Crowell gave some thought to the request and then said, “She’s in the small room we call the library. Four doors down and to your left.”
“Thanks.” Rutledge walked on, feeling the man’s gaze following him as he counted doors and stopped to knock lightly on the fourth.
A woman’s voice called, “Come in.”
But whoever it was Alice Crowell was expecting, it wasn’t Rutledge this time. Surprise crossed her face, and she bit her lip before saying, “You haven’t come to arrest my husband, have you? Please tell me you haven’t.”
“Not at all. I didn’t intend to alarm you,” he said easily, coming into the room and shutting the door.
As if Hamish knew now what he was about to do, the voice in his head seemed to swell into angry remonstrance.
“No’ here, it isna’ wise, what if yon schoolmaster is guilty?”
He ignored it as best he could.
There were handmade bookshelves around the walls, most of them half full. The titles ranged from simple children’s works to more serious books on history and geography and biography. He recognized a tattered copy of Wordsworth, and another of Browning, among the poetry selections. A meager library, but for this small place, it must seem handsome.
Mrs. Crowell gestured to a chair across from the one where she was sitting. It was an intimate arrangement in the center of the room, two chairs and a scattering of benches for the children. A woven carpet covered the floor, and there was a fireplace in one wall.
“It’s here we read to the children at the end of the day,” she said. “They may never have access to such books after they’ve left us. Sadly, most of them are destined to work on the farms for their fathers or their uncles. But on the other hand they’ve known that since they were old enough to understand anything, and they take it as a natural course of events.”
“It must seem to you a waste, at times. With a particularly bright student.”
“Education is never wasted. But yes, we’ve taught a few who might have gone on to university. We encourage them, of course we do. But who will work the farm while they’re away? And what will happen to that farm if the son of the house comes to prefer London or Ipswich or Canterbury to Dilby? Do you have children, Inspector? Do you expect them to be policemen?”
He could see that she was avoiding asking him what had brought him to her.
“Sadly, I’m not married,” he told her, “but if I had a son, I’d hope he chose the career most suited to him.” He found himself remembering a small boy in Scotland, named for him but not his son. “Did the war reach as far as Dilby?” he went on quickly, before the memory took hold.
“Oh, yes,” she replied with sadness in her voice. “We paid a high price here, considering our numbers. Most of our men wanted to serve together, and so they were killed together as well. A good many of our children were orphaned. It’s been very hard for them. And Albert lost his brother, Julian. But Mary has told you about him, hasn’t she? I’m sure she has.”
“Your husband was in the war, I understand.”
The wariness crept back into her eyes. “Yes.”
“We didn’t disparage the men who drove ambulances,” he said. “They were very brave to go where they were needed most. And they were caring. In the worst of the fighting, they were often the last touch of England that many dying men knew.”
A smile brightened her face. “Thank you,” she said softly. As if she too had wondered about her husband’s bravery under fire and had had no one to ask.
He went on, “I’ve come to make a request. I’d like to speak to several of your students, alone if possible.”
“Why? And which of them do you have in mind? I didn’t think you knew any of them.”
“The one called Hugh. And his friend. Johnnie. The one who went home because he’d been sick.”
“Why on earth should you be interested in those two? They’re troublesome, but nothing beyond the usual mischief one expects of boys who are not good students and find school boring.”
“Something appears to have frightened them.”
She frowned. “How do you mean? Are you saying that someone has frightened them?”
“Not necessarily someone. Perhaps something.”
“But what has this to do with my husband?”
“Nothing at all, for all I know. But until I speak with them, I can’t tell you how they fit into this business. And it might be best to do that here, rather than in their homes. Less intimidating, perhaps.”
All the while, Hamish was reminding him that Crowell was the chief suspect. “Ye could verra’ well be putting yon lads in harm’s way.”
Mrs. Crowell was intelligent, her mind working quickly as she sorted through several thoughts pressing for her attention.
“And if I say no?”
“Mrs. Crowell, I would prefer your cooperation. But if you refuse to give it, I shall have to approach the families directly.”
“You don’t seem to understand. John Standing isn’t here today, he’s not well enough to return. And for several days, another boy, Robbie Medway, has been ill. His mother was saying to me only last evening that she was at a loss to know what was wrong. His brother Tad and John’s cousin Bill have been very distracted in class. And that’s not like them. It isn’t boredom. I expect they’re worried about their friends. The four of them are also friends with Hugh Tredworth. He’s not been himself either. Very subdued. It would be best not to add the distress of speaking to a policeman to the problems in their home situation just now. You see, one of our brightest boys died a few months ago of complications from measles, and any illness is disturbing to the children now. One of the younger students asked me only this morning if Robbie was going to die too. There’s your frightening something.”
Hamish chided Rutledge, “You wouldna’ heed me. They’re afraid of yon schoolmaster.”
“I appreciate your concern for them, Mrs. Crowell. It’s admirable. All the more reason to interview the boys here. If you would bring them to me now…” He left the words hanging in the air between them, leaving her no way out.
“I believe as a teacher I’m in a better position to judge.” She tried another tactic. “Inspector, these are children. It’s cruel to drag them into something as horrid as a suspicious death. I don’t understand how schoolboys here in Dilby could possibly know anything about your dead man at the abbey. I expect they’ve never set foot in the ruins.”
He cut her short. “It will be done, Mrs. Crowell. Here. At their homes. Or in the police station at Elthorpe. The decision must be yours.”
Mrs. Crowell capitulated with what grace she could muster. “Hugh is here. I’ll find him and bring him to you.”
He could almost read what was running through her mind. Better to know what was happening than be in the dark.
“Before you go. I’d rather you didn’t tell Hugh or your husband why he’s being taken out of class.”
She couldn’t contain her fear any longer. “I know what it is you’re intent on asking. If they’ve seen my husband out walking late at night. After all, their house windows overlook the street. But he does walk sometimes. Albert suffers from headaches, he has since the war, and the cool air helps at the end of the day. Inspector Madsen will use that against him, and it isn’t fair.” A slow flush rose to her cheeks. “I thought,” she added accusingly, “that you had been sent here to put an end to this harassment of my husband.”
“I shan’t know that until I’ve spoken to Hugh. If you please.”
Ten minutes later she returned with a very flushed Hugh Tredworth. He edged into the room, staring at Rutledge as if the Devil himself were awaiting him.