Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [37]
“Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould,” the butler announced, opening the doors for her and stepping back.
Vespasia swallowed, lifted her head even higher, and went in.
Thelonius Quade was standing by the fireplace, facing her. He looked leaner than she had recalled, and perhaps taller. Even his face was gaunt, its sensitive lines thrown into sharper relief. The marks of age had given him a quality it would not be misplaced to call beauty, such was the power of his character that shone through.
He smiled as soon as he saw her, and came across the room slowly, holding out his hands a little, palms upwards.
Without thinking about it, she placed her hands in his, smiling back.
He moved no closer but stood searching her face, and finding in it what he had hoped.
“I suppose you must have changed,” he said quietly. She had forgotten how good his voice was, how very clear. “But I cannot see it—and I do not wish to.”
“I am twenty years older, Thelonius,” she replied with a little shake of her head.
“Ah, but my dear, so am I,” he said gently. “And that cancels it out. Come, let us move a little closer to the fire. The evening is chilly, and it would be hasty to begin dinner the moment you are through the door. We cannot possibly catch up twenty years in one short encounter, so do not let us pretend.” He led her towards the warmth as he spoke. “Tell me instead what it is that concerns you so much. We do not need to play games of trivial conversation and skirt around what we mean. We never did. And unless you are totally different, you will not rest until we have dealt with the matter of importance.”
“Am I so very … direct?” she said with a rueful smile.
“Yes,” he replied without compromise. He searched her face carefully. She had not remembered his eyes were blue, or so perceptive. “You do not look deeply troubled. May I assume it is not a matter of distress?”
She lifted an elegant shoulder and the pearls on her bosom shone in the light.
“At the moment it is only interest, which may develop into concern. I am very fond of the young woman.”
“You said in your note that you regarded her as family.” He was standing next to the fireplace, facing her. She stood also; she had been sitting most of the day, and all the journey here, and she felt comfortable. In spite of her age, she was straight-backed and erect, and nearly as tall as he.
“She is the sister of a niece, by marriage.”
“I detect a hesitation, Vespasia—an evasion?”
“You are too quick,” she said dryly, but there was no irritation in her. On the contrary, it was vaguely comforting that he should still know her so well, and be willing to show it. “Yes, she is of very moderate family, and has chosen to appall them by marrying beneath herself, in fact a very great deal beneath herself—to a policeman.”
His eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“Of whom I am also very fond!” she added defensively.
Still he forbore from commenting, still watching her.
“She—she frequently involves herself in his … cases.” Now she was finding it harder to explain so that it did not sound in the worst possible taste. “In a pursuit of truth,” she said warily, searching his face and not knowing what she read in it. “She is an intelligent and individual young woman.”
“And she is presently so … involved?” he enquired, the amusement so nearly in his voice.
“That will depend.”
“Upon what?”
“Upon whether there is any way in which she can meet any of the participants in the affair in a manner which might be productive.”
He looked confused.
“Really, Thelonius,” she said quickly. “Detecting is not a matter of going ’round in a bowler hat asking impertinent questions and writing down what everyone says in a notebook! The best detecting is done by observing people when they are unaware that you have any interest