The Red Door

“George Darley is my sister Evelyn’s grandson. Susannah’s brother. Annie is his wife. Evelyn and I were twins. I still miss her terribly. They say that twins do.”

Another thread that went nowhere.

“When was Peter wounded?”

“The spring before the Armistice. I remember that well. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The Germans must have chosen that. It’s very like them. They have quite orderly minds, you know. We still observe two minutes of silence on that date.”

“Does Peter have a namesake in the family?”

“Oh, no, dear. Walter’s son is named for his great-grandfather. My husband.”

Rutledge found himself at a loss.

“Of course, my husband’s grandfather was the black sheep in the family. He killed three men in duels and had to flee to the Continent for several years. My mother-in-law told me that it was feared he’d come home with an Italian wife, because he appeared to spend so much time in Venice. But in the end, he was sensible and married a girl from Dorset. Quite a good family too. Everyone was amazed that she’d accept the proposal of such a scoundrel.”

“Then the connection with Dorset was on your mother-in-law’s side, not the Tellers?”

“Didn’t I just tell you? You must pay attention, young man. My husband’s people were from Essex.”

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Teller,” he said, rising. “I apologize again for disturbing you at this late hour.”

“But you haven’t had your tea, my boy. Surely you’ll stay for tea?” She reached for the small silver bell by her chair. “I like having someone call on me. Not many people do, these days. And Evelyn is dead, you know. I miss her so.”

The maid appeared at the door.

“Could we have tea, do you think?” Mrs. Teller asked, turning to speak to her.

“It’s late,” Rutledge said. “I was just on the point of leaving.”

The old woman’s face clouded. “Must you go? It’s lovely to have a guest for tea, and Rose was just on the point of bringing it in, weren’t you, my dear?”

She came forward and said to Mrs. Teller, “Of course I’ll bring it, but wouldn’t you prefer a nice warm bath first, and then your tea? There’s a flan left from your dinner.”

Rutledge forgotten, the old woman got to her feet and said, “That sounds quite nice. Thank you, dear.” She followed Rose to the door.

Rutledge said quietly to the maid, “I’ll see myself out.”

Suddenly aware of him again, Mrs. Teller turned and said, “You were asking about Peter, weren’t you? How odd. It was Walter who was missing, I’m sure of that. Peter went looking for Walter, you know. All of them did. They must have been out of their minds with worry. I can’t think what Walter might have done that was scandalous. He was a missionary, you know. My son was wrong, choosing professions for his sons. Peter was never right for the Army, and Edwin hated taking over the estate. He let Walter have the use of the house and spent his time in London. Walter protested, saying that his congregation in West Africa didn’t live so grandly. But Jenny loved it, and he gave in. Walter wasn’t suited to the church, he never had a true calling, if you ask me. I heard him say once that he’d seen such shocking things his very soul was scarred. A dreadful thing for a man of God to say, don’t you think? If Walter could have escaped from that life, I think he would have. But like his brothers, he was a dutiful son. I find that very sad. Of course Leticia never minded anyone. She went her own way from childhood. I never trusted her. I don’t know why. She had no smooth edges. Only sharp ones. I expect that’s why she’s never married. I’m rather tired now. Thank you for coming. We’ll visit again another day, I hope. It’s been very pleasant.”

And she walked out of the room with the maid and never looked back.

Chapter 20

An old woman on the verge of senility had told him more about the Teller family than she’d realized. Driving to his flat, Rutledge considered the small pieces of information she’d supplied.

That the family had connections to Dorset, though not in the Teller line. That there was no other member in the extended Teller family by the name of Peter. That her son—the father of three sons—had chosen their professions—and the school for his grandson as well.

These were echoes of what Rutledge had heard in Lancashire.

Florence’s husband had claimed his family was from Dorset. That his father had chosen his profession for him. He’d also claimed to be an only child—but that could have been the reason given for never taking his bride south to meet his family and never being visited in turn by anyone from Dorset.

Hamish said, “Captain Teller has a wife.”

“So he does. And he wasn’t always a captain. I’ll have a word with him in the morning.”

Undressing for bed, Rutledge stood by his window where a very faint breeze was stirring. The day had been hot, nearly breathlessly so.

Chief Superintendent Bowles was likely to have an apoplexy if he was presented with a possibility of bigamy in the Teller family.