No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [54]
Matthew went straight to Kerr and shook his hand. “Thank you, Vicar,” he said courteously. He could not leave without speaking to him, and he did not want to get waylaid and miss the chance to bump into Isenham. “Just came home to see how Judith is.”
“Not at church, I’m afraid,” Kerr replied dolefully. “Perhaps you could talk to her. Faith is a great solace at times like these.”
It was clumsy. There were no other “times like these.” How many people have both their parents murdered in a single, hideous crime? Of course Kerr did not know it was murder. But given Judith’s character, the last thing poor Kerr needed was an encounter with her! He would attempt desperately to be kind, to say something that would be of value to her, and she would grow more and more impatient with him, until she let him see how useless he was.
“Yes, of course,” Matthew murmured. “I’ll convey your good wishes to her. Thank you.” As he turned and left, he felt that was exactly what his mother would have said—or Joseph. And they would not have meant it any more than he did.
He caught up with Isenham in the lane just beyond the lych-gate. The man was easily recognizable even from behind. He was of average height, but barrel-chested with close-cropped fair hair graying rapidly, and he walked with a slight swagger.
He heard Matthew coming, even though his footsteps were light on the stony surface. He turned and smiled, holding out his hand. “How are you, Matthew? Bearing up?” It was a question, and also half an instruction. Isenham had served twenty years in the army and seen action in the Boer War. He believed profoundly in the Stoic values. Emotion was fine, even necessary, but it should never be given in to, except in the most private of times and places, and then only briefly.
“Yes, sir.” Matthew knew what was expected, and he meant this encounter to earn him Isenham’s confidence and to learn from it anything John Reavley might have told him, even in the most indirect way. “The last thing Father would have wanted would be for us to fall apart.”
“Quite! Quite!” Isenham agreed firmly. “Fine man, your father. We’ll all miss him.”
Matthew fell into step beside him, as if he had been going that way, although as soon as they came to the end of the lane he would turn the opposite direction to go home.
“I wish I’d known him better.” Matthew meant that with an intensity that showed raw through his voice, more than he wanted. He meant to be in control of this conversation. “I expect you were probably as close as anyone,” he continued more briskly. “Funny how differently family see a person . . . until you’re adult, anyway.”
Isenham nodded. “Yes. Never thought of it, but I suppose you’re right. Funny thing, that. Look at one’s parents in a different light, I suppose.” Unconsciously he increased his pace.
Matthew kept up with him easily, as his legs were longer. “You were probably the last person he really talked with,” he went on. “I hadn’t seen him the previous weekend, nor had Joseph, and Judith was out so often.”
“Yes, I suppose I was.” Isenham dug his hands deep into his pockets. “It’s been a very bad time. Did you hear about Sebastian Allard? Dreadful business.” He hesitated an instant. “Joseph will be very upset about that, too. I daresay the boy wouldn’t even have gone up to Cambridge, if it weren’t for Joseph’s encouragement.”
“Sebastian Allard?” Matthew was confused.
Isenham turned to look at him, stopping in the road where it had already changed into the long, tree-lined avenue down toward his own house. “Oh, dear. No one told you.” He looked a trifle abashed. “I presume they felt you’d had enough to get over. Sebastian Allard was murdered, in Cambridge. Right in college . . . St. John’s. Devilish thing. Yesterday morning. I only heard from Hutchinson. He’s known the Allards for years. Dreadfully cut up, of course.” He pursed his lips. “Can’t expect you to feel the same, naturally. I imagine you’ve got all the grief you