A Cold Treachery

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dinner was late, but all the guests came to the meal, a somber gathering straining to make polite conversation and often falling silent before their own thoughts. Even Mrs. Cummins was there, toying with her food, listening to discussions no one else heard. From time to time she would interject a remark that had no bearing on anything being said.

Once or twice she asked if anyone had seen her husband, adding, “Harry is always the first to table.”

And Elizabeth Fraser would answer, “He'll be home soon, you know. He has been out with the search parties.”

But they were already making their way home, each man without hope to buoy him further. Even the final effort had failed. Word had arrived by way of Sergeant Ward in Rutledge's absence. The note had simply read, We've come to the end.

It also disturbed Mrs. Cummins that her guests were taking their meal in the kitchen, and more than once she offered to light the fire in the long dining room, where they could be comfortable. “It's such a lovely room-”

Rutledge had stepped in there earlier, to see for himself. On the western side of the building where no sun reached it until late afternoon, it had been uninvitingly cold despite the graceful stone fireplace and the ancient but beautifully polished oak chairs around the oval oak table with its lion claw feet. On the sideboard, a pair of Staffordshire spaniels had stared forlornly back at him, and the china pheasant on the lid of the huge soup tureen seemed poised for flight in the light from Rutledge's lamp.

The room hadn't been used, according to Elizabeth Fraser, in weeks: “Not since the middle of September-we haven't had any guests.”

It would have taken hours of a roaring fire to defeat the winter chill in the walls.

“Tomorrow night, perhaps, when your husband is here,” Rutledge replied, to distract Mrs. Cummins.

“I wish Harry had sent news,” she answered fretfully. “Why do you suppose he hasn't? Do you think something could have happened to him? I always worry that something has happened. That there are more dead we don't know about-”

And then it was as if the pent-up emotions in the room couldn't be held back any longer.

Janet Ashton exclaimed impatiently, “Surely in all this time someone has seen something. A footprint, a depression in the snow where he could have taken shelter, even a lost glove. I mean, these men live here, they're supposed to know every inch of these fells in the dead of night in blinding rain! I've heard the sheepmen brag. How they found a lost ewe that everyone else had given up hope of finding. How they located an injured walker in heavy mist that filled Urskdale for days on end. How they can tell where they are by the feel of the stone under their feet or the smell of the wind.”

Mrs. Cummins, alarmed, answered, “Are you saying that my husband and the others haven't done their duty? But surely that's not true. Mr. Robinson, do you feel that way?”

Before he could answer, Janet glanced across the table at Hugh Robinson's strained face. “I'm sorry, Hugh. I don't mean to dash your hopes, but it's the waiting-spirits rising every time someone comes to the door-plunging when there's no news-I can't fall asleep without jerking awake at the slightest sound. You must feel it, too. It's making all of us edgy.”

Elizabeth Fraser, in an effort to distract her, put in, “Yes, and you must be in some pain, as well. Would you like me to send for Dr. Jarvis-”

But Janet had already turned to Rutledge. “I wish I knew what you'd said to Paul Elcott. I wish I'd been there. You don't know him, Inspector! How sly and devious he can be. Gerald never listened, either. He felt sorry for Paul, and he cosseted him, just as his mother had done. And just look how that ended!”

“Miss Ashton.” Elizabeth Fraser's voice was firm. “This doesn't do any of us any good!”

Janet stared at her for a moment and then dropped her eyes to her plate. “I'm sorry. I've lost my sister. I know how afraid she was, and how Gerald thought she was just suffering from the melancholy sometimes associated with a difficult pregnancy. I just want Josh to be found! I want something of hers to hold and love. And I want justice for her, too. Inspector Rutledge hasn't lost someone to murder, has he? He doesn't understand what I-we-feel.”

Rutledge, unwilling to be drawn into her arguments, said only, “We've all lost people we've loved, Miss Ashton. And it's natural to rail against what we can't prevent or change.”

“I will tell you this.” Hugh Robinson set down his fork as if he couldn't go on pretending to eat. “He's alive. Josh. I can feel it! Whatever the search parties may tell me.”

