No Graves As Yet (28 page)

It was not as Joseph wished. He had liked Beecher profoundly almost since they had met. Everything he knew about him, or thought he knew, was decent. Beecher was the ideal professor, learned without being pompous. He taught for the love of his subject, and his students knew it. His pleasures seemed to be mild: old buildings, especially those with quaint or unusual history, and odd dishes from around the world. He had the courage and the curiosity to try anything: mountain climbing, canoeing, potholing, small-boat sailing. Beecher loved old trees, the more individual the better; he had jeopardized his reputation campaigning to save them, to the great annoyance of local authorities. He liked old people and their memories, and odd irrelevant facts. He had spoken of his family now and then. He was particularly fond of certain aunts, all of whom were marvelously eccentric creatures who espoused lost causes with passion and courage, and invariably a sense of humor.

Joseph realized with surprise, and sadness, that Beecher had never spoken of love. He had laughed at himself over one or two youthful fancies, but never anything you could call a commitment, nothing truly of the heart. It was a gaping omission, and the longer Joseph considered it the more it troubled him.

Guardedly he looked at Beecher now, sitting only a few feet away from him, effecting to be relaxed. He was not handsome, but his humor and intelligence made him unusually attractive. He had grace and he dressed with a certain flair. He took care of himself like a man who was not averse to intimate involvement.

And yet he had never spoken of women. If there was no one, why had he not ever mentioned that, perhaps regretted it? The most obvious answer was that had such an attachment existed, it was illicit. If so, he could not afford to tell even his closest friends.

The silence in the room, which would usually have been warm and comfortable, was suddenly distressing. Joseph’s thoughts raced in his head. Had Sebastian either stumbled on a secret or gone looking for it and unearthed it deliberately, then used it? It was a thought Joseph would much rather have put away as unworthy, but he could no longer afford to do that.

Whom was it Beecher loved? If he was telling the truth and had not killed Sebastian, nor know who had, then surely the natural person to consider after that would be whoever else was involved in the illicit romance. Or whoever was betrayed by it, if such a person existed.

At last he faced the ultimate ugliness: What if Beecher was lying? What if his illicit lover had been Sebastian himself? The thought was extraordinarily painful, but it fitted all the facts he knew—the undeniable ones, not the dreams or wishes. Perhaps Flora Whickham was merely a friend, a fellow pacifist, and an escape from the inevitable demands of his family?

There were people who could love men and women with equal ease. He had never before considered Sebastian as one such, but then he had not thought deeply about him in that regard at all. It was a private area. Now he was obliged to intrude into it. He would do it as discreetly as possible, and if it led nowhere with regard to Sebastian’s death, he would never speak of it. He was accustomed to keeping secrets; it was part of the profession he had chosen.

Beecher was watching him with his characteristic patience until Joseph should be ready to talk again.

Joseph was ashamed of his thoughts. Was this what everyone else was feeling—suspicion, ugly ideas racing through the mind and refusing to be banished?

“Sebastian had a friendship with a local girl, you know?” he said aloud. “A barmaid from the pub along near the millpond.”

“Well, that sounds healthy enough!” Then Beecher’s face darkened with something very close to anger. “Unless you’re suggesting he misused her? Are you?”

“No! No, I really mean a friend!” Joseph corrected him. “It seems they shared political convictions.”

“Political convictions!” Beecher was amazed. “I didn’t know he had any.”

“He was passionately against war.” Joseph remembered the emotion shaking Sebastian’s voice as he had spoken of the destruction of conflict. “For the ruin it would bring. Not only physically, but culturally, even spiritually. He was prepared to work for peace, not just wish for it.”

The contempt in Beecher’s face softened. “Then perhaps he was better than I supposed.”

Joseph smiled, the old warmth returning. This was the friend he knew. “He saw all the fear and the pain,” he said quietly. “The glory of our entire heritage drowned in a sea of violence until we became a lost civilization, and all our wealth of beauty, thought, human wisdom, joy, and experience as buried as Nineveh or Tyre. No more Englishmen, none of our courage or eccentricity, our language or our tolerance left. He loved it intensely. He would have given everything he had to preserve it.”

