A Fearsome Doubt by Charles Todd (English) Paperback Book

Description: A Fearsome Doubt by Charles Todd Seven years after sending Ben Shaw to the gallows for the brutal murders of elderly women, Inspector Ian Rutledge is approached by Shaws widow, who claims that her husband had been innocent, and sets out to uncover the truth about a potential miscarriage of justice. By the author of Watchers of Ti FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description " Charles Todds mysteries are among the most intelligent and affecting being written these days."-The Washington Post Book WorldIn 1912 Ian Rutledge helped gather the evidence that sent Ben Shaw to the gallows. Now, seven years later, Ben Shaws widow brings Rutledge evidence shes convinced proves her husbands innocence. Ben Shaws past is a tangle of unsettling secrets that may or may not be true. And it grows only more twisted when a seemingly unrelated murder brings Rutledge back to Kent. There an unexpected encounter revives his painful memories of war-and the voice of Hamish MacLeod, the soldier Rutledge was forced to execute. Two elusive killers are on the loose at the same time . . . and to catch them before they catch him, Rutledge will be forced to question everything he believes about right, wrong-and murder.Praise for A Fearsome Doubt"Brilliant . . . Whod have thought that Charles Todds brilliant concept for a mystery . . . would not only continue but grow stronger from book to book."-Chicago Tribune"Todd raises the stakes in this series to new and nearly unbearable levels."-The New York Times Book Review"A brilliant and gripping whodunit . . . an outstanding historical mystery and literate period fiction."-Publishers Weekly(starred review) Author Biography Charles Todd is the author of Watchers of Time, Legacy of the Dead, A Test of Wills, Wings of Fire, and Search the Dark. He lives on the East Coast, where he is at work on the next novel in the Inspector Ian Rutledge series, A Cold Treachery. Review "Todds mysteries are among the most intelligent and affecting being written these days."—The Washington Post Book World "Brilliant . . . Whod have thought that Charles Todds brilliant concept for a mystery . . . would not only continue but grow stronger from book to book."—Chicago Tribune "Todd raises the stakes in this series to new and nearly unbearable levels."—The New York Times Book Review "A brilliant and gripping whodunit . . . an outstanding historical mystery and literate period fiction."—Publishers Weekly (starred review) Review Quote Praise for the novels of Charles Todd Watchers of Time "One of the best historical series being written today...in the grand tradition of English murder mysteries." --The Washington Post Book World "With his tortured detective Ian Rutledge and the ghost who inhabits his mind--Charles Todd has swiftly become one of the most respected writers in the mystery genre...The pair is unique among sleuths." --The Denver Post Legacy of the Dead A New York Times Notable Book of the Year "Readers will continue to be captivated by Todds portrait of the dangerously unraveling detective, and his equally incisive evocation of the grieving postwar world." --Publishers Weekly Search the Dark "Todds Ian Rutledge mysteries are among the most intelligent and affecting being written these days." --The Washington Post Book World Wings of Fire A New York Times Notable Book of the Year "Truly captivating." --The Drood Review of Mystery "Rich and beautifully nuanced." --Library Journal A Test of Wills A New York Times Notable Book of the Year "A first novel that speaks out, urgently and compassionately, for a long-dead generation...A meticulously wrought puzzle and a harrowing psychological drama." --The New York Times Book Review "More than an ordinary whodunit, this literate thriller raises disturbing issues of war and peace." --The San Diego Union-Tribune From the Hardcover edition. Excerpt from Book AUGUST 1912 LONDON The prisoner was standing in the dock, face strained, eyes on the foreman of the jury. His fingers gripped the wooden railing, white-knuckled, as he tried to hear the portly, gray-haired man in the jurors box reading the verdict. But the roaring in his ears as his heart pounded hard enough to suffocate him seemed to shut out the words. He swallowed hard, then leaned forward a little, concentrating on the jurors lips. "--guilty on all charges--" The foremans voice rose on the last four words, as if he found them distasteful, his glance furtively flicking toward the accused and away again. A greengrocer, he was not sympathetic to theft and murder. The prisoners face swung toward the judge as he