Watchers Of Time Part 30

"The other door Father James mentioned-it was you. He wanted to know if Mrs. Sedgwick had been on board ship, if you'd actually seen her, spoken with her. If you had, then he no longer had to rely on Baker's confession, whatever it was, to fill in the details of Mrs. Sedgwick's disappearance."

"No, it wasn't like that! He was trying to help me me. To stop the nightmares. He said." Her voice was odd, a tremor behind it. She seemed on the point of adding more, but stopped.

"And when you refused to remember, the priest went to his solicitor and added a codicil to his Will. Father James left you a photograph of Virginia Sedgwick"-there was a sharp intake of breath from the listening Vicar-"but not the cuttings that he'd collected so painstakingly. He wanted only your own memories, and he wished you the courage to write down what had happened-to you and to her. Why would he have believed so strongly that you-of all the survivors-had met her on shipboard?"

"I didn't refuse refuse to remember, as you put it. And he didn't believe any such thing!" She was flushed, her chin high and her eyes bright. "I can't understand why you keep harping on it. He just felt that the nightmares would stop if I could face them once and for all. And I couldn't; I wasn't ready. He never forced me to go back to that night-he was careful. We tried to discuss less frightening experiences, who had the cabins next to mine, the people I sat with at meals, what I wore the first evening out-and I couldn't even remember that!" to remember, as you put it. And he didn't believe any such thing!" She was flushed, her chin high and her eyes bright. "I can't understand why you keep harping on it. He just felt that the nightmares would stop if I could face them once and for all. And I couldn't; I wasn't ready. He never forced me to go back to that night-he was careful. We tried to discuss less frightening experiences, who had the cabins next to mine, the people I sat with at meals, what I wore the first evening out-and I couldn't even remember that!"

Hamish scolded, "The la.s.s is tired. Let it go."

Rutledge heard him. He said to May Trent, trying to make amends, "I'm not hounding you-"

"You are!" she said angrily. "You're worse than Father James ever was. You don't know what it is like to be You don't know what it is like to be haunted, you've never sat up screaming in bed in the middle of the night, hearing the dying cry out for help and haunted, you've never sat up screaming in bed in the middle of the night, hearing the dying cry out for help and knowing that you will live and they won't-! knowing that you will live and they won't-! " "

Exhausted as he himself was, the strength of her emotions touched him on the raw. His own anger flared with unwitting heat.

"Don't I? I live it with every breath I take- I live it with every breath I take-"

Hamish's voice was sharp. "You mustna' mustna' betray yoursel'!" betray yoursel'!"

Rutledge's iron will shut off the flow of words even as he heard the warning. His face had grown so white and so strained that May Trent reached out a hand to him, as if to stop him, too. And then she dropped it.

They stared at each other in horrified silence.

Rutledge thought, I've never come so close- I've never come so close- Hamish was still yelling at him, dinning in his head like the German guns, until he could barely function. "Ye're "Ye're vulnerable because she's the first woman who's been vulnerable because she's the first woman who's been through the same horror-" through the same horror-"

But Rutledge didn't care. How far had she seen inside his own grief? As far as he'd seen into the depths of hers? He didn't know. It was not something he wanted to think about. It didn't bear thinking about. . . .

Sims and Father Holston, watching the two of them, immobilized by the sudden silence after the fierce intensity of their exchange, were unwilling witnesses.

And into the electrical atmosphere that no one knew quite how to cope with, the door opened and the housekeeper, Bryony, wheeled in the ornate walnut cart with the heavy Victorian tea service gleaming in the lamplight.

CHAPTER 25.

THE VICAR GOT TO HIS FEET. "Monsignor Holston, if you'll have your housekeeper summon a cab for us, I'll see Miss Trent safely on the next train-"

Monsignor Holston, rising as well, cut across his words. "I expect that Inspector Rutledge can explain-"

But it was May Trent who collected herself with an effort and said, "No. We need to finish this." She turned to Bryony and thanked her for the tea, adding, "I'll pour."

