Bedford Square - Anne Perry [69]
“I too,” he agreed immediately. “Shall we look at them instead?”
“I should like that,” she accepted, taking his arm and walking beside him past a small group of gentlemen admiring a portrait of a young woman in a striped gown.
In the room beyond they were almost alone. As one, they stopped in front of a small seascape. “He has caught the effect of light on water very well, don’t you think?” he said with fierce admiration.
“I do,” she agreed, turning to glance at him momentarily. “The touch of green is exactly right. It makes it look so cold and translucent. It is difficult to make water look liquid.” There was concern in her eyes, as if she saw in his face the marks of sleeplessness, fear, the mistrust which was beginning to creep into every waking thought, and last night, even into his dreams.
What would she think if she knew? Would she believe that he was innocent? Would she understand why he was afraid? Might she even be afraid herself, in case others believed it and she would want to distance herself from the shame of it, the embarrassment of having to say she did not believe it, explain why, see the looks of polite amusement and wonder … and then afterwards be abashed?
“Mr. Cornwallis?” There was a lift of concern in her voice.
“Yes!” he said too quickly. He felt a slight warmth in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, my thoughts were wandering. Shall we move to the next picture? I always find pastoral scenes most agreeable.” How stilted he sounded, as if they were strangers forcing a meaningless conversation, and how cold. Agreeable. What a lukewarm word to use for beauty of such deep and abiding peace. He looked at the black-and-white cows grazing in dappled sunlight and the rolling countryside glimpsed through summer trees. It was land he loved with a passion. Why could he not say so to her?
What is love without trust, forgiveness, patience, and gentleness? Mere hunger and need, joy in another’s company, shared pleasures, even laughter and perceptions, are merely the things of good acquaintance. To be more than that must be giving as well as taking, cost as well as gain.
“You look a little concerned, Mr. Cornwallis,” she said gently. “Have you a troublesome case?”
He made a decision. “Yes, but I intend to leave it behind for half an hour.” He forced himself to smile and linked his arm through hers, something he had never done before. “I shall look at this perfect loveliness which nothing shall fade or destroy, and it will be doubled from now because I shall share it with you. The rest of the world can wait. I shall return to it soon enough.”
She smiled back at him, as if she had understood far more than he had said. “How very wise of you. I shall do exactly the same.” And she walked close to his side, keeping her arm through his.
6
TELLMAN NEEDED to know more about Albert Cole, most particularly his comings and goings in the last few days of his life. So far every additional fact had only added to the confusion. He must go back to the beginning and start again. The best place for that was Cole’s lodgings in Theobald’s Road.
The house was shabby, more so in the clear morning sunlight than it had seemed the first time he had been there. But it was clean, and there were neat rag rugs on the board floors and the landlady was busy with pail and scrubbing brush. Her faded blond hair was tied up in a cloth cap to keep it off her face, and her red-knuckled hands were covered in suds.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hampson,” he said pleasantly. “Sorry to bother you again when you’re busy.” He glanced at the half-scrubbed floor of the passage. The smell of lye and vinegar reminded him of the rooms where he had grown up, of his mother kneeling just like this with a brush in her hand, her sleeves rolled high. He could have been a small boy again with bare knees and holes in his boots.
Mrs. Hampson stood up stiffly, smoothing her apron. “S’you again, is it? I dunno any more ’bout your Mr. Cole now than I did w’en yer first come. ’e were a quiet, decent