The Murders of Richard III by Elizabeth Peters Read Free Book Online Page B

meet Mr. O’Hagan at Heathrow. O’Hagan has never been out of the States before, and I gather from his letters that he is somewhat apprehensive about traveling alone. This is a difficult place to find….”
    Two men appeared in the doorway. After his faux pas Thomas made a point of greeting Frank Acton with particular warmth.
    All the same, he had to admit that Frank did not stand out in a crowd. He was of medium height and build, with one of those pleasantly nondescript faces that blur in one’s memory. His dark hair was long but neatly barbered and his clothes were conservative. Thomas remembered that the young man was a budding solicitor, a very lowly member of the firm that handled Sir Richard’s affairs. It was through this connection that he had met Liz. Thomas had wondered, when their engagement was announced, what the girl saw in him.
    The American Ricardian was a tall, stooped man of about Thomas’s age. His square-jawed, hawk-nosed face might have been attractive if it had not been set in an expression of timid terror.Projecting front teeth increased his resemblance to a nervous rabbit, and a bushy white moustache vibrated like whiskers when he was agitated. There was no doubt as to his identity; fastened to his left lapel with a large safety pin was a name tag. Thomas had an insane vision of the American society affixing the label as they pushed their president onto his plane like a bundle. Or had O’Hagan labeled himself? It was an equally insane idea. Weldon had said the American sounded apprehensive. That was an understatement. What was wrong with the man? Maybe he couldn’t talk.
    He could. The voice was a high-pitched whine and the moustache vibrated like a hummingbird’s wings.
    â€œFrightful, frightful,” he exclaimed. “Those people at the gate—like a howling mob, ladies and gentlemen! I felt quite hunted, I assure you!”
    â€œNot very bright of you, Frank, old boy,” Philip said. “You ought to have driven in the stable gate instead of coming to the front of the grounds.”
    â€œNo one bothered to warn me.” Frank’s voice was low and well modulated, with impeccable vowels, but he sounded irritated. He glanced betrayingly at Liz, who raised a languid hand in greeting, before he went on. “I hadn’t realizedyou were turning this meeting into a circus. It’s been a rotten day. I had difficulty finding Mr. O’Hagan; he wasn’t where he was supposed to be—”
    â€œIt is such a confusing place,” said Mr. O’Hagan pathetically. “All those large buildings—and people running around, bumping into you and pushing you—”
    â€œThe worst is over, Mr. O’Hagan,” Weldon said soothingly. “You are perfectly safe with us. Do you…do you feel up to meeting the others?”
    Mr. O’Hagan was able to nerve himself to the ordeal, but the introductions were marred by Liz’s tendency to giggle. As soon as they were completed, Thomas excused himself. Jacqueline followed suit, and a neat parlormaid showed them to their rooms.
    They needed a guide. Weldon House was like a maze. The copy of Crosby Hall was not the only accretion; wings and annexes proliferated. As they paced along behind the maid, Thomas heard Jacqueline mutter something about rabbits. He didn’t know whether she was referring to the warren of corridors and rooms, or to Mr. O’Hagan, and he didn’t inquire. He was not looking forward to his next conversation with Jacqueline.
    Their rooms were adjoining. Thomas wonderedwhether this was accidental or not. The maid was certainly well trained. She didn’t even blink when Jacqueline reached out a long arm and dragged Thomas into her room.
    â€œI’ve got to unpack,” he said, retreating.
    â€œI expect you have been unpacked. I see I have. Doesn’t the maid unpack for guests at these high-class affairs?”
    â€œThey do