As the housekeeper left, she busied herself with the cups, her head turned away from the men in the room. But her hands were shaking, and her eyes were haunted in her drawn face.

Rutledge, his own face still as pale as his shirt, stood where he was, lost in the emotional storm that had swept him. Hamish, his voice harsh, was saying, "You canna' be so foolish!"

Miss Trent handed a cup to the Vicar, who awkwardly looked around for a table to set it on, his eyes avoiding Rutledge's. Monsignor Holston took his and sat down again behind the desk, rearranging papers lying on the blotter as if giving everyone a little time to recover. She brought a cup to Rutledge and said, "Drink it. Now, while it's hot and sweet."

He accepted the tea like a man sleepwalking, and seemed not to know what to do with it. After a moment, he drank it, hot as it was, and seemed to draw strength from it.

May Trent set aside her own cup and silently pa.s.sed the slices of cake and the thin sandwiches-egg and ham and cheese-each a small white triangle of bread that seemed likely to choke them all.

It was ritual-and in ritual lay some normalcy. Each of the uncomfortable occupants in the quiet room accepted his role in this charade. And in the end, the tension in the air began to subside a little.

Monsignor Holston bit into an egg sandwich and swallowed it in a gulp.

Bruce the cat, who had slipped into the room with the housekeeper, came out from under the desk and stared impa.s.sively at the ham sandwich between Sims's fingers, and the Vicar seemed to consider offering it to the animal. He couldn't think why he'd accepted one in the first place, except out of politeness. His stomach was a twisted knot of despair. He didn't want to hear any more; he'd had enough.

Miss Trent drank her tea in silence, and then said, "I can't tell you whether or not Virginia Sedgwick was on the ship. I remember sailing, I vaguely recall dressing for the evening, although I can't tell you what I chose to wear. I remember going to dinner, and faces and people speaking to me. A hodgepodge of images, unconnected in any way with me personally. It's as if I don't want to remember who lived and-and who died. It is such a terrible thing, to drown. I nearly did-someone hauled me into a boat, like a bundle of wet rags, and I was coughing and sick and so frightened I couldn't speak. There were others in the water-" She gulped for air, as if drowning again, and said quickly, "No, I won't go back there! I won't go back there!" She stopped and looked at the hearth, as if to find something new to pin her attention on. After a moment she continued, her voice uncertain. "Father James had worked with the wounded during the War. He told me that talking might help stop the pain and the dreams. But I'd buried it for so many long, difficult years. I'd reached a plateau of sorts, where I was someone else. People no longer remembered that I'd been on t.i.tanic t.i.tanic. When the War came, I was planning to be married and looking ahead to a future that would be happier than the past. But it was-I never told Roger about what had happened to me, I thought that if he didn't didn't know, I'd not see the reminder of my pain in his eyes, and be forced to look back. Someone else told him. A friend, who believed that Roger would want to know the truth and be better able to comfort me when the dreams were-worse than usual. That's why I'm finishing his work. I had already decided to break the engagement, once he was safely home. But he never came home. And I carry that guilt, too." know, I'd not see the reminder of my pain in his eyes, and be forced to look back. Someone else told him. A friend, who believed that Roger would want to know the truth and be better able to comfort me when the dreams were-worse than usual. That's why I'm finishing his work. I had already decided to break the engagement, once he was safely home. But he never came home. And I carry that guilt, too."

She looked from one to the other of the three men. "I didn't know Father James had his own nightmare. I wasn't much help to him, I'm afraid." There was a faint quality of the child in her voice, begging forgiveness. "I didn't understand how great his need was was!"

Rutledge sat down heavily, trying to bring himself back to the task at hand. He wished that the Vicar and May Trent had taken the train, and he could drive back to Osterley-or anywhere-all alone. Except for Hamish, who never left him alone.

