turned at the sound, frowning at the unknown man in the unfamiliar vehicle. Then he noticed Sergeant Davies in the other seat and came over to them as the car pulled into a space between two wagons.
“Inspector Rutledge. I’ve taken over the Harris case, and I’d like to talk to you if I may.”
Royston stuffed the mail he was carrying into his coat pocket and said, “Here?”
Rutledge suggested the bar at the Shepherd’s Crook, half-empty at this time of day, where they ordered coffee from Redfern. When he’d gone, Royston said, “I’ve never had such a shock in my life as Charles’s death. Even when I saw the grooms holding his horse, and blood all over the saddle, I thought he was hurt. Not dead. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. My God, the man came through two wars with hardly a scratch! There’s the Boer musket ball in his leg still, and a German sniper got him in the left shoulder in France, but even that wasn’t particularly serious. I never imagined—” He shook his head. “It was horrible, a nightmare you can’t accept as real.”
“You were expecting to meet the Colonel that morning at nine-thirty?”
“Yes. For our regular discussion of the day’s work. He liked to be involved when he could. My father told me once that he felt Colonel Harris had had a difficult time deciding between the traditional family career in the Army and staying at home to run Mallows. And you could see that it might be true. So when he was there I kept him informed of everything that was happening.”
“Why did you go down to the stables?”
“It wasn’t like Charles to be late, but we had a valuable mare in foal, and I thought he might have looked in on her and found she was in trouble. So I went to see. I needed to drive into Warwick, and if he was busy, I wanted to suggest that we put off our meeting until after lunch.”
“There was nothing set for discussion that you were glad of an excuse to postpone?”
Royston looked up from his coffee with something like distaste on his face. “If anything, I’d have been glad to postpone going into Warwick. I had an appointment with my dentist.”
Rutledge smiled, but made a mental note to check on that. “How long have you worked for the Colonel?”
“About twenty years, now. I took over when my father died of a heart attack. I didn’t know what else to do; Charles was out in South Africa. When he got home, he liked the way I’d managed the estate and asked me to stay on. It was a rare opportunity at my age, I was only twenty. But I’d grown up at Mallows, you see, I knew as much about the place as anyone. Charles could have found a far more experienced man, but I think he was glad to have someone who actually cared. That was the way he did things. He looked after his land, the men serving under him, and of course Miss Wood, to the best of his ability.”
“And you’ll go on running the estate now?”
Royston’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know. God, I hadn’t even thought about it. But surely Miss Wood will inherit Mallows? There’s no family—”
“I haven’t seen the Colonel’s will. Is there a copy here, or must I send to his solicitors in London?”
“There’s a copy in his strongbox. He left it there, in the event he was killed—with the Army, I mean. It’s sealed, of course, I don’t know what it says, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t give it to you, if you think it will help.”
“Why would anyone shoot Colonel Harris?”
Royston’s face darkened. “Mavers might’ve. He’s the kind of man who can’t make anything of himself, so he tries to drag down his betters. He’s run on about the Bolsheviks for nearly a year now, and how they shot the Czar and his family to clear the way for reforms. I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to think that killing the Colonel might be the closest he could come to doing the same.”
“But the Colonel isn’t the primary landholder in Upper Streetham, is he?”
“No, the
“Inspector Rutledge. I’ve taken over the Harris case, and I’d like to talk to you if I may.”
Royston stuffed the mail he was carrying into his coat pocket and said, “Here?”
Rutledge suggested the bar at the Shepherd’s Crook, half-empty at this time of day, where they ordered coffee from Redfern. When he’d gone, Royston said, “I’ve never had such a shock in my life as Charles’s death. Even when I saw the grooms holding his horse, and blood all over the saddle, I thought he was hurt. Not dead. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. My God, the man came through two wars with hardly a scratch! There’s the Boer musket ball in his leg still, and a German sniper got him in the left shoulder in France, but even that wasn’t particularly serious. I never imagined—” He shook his head. “It was horrible, a nightmare you can’t accept as real.”
“You were expecting to meet the Colonel that morning at nine-thirty?”
“Yes. For our regular discussion of the day’s work. He liked to be involved when he could. My father told me once that he felt Colonel Harris had had a difficult time deciding between the traditional family career in the Army and staying at home to run Mallows. And you could see that it might be true. So when he was there I kept him informed of everything that was happening.”
“Why did you go down to the stables?”
“It wasn’t like Charles to be late, but we had a valuable mare in foal, and I thought he might have looked in on her and found she was in trouble. So I went to see. I needed to drive into Warwick, and if he was busy, I wanted to suggest that we put off our meeting until after lunch.”
“There was nothing set for discussion that you were glad of an excuse to postpone?”
Royston looked up from his coffee with something like distaste on his face. “If anything, I’d have been glad to postpone going into Warwick. I had an appointment with my dentist.”
Rutledge smiled, but made a mental note to check on that. “How long have you worked for the Colonel?”
“About twenty years, now. I took over when my father died of a heart attack. I didn’t know what else to do; Charles was out in South Africa. When he got home, he liked the way I’d managed the estate and asked me to stay on. It was a rare opportunity at my age, I was only twenty. But I’d grown up at Mallows, you see, I knew as much about the place as anyone. Charles could have found a far more experienced man, but I think he was glad to have someone who actually cared. That was the way he did things. He looked after his land, the men serving under him, and of course Miss Wood, to the best of his ability.”
“And you’ll go on running the estate now?”
Royston’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know. God, I hadn’t even thought about it. But surely Miss Wood will inherit Mallows? There’s no family—”
“I haven’t seen the Colonel’s will. Is there a copy here, or must I send to his solicitors in London?”
“There’s a copy in his strongbox. He left it there, in the event he was killed—with the Army, I mean. It’s sealed, of course, I don’t know what it says, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t give it to you, if you think it will help.”
“Why would anyone shoot Colonel Harris?”
Royston’s face darkened. “Mavers might’ve. He’s the kind of man who can’t make anything of himself, so he tries to drag down his betters. He’s run on about the Bolsheviks for nearly a year now, and how they shot the Czar and his family to clear the way for reforms. I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to think that killing the Colonel might be the closest he could come to doing the same.”
“But the Colonel isn’t the primary landholder in Upper Streetham, is he?”
“No, the
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