The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [65]
Evan should have thought of it himself, and it had never crossed his mind.
He walked part of the way. It was not an unpleasant morning, and his mind worked more clearly if he exerted some effort of body. He strode along the pavement in the crisp air, frost sharpened. There were rims of white along the roofs where the snow had remained, and curls of smoke rose from chimneys almost straight up. At the edge of Hyde Park the bare trees were black against a white sky, the flat winter light seeming almost shadowless.
He must learn a great deal more about Leighton Duff: What manner of man had he been? Could this, after all, be a crime of passion or jealousy, and not a random robbery at all? Had Rhys’s presence there simply been the most appalling mischance?
And how much of what Sylvestra said was the truth? Were her grief and confusion for her son, and not for her husband at all? Evan must learn very much more of her life, her friends, especially those who were men, and who might possibly now court a fascinating and quite comfortably situated widow. Dr. Wade was the first and most apparent place to begin.
It was a thought which repelled him, and he shivered as he crossed Buckingham Palace Road, running the last few steps to get out of the way of a carriage turning from the mews off Stafford Place. It went past him at a smart clip, harness jingling, horses' hooves loud on the stones, their breath steaming in the icy air.
The other questions which lay unresolved at the back of his mind concerned his relationship with Runcorn. There were many occasions when he saw a side of him he almost liked, at least a side he could understand and feel for. Runcorn’s aspirations to better himself were such as any man might have, most particularly one from a very ordinary background, a good-looking man whose education was unremarkable, but where intelligence and ability were greater than his opportunities would allow. He had chosen the police as a career where avenues were open for him to exercise his natural gifts, and he had done so with great success. He was not a gentleman born, nor had he the daring and the confidence to bluff his way, as Monk had. He lacked the grace, the quick-wittedness, or the model from whom to learn. Evan thought that very possibly he had received little encouragement from whatever family he possessed. They might see him as being ashamed of his roots, and resent him accordingly.
And he had never married. There must be a story to that. Evan wondered if it were financial. Many men felt they could not afford a home fit for a wife and the almost certain family which would follow. Or had it been emotional, a woman who had refused him, or perhaps who had died young, and he had not loved again? Probably Evan would never know, but the possibilities lent a greater humanity to a man whose temper and whose weakness he saw, as well as his competence and his strengths.
He stood on the curb waiting for the traffic to ease so he could cross the corner at Grosvenor Street. A newspaper seller was calling out headlines about the controversial book published last year by Charles Darwin. A leading bishop had expressed horror and condemnation. Liberal and progressive thinkers disagreed with him and labeled him reactionary and diehard. The murder in St. Giles was forgotten. There was a brazier on the corner and a man selling roasted chestnuts and warming his hands at the fire.
There was congestion at the junction of Eccleston Street and Belgrave Road. Two draymen were in a heated discussion. Evan could hear their raised voices from where