No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [90]
He found Abigail Trethowan in the Fitzwilliam library. He introduced himself and asked if he might speak to her. With considerable apprehension she accompanied him to a tea shop around the corner, and when he had ordered for both of them, he broached the subject.
“I apologize for speaking of what must be painful, Miss Threthowan, but the subject of Sebastian’s death is not going to rest until it is solved.”
She was sitting straight-backed in her chair, like a schoolgirl with a ruler at her back. Joseph could remember Alys reminding both Hannah and Judith of the importance of posture and poking a wooden spoon through the spokes of the kitchen chairs to demonstrate, catching them in the middle of the spine. Abigail Trethowan looked just as young, proud, and vulnerable as they had. It would be hard to forgive Sebastian if he had done what Eardslie believed.
“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes avoiding his.
How could he ask her without being brutal?
All around them was the clatter of china and the murmur of conversation as ladies took tea and exchanged gossip, in many cases bags and boxes of shopping piled near their feet. No one was vulgar enough to look at Joseph and Abigail openly, but he knew without doubt that they were being examined from head to foot, and speculation was rich and highly inventive.
He smiled at Abigail and saw by the flash of humor in her eyes that she was as aware of it as he.
“I could ask you questions,” he said frankly. “But wouldn’t it be better if you simply told me?”
The color burned up her cheeks, but she did not look away from him. “I’m ashamed of it,” she said in a voice that was little above a whisper. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t ever have to think of it again, much less tell anyone.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid there is no escape. We owe it to everyone else involved.”
Once their tea and scones were served, she began her account. “I met Edgar Morel. I liked him very much, and gradually it turned into love—at least I thought it did. I had never really been in love before, and I didn’t know what to expect.” She glanced up at him and then down at her hands again. She held them clasped in front of her, strong, well-shaped, and bare of rings. “He asked me to marry him, and I was wondering whether to accept. It seemed a little soon.” She drew in her breath. “Then I met Sebastian. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.” She raised her eyes to meet Joseph’s, and they were bright, swimming in tears.
He wanted to help her, but there was nothing he could do except listen. If he did not interrupt, it would be over more quickly.
“He was so clever, so quick to understand everything,” she went on, rueful now, obviously curious about the irony of it. “And he was funny. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in my life.” She looked at him again. “I never really laughed, not just a little giggle but the sort of aching, uncontrollable laughter my mother would think was totally indecent. And it was such fun! We talked about all sorts of things and it was like being able to fly—in your mind. Do you know what I mean, Mr. Reavley?”
“Yes, certainly I do,” he said with a catch in his voice, partly for Sebastian, partly for Eleanor, perhaps most of all for inner loneliness for something he needed and did not have.
She sipped her tea.
He took one of the scones and put butter, jam, and cream on it.
“I was in love with Sebastian,” she continued with conviction. “It wouldn’t matter what Edgar did. I could never feel like that about him. I couldn’t marry him. It would have been an impossible lie. I told him, and he was very upset. It was awful!”
“Yes, I’m sure it was,” he agreed. “When you are in love, there is not much that hurts as deeply as rejection.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He waited.
She sniffed a little and sipped her tea again, then set down the cup. “Sebastian rejected me. He said he liked me very much, but he liked Edgar also, and he couldn’t do what amounted morally to stealing his girl.” She took a shivery breath. “I never saw him alone after that. I was mortified. For ages I didn’t