A Question of Honor by Charles Todd Read Free Book Online

must be true, because he understood just how I felt.”
    “What became of her?”
    “She died, I think, at quite a young age. Lieutenant Wade went with me to see the Middletons, and he asked them questions when I couldn’t—how Alice had come to take ill, how her last moments were, what doctors had been called in, the treatments they’d tried, about the care that was given to Rosemary, and so on. My own husband couldn’t have dealt with matters any more thoroughly. And he stayed with me until I’d seen Rosemary for myself—she’d been taken to the seaside at Lyme Regis to help her recover her health. Mrs. Middleton had gone with her, bless her. They couldn’t have taken better care of my children than I would have myself.” Mrs. Standish took a deep breath. “It was such an awful time. I couldn’t go back to India, and for the longest while, Rosemary wasn’t up to such an arduous journey even if I’d wished to take her. You can’t imagine how happy I was when my husband finally got his leave. But of course he had to go back. While he was here he told me about the hue and cry for Lieutenant Wade. I couldn’t believe we were talking about the same person, to tell you the truth.”
    “And you noticed no change in him when he came to ask you about returning to India? Nothing had happened during the rest of his leave to make you uneasy?”
    “If it had, it didn’t show in his manner toward me. He tried to persuade me to sail with him for my husband’s sake, and I’ve wondered, you know, if my going back then would have changed what happened in England or Agra. Surely he wouldn’t have killed his parents if I’d been staying there too.”
    Or she might have died with them, I thought, then changed my mind. Perhaps she was right; if she’d been present, Lieutenant Wade wouldn’t have killed anyone.
    It was such an odd contradiction in the man. Gentle and considerate with Mrs. Standish, and yet capable of killing his own parents.
    Mrs. Standish shook herself, and said, “Well. That’s best left in the past, isn’t it? But it disturbed me for years. I couldn’t reconcile the man who had looked after me with the reports of what he’d done in apparently cold blood.”
    “Are the Middletons still alive?” I asked, appearing to change the subject.
    “Yes, in fact, they live on the other side of the village. I see them often. I thank the heavens that my children found such caring people to live with.”
    I had already asked Simon about Mrs. Standish’s husband. He hadn’t resigned his commission; he’d stayed with the regiment and was at present serving in Egypt. I’d liked him immensely, and I was glad he was safe. If anyone could be called safe, in this war.
    As if she’d overheard my thoughts, Mrs. Standish pointed to the small watercolor she’d been working on when we arrived. It was a view of the house and the back garden. “I was just finishing this to send to William. He says he has nothing to look at but desert.”
    “It’s lovely,” I told her, and it was. She was quite talented, capturing the colors and the peaceful air of the gardens.
    We left soon after, although she offered us tea, and as we drove away, I said to Simon, “No one told me there were other murders. Not until you did, there in France.”
    “It was thought best. At the time.”
    I was angry, but I could also understand why my parents had wanted to spare me.
    “But who did he kill, Simon? It was here in England. Did they have anything to do with his leave?”
    “It appeared to be random. There was a family. Father, mother, and daughter.”

Chapter Four
    “D ear God.” I’d gone riding with Lieutenant Wade. I’d danced with him. We had won a croquet tournament not six months before he went to England on leave, escorting Mary Standish. So many people dead—I couldn’t quite take it in.
    We were about to turn south, but I touched Simon’s arm, and said, “While we’re here, I’d like to speak to the Middletons.