by Dean, Anna
Dido was wondering a little about this confidence which he seemed to place in her, when he swept all such thoughts from her head by adding, ‘My visitor is Mr William Lomax.’
She was dimly aware of Mr Fenstanton explaining that Mr Lomax had come to talk over the danger in which his son presently stood; and that, understanding Dido to have met the young man yesterday, he had asked particularly if he might speak with her. But the greater part of her attention was taken up with the thought that Mr Lomax was here, now, in the house.
‘You do not wish to see him?’ asked Mr Lancelot, misunderstanding her hesitation. ‘Please do not distress yourself! You need not be bothered by him. Why! Just say the word and I’ll have the footmen throw the fellow bodily from the house!’
Laughing in spite of herself, Dido assured him that there was no need to summon his men – she was, in fact, very happy to talk to Mr Lomax who was ‘an old acquaintance. And,’ she added more seriously as they both turned towards the door of his room, ‘I am very grateful for your liberality in admitting him.’
She entered the untidy, masculine little room, with a multitude of emotions boiling within her. But, from the moment she saw Mr Lomax rising hastily from the high-backed chair beside the hearth, everything else was swallowed up in concern. There was such a pallor to his well-cut features, such suffering gravity in the solemn grey eyes as inflicted an almost physical pain upon her.
Hardly knowing what she was about, she hurried forward with hands outstretched. She recollected herself and made her curtsey just in time; but never before had she wished so fervently that she had consented to their engagement – for only such a connection could authorise her to go to him now, to comfort him as she longed to do.
She held out her hand, he folded it firmly in his own.
‘It is very kind of you to agree to see me, Miss Kent,’ he said with a formality which was all for their host, while the pressure of his hand spoke a warmer greeting.
‘I am in my way to visit my son – in the village lock-up,’ he said when they were all seated. ‘And Mr Fenstanton has told me that you saw him yesterday – before the constables … that is, before we learnt of Mr Brodie’s death.’
‘I did.’
‘And how did he seem?’ The words burst out of him. ‘Did he seem worried? Apprehensive? Did he seem as if…?’ He stopped, unable to continue.
There was a silence, broken only by the cracking of sticks in the newly lit fire.
Mr Lancelot rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps,’ he said courteously, ‘this painful discussion would be easier without a looker-on.’ And, when neither of his guests opposed the suggestion, he withdrew.
As the door closed behind him, Dido abandoned propriety – and her chair. She drew a footstool close beside Mr Lomax, and, sitting down upon it, looked up into his eyes. They were fearful and wretched, clouded with pain. In the leaping light of the flames, the muscles of his throat moved. He swallowed hard, sought her hand and held it tightly. ‘Tom has but four days,’ he stammered. ‘On Saturday the judges will arrive in Exeter to hold the county assizes. He will be tried … and…’ He was unable to go on.
‘He is innocent,’ said Dido with every ounce of certainty she could find within her, abandoning every doubt, determined to make him believe it; determined almost to make Tom innocent – if that was what was needed to ease his father’s pain. Because this pain had to be relieved. She could not bear to look upon it. The near approach of the trial was a great shock to her, but she was determined to give no hint of it in her manner. ‘I know he is innocent,’ she said calmly. ‘We shall prove that he is.’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘No, I shall prove it. I do not wish you to be concerned in this business any more than is absolutely necessary.’
‘You are too cruel!’
‘Cruel?’ His brows shot up as surprise pierced through his misery.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Could you bear to stand by and do nothing if you saw me unhappy? Would you not wish to do all that you could to put things right?’
He simply shook his head – unwilling to argue with her.
‘You know you would.’
‘And you know,’ he said, succumbing to dispute in spite of himself, ‘what my reply must be. Our roles cannot be reversed. It is only natural that a man should face danger and exertion for a woman he esteems. But no man of honour would allow a lady to be drawn into trouble on his behalf.’
‘And what if the lady wishes to be drawn into trouble?’
