Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [21]
Cordelia started to speak, but Enid overrode her. “Canute was not trying to hold the tide back,” she contradicted him. “He was demonstrating that even he could not. Human power, even of kings, is limited.”
“That is obvious!” Denoon said tartly. “And completely irrelevant. I am not attempting to alter the course of nature, Enid, but to prompt people into understanding the laws of the land so we can defend ourselves from the tide of anarchy.”
“Not the tide of anarchy,” Enid corrected him. “The tide of change.”
This time he ignored her, but there was a dull flush of anger in his cheeks. “Cordelia, in spite of appearances, we came to say how deeply grieved we are for your loss. If there is anything we can do to comfort or help, we are here, and shall remain so. Please believe me, these are not idle words.”
“Of course they’re not!” Enid said, her voice suddenly so choked with emotion it seemed to cost her an effort to speak. “Cordelia knows that!” She shot a burning look at her sister-in-law, which seemed more filled with hatred than sorrow. Vespasia was chilled by it, until she remembered that many people’s grief is so threaded with anger that the two become inextricable.
Cordelia reacted as if she had barely heard her. She continued looking at Denoon with a hard, chilly smile. “Thank you. It is a time for families and friends to draw together, at least all those who are like-minded and perceive the tragedies and the dangers with the same courage and resolve. I am grateful to you, and Vespasia, for seeing things as I do, and realizing that this is no time to indulge private emotions, no matter how deep, while we allow history to overtake us.” She did not specifically exclude Enid, but Vespasia had the strong feeling that she meant to, and that Enid was acutely aware of it.
She also would like to have removed herself from the sentiment. Denoon was outspoken about increasing the power of police to intervene in people’s lives when crime was suspected, before the proof. She was considerably more cautious, afraid of the possible abuses, and of the public backlash.
Cordelia and Denoon were still talking. The name Tanqueray was mentioned, a meeting suggested, and other names.
Vespasia looked at Enid Denoon, who appeared not even to be listening. Her face in repose had a vulnerability to it that was startling, as if pain were familiar to her. She could not have been aware of her expression, or she would have been more guarded, although neither Cordelia nor Denoon gave her a glance.
There were footsteps across the hall outside. A moment later the door opened. They all turned as Sheridan Landsborough came in. Vespasia had expected to see grief in his face, and yet she was still shocked to see the parchmentlike tone of his skin and the sunken cheeks and hollows around his eyes.
“Good morning, Edward,” he said coolly, then he forced a smile. “Enid.” He barely looked at his wife before turning to Vespasia. His eyes widened and a fraction of the color returned to his cheeks. “Vespasia!”
She took a step towards him. The formal words were in her mind, but they died before they reached her lips. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “I cannot think of anything more dreadful.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. “It was good of you to come.”
Almost as if unaware of doing it, Enid moved closer to him. Standing side by side the resemblance between them was subtle but perfectly clear. It was not in their features so much as the shape of their heads, their way of standing, their weary but effortless grace, which was so innate as to be impossible to cast off, even at a time like this.
Cordelia stared at him. “I assume the arrangements