Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [68]
“I don’t know what you mean!” Kerr repeated.
“I’m not sure that I do, either,” Joseph conceded, although it was not the truth. It was just pointless to argue. “Are you so sure that God is an Englishman? Might He not see little difference between one nationality and another, only between a man who does the best he can, and one who doesn’t?”
Kerr blinked. It was quite clear in his face that he was being presented with a vast idea that had never occurred to him before. Suddenly the simple had become savagely and impossibly complicated.
Joseph was sorry he had given the man more than he could accommodate, but he could not bring himself to say so. One thing he was convinced of: Perth was utterly wrong—Kerr was every bit the ass he seemed.
“It’s probably a domestic tragedy, just as you’re supposing,” he said quietly. Conscience demanded that he be kinder to the man. “But leave it to Perth to find out. He’s really quite capable. I’ve seen him work before. He’ll uncover the truth, but carefully, piece by piece, without error. All you can do is tell him what you know, not what other people have told you. They may be malicious, or simply mistaken, and you would unwittingly compound the injustice. If the time should ever come when you know for certain that the wrong person may be convicted, then reconsider. But we are far from that now. You can’t carry the world. Don’t try. You’ll break your back, and that won’t help anyone. Then you’ll be no use for when you are needed by the next person who requires your comfort or help.”
Kerr gulped, but his shoulders were relaxed, his hands still. “Yes,” he said, then again more firmly. “Yes, of course. You are very wise. Very fair. I’m sorry I didn’t see that at first.”
Now Joseph was ashamed for his abruptness. “I should have explained myself a little more clearly.”
Kerr stared at him. “It’s all . . . it’s so alien! Everything’s changing.”
Joseph thought that it was not so much that the world was changing as that they were being forced to see it more realistically. He did not say so. “Yes,” he agreed, feeling like a hypocrite. “I think it’s hard, one way or another, for everyone.”
Kerr was obviously still disturbed about something. “This man Perth,” he said anxiously. “He’s digging up particulars—indiscretions, old quarrels—that have nothing to do with poor Blaine’s death.” He waved his hand uselessly. “It’s like tearing the bandages off everyone’s wounds. I’ve tried, but I can’t do anything to stop him. I feel so . . . helpless! People expect me to look after them, and I can’t!”
Joseph felt a sudden, completely humble sympathy for him. “People expect too much of us altogether,” he said ruefully. “A bit like doctors. We can’t cure everything, only ease the pain a bit, and give advice which they don’t have to take.”
“I’m . . . I’m so grateful to talk to you,” Kerr said impulsively, his face pink. “This whole thing is quite dreadful. The other young men at the Establishment can’t prove where they were when Blaine was killed, either. Everyone is under suspicion. And of course they knew him. It could simply have been a personal dislike, I suppose, a rivalry or quarrel over work. Do you think?”
“It would be an easier answer for the village, if not for the war effort,” Joseph conceded. “I understand what you mean.”
“Good. Good. You’ve been very kind.” Kerr rose to his feet, satisfied. He stood straight, as if with some new sort of strength. “I’m very grateful to you, Captain. You see it all so clearly.”
Joseph did not deny it. That was a truth Kerr did not need. Joseph had made sufficient difficulties for him for one visit. After Kerr had gone, he walked outside in the garden. The spring evening was mild and close. The air was still full of gold from the lowering sun. There was no breeze to whisper in the branches of the elms, but the starlings whirled up in huge flocks, wheeling against the blue of the sky and the shredded mares’ tails of cloud glowing to the west.