‘In that case, the gentleman must protect her from her own poor judgement.’
‘Then the gentleman is a blockhead!’
‘I thank you for the compliment.’
Their eyes locked and they sat for a minute in uneasy silence.
‘If you do not require my help,’ she asked at last, ‘why have you come here?’
He made no answer, but only put his hand to his brow.
‘I have you there, have I not?’
‘Ah! But I did not actually deny that I wished for your help,’ he attempted. ‘I only said that I would take upon myself the entire danger of proving my son innocent…’
‘This is sophistry!’ she cried. ‘Admit that you need me!’
He only smiled and shook his head. He had never yet admitted that she had won an argument – and she doubted that he ever would (though she was determined not to cease trying for it).
‘I will admit,’ he said, ‘that your information might be very useful to me. Will you tell me about your meeting with Tom yesterday?’
She gave up the point (for the time being) and began her account – taking care to dwell upon every detail which showed his son to have been at ease and completely unsuspicious of the calamity which was about to befall him. Lomax listened with lids half veiling his eyes, his chin set firmly – like a man enduring pain in silence. She noticed the bruised appearance of his cheekbones again and it hurt her badly. She made up her mind to avoid quarrelling with him if she possibly could.
As she at last faltered into silence, he turned a searching look upon her. ‘Tom asked for your assistance?’
‘Yes.’
‘In God’s name! My son is the most selfish—’ He broke off and sat for some time with his hand to his brow, and such a look upon his face as must silence Dido. So very painful a combination of anger and concern was something which only a parent could comprehend, and she could only watch it with silent respect.
‘Tom has placed me in an impossible situation,’ he confessed at last. ‘Against all my wishes I have no choice. I must ask a further favour of you.’
‘Oh?’
He spread his hands helplessly. ‘He will not see me. He will not allow me to visit him unless…’
‘Unless?’
‘Unless I bring you to him.’
Though she did not doubt that Tom’s reasons were selfish, she was exceedingly grateful for his insistence. But she looked down demurely – it would not do to exult. He was quite capable of changing his mind and denying Tom’s request. ‘Then I shall come with you straightaway,’ she said.
‘No!’ he cried, aghast. ‘I do not yet know how he is housed – what manner of place the gaol is. I must at least be sure it is fit for you to visit.’
The impulse of romance was to cry out that she did not care – that she would go into the darkest, most wretched prison in the world for his sake. But romance is not always kind. Such a statement would only exalt herself at his expense – and do nothing at all to make him comfortable. Upon this point it was better not to argue.
‘I shall make enquiries about the gaol directly,’ he said, jumping to his feet with an air of renewed purpose. ‘And then I must continue the search for the young lady.’ He paused with his hand upon the back of the chair. ‘I understand that Mr Fenstanton has written to the intimate friend in Worcestershire. So I think I had better seek out Miss Verney’s other acquaintance. This morning I shall ride to Taunton and speak to her teachers and fellow pupils at the school there.
Perhaps one of them may have information to give.’
‘That is a good thought,’ said Dido, rising from her stool and accompanying him to the door. But, before they parted, she laid her hand upon his arm. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘it might be as well to make enquiries about Miss Verney’s character too.’
‘Her character?’
‘Yes. I hear such very contradictory accounts of her within this house. I fear that some of my informants are not telling the truth. But her teachers in particular – if they have had charge of her for some years – should be able to say whether she is the kind of young lady to elope; or to tell what other cause might make her run away.’
Chapter Sixteen
Dido understood Mr Lomax too well to press for an immediate visit to the gaol; but the waiting was painful. After he was gone – hurrying away before the other house guests were stirring – she found it absolutely necessary to pace about the hall, railing inwardly against the inconveniences which delicacy places upon the female sex; though her rational mind could not help but concede that, of all the hardships endured by womankind, this sort of anxious protection was the most kindly intentioned.
She was longing to talk to Tom. She wished to be ‘getting on’, as she expressed it to herself. There was so little time, and what could she do, shut up here in the house…?
