No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [59]
He considered scriptures, then instead lost himself in the familiar glory of Dante’s Inferno. Its imagery was so sharp it carried him out of the present, and its wisdom was timeless enough, at least for the moment, to lift him above personal grief and confusion.
It was infinitely just—the punishments for sin were not visited from outside, decided by a higher power, but were the sins themselves, perpetuated eternally, stripped of the masks that had made them seductive once. Those who had given in to the selfish storms of passion, regardless of the cost to others, were now battered and driven by unceasing gales, forced to rise before them without rest. And so it was, down through the successive circles, the sins of indulgence, that injured self, the sins of anger that injured others, to the betrayal and corruption of the mind which damaged all mankind. It made infinite sense.
And yet, Joseph reasoned, beauty was there. Christ still “walked the waters of Styx with unwet feet.”
If Inspector Perth was working, Joseph did not see him that day. Nor did he see Aidan Thyer or any of the Allard family.
Matthew called in briefly on his way back to London, simply to say how sorry he was about Sebastian. He was gentle, full of a tacit compassion.
“It’s rotten,” he said briefly, sitting in Joseph’s rooms in the last of the twilight. “I’m very sorry.”
Hundreds of words turned in Joseph’s mind, but none of them seemed important, and certainly none of them helped. He remained in silence, simply glad that Matthew was there.
However, Monday was entirely different. It was July 13. It seemed that on the previous day the prime minister had spoken at length about the failure of the army’s present methods of recruitment—a sharp and unpleasant reminder that if the Balkan situation was not resolved and war erupted, then Britain might be unable to defend itself.
Far more immediate to Joseph was Perth’s presence in St. John’s. The inspector moved about discreetly, speaking to one person after another. Joseph caught glimpses of him, always just going, leaving behind him a wake of deeply troubled young men.
“I hate it!” Elwyn said as he and Joseph met crossing the quad. Elwyn was flustered, as if he were being harried on all sides, trying to do something for everyone and desperate to be alone and deal with his own grief. He stared after Perth’s disappearing figure.
“He seems to think it’s one of us!” Elwyn said exasperatedly, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Mother’s watching him like a hawk. She thinks he’s going to produce an answer any minute. But even if he did, it wouldn’t bring Sebastian back.” He looked down at the ground. “And that’s the only thing that would make her happy.”
Joseph could see in his face all that he did not say, and imagined it only too easily: Mary Allard wild with pain, lashing out at everyone without realizing what she was doing to her other son, while Gerald offered ineffectual and comforting remarks that only made her worse—and, finally, Elwyn trying desperately to be whatever they expected of him.
“I know it’s wretched,” Joseph replied. “Do you feel like leaving college for a while? Take a walk into town? I need new socks. I left some of mine at home.”
Elwyn’s eyes widened. “Oh, God! I forgot about your parents. I’m so sorry!”
Joseph smiled. “It’s all right. I forget at times. Do you feel like a walk?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, I do. Actually, I need a couple of books. I’ll go to Heffer’s. You can try Eaden Lilley’s. They’re about the best for haberdashery around here.”
They walked together back across the quad and out of the main gate into St. John’s Street, then right into Sydney Street.