by Anna Dean
‘Are we not to attempt an equal and open discourse?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Such a discourse is quite impossible if there is to be an embargo upon every subject which touches upon misdemeanour – every subject with which the world decrees a lady must not “concern herself”?’ She smiled. ‘If there are to be such restrictions, you know, we might as well give up our experiment at once and confine ourselves to conversations upon the weather and the state of the roads.’
‘I suspect,’ he said grimly, ‘that you might have dangerous opinions even upon turnpikes and rain-showers.’
There was rather a long silence in which the rose clawed urgently at the window and the severe black outline of old Mr Kent continued to glower reproachfully at his daughter. But then there was a sound of the outer door opening, footsteps in the hall, and Margaret’s querulous voice calling out, ‘Rebecca, I see that the front step is still not swept!’
Lomax’s knuckles whitened upon the chair’s back, his voice shook. ‘I wish,’ he said low and urgent, ‘that I could make you understand how very painful it is to a man to hear a woman he esteems …’ he hesitated, looked down upon his hands, ‘a woman he loves – talking upon such indelicate subjects.’
Dido coloured, but she must speak. Margaret’s steps were already crossing towards the parlour.
‘I believe,’ she said – scarcely speaking above a whisper, ‘that true delicacy, consists not in remaining silent about the evils of the world – nor even in being ignorant of them. I am convinced,’ she said, finding at last the courage to raise her eyes to his, ‘that real feminine delicacy consists rather in having right opinions of those evils. And I hope,’ and this last was a positive whisper for Margaret was now in the room, ‘I hope, Mr Lomax, that, in the course of our acquaintance, you have never had any cause to think my opinions indelicate, corrupted or unfeminine.’
He opened his mouth to reply, but Margaret was upon them and he could only smile, bow and excuse himself, leaving Dido alone with her sister-in-law – and struggling to look as if nothing of consequence had passed between them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An early escape to the moss hut had now become absolutely necessary. Never had Dido been more in need of solitude; but the rain continued and Margaret was wanting to be listened to.
Margaret was, in fact, in high good humour just now – for dear Mrs Harman-Foote had sent for her – actually sent for her. Dear Mrs Harman-Foote wished particularly to consult with her – as one mother to another, you know – about whether young Georgie should be sent to school. For Mr Paynter had advised that he should and had written her a very considered letter upon the merits of plain living in a school. But, of course, she did not wish her husband to know anything about her consulting the surgeon. And so she had confided in Margaret, for she knew that she could rely upon her good sense and it seemed that it was a principle of hers …
The day was beginning to draw to a close before the rain held off and Dido was able to escape, at last, from this account of Margaret’s triumphant intimacy at the great house.
She slipped out thankfully into the garden’s dripping trees and scent of damp earth, and hurried along the gravel path which skirted the side of the house: her mind endeavouring still to interpret the slight smile, the bow which Mr Lomax had made before leaving her alone with Margaret … What had they signified? Assent to her claim? Or doubt …?
There was a peremptory rapping as she passed the library window; she stopped and turned with a dreadful sinking of the heart. However, it was not Margaret knocking; it was Francis’s thin face and grey whiskers pressed against the glass, his finger beckoning her in.
‘I would just talk with you a moment, Dido,’ he said when she joined him. ‘Alone, you know. It would not do to …’ He waved a hand in vague indication of … something – Margaret perhaps.
Dido closed the library door and went to warm herself at the excellent fire, while her brother settled behind his desk and looked at her in a troubled way. Francis was the oldest of the Kent brothers – in looks, though not in years. He had dark, almost black eyes, narrow features, a high-domed balding head, and particularly large side-whiskers which his sister suspected him of growing so that he might hide from his wife behind them when he was not able to employ a book or a newspaper for that purpose.
Here, however, in the fire-lit sanctuary of his own small room, there was no shortage of books. He had inherited his father’s collection and had added to it until it overflowed the shelves to cover every available chair and table. Books were stacked upon his desk and he was now peering around them.