The Vicar said, into the silence, picking his words, "Virginia Sedgwick was a woman hungry for affection. I watched her-I was invited to several of the parties at Sedgwick Hall after she married Arthur. She believed her husband loved her. She most certainly loved him. But he was mad for racing; he lived in a world of fast machines and dangerous sport. As far as I could tell, he was oblivious to her dislike of living alone out in the middle of Yorkshire, where she had few neighbors and fewer friends. He expected her to find pleasure in running the house, as his mother had done-she was a well-known hostess, and quite clever at smoothing over her husband's connections with trade. It never worked, their marriage. When I heard Virginia had left him and gone back to America, I was- glad it was over. I couldn't bear to watch her suffer."

Rutledge, grateful for the change in subject, asked, "You spoke of friends. Were there any close friends she confided in?"

"No." As if to soften the harsh negative, Sims added, "She found it hard to find common ground with women of her own cla.s.s, and was too friendly with the servants. They took advantage of her. That's why she came to the vicarage to talk with me, using whatever flimsy excuse she could think of. Father James and I were safe, you see. Clergymen, not likely to take advantage. In any sense."

Intrigued, Rutledge asked, "What did she talk about?"

"The flowers. The music. She liked music. Services for the family were usually held at the church on the grounds of the estate. She preferred Holy Trinity because it was so beautiful. She'd spend hours sitting in the nave polishing the benches or mending the cushions. I found her one day on a ladder, cleaning out the cobwebs around the stained-gla.s.s windows. Impeccably dressed, her gloves filthy-" He stopped. "They closed the house in East Sherham when Sedgwick went to London, and she was sent back to Yorkshire, then."

Monsignor Holston said, "Father James met her in London, just after she'd come to England. They served on some committee or other together. He said she was the happiest woman he'd ever seen. And he was the man she turned to when the marriage soured. She was a woman of strong faith, and he tried to bolster that. That's one reason he wasn't prepared to believe that she could turn her back on her husband and leave England. He always defended her, and it's my feeling that he always hoped she might try to get in touch with him."

The Vicar said unexpectedly, "I thought it was better for her just to go. Father James and I quarreled over that. He wanted to find her, and I told him I'd have no part in it."

Hamish said, "Aye, it's the difference in age between the two men. Both wanted to play knight, but no' in the same fashion."

Rutledge silently agreed. It was that male vulnerability to their own protective instincts. To save the damsel from the dragon-the dragon, in this case, Arthur Sedgwick's seeming indifference to his beautiful young wife-and somehow make her life better. Priest or layman, it didn't matter. Each man had responded to Virginia Sedgwick.

Monsignor Holston pushed his plate away. "There's a more practical side, you know. It's my understanding that she had a considerable inheritance, from a grandmother who had heavily invested in railroads among other things. What was the disposition of that, if she died? Or-if she just disappeared? And another question-why didn't her family in America raise a hue and cry, when she went missing?"

"No one could foresee that her ship would sink!" the Vicar said.

"Father James told me in late 1912 that she wasn't listed among the pa.s.sengers," Monsignor Holston replied. "That is, not until after after the inquiry. Sedgwick hired someone to look into the matter for him, and he finally found her name. This would explain why Father James was so interested in what Miss Trent could tell him." the inquiry. Sedgwick hired someone to look into the matter for him, and he finally found her name. This would explain why Father James was so interested in what Miss Trent could tell him."

Rutledge said, "Why was there a problem?"

"There was a record of her purchasing her fare, but none of her boarding the ship. Apparently there was some confusion over names."

May Trent said unexpectedly, "If I had wanted to get away, and money wasn't an issue, I'd have paid my fare, and then taken another ship. Or no ship at all. Virginia Sedgwick could very well be alive and still in England."

Hamish said quietly, "Or dead, having never left England."

Rutledge, pursuing that thought, asked, "In which case, if Herbert Baker changed his mind on his deathbed, and told Father James the truth about that journey from Yorkshire to King's Lynn-or even what happened in King's Lynn itself-it must have been very difficult for Father James to hold his tongue. And it's quite possible, isn't it, that someone doesn't want the truth about Virginia Sedgwick to come out?"

