The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [67]
He smiled at her, and all the memory of past tragedies and horrors they had known was there with its emotion, for an instant shared.
Then the door opened and Sylvestra came in. She looked at Hester with dark eyebrows lifted in question.
“Miss Latterly says that Mr. Duff is not well enough to be spoken to,” Evan explained. “I am sorry. I had hoped he was better for his own sake, as well as for the truth.”
“No … he’s not,” Sylvestra said quickly, relief filling her face, and a softening of gratitude towards Hester. “I’m afraid he still cannot help.”
“Perhaps you can, Mrs. Duff.” Evan was not going to allow her to close him out. “Since I cannot speak with Mr. Duff, I shall have to speak with his friends. Some of them may know something which can tell us why he went to St. Giles and whom he knew there.”
Hester went out silently.
“I doubt it,” Sylvestra said almost before Evan had finished speaking, then seemed to regret her haste, not as having said something untrue but as being tactically mistaken. “I mean … at least I don’t think so. If they did, surely they would have come forward by now. Arthur Kynaston was here yesterday. If he or his brother had known anything at all, they would surely have told us.”
“If they realize the relevance,” Evan said persuasively, as if he had not thought she was being evasive. “Where may I find them?”
“Oh … the Kynastons live in Lowndes Square, number seventeen.”
“Thank you. I daresay they can tell me of any other friends whose company they kept from time to time.” He made his tone casual. “Who would know your husband in his leisure hours, Mrs. Duff? I mean, who else might frequent the same clubs or have the same hobbies or interests?”
She said nothing, staring at him with wide, black eyes. He tried to read in them what she was thinking, and failed completely. She was different from any woman he had seen before. There was a composure to her, a mystery, which filled his mind even when he had thought he was concentrating on something else, some utterly different aspect of the case. He would never understand her until he knew a great deal more about Leighton Duff, what manner of man he had been: brave or cowardly, kind or cruel, honest or deceitful, loving or cold. Had he had wit, charm, gentleness, imagination? Had she loved him, or had it been a marriage of convenience, workable but without passion? Had there even been friendship in it, or trust?
“Mrs. Duff?”
“I suppose Dr. Wade, and Mr. Kynaston principally,” she replied. “There are many others, of course. I think he had interests in common with Mr. Milton, in his law partnership, and Mr. Hodge. He spoke of a James Wellingham once or twice, and he wrote to a Mr. Phillips quite regularly.”
“I’ll speak with them. Perhaps I may see the letters?” He had no idea what possible use they could be, but he must try everything.
“Of course.” She seemed perfectly at ease with the idea. If she had a lover, he did not lie in that direction. He could not help thinking again of Corriden Wade.
He spent a profitless morning reading agreeable but essentially tedious correspondence from Mr. Phillips, largely on the subject of archery. He left and went to the law office of Cullingford, Duff and Partners, where he learned that Leighton Duff had been a brilliant man in his chosen career and the driving force behind the success of the concern. His rise from junior to effective leader had been almost without hindrance. Everyone spoke well of his ability and was concerned for the continued preeminence of the company in its field now that he was no longer with them.
If there was envy or personal malice Evan did not see it. Perhaps he was too easily persuaded. Possibly he lacked Monk’s sharper, harder mind, but he saw in the replies of Leighton Duff’s associates nothing more sinister than respect for a colleague, a decent observance for the etiquette of speaking no ill of the dead, and a lively fear for their own future prosperity. Apparently they had not been socially acquainted,