‘Ahem, yes. Well, it’s this Bath plan, you see …’
‘Yes, what of it?’ Dido asked briskly. Years of experience had taught her there was little to be gained from waiting for Francis to finish his sentences. ‘You do not wish me to go?’ She removed a dictionary and two volumes of Ovid from a chair and sat down.
‘Well, as to that … I daresay it could be … And God knows, you’ve had few enough treats lately.’ He gave a quick smile, reminding her suddenly of the kindly older brother who used to read the Arabian Nights to her. He opened a drawer in his desk, took something out and hurriedly pushed it towards her. It was a little pile of five gold sovereigns. ‘Buy yourself something pretty while you are away – a cap, or a gown or …’ He gave another vague wave – clearly at a loss to know what it was that women spent money on.
Dido considered the coins – and his offer – eagerly. She knew there were but a few shillings left in her purse; and, since her regular allowance had disappeared with Charles’s bank, heaven only knew when such riches would be within her grasp again. And the visit to Bath represented an opportunity of being with Mr Lomax – continuing their ‘open and honest discussion’ without Margaret’s agonising intrusions.
But still she hesitated. ‘I would not wish to rob you, Francis.’ She always felt a kind of awkward pity for him and, besides, the money and the holiday would be dearly won if they were to be the cause of more arguments and economy in the vicarage. ‘Are you certain it will not inconvenience you?’
‘No,’ he said, looking steadily at her, his black eyes bright under bushy grey brows. ‘Take it, Dido. Take it and go to Bath. I hope things are not got quite so bad that … I should think I can give my sister a few pounds without being obliged to teach Latin lessons again, or I would not …’
‘Oh!’ Dido put her hand to her mouth as sudden understanding flooded her brain, blotting out for a while even solicitude over Mr Lomax. ‘Of course!’ she cried delighted at the memory. ‘I had forgotten, Francis, you used to take in pupils before you came to Badleigh!’
‘I have certainly not forgotten it,’ he said feelingly. ‘Though I do not see why …’
But she was not listening. ‘“You have been in my situation. You know how difficult it can be!” That is what Mr Portinscale said when he came to visit you last week!’
‘Dido!’ cried Francis raising a finger. ‘I do believe you are still in the habit of listening at keyholes! I thought you had grown out of it years ago. I remember Grandmother Kent saying …’
‘I was not listening at a keyhole,’ said Dido with dignity. ‘I was quite across the other side of the hall. Mr Portinscale just happened to be talking very loudly – and you had left the door open.’
Francis smiled.
‘But my point is,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that you and Mr Portinscale have both taught little boys their Latin. That is the situation you have shared.’ Several ideas were coming together in her head now as she remembered the rest of the conversation. ‘Francis,’ she demanded, ‘why did Mr Portinscale come to see you that day? Why did he wish you to intercede with Mr Harman-Foote?’
‘Ahem. Well, I do not think …’ Francis avoided her eyes and began to open the largest tome on his desk. ‘It was not a matter he would want … Now, if you will excuse me, please, I am rather busy. There is a reference I wish to find for Sunday’s sermon �
�’ He put on his spectacles and turned a page.
But Dido was not about to allow a mere brother to evade her questions. She had had many years practice at teasing brothers. She leant across the desk and laid both hands upon the page of his book. ‘I shall not leave your library,’ she said, ‘I shall not cease talking to you until you tell me.’
‘Really, this is too bad! You cannot—’
‘Did he confess something to you?’ she said, smiling up at him and still holding her hands upon his page. ‘He did, did he not? He confessed that he had lost his temper with young Georgie. He had struck him, had he not? I know that he had. I saw the bruise!’
Francis gave a long sigh. ‘I wonder that you need to trouble me with questions when you know so much without …’
‘You mean, of course, that I am right!’ she cried, tapping her hands delightedly on the book. ‘And when you said he should confess all because “he is master at Madderstone”, you were not referring to Mr Harman-Foote at all, you were referring to Georgie himself.’
