Joseph Chamberlain. He had no desire whatever to look at pictures of mourners, whoever they were.
He considered scriptures, then instead lost himself in the familiar glory of Dante’s
It was infinitely just—the punishments for sin were not visited from outside, decided by a higher power, but were the sins themselves, perpetuated eternally, stripped of the masks that had made them seductive once. Those who had given in to the selfish storms of passion, regardless of the cost to others, were now battered and driven by unceasing gales, forced to rise before them without rest. And so it was, down through the successive circles, the sins of indulgence, that injured self, the sins of anger that injured others, to the betrayal and corruption of the mind which damaged all mankind. It made infinite sense.
And yet, Joseph reasoned, beauty was there. Christ still “walked the waters of Styx with unwet feet.”
If Inspector Perth was working, Joseph did not see him that day. Nor did he see Aidan Thyer or any of the Allard family.
Matthew called in briefly on his way back to London, simply to say how sorry he was about Sebastian. He was gentle, full of a tacit compassion.
“It’s rotten,” he said briefly, sitting in Joseph’s rooms in the last of the twilight. “I’m very sorry.”
Hundreds of words turned in Joseph’s mind, but none of them seemed important, and certainly none of them helped. He remained in silence, simply glad that Matthew was there.
However, Monday was entirely different. It was July 13. It seemed that on the previous day the prime minister had spoken at length about the failure of the army’s present methods of recruitment—a sharp and unpleasant reminder that if the Balkan situation was not resolved and war erupted, then Britain might be unable to defend itself.
Far more immediate to Joseph was Perth’s presence in St. John’s. The inspector moved about discreetly, speaking to one person after another. Joseph caught glimpses of him, always just going, leaving behind him a wake of deeply troubled young men.
“I hate it!” Elwyn said as he and Joseph met crossing the quad. Elwyn was flustered, as if he were being harried on all sides, trying to do something for everyone and desperate to be alone and deal with his own grief. He stared after Perth’s disappearing figure.
“He seems to think it’s one of us!” Elwyn said exasperatedly, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Mother’s watching him like a hawk. She thinks he’s going to produce an answer any minute. But even if he did, it wouldn’t bring Sebastian back.” He looked down at the ground. “And that’s the only thing that would make her happy.”
Joseph could see in his face all that he did not say, and imagined it only too easily: Mary Allard wild with pain, lashing out at everyone without realizing what she was doing to her other son, while Gerald offered ineffectual and comforting remarks that only made her worse—and, finally, Elwyn trying desperately to be whatever they expected of him.
“I know it’s wretched,” Joseph replied. “Do you feel like leaving college for a while? Take a walk into town? I need new socks. I left some of mine at home.”
Elwyn’s eyes widened. “Oh, God! I forgot about your parents. I’m so sorry!”
Joseph smiled. “It’s all right.
“Yes, sir. Yes, I do. Actually, I need a couple of books. I’ll go to Heffer’s. You can try Eaden Lilley’s. They’re about the best for haberdashery around here.”
They walked together back across the quad and out of the main gate into St. John’s Street, then right into Sydney Street. It was fine and dry after the rain, and the Monday morning traffic included at least half a dozen motorcars, along with delivery vans, drays, and wagons. Cyclists and pedestrians wove in and out of them at practiced speed. It was quieter than term time because the usual gowned figures of students were absent.
“If they don’t find anyone, what will happen?” Elwyn said when they had the chance to speak and be heard.
“I suppose they’ll give up,” Joseph answered. He looked sideways at his companion, seeing the anxiety in his face. He could imagine Mary Allard’s fury. Perhaps that was what Elwyn was thinking of, too, and afraid of. “But they will.” The instant the words were out, he knew they were a mistake. He saw the bleak pain in Elwyn. He stopped on the footpath, reaching for Elwyn’s arm and swinging him round to a standstill also. “Do you know anything?” he asked abruptly. “Are you afraid to say it, in case it would give somebody a motive for killing Sebastian?”
“No, I don’t!” Elwyn retorted, his face flushed, his eyes hot. “Sebastian wasn’t anything like as perfect as Mother thinks, but he was basically pretty decent. You know that! Of course he said some stupid things, and he could cut you to bits with his tongue, but so can lots of people. You have to live with that. It’s like being good at rowing, or boxing, or anything else. You win sometimes, and sometimes you lose. Even those who didn’t like Sebastian didn’t hate him!” His emotion was overwhelming. “I wish they . . . I wish they didn’t have to do this!”
“So do I,” Joseph said sincerely. “Perhaps it will turn out to be more of an accident than deliberate.”
Elwyn did not dignify that with an answer. “Do you think there’ll be war, sir?” he asked instead, beginning to walk again.
Joseph thought of the prime minister’s words in the newspaper. “We have to have an army, whether there’s war or not,” he reasoned. “And the mutiny in the Curragh has shown a few weaknesses.”
“I’ll say!” Elwyn pushed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tense. He was broader, more muscular than Sebastian, but there was an echo of his brother in the fair hair and the warm tones of his skin. “He went to Germany in the spring, you know?” he continued.
Joseph was startled. “Sebastian? No, I didn’t know. He never mentioned it.”
Elwyn shot a glance at him, pleased to have known first. “He loved it,” he said with a little smile. “He meant to go back when he could. He was reading Schiller, when he had time. And Goethe, of course. He said you’d have to be a barbarian not to love the music! The whole of human history has produced only one Beethoven.”
“I knew he was afraid, of course,” Joseph answered him. “We spoke of it just the other day.”
Elwyn’s head jerked up, his eyes wide. “You mean worried, not afraid! Sebastian wasn’t a coward!”
“I know that,” Joseph said quickly and honestly. “I meant that he was afraid for the beauty that would be destroyed, not for himself.”
“Oh.” Elwyn relaxed again. In that single gesture Joseph could see a wealth of Mary’s passion, her pride and brittleness, her identification with her sons, especially the elder. “Yes, of course,” Elwyn added. “Sorry.”
Joseph smiled at him. “Don’t think of it. And don’t spend your time trying to imagine who hated Sebastian, or why. Leave it to Inspector Perth. Look after yourself . . . and your mother.”
“I am,” Elwyn answered him. “All that I can.”
“I know.”
Elwyn nodded unhappily. “Goodbye, sir.” He turned away toward the bookshop and left Joseph to continue on his way to the department store to look for socks.
Once inside, he wandered around the tables and the ceiling-high shelves. He was outside again, with a pair of black socks and a pair of dark gray ones, when he bumped into Edgar Morel.
Morel looked flustered. “Sorry, sir,” he apologized, stepping aside. “I . . . I was miles away.”
“Everyone’s upset,” Joseph responded, and was about to move when he realized that Morel was still looking at him.
A young woman passed them. She was wearing a navy and white dress, her hair swept up under a straw hat. She hesitated an instant, smiling at Morel. He colored, seemed about to say something, then averted his eyes. The young woman changed her mind and quickened her step.
“I hope she didn’t go on my account,” Joseph commented.
“No!” Morel said too vehemently. “She . . . she was really more Sebastian’s friend than mine. I expect she just wanted to give her condolences.”
Joseph thought that was less than the truth. She had looked at Morel with some urgency.
“Did he know her well?” he asked. She had seemed an attractive girl, perhaps a little under twenty, and she carried herself with grace.
“I don’t know,” Morel replied, and this time Joseph was certain it was a lie. “Sorry for banging into you, sir,” he went on. “Excuse me.” And before Joseph could say anything else, Morel moved very quickly to the doorway of
