No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [52]
Matthew acknowledged the dog, then followed her into the familiar sitting room with its comfortable furniture and slightly worn carpet, colors muted by time. As soon as the door was closed, Judith asked him if he had discovered anything.
“No,” he said patiently, reclining in the big chair that had been his father’s. He was self-conscious about sitting in it. He had always taken it when his father was not there, but now it seemed like a statement of ownership. Yet to have sat somewhere else would have been awkward also, a break with habit that was absurd, another difference from the past that had no purpose.
She watched him, a tiny frown on her face.
“I suppose you are trying?” There was a flash of challenge in her eyes.
“That’s part of why I came up this weekend . . . and to see you, of course. Have you heard from Joseph?”
“A couple of letters. Have you?”
“Not since he went back.” He looked at her, trying to read her feelings from her expression. She sat a little sideways on the couch, with her feet tucked up, the way Alys had criticized and told her was unladylike. Was she as much in control as she looked, with her hair swept back from her calm brow, her smooth cheeks, and her wide, vulnerable mouth?
Or was the emotion bottled up inside her, too raw to touch, but eating away at her will? She was the one of them who was still living here in the house. How often did she come down the stairs and find herself startled that there was no one to greet her except Mrs. Appleton? Did she hear the silence, the missing voices, the footsteps? Did she imagine the familiar touch, the smell of pipe tobacco, the closed study door to indicate that John must not be interrupted? Did she listen for the sound of Alys singing to herself as she arranged flowers and did the dozens of other small things that showed someone in the house loved it?
He could escape. His life was the same as before, except for the occasional telephone call and the visits home. The difference was all inside. It was knowledge he could set aside when he needed to.
It would be like that for Hannah also, and for Joseph. He was worried about them as well, but differently. Hannah had Archie to comfort her and her children to need her and fill her time.
Joseph was different. Since Eleanor’s death something within him had retreated from emotions to hide in reason. Matthew had grown up with Joseph, who was seven years older and always seeming cleverer, wiser, and quicker. He had imagined he would catch up, but now in adulthood he began to think that perhaps Joseph had an intellect of extraordinary power. Understanding for which other people labored came to him with ease. He could climb on wings of thought into regions most people only imagined.
But Joseph also retreated from the realities of certain kinds of pain, and in the last year he had escaped more completely. In fleeting, unguarded moments, Matthew had seen this remoteness in his brother’s eyes.
Judith was watching him, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve been pretty busy lately,” he said finally. “Everyone’s preoccupied with Ireland, and of course with the Balkan business.”
“Ireland I can understand, but why the Balkans?” She raised her eyebrows. “It hasn’t anything to do with us. Serbia is miles away—the other side of Italy, for heaven’s sake. It’s a pretty revolting thought, but won’t the Austrians just go in and take whatever they want in reparation, and punish the people responsible? Isn’t that what usually happens with revolutions—either they succeed and overthrow the government, or they get suppressed? Well, anyone who thinks a couple of Serbian assassins are going to overthrow the Austro-Hungarian Empire has to be crazy.” She shifted her feet around the other way and settled further into the cushions.
Henry got up from where