The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Hamish said, “ ’Ware.” And it was a warning well taken.

Knocking on the surgery door, Rutledge scanned the house down the street. He could just see a small woman wrapped in a coat and headscarf, standing in the back garden, staring at the bare fruit trees and withered beds as if her wishing could bring them into bloom again. The doctor’s wife? That told him what he needed to know.

The nurse who admitted Rutledge was plump and motherly, calling him dearie, asking him to wait in the passage while she spoke with the doctor. “His first patients of the day are already in the front room. It’s better if you come directly back to the office.”

“It’s about his report on the post-mortem of Sir John.”

“He has already mailed it to the Yard,” she said. “I took it to the post myself.”

Rutledge gave her his best smile. “Yes, I’ve been in Dartmouth. It hasn’t caught up with me yet.”

She nodded and bustled off to tell the doctor that Rutledge was waiting.

Dr Taylor received him almost at once, saying, “Mrs Dunne tells me you haven’t seen the post-mortem results.” He sorted through some files on his desk and retrieved a sheet of paper. “My copy,” he added, passing it across the desk to Rutledge. “You’re welcome to read it.”

Rutledge took the sheet, scanning it quickly. “Yes. Everything seems to be in order,” he said, glancing up in time to see the tension around Dr Taylor’s eyes ease a little. “Two blows, one to the back of the head and the second to the face. Weapon possibly a cane.” He handed the report to Taylor. “There’s one minor detail to clear up before the inquest. Mrs Gravely told me that Sir John spoke to her as she was coming into the study. Was that possible, do you think?”

“I doubt if he was coherent,” Taylor said easily. “A grunt. A groan. But not words as such.”

“She also reported that he spoke to you. And that you answered him, just before he died.”

Taylor frowned. “I thought he was asking if the old dog was still alive. I told him it was dead. I wasn’t sure, you understand. But I thought if that was what he was trying to say, I’d ease his mind.”

He had just contradicted himself.

“I don’t think that the dog’s death was something that would comfort him.”

Taylor shrugged. “I wasn’t in a position to consider my answer. As I told you, he wasn’t coherent. I did my best in the circumstances.”

“Actually, I think he was probably asking if you’d use the Middleton Host to save the old dog. And you refused. You had to, because Mrs Gravely was standing there in the doorway.”

Taylor flushed. “What host?”

“He must have told you at one time or another. A medical man? That a king had found it useless and thrown it in a dung heap. But then Eleanor of Castile was probably beyond help by the time the reliquary reached her. She died anyway. King Edward loved his wife. Passionately. Everywhere her body rested the night on the long journey south to London, he built a shrine. The wonder was, he didn’t smash the relic. But I expect he felt that the dung heap was a more fitting end for it. A fake, a sham.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Inspector. And there are patients waiting.”

“It was a story that must have touched Sir John. He hadn’t been able to save either of his wives, had he? The host was, after all, no more than a pretty fraud.”

The doctor’s face changed. “That’s an assumption that neither you nor I can make. Sir John was a soldier, a sceptic; hardly one to take seriously legends about relics and miracles. Where is this taking us?”

“I’m trying,” Rutledge returned blandly, “to establish whether or not Sir John loved Elizabeth Middleton as deeply as — for instance — you must love your wife. Because it was for her you did what you did. Not the patients out there in the waiting room.” It was a guess, but it struck home.

Taylor opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Why did you put the dog out? Did it attack you? If I asked you to have another doctor look at your ankles or legs, would he find breaks in the skin to indicate you’d been bitten? Even if it has begun to heal, the marks must still be there. Would you agree to such an examination?”