No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [50]
She came forward with relief. “Thank you. That is very kind of you, Mr. . . . ?”
“Reavley, Joseph Reavley,” he introduced himself. “You seem uncertain which way to go. Where is it you wish to be?”
“The master’s house,” she replied. “I believe his name is Mr. Aidan Thyer. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but I am afraid he is engaged at present, and likely to be for some considerable time. An unexpected event has changed everyone’s arrangements.” There was no need to tell her of the tragedy. “I shall convey any message to him when he is free, and perhaps you can make an appointment to call at another time?”
She stood even straighter. “I am aware of the events, Mr. Reavley. You are referring to the death this morning of Sebastian Allard. My name is Regina Coopersmith. I was his fiancée.”
Joseph stared at her as if she had spoken in an alien language. It was not possible! How could Sebastian, the passionate idealist, the scholar whose mind danced to the music of language, have fallen in love and contracted himself to marriage, yet never even mentioned it?
Joseph looked at Regina Coopersmith, knowing he should be offering her some sympathy, but his mind refused to accept what she had said.
“I’m sorry, Miss Coopersmith,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t know.” He must add something. This superficially composed young woman had lost the man she loved, and in the most appalling circumstances. “I’m deeply sorry for your bereavement.” He knew how it felt to face that gulf of loneliness suddenly, without any warning at all. One day one had everything; the next day it was gone.
“Thank you,” she replied with the ghost of a smile.
“May I accompany you to the master’s house? It is through there.” He gestured behind him. “I expect the porter has your bags?”
“Yes, thank you. That would be most courteous.”
Joseph turned and walked with the young woman back into the sunlight and along the path. He glanced sideways at her. Her veil hid only part of her face; her mouth and chin were clearly visible. Her features were strong, but pleasant rather than pretty. She had dignity, resolve, but it was not a face of passion. What had made Sebastian fall in love with her? Could she have been Mary Allard’s choice for her son, rather than his own? Perhaps she had money and good connections with county families? She would give Sebastian the security and the background he would need for a career in poetry or philosophy, which might not immediately provide such things itself.
Or perhaps there were whole areas of Sebastian’s nature about which Joseph had been entirely ignorant.
The midday sun was hot and sharp, casting the shadows with hard edges, like the cutting realities of knowledge.
CHAPTER
FIVE
In a quiet house on Marchmont Street, a man who liked to be known by those he trusted as “the Peacemaker” stood near the mantel shelf in his upstairs sitting room and stared with unconcealed fury at the rigid figure opposite him.
“You searched his office and found nothing!” he said between his gritted teeth.
“Nothing of any interest to us,” the other man replied. He spoke English with complete ease, but without colloquialisms. “They concerned things with which we already know. The document was not there.”
“Well, it wasn’t in the Reavley house,” the Peacemaker said bitterly. “That was searched thoroughly.”
“Was it?” the other asked skeptically. “When?”
“During the funeral,” the Peacemaker replied, a dangerous temper audible in his voice. He did not like being challenged, particularly by someone considerably his junior in rank. It was only his respect for his cousin that made him tolerate this man to the degree he did. He was, after all, his cousin’s ally.
“Well, you have the copy Reavley was carrying,” the man pointed out. “I’ll follow the son. If he knows where it is, I’ll find it.”
The Peacemaker stood elegantly, looking as if he were at ease to anyone who glanced only casually. More careful scrutiny would have revealed tension in his body so great the fabric of his jacket was straining across