Monsignor Holston replied slowly, "I hadn't considered that. But it explains why I've been uneasy since I saw Father James dead. If you are not a Catholic-if you don't understand the sanct.i.ty of Confession-it would be natural to believe that Father James told me or even the Vicar here whatever he'd learned from Baker . . ."

Sims spoke up suddenly, his face unhappy, eyes torn.

"There's another part of the story."

"Virginia Sedgwick was-a lovely child. I don't think Arthur Sedgwick realized that when he met her in Richmond. She told me she was always surrounded by cousins, brothers, sisters-they seldom had the opportunity to be alone, she and Arthur. And in company, she was shy, she spoke softly, and she had the gift of listening. What's more, her grandmother, worried about her future, had left her a fortune. Rich, beautiful-and not-not truly whole whole."

They stared at him. In his mind, Rutledge heard Lord Sedgwick's dismissive words: "Attractive simpleton, that's "Attractive simpleton, that's what she was." what she was." Rutledge had taken it as hyperbole-but it was the truth. Rutledge had taken it as hyperbole-but it was the truth.

"They brought her to England for the wedding, you know," Sims said wearily. "Her family. A very fashionable affair in London. I don't think Arthur ever realized that she was-simple. Until they went away on their wedding journey. Her family had made certain they were never alone together."

May Trent asked, "How do you mean? Simple?"

"Virginia-she'd had a fever as a small child. The family blamed it on that. They swore swore it wasn't hereditary. But by that time Arthur was married to her, and he discovered that this very pretty, very sweet, very young bride was not simply modest and shy. Her mental development was r.e.t.a.r.ded." it wasn't hereditary. But by that time Arthur was married to her, and he discovered that this very pretty, very sweet, very young bride was not simply modest and shy. Her mental development was r.e.t.a.r.ded."

Rutledge said, "And he didn't like the feeling of being cheated."

Sims agreed. "It may explain why he spent so much time in France, racing with his friends. Why he left Virginia behind in Yorkshire, isolated from his friends and from London Society. Reading between the lines, I gathered that this was the reason behind his brother Edwin's frequent visits when Arthur was away. He was making d.a.m.ned sure that the simpleton didn't fornicate with the servants or the stableboys, and produce a half-wit b.a.s.t.a.r.d who would inherit the family t.i.tle!"

Monsignor Holston, after much persuasion, agreed to return to Osterley with them and speak to Inspector Blevins.

It had been a heated argument "I can't see that it will do much good. So much of it is speculation," the priest protested. "Father James is dead, Baker is dead-for all we know, Mrs. Sedgwick is dead. All we may succeed in proving is that the chauffeur, Baker, was cajoled into letting his pa.s.senger flee her husband, there in King's Lynn. And there's no crime crime in that." in that."

Rutledge argued, "It isn't a question of convincing Blevins. It's a matter of strategy. If there is sufficient doubt, he must reopen his investigation."

"How will you begin?" May Trent asked.

Turning to the Vicar, Rutledge asked him, "Think back. Herbert Baker was your s.e.xton. Can you recall when Mrs. Baker was ill-enough to be placed in a sanitarium for her tuberculosis? You must have visited her then!"

Sims rubbed his eyes. "She was very ill in November 1911, I think, and they didn't expect her to live through the winter. With sanitarium care, she did."

"By the spring of 1912 then-when Mrs. Sedgwick went missing-Baker could see that continued care was essential to keeping his own wife alive?"

"He never expected miracles," Sims corrected Rutledge. "She was was dying." dying."

"Yes. She'd have been dead in November without that care. She survived two years two years with it. That mattered to a man who loved his wife very deeply." with it. That mattered to a man who loved his wife very deeply."

Sims responded, "Herbert Baker was a decent man- loyal."

"How did he define loyalty?" Rutledge persisted. "If someone convinced him he was acting in Virginia Sedgwick's best interests, would he shut his eyes?"

Sims said, "He'd never harm harm her!" her!"

"But would Arthur Sedgwick feel the same way?"

The argument had ended there.

It was crowded in the car, and Hamish, in the rear seat with the two men, was restless and not in the best of moods.

