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numbers. I m afraid Raleigh isn t always very good company. We re the
martyrs thrown to the lions.
In that case, by all means, we ll go, Rutledge assured her.
She seemed relieved, but said only, Then come into the sitting
room and we ll have our tea in comfort, before it s time to dress. I ve
something to show you
a fearsome doubt 35
Henrietta, the spaniel, had just presented Elizabeth with puppies,
five of them, still blind and squirming and noisy. They lay in a box near
the hearth, and Henrietta rose to greet Rutledge before warily allowing
him to admire her family. Elizabeth was on the floor beside the box,
clearly entranced, giving him the name of each tiny ball of fur.
He could hardly tell one from another, except by the liver-colored
spots, but dutifully gave his attention to each in turn, while Henrietta
licked his hand and watched attentively as Elizabeth lifted her brood one
by one and held the newborns up for his inspection. He found himself
thinking that Elizabeth herself would have made a wonderful mother,
but there had never been any children in her marriage. Richard had been
philosophical about it. Early days, he d said. But time had run out.
When the maid brought tea, Elizabeth went to wash her hands and
Henrietta climbed gratefully back into her box, nosing each of her trea-
sures, as if to reassure herself that none had gone missing. Rutledge
leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Hamish, in the back of his mind, was saying something about
Richard. He ignored it, and tried to put London and the Yard out of his
thoughts for the evening. It would not do to drag the Shaws into
Elizabeth s uncomplicated world, and yet Rutledge found himself
wishing he could talk to her as he would have done to her husband. A
barrister, Richard would have understood Rutledge s dilemma and
heard the story out without criticism or comment. Elizabeth would
worry over Ben Shaw s innocence as well as his guilt, and leave the sub-
ject more tangled than it was. . . .
She came back into the room just then and, seeing him with his eyes
closed, said briskly, You need your tea! and proceeded to pour him a cup.
Hamish said, A wee dram o whisky would do more good.
The whisky came at the Hamiltons, a stiff drink that Lawrence
Hamilton handed him with the admonition You ll need this!
Elizabeth had gone upstairs to speak to Lydia, and the two men
were alone in the drawing room.
Rutledge said, I hear Masters hasn t been well. He had met the
man a time or two in the courts, but hardly knew him at all.
36 charles todd
No, he hasn t. And it s been difficult for him. Not only the loss of
his limb, but the constant pain and the dragging down of his spirits. He
had to give up the law, you know, and that was possibly worse than am-
putation. He loved his work. Lawrence was square, fair, with a ruddy
complexion. Still, he s a man of uncertain moods. Always was, for all I
know, but now it s noticeable. Lydia and Elizabeth and a few other
friends have tried to make his illness bearable for Bella
He broke off as the maid ushered in another guest. Melinda
Crawford swept into the room with grace, a tall woman, slim now with
age, and wearing the evening dress of another reign: gray silk, with lace
high to the throat and binding the sleeves at her wrists. Her white hair,
piled high in shining waves, was still thick, and the handsome blue eyes
were unclouded. The beautiful ebony cane in her left hand was more af-
fectation than necessity.
She greeted her host with warmth, and then regarded Rutledge with
interest. You survived the war, then. Why haven t you been to see me?
Rutledge answered, First I had to find my way back into civilian
life. But it was Hamish that he had wanted to hide from her. Melinda
Crawford had seen war, had nursed the wounded and comforted the dy-
ing when she was only ten; her experience was so vast that he had been
afraid she would instantly read his secret in his eyes.
He went to kiss her cheek, and she held him off for a moment, study-
ing his face. Ah. And have you found your way? She let him kiss her
then, and took his arm as he led her to the small French love seat.
I don t know. I expect you ll tell me?
She laughed gently. War has done nothing for your manners, I see.
But it s good to have you back. Lawrence, is that sherry I see at your
elbow?
He brought her a glass and she sipped it. One of the privileges of
age, she declared, is to be able to drink a glass or two of wine without
a lecture on moderation. This is quite good, Lawrence. I shall require
the name of your wine merchant.
Lawrence chuckled. Indeed. He s the same as yours.
Ah, but he never treats me as well.
Hamish, taken aback by Melinda Crawford, was silent, trying to
a fearsome doubt 37
make up his mind about her. Rutledge, drawing up a chair next to the
love seat, said, I ve missed you.
At my age, she agreed, four years is a very long time. I wasn t
sure I would live to see you again. She studied his face once more. But
the wicked seem to thrive in this world, and I m still here. Thank you
for your letters, and the books of poems. I treasured both.
I thought you might like the poet. O. A. Manning.
She s dead now, I ve heard.
He answered simply, Yes.
A tragedy among so many tragedies. There s never time to mourn.
I remember in India there were so many burials we couldn t cry any-
more. It was almost the same here, after this war. And you re back at
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