lifted the black silk square and settled it neatly on his heavy white wig, prepared to pass sentence. ". . . taken from this place . . . hung by the neck . . ." The prisoner blanched, and turned in anguish toward his wife, seated in the gallery watching, her gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap. But she offered no comfort, staring straight ahead. Her face was closed and empty. He couldnt look away. His sister, on the far side of his wife, was weeping into her handkerchief, hunched into her grief, but he hardly noticed. It was his wifes coldness that riveted him. He thought, "She believes it now--" Inspector Ian Rutledge, the young officer from the Yard whose evidence had all but placed the rope around Ben Shaws throat, turned away and quietly left the courtroom. He did not enjoy sending any man to his death. Even this one, whose crimes had shocked London. At such a time he was always mindful of his father, a solicitor, who had held strong views on the subject of hanging. "I dont believe in it. Still, the dead had no choice in their dying, did they? The murderer did. Its on his own head, what becomes of him. He knew from the start what justice would be meted out to him. But he always expects to avoid it, doesnt he? Theres an arrogance in that which disturbs me more than anything else--" Ben Shaw hadnt been arrogant. Murder hadnt set well on his conscience. Hanging might come as a relief, an end to nightmares. Who could say? Certainly not Rutledge himself--he had never taken a life. Would that alter his view of murder, would it in any way change his ability to understand a crime, or his attitude toward the killer? He thought not. It was the victim who had always called out to him, the voiceless dead, so often forgotten in the tumultuous courtroom battle of guilt versus innocence. It was said that Justice prevented Anarchy. Law established Order. Cold comfort to the elderly women Ben Shaw had strangled in their beds. Still, the silenced victims had not gone unheard in this courtroom. . . . 5 NOVEMBER, 1919 MARLING, KENT The bonfire had been piled high with the debris from a dozen gardens and enough twigs and dead boughs to outlast the Guy. The celebrants were gathered about the square, talking and laughing as if the gruesome spectacle they were about to witness was far more exciting than frightening. The match had yet to be tossed into the pyre, but two men in flowing wigs and faded satin coats awaited the signal. Their sober faces were flushed with wine and duty. The taller leaned toward his companion and said in a low voice, "All this hair itches like the very devil!" "Yes, well, at least your shirt fits! This lace will end up strangling me, wait and see! Im ready to kill whoever thought up this charade." "Wont be long now." It was the close of Guy Fawkes Day, and tonight the stuffed effigy of a traitor was about to be paraded around the village square and then thrown into the flames. Bonfires were a long-standing English tradition, marking the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 when the real Guy Fawkes had been caught with his coconspirators attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament and King James with them. A macabre way of reminding schoolchildren, as they went round their villages and towns collecting pennies to buy Roman candles, what becomes of traitors. As a rule it was a family affair, held in the back garden, the fire as fat or sparse as the family could manage, the Guy dressed in cast-off clothes stuffed with straw. In too many households during four and a half years of war the celebration had dwindled to a token affair; the dearth of able-bodied men and the hardships of families struggling to survive without them made the effort increasingly a burden. The village of Marling had decided to revive the custom with a public flourish. Ian Rutledge had given his share of pennies to the local children this morning, while Hamish, in his head, disparaged the whole affair. "Its no a Scottish tradition, to waste guid firewood. Its too hard to come by." Remembering the barren, stone-scarred mountains where Hamish had grown up, Rutledge said, "When in Rome . . ." "If ye came for Hogmanay, now, a good fire on the hearth was hospitality after a long ride in the cold." Rutledge knew the Scottish holiday, the last day of the year, when the children demanded gift cakes and the whisky flowed freely--and not necessarily whisky upon which any tax had been paid. He had commanded Scottish troops in the war, and they had brought their traditions as well as their traditional courage with them. He had turned a blind eye on more than one occasion, the policeman