‘Yes,’ said Francis with a resigned sigh. ‘I was. You are quite right. Now will you give me some peace?’
But Dido was thinking – without lifting her hands. ‘And so you did not intercede for him?’
‘No, I did not,’ said Francis, with a defeated sigh. ‘It would have done no good. That young imp truly is master at the abbey. If he told his mother what had occurred, poor Portinscale would lose the favour of the great house and my interceding would only turn Mrs Harman-Foote against me as well, and then Margaret would …’ He tried to inch his book out of the sisterly grasp.
‘And now,’ said Dido, ‘the young imp rules Mr Portinscale as well. The unfortunate man is reduced to buying the child’s silence – with cake.’
Well satisfied with herself, she released the book, picked up her money and hurried away at last to the damp, but blissful solitude of the moss hut.
Here was one small mystery solved, she thought happily as she settled upon the bench … No, when she considered carefully, she saw that there were two mysteries solved. For a little reflection upon Margaret’s dull account of her visit to the great house revealed also a solution to Mr Paynter’s secret correspondence with Mrs Harman-Foote!
Why, this was turning into a remarkably successful day!
She checked herself abruptly, shocked at her own hard-heartedness. How could these thoughts occupy her so entirely after the affecting interview with Mr Lomax? Within the last hour a man had told her that he loved her – and here was she thinking only about Latin lessons and cake!
How very shameful. Was it possible that her own ideas were of more importance to her than a man’s regard? Perhaps, she thought guiltily, she was constitutionally unsuited to love, and Mr Lomax was destined to become no more than a memory, like Mr Clarke … and the other men she had danced and flirted with as a girl.
No. She shook her head immediately with an affectionate smile and watched the black branches of the damson trees drip yellow leaves and water drops into the long grass. No matter what the outcome of their ‘experiment’, he would always be dear to her. His virtues – and his faults – would always form her very ideal of what a man ought to be.
Mr Lomax’s rights revived, but the high spirits of successful mystery solving brightened the prospect. Now she was inclined to be sanguine. The bow and the smile had certainly been favourable …
Chapter Thirty
The party left for Bath two days later, the travellers gathering at the abbey for breakfast before sunrise. And Dido was very glad to be one of the company. She entered the hall of the great house that morning rich and happy; secure in the prospect of five days’ freedom and with spirits to enjoy all the anticipation and bustle of an approaching journey: the shuffling in the gravel of the horses as the carriage was drawn up outside; the shouts of the coachman echoing in the grey dawn; the carrying-down of trunks and those odd, muttered arguments which always break out among footmen who never can agree upon the best way of stowing boxes.
The smell of chops and toast and coffee issuing from the dining room was very welcome indeed and she was hurrying towards it when a loud voice called out her name. Mr Harman-Foote was standing at the door of his library, holding a candle against the gloom.
‘Miss Kent, may I speak with you a moment?’
She followed him into the library where he set the candle down among the papers on a table and begged her to take a seat. But he remained standing himself, his red face frowning, his large hand tapping restlessly among the papers – uppermost of which was the new plan of his grounds. The library fire was but recently lit and the chimney drawing badly: a smell of wood-smoke filled the air and thin grey wisps could be seen twisting about in the candle’s pool of light.
‘Wanted to ask you something,’ he barked at last, so very abruptly that anyone less familiar with his ways would have been offended. Dido only smiled and waited. ‘Those letters …’ he began, and stopped.
‘Letters?’
‘Yes. The letters you saw in Miss Fenn’s room – or rather you didn’t see ’em. For I understand they were gone when you came there.’
‘Yes.’ She studied his face carefully but could not guess what he was about. His colour was habitually so high that his emotions were very difficult to judge.
‘Well—’ His fingers drummed upon the plan. ‘Point is, I’ve been wondering. Have you found ’em? Have you got any idea what became of ’em?’
‘No, I am afraid not.’
