The Red Door Part 26

"Oh, do shut up, Leticia," Walter Teller told her. "I'll deal with Jenny in my own way."

"If we could have thrashed this business out amongst ourselves on Friday, none of this might have happened," Leticia retorted. "And what about Harry? What is Harry to be told?"

There was a strained silence.

"Harry," Walter began. "Oh, my G.o.d, we've forgotten Harry."

"He's all right," Amy said. "He's gone to the church services at Repton. He asked if he could. I told him yes. I thought it would be a good idea. And so he wasn't here when-when it happened."

"Surely not alone?" Walter demanded. "You must have taken leave of your senses."

"He went with the rector and his family," Amy said curtly. "I went over and asked politely. They were delighted to have him. There's some sort of blessing of the animals today. He likes that. And he's staying for lunch."

"I'd forgot," Walter said. "Jenny was to take him. When Peter fell, everything else went out of my mind."

"There's Gran to be thought of. What are we to tell her?"

"Why wasn't she invited to the birthday celebration?" Rutledge asked.

"It's distressing for her to travel. It's confusing," Edwin said.

But she had traveled to visit her dead sister's grandchildren.

Rutledge waited until they had finished dealing with the unforeseen problems brought on by a death.

And when there was a lull in the conversation, he said, "Now that that's settled to your satisfaction, there's something I should like very much to know."

They turned to face him, wary, their eyes waiting for the blow to fall.

Rutledge said into the tense silence, "What did Susannah Teller mean when she told me that it wasn't Peter who had killed Florence Teller. That one of you was in the house when Peter came there, and used the opportunity he'd given you to kill her?"

Chapter 26

It was as if, collectively, they had lost their tongues.

"She was upset," Leticia said finally. "And imagining things. All the blame for whatever happened to that woman in Lancas.h.i.+re had fallen on Peter's head. She was trying to clear his name. To give him dignity in his death. I think she believes that he must have fallen deliberately, because everyone had seemed to turn against him People do lash out in grief," she ended. "I've seen it myself. And so must you have, Mr. Rutledge."

He had. But he'd heard the pain and anger in Susannah's voice, and he'd almost believed her.

He turned to Walter and said, "What was the real reason for not calling off the party?"

"I've told you. We didn't, for Jenny's sake. She was looking forward to it. It meant more to her than we realized. A family healing, if you will. After my disastrous disappearance."

"I think," Rutledge said, "you went ahead with the party to gauge just how much of my evidence was true. To shame your brother into telling you what happened in Hobson that day. He hadn't, had he? He'd been tormented by his own knowledge-even I could see that he'd begun to drink heavily. And once I'd outlined my own evidence, you knew he was very likely to be taken into custody very soon. And you wanted to make him tell you before the police came, so that you could band together to protect him. Only he didn't quite see it that way. I think he felt you'd abandoned him. In which case he might well have chosen to fall down the stairs. His only way to punish you for what you'd done to him."

They stared at him, nothing in their gazes telling him whether his guesses were right or not.

"I can't force any of you to confess. But I'd give a great deal to know why Peter Teller suddenly felt compelled to rectify the situation in Hobson in regard to Florence Teller after all these years. I want to know for her sake where all of this began."

Amy Teller said, "You can't expect us to answer that, when we were left not knowing the truth ourselves."

"Was it suicide?" Edwin Teller asked. "Do you believe he killed himself?"

"There's not sufficient evidence either way," Rutledge said. "It will depend on what the police and the inquest have to say about his state of mind. There will be an inquest. Make no mistake about that."

"Dear G.o.d," Edwin said under his breath. "Will it have to come out that my brother was suspected of murder?"

"All the essential facts will have to be presented."

"It was a fall," Leticia said. "I know my brother. He would no more kill himself than Walter here would have done. It's not in the nature of our family to run away from anything."

"Oh, do shut up, Leticia," Edwin said. "This is not the time to be pompous. Of course Peter didn't kill himself. Walter?"

"No."

"Then there you are, Inspector. The family, who knew Peter Teller better than anyone else, have given you their considered opinion. There was nothing on his conscience. Your so-called evidence was entirely circ.u.mstantial. Your witness can hardly identify a dead man. There is no case. There never was."

"There's still a dead woman in Lancas.h.i.+re. What about her?"

"I have no idea. I leave such matters to the police."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come," Rutledge said, expecting to see Inspector Jessup walk into the room.

But it was Mollie.

She said, "Beg pardon, sir. Scotland Yard is on the telephone. They want to speak with you. It's urgent. They said."

"Thank you. Tell the Yard I'll be there directly," Rutledge told her.

He looked around the room, seeing relief in the eyes of his captive audience.

"You will all remain here at the farm until further notice while your brother's death is being investigated. When Inspector Jessup is willing to release the body, you may proceed with burial arrangements. I'll arrange for the inquest as soon as possible. You won't find it pleasant, enduring one another's company for a few more days, but there it is."

"There's Gran," Edwin said. "We need to go to London."

"And what about Harry?" Walter said. "What are we to tell him?"

"The truth," Leticia said. "That his uncle met with a terrible accident, and we must all grieve for him."

Rutledge said, "I'm sorry. I must go. There's another case in London that is demanding my attention."

He turned and walked out of the room.

Mollie was waiting in the pa.s.sage and took him to the room where the telephone had been put in.

