A Place of Confinement: The Investigations of Miss Dido Kent (Dido Kent Mysteries)

by Dean, Anna

  Martha screamed.

  And even Dido must hesitate a moment. There was something too closely akin to a horrid novel in the creaking open of a hidden door. She could not quite escape the idea that there were skeletons and torture chambers to follow; and it was several minutes before she could reason herself into exploring the space beyond the panel.

  But there were no skeletons, only a little dusty space the size of a convenient closet – and, within it, the head of a narrow stone staircase. A chill musty draught of air was blowing up the steps, bringing with it the reassuringly mundane sound of cats.

  Martha crept pale-faced to the door, as if all the horrors which had occurred to Dido had now possession of her brain. ‘That is why Tish wanted the table moved. So that she could come at this secret door.’ She peered anxiously into the space. ‘But where do you suppose the stairs lead?’ she asked tremulously.

  ‘To the library,’ said Dido with conviction. She turned back into the hidden room; but the stairs were an inky-black well and all the reason in the world could not prevent a shudder as she stepped forward.

  ‘Is it safe?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Dido with more assurance than she felt. She made her way down the first two or three narrow steps. The air struck a chill through her and her footsteps echoed; below she could dimly see a stone staircase twisting down, as in a castle tower. ‘Yes, it is quite safe.’ She brushed away a spider’s web which had attached itself to her face and continued downward. ‘Miss Fenstanton and Miss Verney discovered the priest’s hole and the stairs when they played in the house as children. It was their secret.’ She stopped and held out her hand to Martha who had begun to follow her cautiously. ‘But it would seem that upon this visit, they both decided to make use of the secret for their own purposes. Oh, take care! There are kittens here near the foot of the stairs.’ There was a crack of light ahead, and it showed three puzzled little furry faces; three little pink mouths opened in protest.

  Dido made a hasty explanation of the kittens’ presence, stepped past them, ran her hand along the panelling, and found a tiny catch. It clicked softly and, a moment later, the two women were ducking their heads and stepping, out of the dark, dusty little priest’s hole into the bright ordinary world of Mr Lancelot’s library.

  The black kitten with white paws toddled out after them, blinking delightedly and looking about for adventure.

  Miss Gibbs brushed dust from her white muslin gown and stared at Dido. ‘Tish knew about the hidden stairs?’ she said, struggling for understanding.

  ‘Oh yes. And that, you see, was how she intended to return to your bedchamber. She planned to come in through the little garden door, to the library, and then once here she could slip up the hidden stairway.’ She looked about at the room, the shelves of books, the watching portraits, the door into the hall which stood ajar. ‘But I believe something happened while she was on her way to the bedroom. Something which made her leave this house—’

  She stopped. From the hall came Mr Lancelot’s hearty voice.

  ‘It ain’t no good arguing with me, George,’ he was saying. ‘My mind’s made up and I have already spoke to the lady.’

  Dido stepped cautiously to the door and looked out. The two gentlemen had stopped as they crossed the hall in the sheltered corner where a table stood in the shadow of the gallery.

  ‘Spoke to her?’ George Fenstanton was bouncing with rage – like a small terrier snapping at a hound. ‘Why, I cannot believe it! You have asked a penniless little old maid to be your wife?’

  ‘Ha! Mind what you say, please! Remember you are talking to a fellow in love.’

  Martha giggled and turned an expressive look on her companion, but Dido hurriedly closed the door and leant her back against it. ‘That,’ she said quietly, ‘is our answer, I think. Miss Verney overheard something, just as we did now.’

  Martha began upon a question, but just then both women were distracted by a pitiful wail. The kitten had found the library steps and begun to climb them with enthusiasm – only to discover that coming down was a great deal harder than going up. He was now on the fifth step, clinging desperately with all four paws and crying for assistance.

  Dido lifted him down and returned him to the priest’s hole.