By chance, as this impatient thought crossed her mind, she found that she had come to the foot of the staircase and, looking up it, she remembered her plan for visiting the mysterious east wing.
She looked about; the hall and gallery above were both deserted.
She ran once more up the stairs and this time reached the end of the gallery and the interesting door which led into the deserted part of the house. Her hand was actually upon the latch, when again a voice called out to stop her.
‘Lord! Miss Kent! You are up and running about very early!’ Miss Gibbs was just emerging onto the gallery from her chamber. She yawned widely and approached the door. ‘I declare I have not slept a wink again, there was such a crying in the night! And I could not run a step until after I have ate my breakfast!’
Dido said something rather foolish about the beauty of the morning making one energetic; but Miss Gibbs was not to be got rid of.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked bluntly. Her eyes were red with sleeplessness and the curls about her face were once more singed. (How, wondered Dido, could any woman – even one as clumsy as Miss Gibbs – make the same mistake again and again when dressing her hair?)
‘I confess that I was attempting to creep into the east wing unobserved. For I have a great curiosity to see the whole house.’
‘Oh well! Then I shall come with you,’ said Martha and, without waiting to hear whether her company was wanted, she threw open the door, crashing it loudly against the wall. Martha Gibbs was certainly not the ideal companion for a covert mission.
And it soon appeared that she had her own reasons for seeking a private conference, for she stepped forward eagerly, preventing Dido from passing through the door. ‘Have you found out anything about Tish?’ she said in her flat, forthright way.
‘I do not yet know what has become of her,’ Dido replied cautiously. ‘But I have made one or two discoveries. And,’ she added, thinking that since she could not rid herself of the young lady’s company she might as well take advantage of it, ‘there is a question or two I should like to ask of you, Miss Gibbs.’
‘Oh, but—’ Martha looked wary.
‘For example,’ said Dido, looking about to be sure they were not observed and speaking low, ‘what is your friend’s opinion of Mr Tom Lomax? Does she admire him? Or does she … distrust him?’
Martha frowned immediately. ‘Why should she think bad of him?’ she demanded.
‘Perhaps she might suspect that he was pursuing her for the sake of her fortune.’
‘Oh, but Miss Kent, he ain’t like that at all!’ cried Martha. ‘He is the most delightful young man in the world!’
‘And does Miss Verney—’ Dido began, but Miss Gibbs was not to be stopped.
‘And it is all nonsense, you know, what they are saying about him wanting Tish’s money. For he ain’t mercenary in the least – he is all for love.’
‘Is he indeed? And may I ask how you are able to speak of it with such certainty?’
‘Oh!’ Miss Gibbs blushed furiously and looked down upon the floor. ‘Oh, I overheard him telling Tish about it – quite by accident, of course. I was not meaning to listen, Miss Kent. I would not for the world have you think bad of me.’
‘I understand. As a chaperone sometimes one cannot help but hear…’
‘Yes! That’s just how it was! And so you see, I heard him telling Tish that he loved her so much he did not care about the money one jot and … and he said that he would want to marry her just the same if she had not a penny in the world! So you see—’
But just then there came the sound of Mrs Bailey’s voice, the tread of her feet upon the stairs. Seizing Dido’s arm, Miss Gibbs hurried her through the door, into the east wing and across the dark lobby beyond. She paused, listening as if she feared pursuit. Her face was still red, her eyes wide in the sudden gloom, and the air of a thing pursued was compounded by her rather rapid breathing.
Dido waited in silence for an explanation of this strange urgency.
To the right there stretched an uncarpeted passageway. The passage windows were all shuttered, but, upon one side, three doors stood open at regular intervals, admitting pale oblongs of daylight from the three rooms beyond. There was a musty smell of a place long shut away, and a slight smell of damp and decay besides. The plaster of the walls and ceiling had crumbled in places, dusting the uneven floorboards with white. Dust motes floated in the shafts of light and the silence of the place reasserted itself as the echo of the closing door faded.
