Anne Perry's Silent Nights_ Two Victorian Christmas Mysteries - Anne Perry [24]
Barclay appeared after nearly quarter of an hour, but he seemed in an agreeable mood and made no objection to Runcorn having called without prior appointment.
“Learn anything yet?” he asked conversationally, coming in and closing the door.
Runcorn found himself relaxing a little. He realized Melisande must have prepared the way for him, at least as much as she could. He should respond with tact, for her sake.
“It appears that Miss Costain was a more complex person than we had at first assumed,” he replied.
Barclay shrugged. “One always wishes to speak well of the dead, particularly when they have died violently, and young. It’s a natural kind of decency, almost like laying flowers.” He did not sit, or invite Runcorn to, so they both remained standing at opposite sides of the fire.
It was Runcorn’s turn to speak. He tried to frame his questions as if he were asking for assistance. “I am trying to find out as much as I can about where everyone was, leading up to the time she was killed. Something must have caused it to happen …”
Barclay’s face registered a quick understanding. “You mean a quarrel, or a discovery, that kind of thing?”
“Exactly.” Runcorn was glad to be able to agree. “Constable Warner has already done a great deal in that line, but I was wondering if you could help any further. You knew Miss Costain. Were you aware of any events that day, anyone she saw, or anyone who was angry or distressed with her?” He was not sure what he expected. For the time being, simply to talk was good. He could move slowly from small facts to larger passions.
Barclay gave it some thought. “She could be a difficult woman,” he said after a while. “A dreamer rather than a realist, if you know what I mean?” He met Runcorn’s eyes. “Some women are a trifle impractical, especially if they have always been cared for by a father or elder brother, and never had to consider the real world. Olivia … Olivia was spoiled. She was charming and generous. She could be an excellent companion. But there was in her a streak of willfulness, a clinging onto childhood dreams and fancies which could become tedious after a while. I felt for Costain.” He gave a slight shrug, as if confiding an understanding better implied than spoken.
“Did they quarrel?” Runcorn asked.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, not to the point where he would take a knife and follow her up to the graveyard and kill her!” Barclay looked appalled. “But I’m sure she tested his patience sorely. It is not an easy thing to be responsible for one’s sister. You have a father’s distress and obligation without a father’s authority.” He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “I don’t doubt for an instant that he did the best he could, but she was flighty, unrealistic, apparently unaware of her own responsibilities in return.”
He gave a slight smile. “Made me grateful that my own sister is so much more sensible. Faraday will make an excellent husband for her. He has every quality one could desire. He is of fine family, he can provide for her both financially and socially. He is of spotless reputation, good temperament, altogether a thoroughly decent fellow. And fine looking as well, which is hardly necessary, but it is very agreeable. Melisande is a beautiful woman, and could take her pick from quite a few. I’m most grateful that she has more good sense than Olivia had, and does not entertain absurd fancies.” He held Runcorn’s gaze and smiled steadily and coldly.
Runcorn’s head was crowded with an avalanche of thoughts and feelings, bruising him, crushing sense and rational meaning. He struggled to think of something to say that was sensible, purely practical, and would remove that smirk from Barclay’s lips.