Free The Confession by Charles Todd

Rutledge said, “I have a photograph to show you. It isn’t a pleasant photograph, but perhaps you will be able to identify the man in it.” He took out the envelope from Gravesend, opened the flap, and passed it to her.
    She reached inside tentatively and pulled out the photograph. He saw her grimace as she looked down at it.
    â€œHe’s dead, isn’t he? This man.”
    â€œYes. He was found in the river.”
    â€œThe Hawking?” She glanced from the photograph to Rutledge’s face. “My husband never said anything to me about a body being found.”
    â€œIt was the Thames. Do you know him?”
    â€œHe’s changed so much I hardly recognized him at first. He was just a lad when last I saw him, all arms and legs, and polite enough,” she said slowly. “I didn’t go into Furnham that often, but he came to River’s Edge a time or two. From the village. As I remember, his father was a fisherman. I’m sorry I can’t put a name to him after all this time.” She turned away from the photograph, and Rutledge put it back in the envelope.
    â€œDo you remember anything else about him?” When she hesitated, he added, “Was he a troublemaker? Was there gossip about him?”
    â€œIf there was, I don’t remember it now,” she answered. “But of course we didn’t mix all that much with the villagers. The staff at River’s Edge.” She smiled wryly. “We thought ourselves above them. And here I wound up marrying one of them. You never know, do you? But at the time, Mrs. Russell encouraged us not to go into Furnham. On our days off, every other week, she’d let us go into Tilbury for the day. Let us have the use of the cart, even, as long as Harold Finley drove it. And she cautioned us to stay well away from the docks.”
    â€œYou are sure this man isn’t Major Russell?”
    â€œOh, no, I’d know Mr. Russell anywhere. Even after all this time. I was a maid in that house for fifteen years, until Mr. Brothers come along. Yes, I’d recognize him even today, for certain.”
    Throughout the questioning, Hamish had been silent. Now he interjected a comment, catching Rutledge off guard as he was setting the envelope down by the leg of his chair, out of sight. Mrs. Brothers was bringing the teapot to the table, and he glanced up quickly, certain she must have heard the voice as well. But she had turned away to pick up two cups and saucers.
    â€œYe ken, yon dead man knew the people at River’s Edge well enough to accuse the one of killing the ither.”
    It was an excellent point.
    â€œWhat was the relationship between Fowler and Russell? Did they get on?”
    â€œThey did, well enough, except where Miss Cynthia was concerned. Then it wasn’t so friendly, was it? And some of it was her doing, flirting with first one and then the other. It wasn’t serious, I’ll say that for her. Mind you, I know the difference. She didn’t fancy either of them, but she was the sort to like their attentions.”
    â€œYou didn’t care for her?”
    â€œNot to say didn’t care for her,” Mrs. Brothers replied. “That’s too harsh a word, isn’t it? But I was not taken in by her ways. She even flirted with Harold Finley. Not in quite the same fashion, but enough to turn his head. That wasn’t fair, was it? To lead him on? But he was a fine figure of a man, tall and strong and clever as well. She couldn’t resist proving he was under her spell too.”
    Harold Finley. The driver-cum-butler, when the need arose.
    â€œHow did she flirt with him?”
    â€œShe’d invent little errands where he was to drive her here and everywhere. To Tilbury to return a book to the lending library in the bookshop. To Furnham, to find a ribbon that matched her hat. Once to London to see a friend. But Mrs. Russell put a stop to London visits. A young girl like that. It