A Christmas Beginning by Anne Perry

yet in order to solve a murder he was willing to believe that her brother could be guilty. Or did it reflect a closer knowledge of Barclay than Runcorn had, especially during the time of his acquaintance with Olivia? Was he finally facing a grief he had tried to avoid, but could not any longer?
    â€œYou know him better than I do,” Runcorn said with a greater gentleness. “How did he accept her rejection? Did he love her deeply?”
    Faraday looked startled.
    It raced through Runcorn’s mind that what he dreamed of as love was not something Faraday even considered. There was no understanding of the passion, the hunger, the tenderness, the soaring of the heart or the plunge of despair. He was thinking of an arrangement, an affection. Runcorn was harrowed up with a rage so intense he could have struck Faraday’s smug, bland face and beaten his assumptions out of him. He wanted to feel blood and bone under his fists.
    Were these the feelings Olivia’s murderer had felt? Only they had used a carving knife? Why? Was the killer a woman? Someone with no physical power to strike, but the passion nevertheless?
    â€œIt doesn’t have to be a man,” he said aloud. “Who else did Newbridge court? Or John Barclay? Who could have loved or wanted them with such fierce possessiveness?”
    â€œA woman?” Faraday was stunned. “But it was … violent! Brutal.”
    â€œWomen can be just as brutal as men,” Runcorn said tartly. “It happens less often, simply for opportunity and perhaps schooling, but the rage is just as savage, and when it breaks through the years of self-control, it will be uglier.”
    â€œJealousy?” Faraday tasted the idea. Now he was meeting Runcorn’s eyes and there was no evasion in him, no weariness. “Over Newbridge? I don’t think so. Although to be honest, I hadn’t considered it. I’ll have Warner look into it more closely. John Barclay, that seems possible. He can be very charming, and he has a high opinion of himself. He would not take rejection easily.”
    â€œI heard from Kelsall that it was he who rejected Miss Costain,” Runcorn corrected him.
    Faraday shrugged with a slight smile. “That may be what she told him,” he replied. “They were friends. She might not wish him to think she had been rebuffed. She was a difficult young woman, Runcorn. If you intend to solve her murder, you must recognize that. She was a dreamer, impractical, selfish, very willful in certain matters. She steadily refused to be guided by her brother, a patient and long-suffering man where she was concerned, and I regret to say, not always best supported by his wife. John Barclay is much more fortunate, and I daresay wiser, even if he has a certain vanity.”
    With the very reference to Melisande, Runcorn felt the iron vise close around her as if it were around himself. In his mind he stood with her again in the churchyard and heard her voice speaking of Olivia, the emotion trembling in it, and he knew this fear was also for herself. But Melisande was a woman who obeyed necessity, understanding there was no choice. Olivia had rebelled. Were they connected? How? It still formed no pattern he could read to be certain of innocence or guilt.
    â€œThank you,” Faraday said briskly, cutting across his thoughts. “The fact that it might have been a woman would explain why Miss Costain was not at first afraid of her. Also, of course, all those we have questioned would have been thinking in terms of men.” His shoulders eased and he smiled momentarily. “Thank you, Runcorn. I am obliged for your expert opinion, and of course for your time.”

    Runcorn was unsatisfied. He had raised questions to Faraday; he had not given answers. How much was he seeing of the woman Olivia Costain had been, and how much was his picture of her colored by Kelsall’s feelings for her? How much was his feeling for