Murder Most Fair
Page 39
I’d gotten rather good at avoiding them. At calculating just how many rags I needed to dance, and how much gin I needed to drink so I could forget, and yet not be too incapacitated to perform my job the following morning. And when I was released from my position after the war, well, then it didn’t matter anymore, did it?
But this weekend I couldn’t afford the luxury of forgetfulness.
As if sensing the maudlin turn of my thoughts, Ryde reached out to touch my motorcar’s rather plain bonnet ornament, at least compared to his. “Kent used to talk about his Pierce-Arrow. Claimed it was the fastest thing on four wheels.”
“Yes, he was rather proud of it.” I recognized the turn in subject for the kindness it was. He’d sensed my discomfort and was trying to find a gracious way to extricate ourselves from this awkwardness. I should have felt grateful, but I only felt troubled.
I lifted my gaze to meet his, trying to read something in his eyes. “I suppose there wasn’t much to talk about in the trenches.”
His expression turned guarded. “No, not that we wanted to. Motorcars were just about the safest topic we could find.”
I nodded, understanding far more than he was saying. Though, I also couldn’t help but wonder if that was a dodge.
Almost reflexively, I found myself searching Ryde for any visible signs of injury. I’d learned swiftly that those soldiers fortunate enough to survive the war still returned wounded in some way, whether it be in body or mind. The unluckiest suffered both.
As if he knew what I was doing, he rolled his left shoulder self-consciously before flicking his fag into the dirt. He ground it out before glancing down the road toward Poole. “I suppose we should be on our way then, lest our fellow guests truly leave us behind to shrift for ourselves.”
“It does seem rude to keep them waiting longer than necessary,” I admitted, suddenly wishing very much to be away, but not wanting to appear overeager. “Is it much farther?”
“Just over the next rise or two, you should be able to see the town laid out before you.”
“That close?”
“Yes, and as I said, I suspect Ponsonby will have told them to wait for us all before departing. He was always considerate about such things.”
“You know him well then?” I asked in genuine curiosity.
He shrugged, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the midday sun. “As well as one can know another man serving beside him during war.” It was rather an obscure answer. And yet Ponsonby had thought them friendly enough to invite him to his house party to celebrate his recent engagement to be married. Of course, the man had also invited me, a woman he hardly knew, though I assumed that was because of Sidney.
As if sensing my interest and wishing to deflect it from himself, he added, “I know he and Kent were great friends.”
“Yes, since Eton. I met Walter once or twice before the war. And, of course, he attended our wedding.” One of the numerous hasty ceremonies performed throughout Britain during the months at the start of the war, between Sidney’s training and his orders to report to France as a fresh-faced lieutenant. I’d only just turned eighteen and hadn’t the slightest idea what was to come. None of us had.
I looked up to find Ryde watching me steadily, as if he knew what I was thinking, for it was what he was thinking, too. It was an odd moment of solidarity under the brilliant June sky, and I would remember it many times in the days to come.
Because who of us ever really knows what’s coming? Or what secrets will come back to haunt us in the end? The war might be over, but it still echoed through our lives like an endless roll of thunder.
Photo courtesy of Shanon Aycock
Anna Lee Huber is the Daphne Award-winning and nationally bestselling author of the Lady Darby mysteries and the Verity Kent mysteries. She is a summa cum laude graduate of Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee, where she majored in music and minored in psychology. A member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers, she currently resides in Indiana with her family. Visit her online at www.AnnaLeeHuber.com.