Charles Todd - Legacy of the Dead

Table of Contents

For L.
with love...

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OFCHARLES TODD

LEGACYOFTHEDEAD

SUPERB... CLAIM[S] OUR INTEREST AND HOLD[S] US FAST UNTIL THE LAST CHILLING PAGE.

Romantic Times

READERS WILL CONTINUE TO BE CAPTIVATED BY TODDS PORTRAIT OF THE DANGEROUSLY UNRAVELING DETECTIVE, AND HIS EQUALLY INCISIVE EVOCATION OF THE GRIEVING POST-WAR WORLD.

Publishers Weekly

MUCH MORE THAN YOUR AVERAGE ENGLISH COUNTRY HOUSE MYSTERY.

Mystery Lovers Bookshop News

ATESTOFWILLS

A New York Times Notable Book of the Year

TODD GIVES US A SUPERB CHARACTERIZATION OF A MAN WHOSE WOUNDS HAVE MADE HIM INTO A STRANGER IN HIS OWN LAND, AND A DISTURBING PORTRAIT OF A COUNTRY INTOLERANT OF ALL STRANGERS.

The New York Times Book Review

TODD DEPICTS THE OUTER AND INNER WORLDS OF HIS CHARACTERS WITH AUTHORITY AND SYMPATHY AS HE CLOSES IN ON HIS SURPRISINGAND CONVINCINGCONCLUSION.

Publishers Weekly (starred review)

THE EMOTIONAL AND PHYSICAL CARNAGE IN WORLD WAR I IS USED TO REMARKABLE EFFECT.

Chicago Tribune

1

1916GLASGOW

THE TWO WOMEN SAT HUDDLED TOGETHER IN THE small carriage, looking around them in dismay, staring at the filthy, closed-in street, the drunken old man sprawled in one of the doorways, the tall tenements ugly and bleak and perilously ill-kept. There was no grace here, only an air of despondency and gloom and poverty.

Its a horrible place! one said at last. She was the elder, but not by much. They were both young and very frightened.

Are you quite sure this is the street we want? I cant believe Her companion, the reins lying in her lap, let the words die.

In answer, the passenger dug in her purse for the tattered piece of paper, pulled it out, and read it again. Her lips were trembling, and she felt cold, sick. Look for yourself. Oh The paper slipped from her fingers, and she caught it just before it tumbled into the fetid running gutter beneath the wheel.

It was the street and the house they had searched over an hour to find.

There was silence, only the rain and the whistle of a train somewhere in the distance making any sound at all. The horse waited patiently.

Youll remember, wont you? the older woman went on breathlessly. Im Mrs. Cook. And youre Sarah. My mother had a housekeeper called Mrs. Cook. And a sewing woman called Sarah. That makes it easier for me She stared at the house. Its a cursed place, dreadful.

I only have to remember who you are. And Ive called you that all day. Mrs. Cook. Dont fret soyoull make yourself ill!

Yes. She smoothed the rug across her knees, felt its dampness.

The horse blew, shifting uncomfortably in the rain.

Finally the older woman squeezed her companions hand and said, We must go in, Sarah. Were expected. It must be nearly time.

They climbed stiffly out of the carriage, two respectable young women looking as out of place here as they felt. The stench of bad sewers and boiled cabbage, overlaid with coal smoke and dirty streets, heavy in the dampness, seemed to wrap itself around them. A miasma of the city.

They made their way up to the door, stepping over old newsprint and brown sacking that had been turned to the consistency of porridge by the downpour. Lifting the latch, they could just see down a dark, awful tunnel that was only a rubbish-littered hallway but seemed like the final path to hell.

The door they were after was the second on the left, a barely discernible Number Three on a grimy card marking it. Someone shouted Come! to their tentative knock, and they found themselves in a bare, high-ceilinged room with a half-dozen broken-down chairs and no windows. It was cold with damp, smelled of cigars and stale beer, and to their fastidious eyes hadnt been cleaned in years.

They could hear someone crying in the next room beyond a second door.

The older woman caught her friends hand and said, FSarahIm going to be sick!

No, its only fright. Here, sit down. She quickly found the best chair and brought it forward, then took another one for herself. It wobbled, one leg uneven.

A nondescript paint, peeled from the walls and ceiling, gave the floor a dappled look, and the old brown carpet in the center seemed to be woven of all the hopelessness that had been brought here.

The older of the two began to tremble. Im not frightenedIm terrified!

It will be all rightwait and see. It was a comforting lie, and they both recognized it for what it was.

They sat there for a time, not speaking, their hands gripped together, their faces blanched with the thought of what must lie ahead. The crying went on and on, and overhead there was the sound of furniture being shifted, first this way, then that, an endless screech that seemed half human, half demon. Somewhere in the hallway a mans voice shouted, and they both jumped.

Watching the inner door, they could feel the minutes drag into the half hour. Sarah found herself wishing it would open, then dreading that it would. Theyd been here a very long timewhy had no one come out to speak to them? They had been expected at two sharp

If only the crying would stop

Suddenly the older woman stood up. No, I cant do it! Her voice was thick, unnaturally loud to her own ears.

You must! Hell kill you if you dont!

Id rather kill myself. Oh, God, I cant carry the memory of this place around with me for the rest of my life, I cant! It was a mistake, I want to go home! Sarahtake me home, for the love of heaven, take me home!

Her friend, compassion in her eyes, said, Youre sure? Its not to be done again? I cant borrow the carriage again without questions being asked.

No, just take me home! She was shaking in earnest, cold with dread, cold with fear, cold with the decision she knew she dared not make. Her friend put an arm around her shoulders, and in the hallway, she was sick, leaning there for several minutes in such pain that she seemed to collapse in on herself, frail and helpless. Weak to the point of fainting, her breath a sob, she pressed her forehead against the drab, dirty paint, grateful for its coolness.

They could hear voices behind the other doors, barely muffledchildren crying, a man swearing, a woman singing something mournful and off-key. A cat meowing impatiently, pans banging, and thumps, as if somewhere someone was beating a carpet. But mercifully no one came out into the hall. Stillthey mightat any moment

Can you walk as far as the carriage? her companion asked softly.

I must try The older woman straightened herself with an effort and pressed a handkerchief to her lips. I wish Id never come hereI wish Id never heard of this place, much less seen it! If I died, how would I have faced him, with this place on my soul!

He would understand. He would. Its what made him special, poor man.

Yes. They linked arms for comfort and walked unsteadily back to the outside door. It swung open as they reached it, and a man smelling strongly of sweat and too much beer grinned knowingly at them for an instant, eyes raking both of them. The tenants here must be aware of what went on in Number Three. Sarah felt herself flush with embarrassment. But the man held the door wide and let them pass unmolested.