  Martha pushed closed the panel and turned about with eyes full of questions. ‘What do you suppose Tish overheard?’

  ‘I am not quite sure. But anyone at the table in the hall would think themselves safe from prying ears so long as they supposed the library to be empty. The gentlemen were talking in the hall that morning. And I would guess that they were sitting at the table under the gallery.’

  ‘They were, but it was only business they were talking about – no one would care a jot about Tish overhearing it.’

  ‘Oh, I cannot agree. Business was their subject, and so was money, was it not?’

  ‘Lord! Yes, but it was only how they was to get enough money for the new town. No great secret.’

  ‘Oh! But I think there might have been a very great secret under discussion,’ said Dido thoughtfully. ‘For Mr George has a scheme for getting money which I do not think he would wish to be generally known.’ She stopped as another idea took hold of her mind. She turned away and began to walk about in great agitation, attempting to arrange her thoughts into a satisfactory shape.

  Miss Gibbs watched anxiously.

  ‘The note!’ cried Dido turning suddenly to her companion with a look of enlightenment. ‘The note which you found in your bedchamber when you returned from your walk with Mr Lomax. What did it say?’

  ‘It said, “You must not tell what you know. It will be the worse for you, and everyone you care about, if you do.”’

  ‘Miss Gibbs, that note was not about your deception of Mr Lomax.’

  ‘Was it not?’

  ‘It was not even meant for you.’

  ‘Oh it was, you know. For it had my name writ upon it.’

  ‘But that was only because the gentlemen believed you were the one to have returned to the house. Do you see?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They thought that Letitia had walked out with Tom Lomax.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was you they believed to have stayed close to home. After you had both left the house, I think they fell into rather particular discussions – discussions which they would not wish anyone else to hear. They felt secure because they thought the house was empty. But they were wrong: the house was not empty. Miss Verney was making her way back through the library. The gentlemen perhaps heard a sound – feared that their scheming had been detected. Now they would immediately think that it was you creeping about the house. Not Miss Verney, because they believed her to be out on the downs with Mr Lomax. So the note was written to you, telling you not to tell what you had overheard.’

  Martha’s eyes rolled about as she absorbed the new idea. ‘And so you think it was the note which made Tish run away?’

  Dido took a rapid turn across the room. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I do not believe she read the note. Why should she? It did not have her name upon it. No, I do not think she needed any threat. The secret she had heard was enough to frighten her in itself. I believe it shocked her so badly she decided she must escape.’

  Martha stared. ‘But what could it be that was so shocking?’

  ‘That,’ admitted Dido, ‘is something which I do not yet entirely understand … But I believe I almost have it.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘It is all to do with my aunt’s jewels, and some letters cut in stone … and the directions on some letters and Miss Fenstanton’s book of sermons…’

  Miss Gibbs looked bewildered. ‘What do you mean to do?’ she asked rather fearfully.

  ‘I mean,’ said Dido, ‘to make a small experiment.’ She turned briskly towards the hall door.

  But Martha called her back. ‘Miss Kent,’ she said slyly, ‘may I wish you happiness upon your engagement?’

  ‘As to that,’ said Dido pulling open
the door, ‘apply to me again in two days’ time. I shall tell you then whether your good wishes are needed. But I sincerely hope that they will not be.’

  * * *

  Dido ran across the hall and up the stairs, her heart beating fast. She sped along the gallery and paused briefly outside her aunt’s chamber. She set her ear to the door. From within came the low, comforting voice of Doctor Sutherland. ‘You may rest now,’ he was murmuring. ‘There is nothing to worry about.’

  Satisfied that she would not be needed for a while, Dido hurried on to her own room where she took her penknife from her writing desk. Then she set out with an air of great determination for the east wing to make her experiment.

  If the outcome of that experiment was as she expected, then, she believed, everything would begin to make sense …

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The experiment was decisive.