“If he is, it would be a miracle,” Rutledge warned. “You have to prepare yourself-in the event-”

“No, he's still alive!” His eyes met Rutledge's, despair in them.

“I don't see what Paul Elcott has to say to anything,” Mrs. Cummins interjected. “Josh was Gerald's son, after all! Dear Gerald, he was such a nice man-I miss him so terribly!” Her face crumpled.

Elizabeth Fraser said hastily, “Josh is Hugh Robinson's son-”

Confused, Mrs. Cummins looked around the table. “I never heard of it if he was! The boy lived with Gerald, didn't he? Well, then-”

Rutledge caught Miss Fraser's eye and shook his head. In an attempt to shift the subject, he said to Janet Ashton, “I've been meaning to ask you. Didn't you believe the policemen stopping traffic in Keswick, when they told you that the roads were impassable going towards Urskdale?”

He thought for an instant he'd read surprise in her eyes, but if it was there, she managed to cover it quickly. “I'm afraid I didn't believe them-I thought the storm would blow over. That I could make it to Urskdale, if I just rested the horse often and took my time.”

Hamish said, “She didna' know they were blocking the road. She came through before word went out.”

Elizabeth Fraser started to say something and then thought better of it.

Janet Ashton flicked a look in the other woman's direction and then went on, “There's something more. Have you considered the possibility, Inspector, that Paul Elcott will worry about what I can tell the police? Or that Grace might have written to me about her fears? I don't even have a key for my door here. Paul's free to come and go as he pleases. I could wake up one night and find him standing over my bed!”

Mrs. Cummins gave a little mew of terror.

“She willna' let go of it,” Hamish said. “I'd wonder why she's pressing sae hard?”

Miss Fraser said, “If you'd like a key, I'll see that you have one. But I hardly think you have any reason to be afraid here.”

Robinson spoke up suddenly. “I've met Elcott. I think you're wrong. I can't believe he's the man we're after. Unless there's some problem I'm not aware of?” He looked around the table.

“Of course not,” Elizabeth Fraser answered. “Paul's very different from Gerald, but that's not unexpected. I'd say you and your sister were different as well, Miss Ashton?”

Mrs. Cummins put in, “I don't see why a problem with a weak bone in his leg should make any difference to the Army. He could still shoot, couldn't he? Harry went to fight, even if they sent him off to Egypt instead. He didn't like Egypt, you know. But it was better than being cannon fodder in France.”

Ignoring her hostess's digression, Janet Ashton turned to Robinson. “I'm sorry,” she apologized for a second time. “I can't help it. I lie awake at night struggling to find answers. And Paul is the only threat I knew about. But if you don't agree with me, if there's something I haven't thought of, I wish you'd tell me! Anything to stop the ache of wondering.”

He turned his head away, unable to look at her. Rutledge, beside him, could sense the rising tension in the man. The hand holding his serviette clenched and he cleared his throat as if he found it hard to breathe.

“Hugh? Please help me. You've hardly spoken to me since I got here-did Grace tell you something-” Her voice broke on tears.

And then almost against his will, Robinson blurted, “God knows I'd rather have it be Elcott than Josh-”

There was a stunned silence as everyone stared at him.

Robinson's face was drained of feeling, as if he had reached the bottom of despair.

“What do you mean, rather Elcott than Josh?” Rutledge asked slowly.

“I'm afraid-Josh hated his stepfather. I can't believe he'd have touched his mother. Still, once the shooting began-I don't see how he could have stopped. And I keep asking myself why he didn't die with the rest of them-how it was he got away. And there's only one answer I can think of. He'd planned it quite carefully. He killed them all and escaped under cover of the storm. I can't sleep for wondering if he was trying to get to London and to me. That it's my fault, indirectly, that they're dead. Because, you see, I wouldn't take him to live with me, however much he begged. God help me, I felt he was better off with his mother! ”

He began to weep inconsolably.

Janet Ashton gasped, hands over her mouth. And for once she was speechless.