The Confession by Charles Todd Page B

Furnham very well. A few of the shops, where I could purchase things without having to go all the way to London. Or having them sent out to River’s Edge without the pleasure of choosing what I liked.”
    â€œBen Willet went on to become a footman in Thetford. Did you know?”
    â€œDid he? Was he happy there, do you think?”
    He smiled inwardly at her answer. But Willet knew you, my girl, and wore your photograph until the day he died. The question is, how did he come by that locket?
    They sat there in silence for a time as Rutledge considered what she had told him so far. Certainly encountering her here had saved searching London for her. But it had brought him no closer to the truth about what had happened to Ben Willet or, for that matter, Wyatt Russell.
    â€œDo you think it will be possible for me to buy River’s Edge?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye. “You must know I’ll see to the property. I won’t let him down.”
    â€œI have no idea how Mr. Russell will feel about that.”
    â€œBut you will ask?”
    â€œI think it would probably come better from you.”
    She smiled, but it was twisted, as if the admission hurt her. “There you’re wrong.”
    He rose. She would have to leave soon, and he was overdue in London. “And if he feels that he might wish to sell? How will he find you?”
    â€œTell him I’ll find him.”
    â€œHe might prefer to contact you himself.”
    â€œMy life is my own. If he wishes to find me, tell him to speak to my solicitors.”
    Hamish said into the ensuing silence, “There’s the man who let her take the launch.”
    â€œShall I return the chairs to the house? Or do you wish to sit here a little longer?”
    â€œI’ll close up,” she said, her gaze once more on the river, as if she saw the past there.
    â€œI should ask. What’s left in the house that’s worth stealing?”
    This time the smile was amused. “Don’t you trust me?”
    â€œStill—” He left it unfinished.
    â€œAnything of value is gone. Pictures on the wall. Jewelry. Silver in the pantry. Stored somewhere in London, I expect. I wouldn’t make my fortune selling what’s left. But it’s lovely and familiar, and I’d want to keep what’s here if I could.”
    â€œWhatever happened to the locket that Mrs. Russell wore every day of her life?”
    She was very still, her eyes on his. “If they ever find her—or her body—it will be there. I don’t know that I ever saw her without it.”
    He nodded and walked down the broad steps from the terrace to the lawns, making his way around the house to the drive without looking back.
    He had let her believe he was a family solicitor. She hadn’t realized that he was a policeman. He was of half a mind to go back and correct that impression. But then he decided that this wasn’t the time to put her on her guard.
    If she had nothing to hide, then no harm done.

Chapter 7
    H amish, who had only spoken once after Miss Farraday had stepped out onto the terrace, was busy now in the back of Rutledge’s mind as instead of taking the main road to London, he drove along the headwaters of the River Hawking, searching for any spot where a launch could be rented. There were only three tiny villages along this narrower section of the road, mainly inhabited by families who made their living from the water, and while there were any number of boats drawn up along the shoreline, they were mainly skiffs, rowing boats, and other small craft, hardly resembling a launch that someone like Cynthia Farraday could manage. He persisted, but everywhere he was met with a shake of the head.
    Nothing to hire here.
    He was ready to concede that she’d lied to him when he followed a rutted lane through high grass and saw his quarry actually stepping out of a sleek launch, greeting a tall man in a white shirt