The Sins of the Wolf by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

she was also a person towards whom she felt a natural warmth.
    Mary lifted her shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. “Oh no, not really. I can think of no sensible thing to worry about. Are you going to be warm enough, my dear? Please use the other rug.” She indicated where Oonagh had put it. “It is brought for you. Really, they should have given us a footwarmer each.” She made a little click of annoyance between her teeth. “I daresay that one will be quite sufficient for two of us. Please—move yourself to sit precisely opposite me, and place your feet on the other half of it. Don’t argue with me. I cannot possibly be comfortable if I know you are sitting there shivering. I have caught trains from Edinburgh station quite often enough to be familiar with their discomforts.”
    “Have you traveled a great deal?” Hester inquired, moving to sit as Mary had directed, and finding the blessed relief of the footwarmer on her already chilled feet.
    Outside doors were slamming and the porter was shouting out something, but his voice was lost in a belch and hiss of steam. The train clanked and lurched forward, thenvery slowly gathered speed and they emerged from the canopy of the station into the darkness of the countryside.
    “I used to,” Mary replied to the question with a reminiscent look. “All sorts of places: London, Paris, Brussels, Rome. I even went to Naples once, and Venice. Italy is so beautiful.” She smiled and her face lit with memory. “Everyone should visit it once in their lives. Preferably when they are about thirty. Then they would be old enough to realize how marvelous it is, to feel something of all it has been and sense the past around them, to give depth to the present. And yet they would still be young enough for the flavor to enrich the larger portion of their lives.” The train jolted hard, and then continued forward at greater speed. “I think it is a shame to have your miracles in life when you are too young, and in too much of a hurry to realize what they are. It is a terrible thing to know your blessings only in hindsight.”
    Hester was considering the impact of that thought so seriously she did not reply.
    “But you have also traveled,” Mary said, her eyes bright on Hester’s face. “And far more interestingly than I—at least for the most part. Oonagh told me you were in the Crimea. If you are not pained by recalling it, I should most dearly like to hear something of your experiences. I admit, my mind is filled with questions in a manner most unbecoming. I am sure it must be ill-bred to inquire so much, but I am old enough not to care what is considered proper.”
    Hester had found many peoples’ questions poorly framed and based on assumptions made from the peace and ignorance of England, where the vast majority knew only what newspapers told them. Although that knowledge was now increasing their ability to criticize and raise doubts, it still carried very little of the passion or the horror of reality.
    “It brings back distressing memories?” Mary said quickly, apology vivid in her voice.
    “No, not at all,” Hester denied, more in courtesy than strict truth. Her memories were sharp and complex, but shehad seldom found herself desiring to escape them. “I fear that they may become tedious for people because I felt so strongly about so much, I tend to repeat myself about the wrongs and omit the details which may make the tale more interesting.”
    “I should not be in the least interested in a well-considered and emotionless account that I might read in my daily newspaper.” Mary shook her head vigorously. “Tell me what you felt. What surprised you most? What was best, and what was worst?” She waved a long hand dismissively. “I don’t mean the suffering of the men, I shall take that for granted. I mean for yourself.”
    The train had settled with a steady rhythm that was almost soothing in its regularity.
    “Rats,” Hester answered without hesitation.