  Dido stood beside the little barred window at the end of the east wing staring out, half seeing, onto the bright spring green of the lawns where the company had begun upon a game of bowls; Mrs Bailey’s pink silk bonnet bobbed about beside Miss Fenstanton’s white straw and the scarlet shawl had been laid aside with a parasol upon a bench.

  At last, she thought, she understood why Mrs Manners gave money to a brother she despised; and why the secret which they shared was so important as to have cost Mr Brodie his life.

  She studied the window ledge. The afternoon sun was lighting up the grey stone and the old carved letters; the slanting light deepened the cuts, giving them a distinction they had not had in the early morning. She ran her finger over them, and then turned her attention to the new carving which she had just completed – untidy scratches, ill-formed letters; but a very practical proof of her theory.

  There was but one doubt remaining in her head – though that was a substantial one. How was the truth ever to be made public? For it must all depend on Mrs Manners confessing. And, even if Dido could find the courage to confront her aunt, she lacked the authority to enforce compliance. What was she to do?

  There was a great temptation to do as poor Miss Verney had done and run away from the wretched complication of guilt which was the rotten core of Charcombe Manor. But that was not possible; the peace and safety of others depended upon her actions.

  She folded her penknife, slipped it into her pocket and turned towards the half-open door of the prison room. But as she did so, she became aware of a creaking footstep in the passageway beyond the bedchamber. Someone was walking slowly and cautiously; but the ancient floorboards were defeating the attempt at stealth and crying out so loud that only Dido’s preoccupation could have kept her deaf to them so long.

  She looked out through the prison bars into the colourful ordinariness of the garden – counted the bowlers. There was Mr George, and Miss Gibbs – with her locket still clenched in her hand – and Mr Lancelot. Miss Fenstanton was just putting off her shawl and stooping down to roll a ball, and Mrs Bailey was in a great flow of inaudible words.

  Unless one of the servants had broken the injunction against entering this part of the house, then the footsteps were certainly those of Mrs Manners – come again to visit this room which held such terrible memories …

  With rising panic Dido looked around at the dusty floor, white walls and narrow bed. There was no hiding place here. The footsteps came on, hesitated at the door of the outer room, and then began to cross the bedchamber.

  The door was pushed open – niece and aunt faced one another in silence.

  ‘What, pray, are you doing here, miss?’

  Dido groped behind her, pressed her hands for support against the cool stone sill. The scene which she had most dreaded was forced upon her without any opportunity for thought or preparation. But it must be gone through; there are some matters which must transcend respect and deference.

  ‘I am waiting for an answer.’ Mrs Manners crossed to the table and sat down slowly on the narrow little chair, with the air of a queen taking her place on a coronation throne. ‘I insist that you tell me what you are about.’

  ‘Aunt,’ Dido began, striving against the tremor in her voice, and determined to get immediately to the heart of the matter. ‘I believe I know why Miss Verney left this house.’

  ‘Letitia?’ cried Mrs Manners with a look of great astonishment. ‘You know what has become of her?’

  ‘I believe I do. And I hope that you will not blame me for investigating the matter. For you have yourself been most anxious that she should return to her friends. The idea of an elopement has made you extremely uneasy.’

  Mrs Manners sat very straight in her chair. She had an air of fragile dignity in her black silk gown, with a mass of grey curls piled upon her head, prettily set off by a tiny white lace cap. ‘And am I to suppose that that is the cause of your impertinent intrusion upon this room?’

  ‘I have not meant to be impertinent.’

  Mrs Manners waved aside the protest. ‘Very well, miss, I daresay I can guess at what you have found out. Letitia has run away to marry young Lomax, has she not?’

  ‘No, I do not believe she has. The reason for her departure was quite different.’

  ‘Oh?’ There was a steely challenge in the single word. It seemed intended to remind Dido of her aunt’s power – her consequence in the family; the necessity of pleasing and placating.

