An Anne Perry Christmas_ Two Holiday Novels - Anne Perry [40]
My dear Vespasia,
You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that you are safely returned, and that you have accomplished in full all you set out to do. The letter of the law would have sufficed to bind our fellows to silence, but it is the spirit which heals the transgressor, and that is in essence what matters.
I admit I have worried about you, veering from one moment having the utmost faith that you would come to no harm, and the next being plunged into an abyss of fear that some natural disaster might overtake you. Had I known the true extent of your journey to the north, I should not have allowed you to go, and none of this would have succeeded. Perhaps it is good that at times we do not know what lies ahead, or we would not attempt it, and failure would be inevitable.
Naturally, you will wish to be with your own family for Christmas Day, but will you bring Isobel and Mrs. Naylor to Applecross on Christmas Eve, so we may complete our covenant, and Isobel be free?
I await your answer with hope.
Your friend and servant,
Omegus Jones
She folded it with a smile and placed it in her escritoire in the drawer that had a lock on it, then she found Isobel and Mrs. Naylor and gave them Omegus's invitation. The following morning she sent the same footman back with their acceptance.
They set out in the afternoon in order to arrive at Applecross for dinner. The day was crisp and cold, but this far south there was no snow yet, only a taste of frost in the air. By the time they arrived they were shivering, even beneath traveling rugs, and glad to alight and go into the great hall decked with holly and ivy, scarlet ribbons, gold-tipped pinecones, and great bowls of fruit. The fire blazed in the hearth, burning half a log. Footmen met them with glasses of mulled wine and marzipan sweetmeats, warm mince pies and candied peel.
In the hall was a huge fir tree decked with ornaments, candles, and chains of bright-colored paper. Beneath it were small, gaily wrapped gifts. The tree's woody aroma filled the air, along with wood smoke, spiced scents, and, very faintly, the promise of roasted Christmas dinner and hot plum pudding. There was excitement in the whisper of maids’ voices and the quick rustle of their skirts.
Omegus was delighted to see them. He complimented Isobel, offered his deepest sympathies to Mrs. Naylor, and said he would tell her all she wished to know when she felt ready to ask, and would take her to the grave at her convenience.
She thanked him and said that festivities of the season must come first. It was a brave and generous thing to do, and exactly what Vespasia would have expected of her.
Ten minutes later when the others had gone, Omegus took Vespasia's arm and held her with a startlingly firm grip when she made to move away. “I think you have more to tell me,” he said quietly.
She swiveled to face him. “More?”
He smiled very slightly. “I know you, my dear,” he told her. “You would not like Mrs. Naylor, as I see you obviously do, unless you had come to know her more than superficially. You have learned something of her which has moved you to admiration, something you do not give lightly. The same emotion is not in Isobel, so it seems likely to me that you have not confided it in her. I wonder why not, and the answer is possibly to do with Gwendolen's death. Is it something I should know?”
Vespasia found herself blushing. She had not intended to tell him, and now she found she could not lie. It was not that she had not the imagination—it would have been simple enough—but she would lose something she valued intensely were she to place that barrier between them.
In a low, very soft voice, she told him what she had guessed and deduced of the truth of Kilmuir's death.
“And you did not tell Isobel?” he asked gravely.
“No. It…” She saw in his eyes the criticism that was unspoken inside herself. “She has a right to know—doesn't she?” she finished.
“Yes.” There was no equivocation in him.
“I shall tell her after dinner,” she promised. “After she has made peace with