Joseph felt a chill and stared fixedly at Perth, because he was suddenly more afraid of him. He did not want him poking around in Beecher’s private affairs. “People can be eccentric in marking sometimes,” he said, affecting an ease he was very far from feeling. “I have been guilty of it myself at times. Translation in particular can be a matter of taste as well as exactness.”
Perth’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think, Reverend?” he said curiously.
Joseph wanted to escape. “It seems probable,” he said, moving a little to the right again, intending to go around Perth and continue on his way. He wanted to end this conversation before Perth led him any further into the morass.
Perth smiled as if Joseph had met his prejudices exactly. “Dr. Beecher just loiked Mr. Allard’s style, did he? Poor Mr. Morel just ain’t in the same class, so when he’s late, he’s in trouble.”
“That would be unfair!” Joseph said hotly. “And it was not what I meant! The difference in mark would have had nothing to do with being late or early.”
“Or being cheeky or careless?” Perth persisted. “Discipline’s not the same for the clever students from what the way it is for the less clever. You know Mr. Allard’s family quite well, don’t you?”
It was not himself Joseph was afraid for, it was Beecher, and the thoughts that were darkening in his own mind.
“Yes, I do, and I never allowed him the slightest latitude because of it!” he said with considerable asperity. “This is a place of learning, Inspector, and personal issues have nothing to do with the way a student is taught or the marks given to his work. It is irresponsible and morally repugnant to suggest otherwise. I cannot allow you to say such a thing and be uncorrected. You are slandering a man’s reputation, and your office here does not give you immunity to do that!”
Perth did not seem in the least disconcerted. “Oi’ve just bin going around asking and listening like you have, Reverend,” he replied quietly. “And Oi’ve begun to see that some people thought Dr. Beecher really din’t like Mr. Allard very much. But that don’t seem to be true, because he bent over backwards to be fair to him, even done him the odd favor. Now why d’yer think that was?”
Joseph had no answer.
“You know these people better’n Oi do, Reverend,” Perth went on relentlessly. “Oi’d’ve thought you’d want the truth o’ this, because you can see just how hard everybody’s taking it. Suspicion’s an evil thing. Turns people against each other, even when there’s really no cause for it.”
“Of course I do,” Joseph responded, then had no idea what to say next.
Perth was smiling. It was amusement and a faint, rather sad compassion. “Hard, ain’t it, Reverend?” he said gently. “Discovering that a young man you thought so well of weren’t above using a spot o’ blackmail now an’ then?”
“I don’t know anything of the sort!” Joseph protested. It was literally true, but already morally a lie.
“O’ course not,” Perth agreed. “Because you stopped before you had any proof as you couldn’t deny. If you did, then you’d have to face it, and maybe even tell. But you’re an interesting man to follow, Reverend, an’ not nearly as simple as you’d have me think.” He ignored Joseph’s expression. “Good thing Dr. Beecher was way along the river when Mr. Allard was killed, or Oi’d have to suspect him, an’ of course Oi’d have to find out exactly what it was Mr. Allard knew, although Oi can think of it easy enough. A very handsome woman, Mrs. Thyer, an’ mebbe just a little bit lonely, in her own way.”
Joseph froze, his heart racing. Beecher and Connie? Could that be true? Images teemed through his mind becoming sharper and sharper—Connie’s face, beautiful, warm, vivid.
Perth shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Reverend. Oi haven’t suggested something improper. All men have feelings, an’ sometimes we don’t want ’em seen by others. Makes us feel kind of . . . naked. Oi wonder what else Mr. Allard’s sharp eyes noticed? You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t!” Joseph snapped, feeling the heat in his face. “And as you say, Dr. Beecher was at least a mile away when Sebastian was shot. I told you that I can’t help you, Inspector, and it is the truth. Now would you be good enough to let me pass?”
“Course Oi would, Reverend. You be about your business. But Oi’m telling you, all of you here: You can go round an’ round the houses all you like, an’ Oi’m still going to find out who did it, whoever he is, no matter what his father paid to have him up here. An’ Oi’m going to find out why! Oi may not be able to argue all kinds o’ fancy logic like you can, Reverend, but Oi know people, an’ Oi know why they do things against the law. An’ Oi’ll prove it. Law’s bigger’n all of us, an’ you being a religious man, yer oughta know that!”
Joseph saw Perth’s antipathy and understood it. The inspector was out of his depth in surroundings he could never aspire to or be comfortable in. He was being patronized by a number of men considerably younger than he, and they were probably not even aware of what they were doing. The law was both his master and his weapon, perhaps his only one.
“I do know that, Inspector Perth,” Joseph said. “And we need you to find the truth. The uncertainty is destroying us.”
“Yes,” Perth agreed. “It does that to people. But Oi will!” At last he stepped aside, nodding graciously for Joseph to proceed.
Joseph walked on rapidly with the certain knowledge that he had come off second best and that Perth understood him far better than he wished. Once again he had misjudged somebody.
He was invited to dine at the master’s lodgings the following day, and accepted because he understood Connie Thyer’s desperation to escape the sole responsibility for looking after Gerald and Mary Allard under the weight of their grief. She could hardly offer them anything that could be construed as entertainment, and yet they were her guests. But their unalloyed presence at her table must be almost more than she could bear. Joseph at least was an old family friend, also mourning a close and almost equally recent loss. Also, his religious calling made him extremely suitable. He could hardly refuse.
He arrived a little before eight to find Connie in the drawing room with Mary Allard. As always, Mary was head to toe in black. He thought it was the same dress he had seen her in last time they met, but one black gown looked much like another to him. She certainly appeared even thinner, and there was no doubting the anger in her face. It did not soften in the slightest when she saw Joseph.
“Good evening, Reverend Reavley,” she said with polite chill. “I hope you are well?”
“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “And you?” It was an absurd exchange. She was obviously suffering intensely. She looked anything but well. One inquired because it was the thing to say.
“I am not sure why you ask,” she answered, catching him off guard. “Do I tell you how I feel? Not only has some murderer robbed me of my son, but now vicious tongues are fouling his memory. Or would you feel less guilty if I merely tell you that I am perfectly well, thank you? I have no disease, only wounds!”
Neither of them noticed that Gerald Allard had come into the room, but Joseph heard his swift intake of breath. He waited for Gerald to make some attempt to retrieve his wife’s naked rudeness.
The silence prickled as if on the brink of thunder.
Connie looked from one to the other of them.
Gerald cleared his throat.
Mary swung around to him. “You were going to say something?” she accused. “Perhaps to defend your son, since he is lying in his grave and cannot defend himself?”
Gerald flushed a dark red. “I don’t think it is fair to accuse Reavley, my dear—” he started.
“Oh, isn’t it?” she demanded, her eyes wide. “He is the one who is assisting that dreadful policeman to suggest that Sebastian was blackmailing people, and that is why someone murdered him!” She swiveled back to Joseph, her eyes blazing. “Can you deny it, Reverend?” She loaded the last word with biting sarcasm. “Why? Were you jealous of Sebastian? Afraid he was going to outshine you in your own field? He had more poetry in his soul than you will ever have, and you must realize that. Is that why you are doing this? God! How he’d have despised you for it! He thought you were his friend!”
“Mary!” Gerald said desperately.
She ignored him. “I’ve listened to him talk about you as if you were flawless!” she said, her voice shaking with contempt, tears glistening in her eyes. “He thought you were wonderful, an unparalleled friend! Poor Sebastian—” She stopped only because her voice was too thick with emotion to continue.
Connie was watching, white-faced, but she did not interrupt.
