Anne Perry s Christmas Mysteries Page 0,16
hair, now graying at the temples. His face also was pleasant, but marked by a certain sense of loss, as if he had failed to achieve something that mattered to him too much to forget.
"My daughter-in-law, Clara, and my son, Randolph," Bedelia continued, indicating in one sweep a young man whose coloring resembled hers, although his features did not, being considerably stronger and blunter. The woman beside him was handsome enough in a powerful way, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and with brows rather too heavy.
Bedelia smiled, in spite of the occasion. "And my husband Arthur," she finished, turning to a remarkably handsome man whose dark hair was now iron gray. His eyes held a wit and life that captured attention instantly, and his smile at Grandmama showed perfect teeth.
"Welcome to Snave, Mrs. Ellison," he said warmly. "I am sorry it is distressing news that brings you. May I offer you tea, or would you prefer something more robust, such as a glass of sherry? I know it is early, but the wind is miserable and you have to be chilled, and perhaps tired also."
"That is most generous of you, and understanding." Grandmama made her way over to the fire, and the seat Zachary had left vacant for her. Whoever was guilty of having killed Maude, if indeed someone had, she hoped it was not Arthur Harcourt.
"What is it you have to tell us, Mrs. Ellison?" Agnes Sullivan asked with a tremor in her voice.
"I am afraid Miss Barrington passed away in her sleep last night," Grandmama replied solemnly. "I believe it must have been peaceful, and she seemed to be in excellent health and spirits right until the last moment. She made no remark as to feeling unwell. I am so sorry." She glanced rapidly from one to the other of them, trying to judge their reactions. Not that she was sure she could tell guilt from shock anyway, or from grief for that matter.
Zachary looked least surprised, rather more puzzled, as if he had not fully understood the meaning of her words.
Agnes gave a gasp and her hand flew to her mouth in a gesture of stopping herself from crying out, oddly like Bedelia's five minutes before. She was very pale.
"Poor Aunt Maude," Randolph murmured. "I'm so sorry, Mama." He looked at Bedelia with concern.
Clara Harcourt said nothing. Perhaps as one who had barely known Maude she felt it more appropriate not to speak.
Arthur Harcourt's olive complexion was a muddy color, neither white nor gray, and his eyes seemed to have lost focus. What was he feeling? Was that the horror of guilt now that the act was real and not merely dreamed?
"I am sorry to bring you such news." Grandmama felt compelled to fill in the silence that seemed to choke the room. The mere flickering of the fire sounded like a sheet torn in the wind.
"It...it was good of you," Agnes stammered. "Such a terrible thing for you...a guest in your house...a virtual stranger."
Suddenly a quite brilliant idea lit in Grandmama's mind. It went up like a flare of light. She could almost feel the heat of it in her face. "Oh, not at all!" she said with feeling. "We talked for hours, Maude and I." She was stunned at her own audacity. "She told me so much about...oh, of any number of things. Her feelings, her experiences, where she had been and the people she had met." She waved her hands for emphasis. "Believe me, there are those I have been acquainted with for years about whom I know far less. I have never made such excellent friends with anyone so rapidly, or with such a natural affection." That was a monstrous lie-wasn't it? "I must admit her trust in me was most heartwarming, and that was a great deal the reason why I could not possibly allow anyone else to come to you now," she hurried on. "I shall never forget Maude, or the confidence she placed in me regarding her life and its meaning." It was an extraordinary feeling to have made such statements as if they were true, as if she and Maude had become instant and total friends.
She realized with a flutter of absurdity, even of sweetness, that it was not completely a lie. Maude had told her more of meaning in a couple of days than most of her acquaintances had in years, although not the personal details she implied to her wretched family!
And grudgingly, like the lancing of a boil, she admitted