  It cost her a struggle, but Dido continued quietly, intent on getting the worst over as quickly as possible. ‘Miss Verney left this house – she ran away – because she heard Mr Lancelot and Mr George talking about money; and she heard something she should not have heard.’

  The words were a blow to Mrs Manners; it was detectable – not from any sign of pain, but rather from an increase of dignity. Her back straightened, her head lifted and poised itself as if the pile of grey curls was a heavy burden which must be carefully balanced. ‘And what was it that she should not have heard?’

  ‘I believe she heard Mr George Fenstanton’s scheme of getting money from you. The reason why you have been giving him your jewels.’

  ‘That is enough, miss! I insist that you say no more. I am not accustomed to such impertinence. You will say no more about the affairs of my family. We shall have no more of your disgusting investigations.’

  ‘I am sorry for taking such a liberty, Aunt. But it is necessary.’

  ‘Necessary? I know why you think it necessary. It is for the sake of young Lomax. Are we all to be allowed no privacy on his account?’

  ‘I do not believe that he should pay with his life for your convenience,’ cried Dido with spirit. ‘And,’ she added more calmly, ‘I can neither stop my enquiries – nor cease to know what I have already discovered.’

  Mrs Manners caught at the danger in this speech. ‘And what have you discovered? I insist that you tell me about it immediately.’

  ‘I doubt it will please you.’

  ‘I doubt it very much, miss. But you will tell me none the less.’

  Dido looked about her – at the bolted door, the barred window. ‘Miss Fenstanton has told me,’ she began quietly, ‘that your sister, Miss Francine, had a chamber in this wing.’

  ‘Yes. She had.’

  ‘Knowing so much, and observing that Miss Francine is always spoken of as “sickly”, I could not help but wonder whether it was her illness which called for the means of restraint which are still to be seen here.’

  ‘Francine was not mad!’ Mrs Manners’ little hand struck the table.

  ‘No, she was not,’ said Dido quietly. ‘I understand that now. There was no madness. This room was made into a prison for another reason entirely. It’s purpose was to break the spirit of a young woman who was determined to marry for love rather than the convenience of her family. She was shut away here until her brothers had gained their point.’

  Mrs Manners face remained impassive. She folded her little hands neatly upon the deal table.

  Dido longed to know the thoughts behind the soft, faded prettiness of that little face. Becau
se everything must depend upon a confession. And not only a confession spoken in this secluded place, but repeated to the world – to the assize court.

  ‘Pray go on,’ said Mrs Manners quietly.

  ‘Doctor Sutherland,’ continued Dido, introducing the name rather fearfully, ‘was Miss Francine’s medical advisor. He was a constant visitor to this house.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Constant visits produce a kind of intimacy within the family – intimacy which can lead to affection.’

  Mrs Manners stared down at her hands.

  ‘Affection which would certainly not have been approved by two brothers determined upon their sisters making grand alliances. A plan of elopement to Gretna Green would be a natural recourse.’ Dido stopped and looked upon her aunt; she had bent her head a little now, as if desirous of hiding her face. ‘There was an elopement thirty years ago, was there not? There is still a rumour of it remembered in Charcombe village.’

  In the silence that followed, Dido could hear the laboured breath of her aunt. She watched the slight tremor of the thin little shoulders in their black silk and reproached herself for unkindness. She was breaking every code of behaviour. Here was insolence where there should be deference; honesty where there should be polite dissemblance. But she would not – could not – retract.

  ‘It is a very old tale,’ said Mrs Manners quietly at last. ‘It ought to be forgotten. Common delicacy ought to make you shrink from mentioning it.’

  ‘But I must. I am sorry to cause you pain, but there is a higher good to be served here.’

  ‘A higher good! Upon my word, this is modern cant! When I was a girl, young ladies did their duty and were not so immodest as to concern themselves with higher goods. Why must you recall it? The escapade was short-lived; my brothers had it all smoothed over. There is nothing to be gained from remembering it.’