A Christmas Journey by Anne Perry Page A

value, this had to play itself out to the bitter end.
    â€œWho else is aware of this?” Mrs. Naylor asked.
    â€œNo one, so far as I am aware,” Isobel answered. “Except Lady Vespasia.”
    Mrs. Naylor turned to Vespasia.
    â€œThat is true,” Vespasia told her. “Mr. Omegus Jones arranged that she should be buried privately—in the chapel in his grounds, by a minister he knows who would regard it as an accident. If we brought you the news, in person, those others present at Applecross that weekend are bound by oath to say nothing of what happened which would challenge that account.”
    â€œReally? And why would they do that?” Mrs. Naylor asked skeptically. “Society loves a scandal. Was it a group of saints you had there?” Her voice was hard-edged with grief and bitter past experience.
    â€œNo,” Vespasia answered before Isobel could. She moved a fraction forward toward the center of the room, commanding Mrs. Naylor’s attention. “They were very ordinary, self-regarding, ambitious, fragile people, just like those it seems you already know. They regarded Mrs. Alvie as to blame and were ready to ruin her, with that certain degree of pleasure that comes when you can do so with an excuse of self-righteousness.”
    Mrs. Naylor’s face twisted at the memory, but she did not interrupt. Vespasia had her complete attention. The rest of the room, Finn, the fire crackling in the hearth, the wind beating against the window need not have existed.
    â€œMr. Jones proposed a trial, the verdict of which was to bind us, upon our oath,” Vespasia went on. “Whoever was found guilty should undertake a journey of expiation, which if completed, would wash out the sin. If they failed, then everyone else was free to ostracize them completely. But if they succeeded, then anyone who referred to it afterwards, for any reason public or private, should themselves meet with that same ostracism.”
    â€œHow very clever,” Mrs. Naylor said softly. “Your Mr. Jones is a man of the greatest wisdom. Expiation? I like that word. It conveys far more than punishment, or even repayment. It is a cleansing. Am I bound by this also?” She turned to Isobel, then back to Vespasia.
    â€œYou cannot be,” Vespasia answered, seeing the one ghastly flaw in Omegus’s plan. “You were not party to the oath.” She smiled faintly, like a ghost. “And it does not seem you would be greatly affected if society did not speak to you. I find it difficult to imagine you would know, let alone care.”
    â€œYou are quite right,” Mrs. Naylor agreed. “But this is sufficient explanation for tonight. You have ridden far, and in inclement weather. We have food aplenty and room to spare. And your ponies need rest, whether you do or not.” She looked at Isobel. “It will perhaps be harder for you to accept my hospitality than it will be for me to give it, but there is none other for miles around, so you had best learn to do it. Jean will find you rooms and food. I wish to retire and read my daughter’s last letter to me.” And she took Finn’s arm and went out, neither of them turning to look behind.
    Isobel and Vespasia had no alternative but to follow Jean, a silent, buxom woman, to where she offered them food and rooms for the night. When they were settled, with the luggage placed conveniently for them, Isobel came to Vespasia’s door and accepted instantly the invitation to come in. Her face was pale, her dark eyes shadowed with misery.
    â€œI’d almost rather sleep on the moor!” she said wretchedly. “She knows that! What do you think she’ll do tomorrow? Can we leave?”
    â€œNo. It is part of our oath that we accompany her to London, if she will allow us to,” Vespasia reminded her.
    Isobel closed her eyes, her fists clenched by her sides. “I don’t think I can! Seven hundred miles, or more,