A Cold Treachery

CHAPTER THIRTY

H e cornered Janet Ashton in the kitchen. She looked up in alarm when he strode in, closed the door at his back, and leaned against it.

“Enjoyed your walks, have you?” Rutledge asked. The tone of his voice was pleasant enough, but his eyes were hard.

She opened her mouth to say something, and then shut it firmly.

“They've been very useful,” he went on. “Everyone was sympathetic. You were injured, grieving, the waiting was too much for you, and so you did what you could to keep your spirits up. Elizabeth even saw you at the churchyard. Paying your respects to the dead.”

“They are my dead!” she told him flatly.

“And the churchyard is close enough to The Ram's Head that you could see when Paul Elcott left for the farm. It was easy enough to put the broken cuff link in the vase on the mantel. He seldom locks his doors.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she retorted. “You're saying, I think, that I've tried to make Paul Elcott look guilty. It's true. But I took back the button I'd twisted off his coat after the funeral. It was hanging on the coatrack in the hall while everyone was in the dining room. I thought I could use the button. Afterward I felt ashamed of myself. Grief does strange things sometimes. And I was so angry that you'd done nothing.”

“And the cuff link?” He took it out and showed it to her, as if he'd found that in the rose-twined vase as well.

“No, you can't blame that on me as well!” she snapped indignantly.

“Where did you run into Paul Elcott, the night you arrived at High Fell in the early hours of the storm?”

The switch in subjects caught her off balance. “I never saw him!”

“But you did, that's why you're so certain he's guilty. You saw him leave the farm-you'd heard him arguing with Gerald. There in the barn? Or in the yard? Where you could see them and not be seen by them. But you heard something, didn't you? Loud voices, words both of them must have wished later that they could take back?”

It was a shot in the dark, but she was staring at him as if he'd just produced a crystal ball. A small change in the line of her jaw, a sudden tension around the eyes, told him he was on the right track.

“Paul saw you. Or the tracks of your carriage. You might as well tell me the truth. It might go a long way towards proving he was there, and angry enough to kill. A witness, since we don't have Josh to tell us what happened afterward.”

The temptation was there, he could feel it. But she was wary, thinking through what could condemn her and what would surely put the noose around Paul Elcott's neck.

“He will use it to convince his lawyers that you should be in the dock in his place. And in turn, they'll use what he knows to cast doubt on his guilt. A reasonable doubt… that's all the jury is required to feel. He'll go free, and there's no possibility of trying him a second time.”

He had to admire her for having the courage to stand there and resist him. He remembered how little she'd cried out as he'd pulled her from the overturned carriage. In spite of the pain…

“On the other hand,” he carried on, “there're a good many pieces of evidence against you.” He began to tick them off the fingers of his left hand. “James Follet will testify that you possessed a revolver. The police at the barrier in Keswick can testify that you never passed them-going in either direction. When I asked if you wanted us to contact any family you might have in the vicinity, to let them know you were safe, you told me you had none. If you hadn't killed your sister, how could you know she was dead? Fourth-the button you took-” But she stopped him before he could finish.

“ I didn't know! I came here to talk to Grace. Not to kill her! I wanted her to go back to Hugh, now that the twins were born and she'd finished her duty to Gerald. My leave was nearly up. I had to make a decision. Either stay in Carlisle or return to London. I couldn't put it off any longer!”

“If you were only expecting to talk to her, why bring a revolver?”

She turned away. “I have told you.”

“Gerald had a weapon. Grace could have used that if she'd needed it. Your story doesn't hold.”

She said nothing.

“Then tell me. What happened at the farm?”

The tension in the room was so great that Hamish seemed to be there, just behind him, and yet his back was touching the door. Then, before he could stop himself, he stepped away from the door, so that he was no longer crowding the voice that was always there.

She must have thought he had given up, and was leaving.

“It had just begun to snow when I got there.” Her voice was muffled. “They were still alive. And you're right, Gerald was just outside the barn, and he was talking to Paul. I left the carriage in the lane and walked towards them. I could hear Gerald very clearly. I could see his face. He was absolutely furious. He was saying, ‘Get out of here. Get off my farm and never come back. I don't want to see you here again, do you understand me?' And then Paul said something I couldn't hear. But Gerald answered, ‘Blood ties be damned! That can never excuse what you've done. Be clear on this. I love my wife, I love my children. And I'll guard them if I have to. You stand in far greater danger from me than we do from you. So there's an end to it, before you do something you'll always regret!' At that stage I went hurrying back to my carriage, for fear Paul would turn to go and on his way find me there eavesdropping. And Gerald was not in any state for me to come riding up unexpectedly! I turned the carriage and drove to the church, pulling the horse around to the back where no one could see me. And I sat inside for a good hour, before venturing back to the farm.”

She put her hand to her face. He couldn't tell if she was crying or not. But she managed to continue. “The church was dark. Quiet. Peaceful. I went back to the farm then, hoping Gerald might still be in the barn. The snow was worsening, and he'd stock to bring in. I looked, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen, and I assumed he'd gone to look for his sheep. So I went inside. Grace was nursing the twins. I don't know where Josh and Hazel were-I was just glad not to find them with her. She looked so happy, holding the babies.” Her voice broke on the last words.

“Was she surprised to see you?”

“Oh, yes. She hadn't expected me before Boxing Day. I asked her if there was any way that both of us could be happy. I asked if she felt anything at all for Hugh. After all, he was the father of two of her children. She must have cared once! I reminded her that in the eyes of the Church she was still married to him. And all she said was, ‘You're living in a dream, Janet. It has nothing to do with Hugh, don't you see? I told you when you wouldn't come for the wedding: I don't think I'd go back to him even for the children's sake-even if anything happened to Gerald. We fell out of love before the war, I know that now. We're strangers.' And then Gerald came in, and I asked him to his face if he could ever love me.”

Her shoulders began to shake. “I went back to the church. The snow was heavier, and I left the carriage in the lee, where the horse was protected from the wind. I wanted to freeze to death there in the church, and have them find my body. I wanted my death to be on Gerald's soul. I wanted everyone to know he'd killed me.”

“It was a cruel thing to do.”

She whirled. “Not as cruel as his rejection of me! It was unbearable, and yes, at that time, I wanted him dead!”

“And so, with your revolver, you went back…”

“No! I was a coward. I raged and cried until I was exhausted, and then I set out for Carlisle. I got to Keswick and the horse couldn't go any farther. So I stopped in Keswick, at a small hotel I knew there. I must have come to my senses at some point. Finally, two days later, against all advice I started back to Urskdale. When the poor horse went off the road, and I couldn't move for the pain, I thought, I can't die without making amends! I must make it up with Grace somehow. And then, when I'd given up hope, you came.”

“She's concocted a verra pretty story,” Hamish objected. “But she's lied before.”

“We can find out if you really stayed in Keswick,” Rutledge warned her.

“Then you'll learn I'm telling the truth,” she flung at him. “Why in God's name would I have come back to see them all dead? Even I can't hate that much!”

If she'd stayed at Keswick, he told himself, it would explain why she hadn't seen the police barricades in the road… More to the point, why the police hadn't seen her.

“And when you heard what had happened, you believed it was Paul who had killed your sister and her family.”

“Oh, yes. If you hadn't found my revolver and taken it, I think I would have shot him myself. Don't you see? She-Grace-died not knowing I'd had a change of heart! And all that's left now is to be sure whoever killed her-them- hangs!”