Bethlehem Road - Anne Perry [108]
Charlotte watched Jasper Royce and his wife. She was well-dressed but unremarkably so and appeared to be there as a matter of duty. Jasper was a softer, less emphatic version of his brother. He had the same sweeping forehead but without the striking widow’s peak. His brows were good, but straighter and less powerful; his mouth was more mobile, the lower lip a little fuller. He was not as individual, not nearly as striking, and yet, Charlotte thought, perhaps an easier man with whom to spend any degree of time.
Now he was bored; his glance wandered idly over the faces opposite him on the far side of the grave, and none seemed to catch his interest. He might have been thinking of dinner or the next day’s patients, of anything but the purpose for which they were come.
Sir Garnet, on the other hand, was alert; in fact he seemed to be studying the others present quite as diligently as Charlotte herself, and she had to be careful he did not catch her eye and mark her observation of him. To stare at him as steadily as she was doing, if caught, would seem extraordinary and require an explanation.
He watched quietly as the coffin was lowered into the grave and the first drops of rain spattered on the hats and skirts of the ladies and the bare heads of the men, and umbrellas were twitched nervously, and left alone. Only one person broke his poise sufficiently to look up at the sky.
The vicar’s voice grew a trifle more rapid.
Garnet Royce was tense; there were lines of strain in his face more deeply etched than there had been after Lockwood Hamilton’s death. He shifted uneasily, watching, glancing about as if every movement might be of some importance, as though searching might yield him an answer he needed so badly that the pursuit of it dominated his mind.
Was there some factor he knew of that Charlotte did not? Or was it merely that his intelligence made him fully aware of the magnitude of these horrors, more so than the other mourners, who were come from personal grief, or a sympathy born of a similar loss? But what about the other members of Parliament? Did they not know that the newspapers were clamoring for an arrest, that people wrote letters demanding a solution, more police, a restoration of law in the streets and safety for the decent citizen going about his duty or his pleasures? There was talk of treason and sedition, criticism of the government, of the aristocracy, even of the Queen! There were very real fears of revolution and anarchy! The throne itself was in jeopardy, if the worst rumors were to be believed.
Perhaps Royce could see what others only imagined?
Or did he guess at a conspiracy of a private nature, a secret agreement to murder for profit, or whatever three quite separate motives might drive three people to ally with each other to make all the crimes look like the work of one fearful maniac.
Then was Amethyst after all at the heart of at least her husband’s death, either as the perpetrator, or the cause?
It was over at last, and they were walking back towards the vestry. The rain came harder, the glittering shafts silver where the light caught them. It was unseemly to hurry. Lady Mary Carfax put up her umbrella, swinging it fiercely round and swiping at Zenobia’s skirt with the sharp ferrule. It caught in a ruffle and tore a piece of silk away.
“I do beg your pardon,” Lady Mary said with a tight smile of triumph.
“Not at all,” Zenobia replied inclining her head. “I can recommend a good maker of spectacles, if you—”
“I can see perfectly well, thank you!” Lady Mary snapped.
“Then perhaps a cane?” Zenobia smiled. “To help your balance?”
Lady Mary trod sharply in a puddle, splashing them both, and swept on to speak to the Cabinet Minister’s wife.
Everyone was hastening towards the shelter of the church, heads down, skirts held up off the wet grass. The men bent their backs and tried to move