No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [89]
He had to believe it was more than that. Sebastian had come even earlier than Regina Coopersmith said, and passed along the Hauxton Road before the crash. Or he had gone somewhere else altogether, by another route. Whoever had killed him had done so for a reason that had nothing to do with John and Alys Reavley’s deaths. That was the only answer he could bear.
Joseph turned back toward St. Johns, increasing his pace. Enough had been said about Sebastian and the injuries people felt they had suffered at his hands that a closer look at some of them would lead either to proving them trivial or, if followed to the very end, to the reason for his death.
One episode that came to his mind first was the curious exchange with Eardslie when they were standing outside Eaden Lilley’s and the young woman who walked with such grace had appeared about to speak to them and then changed her mind. It had been suggested that Sebastian had intentionally taken someone else’s girl, simply to show that he could, and then cast her aside. Was that true?
It took Joseph half an hour to find Eardslie, who was sitting on the grass on the Backs, leaning against the trunk of a tree with books spread out around him. He looked up at Joseph in surprise and made as if to stand up.
“Don’t,” Joseph said quickly, sitting down on the ground opposite him, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable. “I wanted to talk to you. Do you remember the young woman who passed us outside Eaden Lilley’s the other day?”
Eardslie drew in his breath to deny it.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t make that a question,” Joseph amended. “It was quite obvious that you did know her, whether it was well or slightly, and that, seeing me there, she decided not to speak to you.”
Eardslie looked uncomfortable. He was a serious young man, the oldest son, of whom his family expected a great deal, and the weight of it frequently lay rather heavily on him. Now in particular he seemed conscious of obligation. “Probably a matter of tact, sir,” he suggested.
“No doubt. What would she need to be tactful about?”
Eardslie colored slightly. “Her name is Abigail Trethowan,” he said unhappily. “She was more or less engaged to Morel, but she met Sebastian, and sort of . . .” He was at a loss to put into words what he meant.
“Fell in love with Sebastian,” Joseph finished for him.
Eardslie nodded.
“And you are suggesting that Sebastian brought that about deliberately?” Joseph asked, raising his eyebrows.
Eardslie’s color deepened and he looked down. “It certainly looked that way. And then he dropped her. She was very upset.”
“And Morel?”
Eardslie raised his eyes. They were wide, golden-flecked, and burning with anger.
“How would you feel, sir?” he said furiously. “Somebody takes your girl from you, just to show you and everybody else that he can? And then he doesn’t even want her, so he just dumps her, as if she were unwanted baggage. You can’t take her back or you look a complete fool, and she feels . . . like a . . .” He gave up, unable to find a word savage enough.
Joseph realized how much Eardslie himself had cared for Abigail, possibly more than he was admitting.
“Where does she live?” Joseph asked.
Eardslie’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to say anything to her!” He was horrified. “She’d be humiliated, sir! You can’t!”
“Is she the kind of woman who would conceal the truth of a murder rather than face embarrassment?” Joseph asked.
Eardslie’s struggle was clear in his face.
Joseph waited.
“She’s at the Fitzwilliam, sir. But please, do you have to?”
Joseph stood up. “Would you rather I ask Perth to do it?”