A Hanging at Dawn: A Bess Crawford Short Story by Charles Todd

Author:Charles Todd [Todd, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Historical, Women Sleuths, Thrillers, Suspense
ISBN: 9780063048560
Google: lZbVDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B085NV5DD2
Publisher: Witness Impulse
Published: 2020-11-10T06:00:00+00:00

I arrived back at the cantonment safe and sound—and very tired, more from worry than from the distance—long before Richard rode in with the rest of the troops.

Bess had held supper for me—I realized all at once that I’d missed my dinner entirely, and hadn’t even noticed—and her first words were, “You look so tired. This wasn’t just a ride, was it? What’s happened?”

She was so perceptive, my daughter.

“Trouble with the Princess’s party. But it’s sorted, now. She should be at the Palace, settling in for her visit.”

She frowned. “I didn’t hear the escort riding in with you.”

“No, I came on ahead. They’ll be home tomorrow if not this evening. I didn’t care to spoil the Maharani’s happiness by hanging about. We can visit later.” I wasn’t precisely lying to her, but I knew my daughter. If she learned why Simon hadn’t come back with us, she would go directly to the Maharani, and demand that he be set free. And much as I wished that would be enough to free him, I was beginning to think that this affair was far more complicated than I’d realized, even there in that stuffy room in the guesthouse when it had seemed bad enough. “Let me freshen up, and I’ll come down for supper.”

Escaping to my room, I stood for a moment in the middle of the floor, staring at that image of Simon in chains. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. He wasn’t my child, but he’d been like a son to us, and I had fought for him, just as if he had been our flesh and blood. But I didn’t cry, there in my room. I refused to cry. That was admitting defeat, even before I’d spoken to Richard.

The maid came with hot water and fresh towels, and I took the time to wash my face and clean off the dust and heat of travel. Then I changed into my evening clothes, just as if we were all sitting down to dinner.

I don’t remember what we ate, Bess and I. And afterward we took our tea in my sitting room. I must have put up a good enough front, for Bess kissed me good night and went up to bed at the usual hour.

When I was sure she was settled, I sat there, a shawl around my shoulders against the cool of the evening at this time of year. Waiting. Trying not to remember . . .

It was well after four in the morning when at last I heard the horses coming in, and half an hour later, Richard came quietly through the door.

When he saw me sitting there in the dark, he said at once, “What’s wrong?”

I was glad my escort had kept their promise not to say anything to anyone. I hadn’t wanted such news spreading through the barracks before Richard had heard it.

“Darling, come walk with me in the garden. I don’t want us to be overheard.”

And so we went out to the gardens, and there I told him all that I knew about what had happened at the guesthouse.

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