Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [67]
“People do quarrel occasionally,” Joseph replied. “It doesn’t mean a great deal.”
Kerr seemed even more agitated. “It was not a slight or usual thing,” he said urgently. “I am not married myself, but I know that women can feel neglected at times. They don’t understand the moral and ethical demands of certain callings. During wartime, scientific invention and discovery must be at the forefront of our endeavors. Perhaps it would be easier to understand if a man were in the army, but all that is irrelevant.” He jerked his hand sideways dismissively. “This quarrel—and it was a quarrel, Captain Reavley, not just a little complaint—was spoken in unmistakably violent terms.”
“I see,” Joseph said quietly, uncertain if he preferred Blaine’s murder to be ordinary sexual rage instead of a German sympathizer in the village. Perhaps he did.
“That is not all,” Kerr went on miserably. “The late Theo Blaine quarreled with his wife the same night, also very savagely. He left the house to go down to his shed in the garden, which is where he was killed. Mrs. Blaine swore that she did not leave the house, but neither did she see or hear anything at all to make her suspect something wrong. At least that is what she says.” He stared at Joseph expectantly.
Joseph sat still, wondering how Kerr knew all this. It was an old story with many possibilities, all of them sad and very predictable.
“Can that be true?” Kerr demanded, leaning forward and staring at Joseph. “Do you suppose she really saw and heard nothing?”
“I should think so.” Joseph tried to remember the Blaine house from his visit there. The shed was some distance even from the back door, let alone the front where the sitting room was, and the main bedroom faced the front as well. “If he did not cry out, there wouldn’t be much to hear. Let Inspector Perth sort it out.”
“But that’s it!” Kerr said desperately. “He doesn’t know!”
“Know?” Perth had to be aware of the proportions of the house and garden.
Kerr was exasperated. “He doesn’t know about the quarrels! I was told in the utmost confidence—by a parishioner, don’t you see?”
Joseph was familiar with parishioners’ utmost confidences. “They will have to use their judgment whether to report it to the police or not,” he said to Kerr. “You did not hear those quarrels yourself, so you have no knowledge of them. . . .”
“But I do!” Kerr protested. “The person who told me is absolutely honest. And considering the incident, distressed—I may say terrified—that there is an enemy sympathizer among us.”
“Is that fear rampant?” Joseph asked, uncertain quite what answer he wanted. Was one betrayal better or worse than the tragedy of murder by one of their own?
“Absolutely!” Kerr’s eyes opened wider. “It is horrifying to believe that one of us is actually an enemy. Surely you, of all people, must understand that? Our men are giving their lives out there in France, in terrible conditions, to save England.” He flung his arm out sharply. “And here is this person willing, even eager, to sell us to Germany by murder and treason. It’s . . . it’s so evil it defies imagination.” His cheeks were stained with pink, his eyes bright.
“And what about our spies in Germany?” Joseph asked, thinking of Perth’s suspicions. Then seeing the look on Kerr’s face, he wished instantly that he had not. The man was confused, and because he did not understand, he perceived himself to be attacked.
“I don’t know what you mean!” he protested. “Are you suggesting there is no difference between us, Captain Reavley? If that were so, why on earth would our young men be fighting and dying out there? What you are saying is manifestly ridiculous.”
“In theory there’s all the difference in the world,” Joseph said wearily. If Kerr were really a German agent as Perth had considered, then his acting skill amounted to genius. “When it comes to fact,” he