Hamilton had left a curt note at the hotel desk. The clerk handed it to Rutledge as he came through Reception and started toward the staircase.
Unfolding it, Rutledge saw the black dash of words across the page.
Where the hell are you?
Crumpling the note in his fingers, he thanked the clerk and went up to his room to leave his valise.
That done, he went to find the Inspector.
He wasn’t in his office, and the desk sergeant shook his head when Rutledge asked for him.
“He was called out to Abbey. Early this morning. He hasn’t come back.”
“What’s happened?” Rutledge snapped.
“I dunno, sir. He was summoned.”
Rutledge thanked the Sergeant and left. Cursing himself for being away overnight.
He drove too fast, his mind churning. He should have warned her . . .
When he arrived at the Abbey gates, they were standing wide. Not a good sign . . .
He pulled in, saw the Hamilton bicycle resting against the steps, and went to knock at the heavy door. As he waited for someone to come, he realized, looking around, that there were no visitors this Friday afternoon.
There had been none yesterday . . .
He turned as the door swung open. Inspector Hamilton stood there.
“You just missed Wister,” he said tersely. “You’d better come in.”
“Why was Wister called to the Hall?”
“It’s Lady Benton.” Hamilton waited until Rutledge had stepped into the Hall. “Mrs. Hailey is with her.”
“What has happened?” At least, he thought in a corner of his mind, she wasn’t dead . . .
“You’d better ask her yourself. She won’t tell me anything.”
With Hamilton at his heels, Rutledge set out through the public rooms to the stairs at the far end, expecting to find Lady Benton in her sitting room. But she wasn’t there. Without a word, he went to the staircase just beyond, took them two at a time, and was hurrying down the passage to the bedroom she used.
Mrs. Hailey came to the door.
“She’s asleep. Don’t wake her,” she said in a whisper. With a last glance over her shoulder, she stepped into the passage, closing the bedroom door behind her.
“Damn it, what happened?” Rutledge demanded for the second time.
“I told you,” she said, vehemently, “that she wasn’t safe alone here in this house. Just look at it! Room after room, no lamps lit for fear of fire, and she walked through them as if she can see in the dark. All hours of the day or night. It was trouble waiting to happen—”
He cut her short. “Is she all right?”
“No thanks to you,” Mrs. Hailey said, still incensed.
Rutledge made to move past her, intending to open the bedroom door and walk in, but Mrs. Hailey caught his arm.
“No, let her sleep.”
He looked from the housekeeper to Inspector Hamilton. “I’ll go in there and shake her awake if someone doesn’t tell me what happened to her.”
He meant it. It was clear in his voice and in his face. Even in the dimly lit passage.
“We were expecting a tour, this morning. It had been booked for weeks. She was up early, seeing to it that all was well. And since Mrs. Lowell’s death—”
“Come to the point,” he snapped.
“She was going down into the crypt.” Hamilton stepped in. “The stairs there twist and turn. She fell. It was Mrs. Hailey who found her there, when she came in at eight. She wouldn’t leave Lady Benton until one of the other ladies arrived. A Mrs. Jenkins. Mrs. Hailey sent her straight to the surgery. Wister was dressing a farmer’s wound, and he came at once.”
“How badly is she hurt?”
“She hit her head, bruised a shoulder, twisted her knee. She was still unconscious when Wister got here. He wanted to take her to his surgery, but Mrs. Hailey here didn’t want her moved. Wister’s nurse sent word that he had gone out to the Abbey, and I immediately followed. Together we got her to her bed, once Wister was sure she could be moved. I stopped at the hotel on my way, to let you know as well, but the clerk told me you hadn’t been in for dinner or for breakfast.”
His tone was accusing.
“I was in London,” Rutledge answered curtly.
He turned to Mrs. Hailey. “What did she tell you?”
“She was confused at first, telling me to go—I couldn’t follow what she was saying, her words were slurred. Only half conscious, really.”
Rutledge didn’t believe her. Glancing at Hamilton, he said, “Let her sleep, then. Bring me a chair, and I’ll sit here in the passage until she’s awake.”
They had been speaking quietly, some ten or twelve feet from the bedroom door.
When it opened behind them, they turned as one, caught off guard.
Lady Benton was standing on the threshold. With the glare of the afternoon sun behind her, it was difficult to see her clearly.
Her hair down, her clothes—usually so perfect, as befitted her station—were rumpled, and there was a dark splotch on her skirt, where her knee had bled.
Rutledge was swiftly revising his opinion about what Mrs. Hailey had told them.
As she opened the door a little wider, he could also see the cut on her forehead, a scrape on her chin. Or rather the dried blood that marked them.
Into the uncomfortable silence, she said wearily. “Go away, all of you. Yes, you as well, Margaret. And leave me in peace for a bit.”
With that she closed her door firmly—and they could hear the distinctive click of the lock that shut them out.
Mrs. Hailey looked from Hamilton to Rutledge, and said, “Now look what you’ve done.” And without waiting for an answer, she marched away down the passage.
Hamilton watched her go, then said to Rutledge, “Can you give me a lift back into Walmer? I don’t relish pedaling all the way back.”
It was the last thing Rutledge wished to do, but he said, “Yes, of course.”
They walked in silence back to the stairs and the door leading to the stables.
“The main door is still bolted, I think. And my motorcar is just there by the stables. We’ll fetch the bicycle as we leave.”
Hamilton stepped outside, and as Rutledge shut the door behind them, he said, “What do you make of this fall? An accident?”
“We can’t be sure until we speak to her.”
Hamilton turned the crank and then closed the stable yard gate behind them.
“What do you make of all this? Ghosts on the lawn, Mrs. Lowell killed. And for all we know, Lady Benton attacked in her own house.”
“I thought it was a fall?”
“Early days,” Hamilton said darkly as they went up the lane.
“That’s assuming someone managed to get in and lie in wait.”
“It’s possible. I had a look around. Anyone could force those old locks.”
“Had anyone broken in?”
“No. Not that I could see. But Wister told me Lady Benton might have been seriously injured. She went down those steps with some force. He was surprised nothing was broken.”
Rutledge turned to look at him. “Truly?”
“He said if she hadn’t somehow had the instinct to twist at the last minute, she might have snapped her neck.” Hamilton shook his head. “There’s something about that house. All those rooms, a labyrinth of them. With no life in them unless a tour walks through. Like something dead, left to rot. You could lose half a regiment in there, and not find them for days.”