‘I must know what has happened to Tish,’ whispered Martha at last. ‘Papa has writ to say I must go home straight away. But I can’t leave Charcombe now … Not before I know that Tish is safe.’
Dido looked levelly at her companion. ‘Miss Gibbs,’ she said quietly, ‘what do you suppose is the cause of Miss Verney’s disappearance? Do you suppose that Mr Tom Lomax—’
‘He ain’t got anything to do with her going,’ said Martha quickly.
‘But how can you be so very certain?’
‘Because I know it is some scheme of Mrs Bailey’s. Tish says Mrs B has been wanting rid of her these last two years.’
Dido could only stare in surprise and wait for more information.
Miss Gibbs bit furiously at her lip. Her eyes rolled about and her fingers twisted in the chain of a locket she wore about her neck. At last she burst out with: ‘Mrs B has been against Tish ever since she married Mr B.’
‘And their marriage took place two years ago?’
‘Yes. Till then, Tish says, everything was very pleasant. Mr Bailey was always very kind to her. But then he married – and Mrs B was jealous of Tish being so pretty, you know, and was always making trouble for her. And then last autumn they quarrelled.’ Martha hesitated, her hand twisting her necklace so tight she seemed to be in danger of breaking it. ‘Did you know there had been a great falling out between Tish and Mrs B?’
‘No. What was the cause?’
‘It was about us going into Worcestershire to visit Melia. Mrs B didn’t like it at all. She don’t like Tish going anywhere without her. She watches her like a hawk.’
‘But Mrs Bailey permitted the journey into Worcestershire?’
‘Yes, she did,’ said Miss Gibbs with a strangely suspicious shake of the head. ‘Though I was quite sure she never would. It was all very odd. It happened very sudden when we was all in town together. I had a headache and stayed at our lodgings; and Mrs B and Tish went off to dine with the Whittakers and on to the theatre afterwards. And when Tish got home that night she comes to me laughing and says it’s all settled, but I must not ask how. We was off to Worcestershire next day and Mrs B sent us th
e whole way in her own coach. But she’s been in a great rage ever since … And Tish has always said Mrs B would get her own back if she could … and now Tish is gone. And Lord! I don’t know what to think!’
Dido stood in silence for a moment, struggling to comprehend. From beyond the closed door could be heard footsteps on the stairs and the voices of the household gathering for breakfast.
Martha turned fearfully towards the sounds. ‘I can’t say any more. She mustn’t know we’ve talked. But you will find out things, won’t you? You’ll find Tish – and prove to everyone that Mr Lomax ain’t done her any harm. But I mustn’t seem to help you.’
‘Why? Why is such caution necessary?’
Martha only shook her head like a startled horse.
‘Miss Gibbs, why are you so very frightened?’
But Martha was already opening the door and peering about its edge. ‘I must go to breakfast before I’m missed.’ Then she was out through the door and striding hurriedly along the deserted gallery.
* * *
Left alone in the east wing, where every movement of her feet echoed about the crumbling walls, Dido fell to wondering about Martha Gibbs. Why was the girl so very frightened? Had she been threatened? Were her suspicions of Mrs Bailey well founded, or was she too much influenced by her friend’s account of her stepmother? Nothing about Miss Gibbs suggested a very deep thinker and it was obvious that she had been used to defer to the more forceful Letitia. She had, perhaps, a little too much of a plain girl’s trust and respect for beauty.
For several minutes Dido stared along the gloomy passage with its dusty patches of sunlight. The only thing she could be sure of was that Miss Gibbs knew more than she was prepared to tell. Fear was certainly keeping her silent upon some very material points.
Well, she must look for another opportunity of gaining the girl’s confidence. But now she must complete her exploration, before she was missed at the breakfast table.
She started cautiously along the passage, the boards creaking and the fragments of fallen plaster crunching under her feet at every step …