No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [46]
“I touched his cheek,” Joseph interrupted him. “When I went in. It wasn’t cold . . . I mean, it was . . . cool.” He shuddered inside at the memory. That had been three hours ago. Sebastian would be cold now, the spirit, the dreams, and the hunger that made him unique dissolved into—what? He knew what the answer was supposed to be . . . but he had no inner fire that affirmed it to him.
Perth was nodding, biting his lip. “Sounds right, sir. Looks like he knew whoever did it, from what Oi’ve bin told. You knew him, Reverend. Was he the sort of young gentleman to let in someone he didn’t know, at that time—which looks to’ve bin about half past five—an’ while he was studying?”
“No. He was a very serious student,” Joseph replied. “He would resent the intrusion. People don’t normally call on anyone before breakfast unless it’s an emergency.”
“What Oi thought,” Perth agreed. “An’ we’ve searched all over the room, an’ the gun’s not there. We’ll be going over the whole college for it, of course. Don’t look like he put up any sort of a fight. Took by surprise, by all we can see. Someone he trusted.”
Joseph had thought the same thing, but until now he had not put it in those words. It was indescribably ugly.
Perth was staring at him. “Spoken to a few of the young gentlemen, sir. Asked if anyone heard a shot, seeing as there must’ve bin one. One young gentleman said he heard a bang, but he didn’t take notice. Thought it was just something in the street, car mebbe, and he doesn’t know what time it was. Went back to sleep again.” Perth chewed his lip. “An’ no one has any thoughts as to why, least none as how they’ll own to. All seem took by surprise. But it’s early days. D’you know of anyone who had a brangle with him? Jealous, mebbe? He was a very good-looking young man. Clever, too, by accounts—good scholar, one of the best. First-class honors, they say.” His expression was carefully unreadable.
“You don’t kill people because they outshine you academically!” Joseph said with too much of an edge to his voice. He was being rude and he could not help it. His hands were shaking and he felt dry-mouthed.
“Don’t you?” Perth left it as a question unanswered. He sat on the edge of the porter’s desk. “Why do you kill someone, then, Reverend? Young gentlemen like these, with every advantage in the world an’ their whole lives to look forward to?” He waved at the chair for Joseph to sit down. “What would make one o’ them take a gun an’ go into someone’s rooms afore six in the morning an’ shoot him in the head? Must’ve bin a powerful reason, sir, something for which there weren’t no other answer.”
Joseph’s legs were weak, and he sank into the chair.
“An’ it weren’t spur of the moment, like,” Perth continued. “Someone got up special, took a gun with ’em, an’ there was no quarrel, or Mr. Allard wouldn’t’ve bin sitting back all relaxed, with not a book out of place.” He stopped and waited, staring curiously at Joseph.
“I don’t know.” The full enormity of it was settling on him so heavily he could scarcely fill his lungs with air. His mind flickered over the other students closest to Sebastian. Whom could he have let in at that hour and remained seated talking to him instead of getting up and fairly robustly telling him to come back at a more civilized time? Elwyn, of course. And why had Elwyn gone to see him so early? Joseph had not asked him, but no doubt Perth would.
Nigel Eardslie. He and Sebastian had shared an interest in Greek poetry. Eardslie was the better language scholar, he had the vocabulary, but he had less feeling for the music and the rhythm of it, or for the subtlety of the culture. They collaborated well, and both enjoyed it, often publishing