No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [66]
“I suppose you are right,” Connie conceded. “Sometimes fear is worse than the truth. At least the truth will destroy only one person. Or am I creating a fool’s paradise?”
A flicker of awareness crossed Thyer’s face, and he drew in his breath, then changed his mind and did not speak.
This time Joseph was honest. “Yes . . . I’m sorry, but I think you are,” he said to her. “Students have asked me whether they should tell the inspector what they know about Sebastian or be loyal to his memory and conceal it. I told them to tell the truth, and because of it Foubister and Morel, who have been friends ever since they came up, have quarreled so bitterly, both feel betrayed. And we have all learned things about each other we were far happier not knowing.”
Still not looking at her husband, she reached across and touched her fingers to Joseph’s arm. “It seems ignorance is a luxury we can no longer afford. Sebastian was very charming, and he was certainly gifted, but he had uglier sides as well. I know you would prefer not to have seen them, and your charity does you great credit.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he contradicted her miserably. “It was a matter of self-protection, not generosity of spirit. I rather think cowardice is the correct name for it.”
“You are too hard on yourself.” She was very gentle. There was a softness in her face he had always liked. Now he thought briefly, and with a respect that surprised him, how fortunate a man Aidan Thyer was.
In the evening, Joseph went as usual to the senior common room for a few moments’ quiet companionship and time to relax before dinner. Almost as soon as he entered he saw Harry Beecher sitting in a comfortable chair near the window, nursing a glass of what looked like gin and tonic.
Joseph walked toward him with a sudden lift of pleasure. He had shared many years of friendship with Beecher and never found in him meanness of spirit or that self-absorption that makes people blind to the feelings of others.
“Your usual, sir?” the steward asked, and Joseph accepted, sitting down with a deep sense of ease at the sheer luxurious familiarity of the surroundings, the people he had known and found so congenial over the last, difficult year. They thought largely as he did. They had the same heritage and the same values. Disagreements were minor and on the whole added interest to what might otherwise have become flat. The challenge of ideas was the savor of life. Always to be agreed with must surely become an intolerable loneliness in the end, as if anchored by endless mirrors of the mind, sterile of anything new.
“Looks as if the French president is going to Russia to speak to the czar,” Beecher remarked, sipping at his glass.
“About Serbia?” Joseph asked, although it was a rhetorical question.
“What a mess.” Beecher shook his head. “Walcott thinks there’ll be war.” Walcott was a lecturer in modern history they both knew moderately well. “I wish to hell he’d be a bit more discreet about his opinions.” A flicker of distaste crossed his face. “Everyone’s unsettled enough without that.”
Joseph took his glass from the steward and thanked him, then waited until the man was out of earshot. “Yes, I know,” he said unhappily. “Several of the students have spoken about it. You can hardly blame them for being anxious.”
“Even at the worst, I don’t suppose it would involve us.” Beecher dismissed the idea, taking another sip of his drink. “But if it did—if, say, we were drawn in to help?” His eyebrows lifted with faint humor. “But I don’t know whom. I can’t see us being overly concerned with the Austrians or the Serbs. Regardless, we don’t conscript to the army. It’s all volunteer.” He smiled lopsidedly. “I think they are rather badly upset about Sebastian Allard’s murder, and that’s what they are really worried about.” His mouth tightened momentarily. “Unfortunately, from the evidence, the murderer has to have been someone here in college.” He looked at Joseph with sudden, intense candor. “I suppose you haven’t got any idea, have you? You wouldn’t consider it your religious