Free The Red Door by Charles Todd

him.
    Hamish, silent for some time, told him, “If ye’re right, he’s no’ coming back.”
    Grantwell was saying, “My father had the pleasure of serving Mr. Teller’s father before him, and I’d like to think we’ll serve young Master Harry in the years to come.”
    He was fishing, an experienced angler in search of information.
    And it occurred to Rutledge that a man’s tailor knew nearly as much about him as his servants, tidbits garnered in fitting sessions or the type of cloth ordered. Military, funeral, wedding, baptism, riding, a weekend in the country or a shooting party in Scotland, receptions at the Palace or a day at Ascot. His own tailor, solicitous of the gaunt, haunted man who walked into his shop a year ago in need of new suits of clothing for his return to the Yard, had asked if his wounds were healing well and if there was to be a happy event in the near future.
    Rutledge hadn’t been able to tell him the truth, the words refusing to form in his mind, and so he had murmured something about no date had been set, and then barely heard what followed as the man prattled on about his own son’s marriage in the winter.
    He said now, “Mr. Teller’s brothers are among your clients as well?”
    “Yes, indeed. Mr. Edwin Teller has never enjoyed good health, but during the war he was engaged in work for the Admiralty, serving with distinction, I’m told. He was for many years a designer of boats and often traveled to Scotland to oversee their construction. He was given a private railway carriage. Captain Teller was severely wounded a few months before the Armistice. I understand there was some concern that he might never walk again.”
    The shop door opened and an elderly man stepped in. A clerk hurried from the back of the shop to greet him, and Mr. Grantwell said to Rutledge, “Is there any other way I can help you? My next appointment . . .” His voice trailed off, and Rutledge took the hint, thanking him and leaving.
    Now came the unpleasant duty of showing the items of clothing to Mrs. Teller, to confirm what the tailor had said, that they did indeed belong to her husband.
    Leaving the sergeant with the box, Rutledge looked first in Teller’s private room, and then went to Matron’s sitting room.
    There he found Jenny Teller in conversation with another couple. The atmosphere was unexpectedly tense. And as he opened the door, he’d caught a fleeting expression of relief on Jenny’s face, as if she were glad of the interruption.
    Then her expression changed to alarm as she realized that it was Rutledge and not a member of Matron’s staff.
    “Is there news?” she asked quickly.
    “We haven’t found your husband, no,” he answered her.
    She nodded. She was beginning to cope with her shock and her fear. Her husband’s disappearance, coming on the heels of his mysterious illness, had shaken her badly, her emotions raw, her tears not far below the surface. Now Rutledge could see changes in her face, a new strength and determination, an unwilling acceptance of the unacceptable: that her life had changed.
    She turned to present her companions.
    “My brother and sister-in-law. Edwin Teller and his wife, Amy.”
    Amy Teller came forward with her hand outstretched. “Yes, Jenny was just telling us that the Yard had joined in the search. We’re very grateful.”
    Rutledge was struck by Edwin’s wife. She was well dressed, attractive in the way she held herself, and had clear, intelligent eyes. But there was something behind that intelligence that spoke of worry, and a sleepless night.
    Edwin, pale and showing signs of an even deeper fatigue, was a rather handsome man with an Edwardian beard. He stood to greet Rutledge and said, “We’ve just come back from searching, ourselves. I’m afraid we’ve had no better luck. I was hoping . . .” He shrugged eloquently, unwilling to finish the sentence in the presence of Walter’s wife.
    Rutledge said, “You were looking for your brother. May I