Slaves of Obsession - Anne Perry [118]
Judith stared at her, no anxiety in her eyes, only confusion.
“If not Mr. Breeland, then who?”
“It seems most likely it was Shearer. I’m sorry.” She did not know why she apologized, only that she regretted that Alberton should have been betrayed by someone he had trusted so long, and so closely. It added to the pain.
“Shearer?” Judith questioned. “Are you sure? He’s a hard man, but Daniel always said he was completely loyal.”
“Have you seen him since Mr. Alberton’s death?”
“No. But then I have only met him once or twice anyway. He hardly ever came to the house.” She did not need to add that they were not social acquaintances.
“No one else has seen him since then either,” Hester told her. “Surely if he were innocent he would be here to help, to continue to work in the business and to offer all the support he could? Would he not be as anxious as we are to catch whoever is responsible?”
“Yes,” Judith said quietly. “I suppose the answer had to be terrible, whatever it was. It was foolish to have hoped it would be … something … bearable … someone easy to hate, and dismiss.”
There was nothing Hester could say to mitigate that. She turned to the other matter she needed to probe. “Mrs. Alberton, your husband and Mr. Casbolt received a very ugly letter requesting that they sell guns to a company which is known to be an intermediary who would sell them on to most undesirable quarters.”
Judith’s face registered no comprehension of why Hester should ask.
“They refused, but they asked my husband’s assistance in finding out who was making the request. The letter was anonymous, and threatening—”
“Threatening?” Judith said quickly. “Have you informed the police? Surely they must be responsible, then.…”
“Mr. Breeland has the guns that were stolen.”
“Oh … yes, of course. I’m sorry. Then why are you asking about these people?”
Again Hester told less than the truth.
“I am not quite certain. I just feel that the coincidence of time, and the fact that it was guns, may mean that they are connected somehow. We need all the knowledge we can possibly obtain.”
“Yes, I see. Of course. What can I tell you?” Judith made no demur at all. She leaned forward, her face watchful and intelligent.
Hester hated opening the subject, but it was a past loss, raised perhaps to avoid a present one.
“I believe you lost your brother in dreadful circumstances.…” She saw Judith wince and the color pale in her cheeks. Hester did not retreat. “Please tell me at least the main story. I don’t ask lightly.”
Judith looked down. “I am half Italian. I daresay you knew I was not entirely English. My father came from the south, about fifty miles from Naples. I had only one brother, Cesare. He was married and had three children. He and his wife, Maria, used to love sailing.”
Her voice was tight and low. “Seven years ago their boat was boarded by pirates off the coast of Sicily. The whole family was killed.” She swallowed convulsively. “Their bodies were found … later. I …” She shook her head minutely, little more than a shiver. “Daniel went out. I didn’t. He … he wouldn’t tell me the details. I asked … I was glad he refused. I saw in his face that it was terrible. Sometimes he dreamed … I heard him cry out in the night, and wake up, his body rigid. But he would never say what had happened to them.”
Hester tried to imagine the crushing weight of horror that had remained with Alberton so vividly, and the love for his wife which had taken him to Sicily, and then kept him silent all the years between. And yet he still dealt in guns! Did he feel they were also used for good, to fight just causes, defend the weak, even keep a balance of power between otherwise violent forces?
Or was it simply the only business he understood, or the most profitable? They would probably never know. She wished to think it was one of the former.
“How long was he away?” she asked aloud.
“I don’t know. Almost three weeks,” Judith answered.