The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [34]
“Think about that for a while.” Jacqueline dropped the words like stones into the stricken silence. “Come on, Thomas, let’s go to the village. If we can eliminate the possibility of an outsider, maybe your friends will face the facts.”
She walked out of the room.
Thomas had to run to catch up with her. They were outside the house, walking along the terrace, before Jacqueline was calm enough to speak rationally.
“It’s not the logic of the situation,” she muttered. “It’s the atmosphere. Can’t they see it? The malice, the nasty sense of humor—it’s a domestic crime, that’s what it is. People don’t play vicious practical jokes on total strangers. And if they aren’t practical jokes…”
Thomas took her arm as they descended the shallow steps that led from the terrace into the rose garden.
“That’s precisely why they won’t face the facts. The facts aren’t very pleasant. Stop seething, love, and smell a rose. It’s too nice a day to stay mad.”
“I’ll bet it will rain before night,” Jacqueline said.
But the beauty of the morning would have moved a stone; her face cleared as she took a deep breath. She stopped on the path and cupped a full-blown rose gently in her hand. It had a heart of pure pink that shaded off into ice-white petals.
“I’ve never cared much for roses,” Thomas said placidly.
“What are your favorite flowers?”
“What red-blooded American male will admit to having a favorite flower? I don’t think much about ’em. Deadly nightshade? It reminds me of you.”
He put his arm around her, and Jacqueline burst out laughing.
“Thank you, Thomas, I’m touched. Was I too awful just now?”
“No, they had it coming.” They strolled on, their arms around one another, and Thomas felt a wave of sheer felicity sweep over him. “An English garden in the sunshine, and the woman I love,” he said poetically. “What could be better?”
“A loaf of bread and a jug of wine. I’m getting hungry. Do you suppose we could get beer and cheese at the pub?”
Jacqueline’s face was alight with a radiance the roses had not inspired. Thomas hugged her.
“You can have a barrel of beer if you want it.”
“Let’s not talk about barrels.”
“If I can talk about them, you have no reason to object. Do you really think we’ll find out anything in the village?”
“To tell you the truth, the thought of beer predominated when I agreed to go,” Jacqueline said pensively. “But I suppose we have to check.”
“You think Strangways is there?”
“I would be, if I were he. He is as obsessed by Richard as your friends; more obsessed, in a way, because his feelings are a sort of love-hate combination. He’s been so abusive that his scholarly reputation hangs on Richard’s villainy. Any discovery that supports Richard threatens Strangways. Yes, I would certainly be on hand if I had heard of a startling new document.”
They had entered a belt of trees that protected the back of the gardens. The shade felt cool and refreshing. Thomas took his arm away so they could proceed single file.
“How do you know so much about Strangways?”
“Naturally I’ve read his articles. I don’t walk into situations like this one without doing my homework.”
“Ah. Wednesday afternoon, when you said you had to go to the hairdresser—”
“I merely implied that was my goal. I spent the afternoon at the British Museum.”
“Where, to be sure, you have professional connections in the Reading Room. You are really the most…. If I may say so, your Freudian analysis of the unfortunate Strangways is a bit farfetched.”
“Not at all,” Jacqueline said coldly. “My professional duties necessitate contact with the weird world of historical scholarship. I know one man who is besotted with Mary, Queen of Scots. In his study at home there is a little shrine with a portrait of that appalling female draped in crimson velvet, with an eternal light and a white lily in a vase. Owing to the difficulty of procuring a constant supply of lilies on a professor’s meager salary, the flower is plastic; but the sentiment is no less sickening.”
“Anybody I know?” Thomas inquired, fascinated.
“You know him.” Jacqueline grinned at him over her shoulder.