have gone. And the search leads in the end to that new grave."
"Aye, but that's to come-and who's to say that it will? Who's to say that Margaret Tarlton is na' in London or any other place that takes her fancy? Who's to say she did na' want this position and went off to think about it? Hildebrand's not likely to blame himsel' if trouble does come home to roost. He'll find a scapegoat. Mark my words!"
"If I back down, and Hildebrand has his way," Rutledge said, "there are still the children's bodies to find. And the black mark will be against me, for that failure. Even though I don't think they're out there."
"It's your reputation in the balance, aye. Your choice of roads. But once you walk down it, there's nae turning back."
Rutledge said nothing, his anger drained away, emptiness left behind. The self-doubt, still so close to the surface-of his skills, his emotions, his wits-seemed to gnaw raggedly at his patience. "It's your reputation...." "It's your reputation...."
Very soon afterward a distinctly wobbly Elizabeth Napier reappeared, with a solicitous Hildebrand on one side and a man who turned out to be the local doctor on the other. He was small and thin, with little to say, dragooned into service at Hildebrand's insistence. As soon as he had turned his patient over to Rutledge with a curt nod, he was gone without excuse or farewell.
Hildebrand led them into a small private parlor and then went out to find some brandy. One lamp was lit, and it offered only a funereal lifting of the gloom. Which seemed to match the mood of the room's inhabitants. Rutledge made no effort to turn on another and waited quietly for Elizabeth to speak. She seemed to be having trouble organizing her breathing.
"I lost my dinner," she said after a moment, touching her mouth again with a damp handkerchief. "Made a thorough fool of myself. I thought-I was sure all my long years of service in the slums had inured me to any horror. But all that blood blood!" An involuntary shiver ran through her. "What made it worse was realizing it might have belonged to someone I knew knew, I found myself imagining what her face face must have looked like-that was the worst part!" She stopped, taking another deep breath, as if she were still fighting nausea. "I don't see how you can harden yourself to this sort of work!" she added after a moment, lifting wry eyes to meet his. "It must be wearing on the spirit." must have looked like-that was the worst part!" She stopped, taking another deep breath, as if she were still fighting nausea. "I don't see how you can harden yourself to this sort of work!" she added after a moment, lifting wry eyes to meet his. "It must be wearing on the spirit."
He said, "Nothing makes it any easier. It helps, sometimes, to remind myself that finding the murderer is my pledge to the victim."
She said, "I don't expect I'll ever read or hear about a murder having been committed without picturing that dress in my mind!"
He gave her another moment or two and then said, "Can you tell me anything-" He found he didn't want to ask Hildebrand that question.
She said shakily, "Dr. Fairfield took out the box with her clothing in it, and as soon as I saw it, I was sick. But I made myself go back, I asked them to unfold the dress for me." She swallowed hard. "You told me the color was pink!" she went on accusingly. "It's more a lavender rose, and of course I recognized it. Straightaway. The shoes as well. I'd seen Margaret wearing them just last month, when we went to the museum-" Realizing that in her distress she had probably said more than she meant to, she broke off.
He wondered if the purpose of a museum visit had been to refresh Margaret Tarlton's knowledge of the East, before she traveled down to Dorset.
When he said nothing, she went on, "Your Inspector Hildebrand thinks I'm out of my mind, but he's too worried about vexing my father to say it to my face."
"You're quite sure-about the dress and the shoes?"
Her eyes held his. "I can't lie to you. I may be wrong. But I'd be willing to swear, until you show me evidence to the contrary, that the woman wearing that dress must be-must have been Margaret."
"And as far as you know, Miss Tarlton had no connection with the Mowbray family?"
"If she did, I can't imagine where or how she came to meet them."
Hildebrand returned with a small glass of brandy. Elizabeth sipped it carefully, wrinkling her nose in distaste. But it brought a little color back to her face, if only because of its bite.
"I'll see to driving you back to Sherborne, Miss Napier," he was saying. "You've had a nasty shock, and I'm sorry. I hope you'll feel better when you're at home again. I ask your pardon for subjecting you to this ordeal. It wasn't, as I told you before, any of my choosing!"
She nodded, and somehow the chair seemed to envelop her protectively as she leaned back and closed her eyes. After a moment she handed the brandy glass to Rutledge and then stood up tentatively, as if expecting the room to dip and sway. She said to Hildebrand, "Inspector Rutledge put my case in the boot of his car. If you could arrange to have it brought to my room? I think it's best if I stay in Singleton Magna tonight. It's already quite late, isn't it?"
The Swan's manager was delighted to provide a room for Elizabeth Napier, offering to send the bill to her father. She waited patiently while the formalities were completed and then allowed herself to be led to the stairs. As they reached the graceful sweep of marble steps, she touched her temple with her fingertips, as though her head ached. Then she said, "Um-I-don't suppose anyone's called Simon? No, of course not, you still aren't quite ready to believe me, are you, Inspector Hildebrand?" She started up the first flight before he could answer her. Without looking back she added quietly, "Dear Simon, he's known Margaret nearly as long as I have. It would be better for all of us if I were were wrong. But there's no way to undo what's happened, is there? If it should turn out that I'm right?" wrong. But there's no way to undo what's happened, is there? If it should turn out that I'm right?"