Beecher sighed and leaned backward, gazing up at the ceiling. “Then perhaps he is in some ways fortunate that he won’t see the war that’s coming,” he said softly. “Inspector Perth is sure it will be the worst we’ve even seen. Worse than the Napoleonic Wars. Make Waterloo look tame.”

Joseph was stunned.

Beecher sat up again. “Mind, he’s a miserable devil,” he said more cheerfully. “A regular Jeremiah. I’ll be glad when he finishes his business here and goes to spread alarm and despondency somewhere else. Would you like another glass of sherry? You didn’t take much.”

“It’s enough,” Joseph replied. “I can escape reality nicely on one, thank you.”

The following day Joseph began his investigation with the worst of all possibilities.

He must begin by learning all he did not already know about Beecher. And surely in this case discretion was the better part of honesty. Candor would ruin Beecher’s reputation, and unless it exposed Sebastian’s murderer, it was no one else’s concern.

The easiest thing to check without speaking to anyone else was with a record of all Beecher’s classes, lectures, tutorials, and other engagements for the last six weeks. It was time-consuming but simple enough and easily concealed by finding the same information for everyone and simply extracting that relating to Beecher.

Correlating times and figures was not Joseph’s natural talent, but with concentration he compiled a record of where Beecher had been, and with whom, for at least most of the previous month.

He sat back in his chair, ignoring the piles of papers, and considered what it proved and what he should search for next. How did one conduct a secret relationship? Either by meeting alone where no one at all would see you, or where all those who did would be strangers to whom you would mean nothing. Or else by meeting in plain sight, and with a legitimate reason no one would question.

In Cambridge there was no place where everyone would be strangers, nor in the nearby villages. It would be crazy to take such a risk.

Completely uninhabited places were few, and not easily reached. Beecher might bicycle to them, but what about a woman? Unless she was very young and vigorous, she would hardly bicycle far, and a woman who drove a car was very rare. Judith was an exception, not the rule.

That left the last possibility: They met openly, with natural reasons that no one would question. Sebastian knew of their feelings either because he had been more observant than others or because he had accidentally seen something acutely private. Either thought was distasteful.

Surely it would prove to be nonsense, his own overheated imagination. Perhaps Beecher was simply one of those scholarly men who do not form attachments. Such men existed. Joseph’s idea that he was not arose simply from his own nature. He failed to imagine living with no desire for intimacy. Possibly Beecher had loved once and could not commit himself again, nor speak of it even to someone like Joseph, who would surely have understood.

And yet even as the thoughts were in his mind, he did not believe them. Beecher was too alive, too physical to have removed himself from any of the richness of passion or experience. They had walked too far, climbed too high, laughed too hard together for him to be mistaken.

Joseph had been hoping to avoid Inspector Perth when he almost bumped into him walking along the path in the middle of the quad, his pipe clenched between his teeth.

He took it out. “Good afternoon, Reverend,” he said, this time not standing aside but remaining in front of Joseph, effectively blocking his way.

“Good afternoon, Inspector,” Joseph answered, moving a little to the right to go around him.

“Any luck with your questions?” Perth said with what looked like polite interest.

Joseph thought for a moment of denying it, then remembered how frequently he had passed Perth coming or going. He would be lying, but more importantly Perth would know it and then assume he was hiding something—both of which were true. “I keep thinking so, and then realizing it all proves nothing,” he answered evasively.

“Oi know exactly what you mean,” Perth sympathized, knocking his pipe out on his shoe, examining it to make certain it was empty, then putting it in his pocket. “Oi come up with bits an’ pieces, then it slips out o’ my hands. But then you know these people, which Oi don’t.” He smiled pleasantly. “You’d know, fer instance, why Dr. Beecher seems t’ve made an exception for Mr. Allard, letting him get away with all kinds o’ cheek an’ lateness an’ the loike, where he’d punish someone else.” He waited, quite obviously expecting an answer.

Joseph thought quickly. “Can you give me an example?”

Perth replied without hesitation. “Mr. Allard handed in a paper late, an’ so did Mr. Morel. He took a mark off Mr. Morel for it, but not off Mr. Allard.”

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!”