subverted by the compassion he felt for his homesick men--many little more than boys--trying to forget how short their lives were destined to be by remembering home. Tonight, 5 November, he wasnt on duty in London; he was standing among the revelers in an attractive village high on the Downs, and beside him was the widow of a friend who had died in the Great War. She had invited him to come down for the occasion. "You must, Ian! It will do both of us a world of good. Its time to put the war behind us, and try to rebuild our lives. . . ." He had no life to rebuild, but she did, and Frances, his sister, had urged him to accept the invitation. "Elizabeth has mourned for two years. It wont bring Richard back, will it? I think we should encourage her, if shes ready to shut the door on all that. And it will do you good as well, to see more of old friends. Youve buried yourself in your work for months now!" The last accusing. And then Frances had added, hastily, "No, Im not matchmaking. She would do as much for either of us, if we were in need, and you know that as well as I do." It was true. Elizabeth was one of the most generous people Rutledge knew. Richard Mayhew had been very fortunate in his choice of wife. She was a slim woman in her late twenties, with sparkling dark eyes and a wry sense of humor. Her presence was brightness and warmth and a belief that life could be good. It was--almost--contagious. And just now, he was in need of warmth and brightness, to chase away other shadows. . . . Clinging to his arm in the press of people, Elizabeth was saying, "Richard loved all this, you know. He loved tradition and the . . ." Rutledge lost the thread of her words as the Guy, flamboyant in dress and hanging from a long pole, was brought into the square and carried triumphantly around the unlit fire. A deafening shout of approval rose, and as Rutledge glimpsed the painted mockery of a face, its wild eyes and flaring nostrils, the grinning mouth, the bits of someones wig straggling about the ears, he had to laugh. What was lost in talent had been made up in exuberance. "Aye, exuberance," Hamish agreed, "with a wee touch of Auld Clootie . . ." The Devil. Only a Scot with generations of Covenanters in his family tree would make such a comparison. Rutledge responded silently, "The first James was your king as well as ours. Or have you forgotten?" Hamish, considering the matter, replied, "We didna care oermuch for him." The Guy was closer now, dancing a jig on the pole, and Elizabeth was laughing like a girl. "Oh, Ian, look, hes wearing those masquerade clothes I found in the attics and donated to the committee. Wouldnt Richard have been delighted--" On the far side of the crowd, someone had lit the fire, and the flames began to fly through the dry brush, reaching for the harder wood. Applause greeted them. In the garish light, the Guy took on a realistic life of its own, the straw-stuffed limbs jerking in time with the booted feet of its minders as it was paraded before an appreciative audience. Shouts of approval and the word "Traitor!" mingled with laughing cries of "Into the flames with him!" and "God Save King James and Parliament." The shrill, giggling voices of children taunted the Guy, a counterpoint to parents warning their offspring not to venture too close to the fire: "Mind now!" or "Stand clear, do!" And in the light of the flames, lit just as garishly as the Guy, was a face that Rutledges gaze passed over--and returned to--and recognized-- But from where? He went cold with a sense of shock he couldnt explain. A knowledge that was there, buried deep in the brain, concealed by layers of denial and blank horror. And yet rising to the surface with the full force of his being was a single realization--He didnt want to know the answer-- There was danger in searching for the answer-- He stood motionless, his body rigid, his arm stiffening in Elizabeths grip. But she was en Details ISBN0553583174 Author Charles Todd Short Title FEARSOME DOUBT Language English ISBN-10 0553583174 ISBN-13 9780553583175 Media Book DEWEY 813.54 Year 2003 Imprint Bantam USA Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States Residence Greenville, DE, US DOI 10.1604/9780553583175 Series Number 6 AU Release Date 2003-07-29 NZ Release Date 2003-07-29 US Release Date 2003-07-29 UK Release Date 2003-07-29 Pages 384 Publisher Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group Inc Series Inspector Ian Rutledge Format Paperback Publication Date 2003-07-29 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:8034460;

Price: 32.08 AUD

Location: Melbourne

End Time: 2025-01-31T03:15:26.000Z

Shipping Cost: 0 AUD