No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [144]
“Good morning, Joseph,” she said quietly. “I imagine you have come to see Mrs. Allard. She has her vengeance now, and she can leave.” Her eyes expressed the fury and the pain she dared not speak aloud. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Thank you for coming yesterday evening. I . . . I . . .”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he interrupted. “I liked him very much. He was my best friend, right from the beginning.” He saw her eyes fill with tears, and it was almost impossible to continue, his own throat was so tight. He could scarcely breathe from the weight constricting his chest.
At that moment Mary Allard came in through the door.
“Oh, good morning, Dr. Reavley.” She still looked proud and angry, and she was dressed in unrelieved black. It flattered her olive complexion but not her gaunt body. “It is good of you to come to wish us goodbye.” There was a faint softening in her voice.
He could not think what to say to her. Nothing in her yielded or offered warmth.
“I hope the resolution of the matter will give you some measure of peace,” he said, and an instant later wished he had not. In saying that, he had wished Beecher’s death to give her peace, and he felt like a betrayer.
“Hardly,” she snapped. “And I would not have expected you, of all people, to suggest it!”
Connie drew in her breath. She stared back at Joseph defensively. Her voice shook when she spoke. “You have been willing to allow it said that my son blackmailed this wretched man over some sin or other, God knows what—no one will tell me—and that he murdered Sebastian to keep him quiet.” She was trembling with bewilderment and unanswered pain. “The suggestion is monstrous! Whatever he had done, or Sebastian knew about, Sebastian would never have put pressure upon him, except to persuade him to act honorably.” She gave a little gulp. “Obviously that failed, and the miserable man murdered Sebastian in order to protect himself. Now not only has this damnable place taken my son’s life, but you would like to take from him as well the very memory of who and what he was. You are beneath contempt! If I do not meet you again, Dr. Reavley, I shall be much better suited.”
Her words were both arbitrary and unjust. He was angry enough to retaliate, but the words did not come easily.
“People will say what they wish to say, Mrs. Allard,” he said stiffly, his mouth dry. “Or what they believe to be true. I cannot stop them, nor would I, any more than I can stop you saying whatever you wish to about Dr. Beecher, who was also my friend.”
“Then you are unfortunate in your choice of friends, Dr. Reavley,” she snapped. “You are naive, and think too well of many people, but not well enough of others. I think you would be better served by some long and deep contemplation of your own powers of judgment.” She lifted her chin a trifle higher. “It was civil of you to come to wish us goodbye. No doubt you considered it your duty. Please accept that it is done, and feel no need to call upon us further. Good day.”
“Thank you,” Joseph said with unaccustomed sarcasm. “That puts my mind greatly at ease.”
She swung round and glared at him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I shall feel free not to call upon you again,” he answered. “I am obliged to you.”
She opened her mouth to make some reply, and to her fury the tears flooded her eyes. She swung around and marched out, black silk skirts crackling, shoulders stiff.
Joseph felt guilty, and angry, and thoroughly miserable.
“Don’t,” Connie whispered. “She deserved that. She has been behaving for three weeks as if she were the only person in the world who has ever been bereaved. My heart aches for her, but I can’t like her!” She took in a long, deep breath and let it out in a sob. “Even less now.”
He looked at her. “Nor I,” he said gently, and they both stood there, smiling and blinking, trying not to weep.
Joseph spent the rest of the day in a haze of misery. At night he slept poorly and rose late, grief washing back over him like a returning tide. He missed breakfast altogether, and forced himself to go