Rutledge had expected to hear Sergeant Gibson's voice on the telephone. He had expected a summons to London to carry out Inspector Mickelson's plan. Once the Chief Superintendent was set upon a course of action, there was really no good way to deflect him.

He thanked Mollie, picked up the receiver, and waited until she was out of earshot. Then he said, "Rutledge," and waited for Gibson to speak.

The voice traveling down the line was Gibson's. He said, without preamble, "It's Lancas.h.i.+re, sir. You're to go there at once. If you need someone in Ess.e.x to deal with the situation there, the Chief Superintendent will send someone else from the Yard."

"It's stable at the moment," Rutledge answered, unwilling to turn the inquiry into Peter Teller's death over to anyone else at this stage. There were secrets here that he would have to get to the bottom of before the final verdict on Peter Teller's fall was handed down. And he wasn't prepared for anyone else to muddy the waters.

"That's good news, sir. You'll be leaving from there?"

"As soon as I speak to Inspector Jessup, the local man."

"To be sure," Gibson agreed. "A very wise decision, if I may say so, sir."

Rutledge swiftly translated that to mean that avoiding London at the moment was a good thing.

"And Mr. Rutledge, sir?" Gibson was saying, his voice lowered and barely audible.

"Yes? What is it, Gibson?"

"Inspector Mickelson has just informed the Chief Superintendent that he feels the trap cannot be sprung by anyone else. Just a friendly warning, sir."

Chapter 27

Sunday evening had been nearly insupportable. Leticia, complaining of a headache, had excused herself early and gone up to bed. But not to sleep.

She lay awake, her windows open, the cries of an owl in the distance loud in her ears. She had always disliked owls. Their haunting calls spoke to her of grief and sadness and something to be feared. As a child, she'd run to her nanny's bed and flung herself under the covers, to shut out the sound.

Her mother had always maintained that Leticia must have overheard one of the servants claiming that owls were omens of ill fortune. Leticia herself didn't know if it was true or not. She just knew she had always felt that way.

And, of course, with Peter only newly dead, the cries of the owl were particularly appropriate. She got up once to close the windows, but the room still held the heavy closeness of the day and she could hardly breathe in the resulting stuffiness.

She couldn't stop herself from thinking about her brothers. They had always been a close family. Edwin's illness had brought them all together in a pact to keep him safe. When their parents died, it had fallen to her lot to watch over Edwin while Peter went off to the Army and Walter had gone into the mission field.

Now Peter was accused of cold-blooded murder, Walter had been different ever since his mysterious disappearance, never satisfactorily explaining it to anyone except perhaps to Jenny. And Edwin was withdrawing even from her.

She turned to one side, trying to shut out the sounds from the wood in the distance.

It was odd that now there was still a conspiracy to protect Jenny. The mother of the heir. The youngest of them. They hadn't told her about Florence Teller. It had seemed the right thing to do. But it would all come out at the inquest anyway. Someone would have to tell her before the questions of the police aroused her suspicions, before she found herself hearing in public what Peter had been accused of and why.

And there was Susannah as well. Something would have to be done about her. Her distress and anger were understandable-natural. But she couldn't be allowed to upset everyone by involving the Yard and trying to clear Peter's name. She'd stood by him, even when Leticia had told her what the man from London had said about the evidence. All the same, Leticia had had the sneaking suspicion that Susannah was already worried about Peter. Something in her eyes . . .

She sighed, and turned over again, and finally got up to walk to the window, defying the owls.

She was the eldest. It was up to her to straighten out this tangle. d.a.m.n Edwin for going to the funeral. d.a.m.n Peter for losing his head. d.a.m.n Susannah for not keeping her mouth shut so that all this could be smoothed away. And d.a.m.n Jenny, for being naive and for walking into rooms at just the wrong moment, never mind that it was her house. Every time the rest of them had tried to confront Peter, he was either drunk or he was protected, unwittingly, by Jenny's presence.

She had another thought. If it hadn't been for Jenny, Peter might not have died. They could have cleared the air, got through to whatever it was that was tormenting him, and come up with a solution.

Her hands over her face, she pressed cold fingers against her closed eyelids.

What could she do? What should she do? What would her father, who was never at a loss about anything, have done about an accusation of murder against one of his sons?

She could almost hear her father's answer.

Protect Harry. Keep the family intact. Preserve the Teller name. At any price.

She took a deep breath, pulling in the cooler night air until her lungs hurt.

It was too bad Susannah hadn't fallen down the stairs instead of Peter. It would have made her task easier. But there it was.

And if Jenny's innocence had to be sacrificed, so be it. Walter would just have to live with her decision.

After a while she went back to bed. The owls had stopped. But she still couldn't sleep.

Chapter 28

Rutledge drove to Lancas.h.i.+re without stopping, save for petrol.

The misting rain kept him company, the windscreen wipers almost hypnotic in their sweep, clearing his vision and then blurring the landscape.

What was the truth about Peter Teller's death? he asked himself, coming out of St. Albans.

Accident, suicide, murder?

In spite of Susannah Teller's angry claims, he could see no conceivable motive for murdering the man. To keep the family's name from being dragged through a courtroom drama that would have London agog? A very poor reason for murdering one's own flesh and blood.

Suicide, then, to spare his family the onus of a convicted murderer turned over to the hangman?