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a young woman stepped out of the hotel s side door and paused, as if wait-
ing for him to drive on. It wasn t until he d climbed behind the wheel that
Rutledge, his thoughts far from London, realized he knew her.
It was Nell Shaw s daughter.
She simply stood there, prepared for rejection.
Miss Shaw? he said tentatively. He dredged his memory for a
name, and somewhere in the mists of the past, he remembered that she
was called Margaret.
Her face, clouded with uncertainty, cleared as he recognized her.
It s my mother, she said hurriedly. I m so terribly worried about her.
With a repressed sigh, he asked, Is she ill? Shall I ask the doctor to
come to the hotel? Nell Shaw was, he thought, a better tactician than
half the generals at the Front But then, as Hamish was pointing out,
perhaps she had a better cause. After all, Rutledge was the man who
had brought her husband to judgment and thus to his death. Shifting
the burden of his self-doubt to her shoulders, blaming her for demand-
ing what she perceived as justice, was shirking his duty to himself and
to the Law.
144 charles todd
I m sorry No, she s in London. I came down alone.
Thanking God for small mercies, he said more sharply than he d in-
tended, I must drive to Seelyham. My business there can t wait. I ll
have to take you with me. We can talk on the way.
She hesitated, as if half afraid of him, gnawing her lip like a child.
Margaret, he said more gently. Would you prefer to wait here un-
til I come back? I can t promise how long it will be. On the other hand,
if you drive with me, there won t be any distractions or interruptions.
We can discuss what s wrong with your mother along the way, and I ll
see you safely home from Seelyham.
Flushing with embarrassment and gratitude, she nodded, and
Rutledge handed her into the passenger s seat before turning toward
the main road out of the village.
As they passed the ironmonger s, a man leaning wearily against the
wall stared blearily at them. Rutledge recognized the drunk, Holcomb,
from the night before. Belching heavily, the man turned on his heel and
shambled on.
Rutledge wondered if the man was sober enough to make any bet-
ter sense now. But he couldn t stop.
Picking up the thread of Margaret Shaw s earlier remark, he asked,
Why are you worried about your mother?
It s like an obsession, Miss Shaw told him earnestly, as if relieved
to find someone who would listen. She was not as hard as her mother,
nor as intelligent, he thought. Sheltered by choice or by circum-
stances she was not worldly, in the true sense. And he wondered if she
really understood why her mother was so adamant that the past be ex-
punged.
Clearing your father s name? He glanced toward her.
Her face reddened again. She had that kind of fair complexion that
registered shifts in emotion easily. She s convinced Papa didn t kill
anyone . . . she can t sleep, she can t eat it s all she thinks about!
How long has this been going on? All these years? Or since she
found the locket?
She s always railed against the jury. But since the locket she s been
like a madwoman.
Tell me about finding the locket.
a fearsome doubt 145
There s nothing to tell. She went next door to help Mr. Cutter as
he d asked, and when she came home she looked sick, as if she was
about to lose her dinner. She was that upset, she locked herself in her
room. I ve only known her to do that twice before. The day Papa was
taken away, and the day the letter came.
What letter?
I never saw it. But after she read it, she cried for hours. Then she
came out of her room and was herself again.
A letter your father had written?
She frowned. I don t see how it could be. It only came this autumn.
But I overheard her tell Mr. Cutter that a cousin was dying. She said,
Everyone is gone. There s no one left.
And what has been your feeling all these years? About your fa-
ther s guilt? he asked quietly, without judgment.
She shook her head. I never cared whether Papa was guilty or not.
It didn t matter. When they took him away, I wept all night. I hated the
police, I hated you. He was my father I didn t know how we were to
get along without him! And indeed, it s been the hardest thing we ve
ever had to face. Nobody understands!
Hamish said, She would ha been at an age where she doted
on him.
It was true. Rutledge recalled the stricken, white-faced child stand-
ing in the doorway, staring up at her father, waiting for him to tell her it
was all a mistake, that he d be home by the morning. And Shaw had
looked at her, pain in his eyes, and said nothing.
The boy, her brother Ben, had been belligerent, beating his fists
against the young constable escorting his father, crying out to let him go,
he d done nothing. But the girl had been unable to speak, crushed by
events, not even coming forward to kiss her father as he turned a last
time on the road and looked back at her.
It s important to realize that your mother may be wrong. That
she s going to be disappointed, Rutledge began, slowing in the wake of
a lorry. I know she s desperate and afraid and clinging to hope. But
what if there is none? So far I ve found nothing, no real proof to support
her belief that this new evidence
That s no true! Hamish thundered. It s no the truth!
146 charles todd
Rutledge silently defended himself. I will not give her false hope!
It won t help her mother, and it won t serve her! he said adamantly.
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