‘Ah!’ He sat down beside the table, knees spread wide, his hands planted upon them. ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. It’s a bad business: a very bad business indeed. A lady’s correspondence is a private thing, you know. Should be treated with respect. Don’t like to think of it falling into the wrong hands. Don’t like it at all.’
His disappointment seemed real. There was, overall, such an air of honesty – and of delicacy too, despite the clumsy manner, that she was tempted to trust him … She hesitated; but the sounds of preparation from the hall were becoming louder and more rapid now – they had not long to talk …
‘I agree entirely, sir,’ she said quietly, meeting his eyes. ‘In point of fact, I had rather wondered whether you might have removed the letters yourself – in order to prevent their falling into the wrong hands.’
He started at her words and she discovered that it was, after all, possible for his face to become a little redder. ‘By God!’ he bellowed good-humouredly. ‘William Lomax is right about you, my dear! You’re a damned clever young lady!’
‘I thank you for the double compliment, sir. I am almost as pleased to be thought young as clever!’
He laughed heartily and insisted upon the accuracy of both words – with a gallantry of intent if not of manner. ‘But, you see,’ he continued, ‘the point is, you are quite right. I did mean to take the letters away …’
‘And you went to the room just before Anne and I?’ cried Dido, thinking of that little trace of tobacco smoke.
‘You are quite right! I did. I left Portinscale and young Crockford in the billiard room and slipped away upstairs pretty soon after dinner.’
‘But …’
‘But,’ he said leaning forward, his hands still clamped upon his knees, ‘I was like Old Mother Hubbard. The cupboard was bare.’
‘The letters were already gone from the desk?’
He nodded. ‘Not a single one left!’
‘I see.’ She was forced to consider this for several minutes, her eyes fixed meditatively upon the blue-grey skeins of smoke drifting about the candle-flame. ‘And do you know,’ she asked at last, ‘whether any other member of the company went to Miss Fenn’s chamber that night? Did you see anyone else on your way there?’
He shook his head. ‘Saw no one, I’m certain of it. Only the surgeon.’
‘Mr Paynter?’
‘Just coming away from poor Miss Lambe’s room. Last visit of the day, he said. And, to do that fellow justice, he’s been very good. Thre
e times every day he’s been here. More than a bump on the head merits, in my opinion – but then, every man knows his own business best.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Dido a little absently – for she was now watching her companion very closely and wondering how much he might know about the woman his mother had recommended as governess …
‘Those letters, Miss Kent, they must be found, you know. Found and destroyed.’
‘Destroyed?’ She raised a questioning brow.
‘Well, you know …’ he looked down, slapped his plump hands upon his legs. ‘The poor lady is dead. No need to rake up old secrets. No need at all.’
‘Secrets?’ began Dido eagerly. ‘You believe …’
But the gentleman had now returned to his old refrain. ‘Why, it’s a bad business,’ he declared, sitting back in his chair. ‘A bad business all round! I tell you honestly, Miss Kent, I wish the poor lady could have been left in peace where she was. I wish young Henry’d never taken it into his head to drain that pool. It was a foolish trick!’
‘A trick!’ She leant forward across the papers on the table. ‘Mr Harman-Foote, am I to understand that Mr Coulson did not have your permission to breach the dam?’
‘No, he did not! I never gave my permission for it. Would never have given my permission. Told him so as soon as ever I saw what was going on!’
Dido stared.
‘Why,’ said he, ‘if you do not believe it, look here upon our plan. There, do you see?’ She followed the thick pointing finger and saw, drawn quite clearly in the neat black lines of the draughtsman, the shape of the little lake in exactly the same place it had always been. She looked more closely and saw there, among the grand new vistas and terraces, the outline of the watercourse – completely unchanged.
She had been entirely mistaken! It would seem that the question to ask was not: why had the damn been rebuilt? But: why had it ever been broken down?
‘Mr Coulson chose to drain the pool?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Said Mr Harman-Foote. ‘But it seems it was James Laurence that persuaded him into it. It was some foolish notion of his.’