No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [61]
“I hope she didn’t go on my account,” Joseph commented.
“No!” Morel said too vehemently. “She . . . she was really more Sebastian’s friend than mine. I expect she just wanted to give her condolences.”
Joseph thought that was less than the truth. She had looked at Morel with some urgency.
“Did he know her well?” he asked. She had seemed an attractive girl, perhaps a little under twenty, and she carried herself with grace.
“I don’t know,” Morel replied, and this time Joseph was certain it was a lie. “Sorry for banging into you, sir,” he went on. “Excuse me.” And before Joseph could say anything else, Morel moved very quickly to the doorway of Eaden Lilley’s and disappeared inside.
Joseph walked on farther into the town, stopping for a while in Petty Cury, leading toward the market. He passed Jas. Smith and Sons and then the Star and Garter, dodged a couple of delivery carts and two dangerously speeding bicycles, and came back by Trinity Street to St. John’s.
Tuesday was much the same, a routine of small chores. He saw Inspector Perth coming and going busily, but he managed to put Sebastian’s death out of his mind most of the time, until Nigel Eardslie caught up with him crossing the quad early in the afternoon. It was hot and still again; the windows of all the occupied rooms were wide open, and every now and then the sound of music or laughter drifted out.
“Dr. Reavley!”
Joseph stopped.
Eardslie’s square face was puckered with anxiety, hazel eyes fixed on Joseph’s. “That policeman’s just been talking to me, sir, asking a lot of questions about Allard. I really don’t know what to say.” He looked awkward.
“If you know something that could have a bearing on his death, then you’ll have to tell him the truth,” Joseph answered.
“I don’t know what the truth is!” Eardslie said desperately. “If it’s just a matter of where I was or whether I saw this or that, then of course I can answer. But he wanted to know what Allard was like! And how do I answer that decently?”
“You knew him pretty well,” Joseph said. “Tell him about his character, how he worked, who his friends were, his hopes and ambitions.”
“He didn’t get killed for any of those,” Eardslie replied, a slight impatience in his voice. “Do I tell him about his sarcasm as well? The way he could cut you raw with his tongue and make you feel like a complete fool?” His face was tight and unhappy.
Joseph wanted to deny it. This was not the man he had known. But then no student would dare exercise his pride or cruelty on a tutor. A bully chooses the easy targets.
“I could tell him how funny Sebastian was,” Eardslie was continuing. “He made me laugh sometimes till I couldn’t get my breath and my chest hurt, but it could be at someone else’s expense, especially if they’d criticized him lately.”
Joseph did not reply.
“Do I tell him that he could forgive wonderfully and that he expected to be forgiven, no matter what he’d done, because he was clever and beautiful?” Eardslie rushed on. “And if you borrowed something without asking, even if you lost it or broke it, he could wave it aside and make you think he didn’t care, even if it was something he valued.” His mouth pinched a little, and the light faded in his eyes. “But if you questioned his judgment or beat him at one of the things that mattered to him, he could carry a grudge further than anyone else I know. He was generous . . . he’d give you anything. But God, he could be cruel!” He stared at Joseph helplessly. “I can’t tell the police that. He’s dead.”
Joseph felt numb. That was not the Sebastian he knew. Was Eardslie’s the voice of envy? Or was he speaking the truth Joseph had refused to see?
“You don’t believe me, do you!” Eardslie challenged him. “Perth might, but the others won’t. Morel knows Sebastian took his girl, Abigail something, and then dumped her. I think he did it simply because he could. She saw Sebastian and thought of him as this sort of young