“Please don’t concern yourself,” Emily said quickly. “I don’t form impressions so rapidly.”
Mrs. Cardon was not so easily corrected. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “I read the case very carefully.” She looked at Emily, not her husband. “Herbert disapproves of my reading such things, but I consider that if it is in The Times, then it is fit for all people to read. Don’t you agree?” There was no challenge in her voice, but it was intended nonetheless.
“I think you should read whatever you wish,” Emily replied with more candor than she had originally intended. “But I agree with your taste. I’m not sure how I missed that story myself. I don’t recall it. I feel remiss.” She said it as if she were genuinely interested, as indeed she was.
“Very polite of you, Mrs. Radley,” Cardon said. “But such indulgence is not really necessary.” A shadow of arrogance passed over his face.
Emily drew in breath to argue, then thought better of it. Her chance of learning more was slipping away. “I have heard something of the matter just by word of mouth, occasional references,” she said, directing her words to Regina Cardon. “I would be very interested in hearing what The Times had to say. It is the most likely to be accurate, at least as to what was indisputable. No doubt opinions vary. They always do.”
“There was no doubt about the young man’s guilt,” Cardon said firmly. He gave his wife a warning glance.
Emily plunged on anyway. It concerned Cecily, whom she liked and for whose grief she had a deep compassion. It also might eventually affect Jack, if Alexander Duncannon felt as profoundly about the situation as his mother believed.
“He confessed?” Emily said with perhaps a little too much innocence.
“No,” Regina Cardon said instantly. “He went to the gallows denying his guilt in anything except purchasing opium to treat his pain.”
“He should have got it through a doctor, not illegally from some street dealer,” her husband told her brusquely. “He was resisting arrest, and that is still murder, because it was done while in the act of committing another crime. You have no argument, Regina. Lezant was a thoroughly undesirable young man.”
“If every young man were hanged whom someone three times his age thought undesirable, we should few of us grow to adulthood, Herbert,” she answered coldly.
He looked at her with ill-concealed surprise and arrogance.
“Although I have little doubt you would have made it,” she added.
Emily put her hand up over her mouth as if she were aghast, whereas actually she was afraid of laughing aloud. Cardon might be uncertain as to what his wife meant, but Emily knew exactly-and agreed. With reluctance she rescued the conversation by changing the subject, but she did manage to smile directly at Regina Cardon, to let her know that she both understood and sympathized. She received a flash of gratitude in return.
Later she rejoined Jack, but did not have an opportunity to speak alone with him until nearly two in the morning, when they were in their own carriage on the relatively short journey home.
She was tired, but what she wished to say should not be delayed. Discussion on the contract was continuing every day. Only if there were difficulties would it extend beyond Christmas.
“Jack…”
He brought himself to attention with an effort.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I feel I should tell you that I had a long talk with Cecily Duncannon this evening, much of it in private.”
He blinked, and in the shifting light of passing carriage lamps she saw the expression of ease go from his face. “I could see that she was worried. Is it something serious? Is she unwell?”
“Her son, Alexander, is unwell…”
He relaxed. “The poor fellow hasn’t been really well since his accident. Godfrey mentions it occasionally. He seems to be recovering very slowly.” He put his hand over Emily’s where it rested on her cloak. “He’s a difficult young man. He has chosen a style of life not likely to help him. Godfrey has done all he can to persuade him to change, but I’m afraid it has so far been to no avail. He made some unfortunate friends earlier on, as I suppose many of us do, but in his case it ended in total tragedy, and Alexander refuses to let go of it.”
“He still believes Dylan Lezant was innocent,” Emily replied.
Jack looked at her sharply. “Emily, there was no question. The bystander was shot. The police were there to arrest them and the dealer, and they saw everything. Alexander was just…devoted to this Lezant as a fellow sufferer dependent on opium for the relief of pain. Except Alexander had real and severe pain and this Lezant was just…just an addict! I’m sorry for both of them, but it is far beyond time Alexander put it behind him and concentrated on getting his health back.”
“And that’s all there is to it?” Emily said with a touch of chill her fur-trimmed cloak and carriage rug did nothing to dispel. “Is that what Godfrey said to Cecily too?”
“I don’t suppose he was quite so blunt, but in substance, yes.”
She did not reply. She had no facts with which to argue, not with Jack, anyway.
Chapter 6
Tellman sat in his chair in the sitting room. Perhaps it should more properly have been called a parlor, but it had too nice a fireplace not to use it themselves, whether they had company or not. And, to tell the truth, with a small child and another on the way, they had little inclination to invite people to visit.
Tellman stared around the room and its comfort seeped into him, like warmth from an open fire, such as burned up in the hearth now. The wind and rain outside only made it feel even better in here. It was what he had wanted for as long as he could remember: a place of his own, clean and warm, full of the things he valued. There was a painting over the fireplace of a scene in the country, with big trees leaning across a stream, and a wooden bridge with two figures on it, barely discernible in the shadows. He always thought of them as friends, even lovers. There was a bookcase against one wall and lots of books in it, mostly his favorites but also some he would read one day, when he had more time.
There was a small table by the opposite chair, where Gracie was sitting quietly, her head fallen forward in sleep, the sewing slipped out of her hands. Beside her was a basket of needles, cottons, and various other sewing things. He liked to watch Gracie sew. She looked so comfortable, even though she had to concentrate hard. She found cooking came to her far more naturally. He realized with pleasure how much he was still in love with her. They had been married long enough to expect a second child, but the surprise and delight had not worn off yet.
Even his present distress did not shadow his happiness more than on the surface. He hated quarreling with Pitt, and he knew that he had behaved miserably. He would not tell Gracie. It would only upset her, and, if he were honest with himself, he was ashamed of it now. Pitt did not want to find corruption in the police any more than Tellman did. It might not cut quite as deeply for Pitt, however. Pitt had other heroes to admire, other men and other causes, even if he had begun much as Tellman had.
Tellman’s father had been born into desperate poverty, the kind where you live from one meal to the next, and go to bed hungry every night. He had worked hard and died young in an industrial accident. Other victims of the accident had survived, but his body was not strong enough to heal from the broken bones, and septicemia had eventually killed him.
Tellman himself had been slight as a child, some might say scrawny. He had been too clever to be easy friends with other boys, who were afraid of his intelligence and lashed out at him the only way they knew how, with fists and boots. Even sitting here by his own fire, Tellman could feel the sweat of fear in his body, and then the chill, as he remembered standing facing them in the street, knowing what was coming.