An Anne Perry Christmas_ Two Holiday Novels - Anne Perry [61]
The more Henry weighed the facts they had, the less any answer fitted them. Each one left loose ends and questions unanswered. He drew the curtains across and prepared to go to bed. Tomorrow he would have one more journey to make to the station at Penrith, and one more time to break the news.
n the morning the thaw had set in and everything was dripping. Much of the snow had melted and there were long streaks of black over the hills where the slopes were bare. Trees that had been hung with icicles yesterday were naked today, branches an unencumbered lace against the sky.
A grim-faced Mrs. Hardcastle served breakfast of eggs, bacon, Cumberland sausage, toast, jam made of witherslacks, or brambles known as black kite, and scalding hot tea in a silver pot. The reason for her anger became known quite early on: Ashton Gower had resumed his accusation and one of the newcomers in the village was repeating it. Mrs. Hardcastle's opinion of her should have turned the milk sour.
Henry was ready to set out for the station when Ephraim strode across the stable yard, coattails flapping, and climbed in beside him. He offered no explanation and Henry made no remark. He had a strong idea why Ephraim had come, and he was not sure whether it would make the task of breaking the news to Naomi Dreghorn easier or more difficult. He half expected Ephraim to offer to go in his place, but he did not. It seemed that in this first meeting again after the years between, and Nathaniel's death, he did not wish to be alone with Naomi.
There was little wind, but the damp in the air made the journey cold. Neither of them had anything further to say about Gower or the subject of his accusations. Henry asked Ephraim about Africa, and was caught up out of the grief of the moment listening to his answers.
Ephraim smiled, and for a space of time he did not see the sweep of snow-scattered hills or the ragged clouds above, but felt the hot sun on his skin and dry winds of Africa carrying the scents of dust and animal dung, eyes narrowed against the light as he saw in his mind's eye the endless plains with vast herds of beasts and the curious flat-topped acacia trees.
“You can hear the lions roar in the night,” he said with a smile. “It's primeval nature as you never see it in Europe. We've grown old and become too civilized. You hear a hyena's maniacal laughter in the dark, and it's as if you heard the first joke at the beginning of the world, and he's the only one who knows it.”
For a moment Henry also forgot the knife-edge wind with the rain behind it.
“And the plants,” Ephraim went on. “Every shape and color imaginable, and nothing lost or wasted, nothing without a use. It is so superb that sometimes I feel drunk just looking at it.”
They continued to talk.
The time of the journey flew by, and because of the change in the weather, the train pulled in within moments of midday. There were clouds of steam, shouts, and a clanging of doors.
Henry did not know Naomi by sight. He realized with surprise that he did not even know what manner of woman to expect. He had been too preoccupied with present events even to form a picture in his mind, tall or short, dark or fair. Now he stood on the platform without any idea at all.
Five women alighted from the train. Two were elderly, and accompanied by men, a third was dark and spare with a grim countenance and severe clothes as if she were applying for a place as a governess in some forbidding establishment. Henry knew Ephraim well enough to not even consider her.
The other two were handsome, the first fair-haired and dainty, a most feminine woman. She looked about her as if searching for a familiar face.
Henry was about to go forward, certain this must be Naomi; then he saw the other young woman. She was taller, broader of shoulder, and she walked with an extraordinary grace, as if movement were a pleasure to her, an unconsidered and natural art. Her face had an unusual beauty, partly a strength