Murder Read Free Page A

and her face bore the marks of her suffering. I found that made her more perfect, if that were even possible.
    ‘I think I shall go to bed,’ she said at last, rising. ‘Thank you for coming tonight, Thomas. It’s been good to have some time alone before our guests arrive tomorrow.’ She leaned over my chair and kissed me softly on my cheek. ‘You are always so very kind to me. Sometimes I wonder what I would do without you.’
    ‘You will never have to do without me,’ I answered, ‘that I can promise you.’
    She smiled again, a wistful expression that made me hope one day to see her eyes twinkle with good humour as they had before. And although I dared not think it too often, perhaps she would one day start to love me as I loved her …
    ‘I think I might read for a while,’ I said. ‘Sleep well. And Merry Christmas.’
    As I watched her leave the room, her skirts swishing as she walked, I thought I had never known such a woman, and never would again. I didn’t read, but instead lost myself in the remains of the fire until it had burnt down to a pale glow. Asthe air turned chilly, I too retired to my bedroom, seeking a good night’s sleep before the Christmas festivities. Thankfully, that was no longer an idle wish.
    *
    The mood in the morning was as fine as in any house in London, and once Charles Hebbert, Juliana’s father, had arrived we left the cook preparing our feast and went to church before strolling back along the riverside to Juliana’s house on The Terrace. It had been a mild month, and for all the slight crispness to the air it could as easily have been a March day as a December one. Juliana relaxed her normal over-protectiveness a little and she let James run ahead of us slightly, although she watched carefully as he peered over the bank to the river a few feet below us.
    ‘He’s starting to look just like his father,’ Charles said, adding with a smile, ‘and he seems well.’
    From under his hat, blond curls sprang around the child’s face and for once his pale cheeks were glowing from both excitement and the fresh air.
    ‘He’s got Mother’s eyes,’ Juliana said, and squeezed her father’s arm. Mary Hebbert had been taken from them two summers before, the victim of a sudden fever. It was a swift death as her heart gave out, and although they had both grieved deeply, that had gradually transformed into fond remembrances rather than bouts of anguish. ‘And he is gentle, like her.’
    ‘And clever like his own mother,’ Charles added, his eyes twinkling. ‘A fine combination.’
    I did not join in with their talk of the boy, for whatever I said would sound stilted and awkward. Instead, I hung back a few paces and let them continue. I had never been ableto bond with little James. The similarities with his father and the memories he engendered in Juliana comforted her, but for me they were darker triggers. James had his father’s weak chest, and he had nearly killed Juliana arriving into this world; even throughout her pregnancy he had made her terribly ill, and I could not help but wonder if some of his father’s wickedness had passed into his unborn son. More than anything I loathed the child’s fascination with the river. Juliana refused to let him on the water, despite their waterfront property – I wondered how she could bear to look out at the Thames, knowing that her husband had been pulled out of it, but I supposed in some way it allowed her to feel closer to him. For my own part I still could not look upon the river without a mild sense of dread.
    ‘He’s nearly six. He should be in school,’ I heard Charles say, ‘and mixing with boys his own age. It would be good for his chest to spend more time playing sports, and good for him to be around others.’
    ‘I prefer to school him myself,’ Juliana said, her tone abrupt, ‘until I know he is completely well.’
    Charles, to his credit, did not push her. It was Christmas Day and not the time to broach her