Anne Perry's Silent Nights: Two Victorian Christmas Mysteries by Anne Perry Page B

even occurred to him. Had he been thinking of her more practical welfare, trying to protect her from dangers she did not see? Or merely protecting himself?
    He saw in Costain a man imprisoned in his calling and his social station, bound to duties he had no capacity to meet. Perhaps no one could have. He was too filled with misery to offer Runcorn much more practical help.
    “Thank you, sir,” Runcorn said as gently as he could. “Would you please ask Mrs. Costain to spare me a few minutes.”
    Costain looked up sharply. “I asked you not to disturb my wife any further, Mr. Runcorn. I thought you understood that?”
    “I wish I could oblige you, sir, but I cannot. Shemay be able to tell me of things Miss Costain confided in her, a quarrel, someone who troubled her or pursued her …”
    “You are suggesting it was someone my sister knew! That is preposterous.” He stood up.
    Runcorn felt brutal. “It was someone she knew, Mr. Costain. The evidence makes that clear.”
    “Evidence? Faraday said nothing of that!”
    “I will describe it if you wish, but I think it is better if you do not have to hear it.”
    Costain closed his eyes and seemed to sway on his feet. Perhaps it was only a wavering of the lamplight. “Please do not tell my wife this.” His voice was no more than a whisper. “Is this why you think Faraday inadequate to the investigation?”
    Runcorn was caught off guard. He had had no idea his opinion was so clear. He certainly had not meant it to be. Should he lie? Costain deserved better, and he had already seen far more of the truth.
    “Yes sir.”
    “Then do what you have to.” Costain turned and made his way to the door, fumbling with the handle before he could open it.
    Naomi Costain came in a few moments later and closed the door behind her before she sat down. Her face was pale, and in the lamplight the stain of recent tears was visible, even though she had done her best to disguise it. There was a kind of hopelessness in her more eloquent than all the words of loss she might have spoken.
    “I will be as brief as I can, ma’am.” Runcorn felt a deep sense of intrusion.
    “There is no need to,” she replied. “Time is of no importance to me. What can I tell you that would help?”
    “Mr. Costain said that you and your sister-in-law were very close.” He hated his own words, they sounded so trite. “If I knew more about her, I might understand the kind of person who would wish her harm.”
    She stared into the distance for so long he began to think she was not going to answer, possibly even that she had not understood that it was a question. He drew in his breath to try a different approach when at last she ended the silence.
    “She had imagination,” she said slowly, testingeach word to be certain it was what she meant. “She would never be told what to think, and my husband found that … willful, as if she were deliberately disobedient. I don’t believe it was disobedience. I think it was a kind of honesty. But it made her difficult at times.”
    Runcorn knew little of society, especially on an island like this. He needed to understand the jealousies, the ambitions, the feelings that could escalate into the kind of savagery he had seen perpetrated against her.
    “Was there anyone she challenged?” he asked, fumbling for a way to ask what he wanted without hurting her even more. “She was beautiful. Were there men who admired her, women who were rivals?”
    Naomi smiled. “You knew her?”
    He felt as if some opportunity had passed him by. “No. I saw her once, in church.” The smile faded.
    “Oh. Yes, of course. I expect people were envious. It happens, especially against those who do not conform to the way of life expected of them. She did nothave many friends, she grew very impatient sometimes. It is not a good quality. I used to hope she would learn to curb it, in time.” She sighed. “She liked Mrs. Ewart. At first I thought it was just because she was from London, and