Hildebrand said nothing, trailing her in silence.
Watching her, Rutledge was reminded of something his godfather had told him once about Queen Victoria: "Small as she was, she moved with majesty," "Small as she was, she moved with majesty," The same could be said of Elizabeth Napier. The same could be said of Elizabeth Napier.
She knew, perfectly, what power was, and how to wield it. Few men could boast the same profound understanding. Rutledge wondered if she'd inherited her skill from Thomas Napier, or if it was natural, as instinctive as the way she held her head, as if there were a diadem balanced in her hair. It gave her, too, a semblance of the height she didn't possess.
"I must telephone my father. He'll want to know what's happened. But not tonight-I couldn't bear to go into it tonight!"
Behind her, Hildebrand grimly shook his head. Stubbornness was his shield. And in the end, it might prove to be enough.
The Swan's manager was fumbling through the keys in his hand to find the one he wanted, oblivious of the currents of emotion around him. In the passage outside her door, he offered Miss Napier everything from a maid to help her unpack to a tray of tea, if she felt so inclined. She accepted the tea with touching gratitude and was bowed into her room as the door was unlocked for her.
Leaving Hildebrand and the manager to see to her comfort, Rutledge went down to his car. Hamish had nothing to say.
By the time he'd delivered the small overnight case to her door, Hildebrand was also preparing to leave, and they walked down the stairs in a silence that was ominous. Rutledge braced himself for the storm that was certain to break as soon as they were out of earshot of the inn's staff.
Hamish reminded him that it wouldn't do to lose his own temper a second time. Rutledge told him shortly to keep out of it.
The storm was apocalyptic. After a cursory glance around the quiet, empty lobby, Hildebrand launched into his grievances in a tight, furious voice that carried no farther than the man opposite him. Among other things he wanted to know why Rutledge had seen fit to go to Sherborne on his own-and why the bloody hell the Napier name had been dragged into this sordid business without Hildebrand's permission. "I don't know where you learned of this Tarlton woman, or why you thought she was in any way involved, but I can tell you now Miss Napier is mistaken! My God, she was too shocked to know what she was saying!" he ended. "And when her father learns what's happened, do you know who will be to blame for this-this exercise in futility futility? My My people! We'll be damned lucky if none of us is sacked! Thomas Napier, for God's sake! He makes or breaks far more important men than either of us, any day of the week!" people! We'll be damned lucky if none of us is sacked! Thomas Napier, for God's sake! He makes or breaks far more important men than either of us, any day of the week!"
"Do you realize it will take an order from the Home Office to have that body exhumed?" Rutledge demanded harshly as soon as Hildebrand had paused for breath. "And now that there's doubt-"
"Whose doubt? Yours and whatever confusion you've sown in that young woman's mind? I hardly call that a positive identification, damn you!"
"It might explain," Rutledge retorted, "why we haven't found the children. Because there are no children to be found."
"They're out there! Somewhere! And when I find them-mark me, I shall shall find them, with or without your help!-I'll see to it that you're ruined! Whatever you were before the bloody war, you aren't half that man now. And it's time you realized it!" find them, with or without your help!-I'll see to it that you're ruined! Whatever you were before the bloody war, you aren't half that man now. And it's time you realized it!"
He turned on his heel and left. In his wake Hamish was asking "How was it Mowbray found her-yon Tarlton lass? How did she she come to be walking on the road to Singleton Magna-the Wyatts would no' send her to the station on come to be walking on the road to Singleton Magna-the Wyatts would no' send her to the station on foot foot!"
Rutledge had considered that himself. On the long dark drive from Sherborne. During the shorter wait in the Swan's lobby. No answers had come to him. Not yet ...
It had all gone wrong. He told himself that if his skills had slipped so far, he was better off out of Scotland Yard. That if he had seen what he he wanted to see, and not the truth ... wanted to see, and not the truth ...
"Just because yon fine Miss Tarlton is na' in London and did na' arrive in Sherborne as expected does na' mean she's dead! What if she's gone to Gloucestershire, to tell her family she was moving to Dorset?" Hamish reminded him again and again. The words echoed in his head.
"Without troubling to telephone Miss Napier? Who recommended her for the position in the first place? I don't think it's very likely."
Rutledge could feel the dull ache behind his eyes, the sense of isolation and depression settling in. Fighting it, he walked out into the windy night, looked up at the stars pricking brightly through tide darkness.
Damn Hildebrand!
Let it go, he told himself. He'll know soon enough if you're right. And London will hear soon enough if you turn out to be wrong. Sufficient unto the day ...
Turning, he walked a short distance up the street, realized it was the way to the churchyard, and stopped. He had enough ghosts of his own, without invoking the murder victim's! Coming back to the inn, he looked up in time to see the curtains being drawn in the window of the top-floor room that Elizabeth Napier had taken.
She had brought her case with her because she expected to spend the night in Singleton Magna. What Rutledge hadn't known-but she must have considered from the start-was that she might wish to stay longer than just overnight. He'd overheard her quietly speaking to the inn's manager as she wrote her name in the register, asking if the room might be available for several days rather than just one night.