Rutledge drove like an automaton, beyond exhaustion. May Trent sat in the seat beside him, head bowed, lost in her own thoughts. Once she turned to him and asked, "If Virginia Sedgwick was-simple-how did she manage to elude Baker, find her way to London, and arrange to sail on the next ship leaving for America?"

Sims answered, leaning forward with one hand on the back of her seat. "It's what worried Father James. Why he feared she might be dead. G.o.d knows, Arthur received plenty of sympathy. He could have married again any time, an eligible young widower with more money than he knew what to do with, and no children to share in it? But he'd been burned once. He stayed clear of any entanglements."

"And what did you think?" Rutledge asked him.

There was a long silence. "I thought perhaps Edwin Sedgwick had engineered her flight. I was jealous. I had wanted her to turn to me. I wanted to be the shining knight on the white horse who rescued her. I sat there alone in the vicarage and told myself that she'd been more clever than I knew. And I asked myself what she'd given Edwin in return. I'm not very proud of it. But it's the truth."

Monsignor Holston added unexpectedly, "She's never been declared dead, you know. It was all kept very quiet. Father James wrote to her family in America. They swore Virginia hadn't come home. They'd agreed with Lord Sedgwick's decision to hire people to look for her and were satisfied that it was very possible she had been lost at sea. But Father James was convinced early on that if she had had arrived safely, they would have sent her back." arrived safely, they would have sent her back."

Hamish added, "It doesna' seem that her ain family cares o'wer much what happened. They were eager enough to palm her off on an unsuspecting suitor."

Sims swore. "To hurt her her would be like hurting a child!" would be like hurting a child!"

May Trent said, "I shudder to think-it was so wild that night, when we went down. She'd have had no idea, what to do-" She stopped, waited until her voice was steady again, and went on. "But there had been a great deal of talk about the ship. She might have been attracted to the idea of sailing home on a famous ship. It would have made it easier for her to plan. . . ."

"Then what did Herbert Baker Confess?" Rutledge asked. "If he'd only helped her to find a train to London, he didn't share in the guilt of her death."

Hamish said morosely, "We're back to who paid for the care of his ill wife?"

Baker had even asked the Vicar if it was possible to love someone too much- The question was, if one of the Sedgwicks had plotted Virginia's disappearance, which one had it been? Arthur? Edwin? Or Lord Sedgwick himself?

Rutledge could feel the weariness that dragged at him like an anchor.

When the story got out that Herbert Baker had sent for a priest as well as the Vicar, had someone been terrified that the past would come back to life if the priest delved too deeply in it?

It was a strong enough motive for murder. If you'd killed before.

When they neared Osterley, a low mist hung over the marshes and the dips and twists of the road, the verges vanishing and reappearing like links in a chain. The dampness in the air sometimes produced a pa.s.sing squall.

Rutledge stopped again at the Randal farm, unwilling to leave that loose end unraveled. Over the protests of his weary pa.s.sengers, he got out and went to hammer on the door.

A ragged and battered figure came stomping around the corner of the house, yelling obscenities.

Rutledge stared.

Randal was b.l.o.o.d.y from a dozen cuts and scratches on his face and hands. Bruises marked his jawline and his left arm was held close to his body.

"The mare's run into the ground, d.a.m.n you, and that b.i.t.c.h done her best to kill me me! I'm flipping lucky to be able to walk!" The farmer's anger was a live thing, too long pent up. He kicked out at the corner of the house, then kicked again. "I'll be seeing that solicitor in the town. I'll be wanting somebody to pay for last night's piece of work!"

Rutledge said, "Walsh is dead. The mare killed him."

"Good on her! So the constable told me when I rode home by way of West Sherham. It serves the b.a.s.t.a.r.d right, and I hope he rots in h.e.l.l where he belongs, the son-"

He looked up and saw the woman in the car in the drive. "Is that the b.i.t.c.h-" He started forward.

Rutledge in three long strides caught Tom Randal's arm and held him back. "No. It's someone else. The Vicar is with her."