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

by Dean, Anna

  ‘Why, I hope to gain you, of course,’ he answered, and tried to laugh.

  ‘I am a bad bargain!’

  ‘You are a great deal too modest!’

  ‘No, an excess of modesty has never been a part of my character,’ said Dido. She put up one hand, attempting to catch her bonnet which was being blown from her head. But she found that both hands were required to prevent her being shaken from her seat. She gave up the attempt, allowed the bonnet to be carried back onto her shoulders and held hard to the seat. ‘My failings lie elsewhere,’ she said.

  ‘I am sure you have no failings,’ insisted the gentleman – but impatience was beginning to break through his gallantry.

  ‘Oh, but I have! I am poor and I am not young. Those, I think, would generally be considered my greatest weaknesses of character.’

  He shook his head in exasperation. ‘This is an extraordinary way to talk to a fellow that’s made you an offer of marriage.’

  ‘It is an extraordinary offer.’

  ‘Damn it!’ he cried suddenly and urged the horses to greater effort. ‘Why must you argue?’

  ‘Arguing,’ said Dido – speaking loud to be heard above the noise of the wheels, ‘is generally considered to be my third great fault. And, all in all, I cannot help but conclude that I am a bad choice for a wife.’

  In reply he pulled the horses to a sudden, slithering halt and turned towards her – his brown eyes were earnest, a little frown of puzzlement was gathering on his brow. All at once he was the bewildered boy again. ‘But what if a fellow has fallen in love with you?’

  ‘Ah!’ she said as the quiet afternoon settled about them and the sounds of the sea and the circling seabirds reasserted themselves. ‘If that were the case, it would, of course, change everything.’

  ‘But, I tell you, it is the case! Why must you doubt me?’

  She turned her eyes directly upon him, ‘Because of the means by which you have sought to win my consent. I grant that marriage may often be a manoeuvring business, Mr Fenstanton. But,’ she said with great firmness, ‘there is no manoeuvring when there is genuine affection in the case. Love is open and honest, and it seeks to promote the welfare of its object without cavil or condition.’

  He frowned, drew the reins thoughtfully through his fingers for a moment or two and looked down at his boots on the splashboard. ‘You speak very decidedly about love,’ he said quietly. ‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

  She blushed at that. ‘I know,’ she said, as composedly as she could, ‘that there has been very little of love in your behaviour towards me. If you had burnt the letter as proof of your esteem and then sought my hand, I might have believed that you cared for me. But to make conditions – to inflict the pain of decision – that is not the behaviour of a man in love.’

  ‘Good God!’ Fenstanton closed his eyes a moment and seemed to struggle for control of himself. ‘If you argue so, it is no wonder you have never married.’

  ‘You are not the first to express that opinion,’ Dido assured him. ‘But I cannot consider a proposal unless I understand why it is being made. I am not rich, I am not well connected. I am neither young nor beautiful. And you certainly do not love me; I am quite sure that you do not, for, quite apart from your behaviour over Mr Bailey’s letter, there is the little matter of when your passion for me began.’

  ‘When it began?’

  ‘Yes. You have told me yourself that your affection for me was the cause of your not pursuing Miss Verney. But your reluctance to ride after the fugitive was apparent to her friend on the very day of the disappearance. And that was the day before my aunt and I arrived at your house. No, Mr Fenstanton; the vainest woman in the world could not believe that you conceived an overwhelming passion for her a full four and twenty hours before any meeting took place.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘I repeat: why do you wish to marry me?’

  But he remained sunk in his own thoughts. Dido pulled the bonnet back onto her head, secured the ribbons and waited for a reply in determined silence. From the cliffs above them came the voices of their companions and the faint rattle of teacups being set out on the board. After a moment or two Mr Fenstanton set the horses in motion and they started slowly up the hill. His eyes were fixed upon the road ahead. But one hand still tapped the whip against his boot.

  ‘I’m damned if I know what to say,’ he admitted at last. ‘You see, I’m not supposed to tell it all, unless I have to.’

  Dido was becoming more uneasy every minute. She was sure now that this proposal went deeper than she had thought. She studied the easy laughing lines of his face. She had always supposed that there were no ugly lines there because there were no ugly thoughts. But it occurred to her now that a smooth brow might indicate a lack of proper care and concern for others.

  ‘My brother Edward,’ she began slowly, ‘won a medal for debating at Cambridge; and he told me once about logic – how, by putting together two propositions, one might come at an unassailable conclusion.’

  Fenstanton shook his head in bafflement.

  ‘In this case,’ pursued Dido, ‘the two propositions might be: first, Mr Lancelot Fenstanton is so troubled by debt that he must marry for money; second, Mr Lancelot Fenstanton is seeking to marry Miss Dido Kent.’

  ‘Ha! And the conclusion?’

  ‘The conclusion,’ said Dido – a little shocked by it herself, ‘the conclusion must be that Mr Lancelot Fenstanton expects to enrich himself by marrying Miss Dido Kent. It is a matter of pure logic; it cannot be escaped.’

  But still she looked at him – expecting him to offer an argument against such a nonsensical conclusion.

  ‘Your brother is a very clever fellow. Though I ain’t sure he was so clever to put logic like that in the hands of a woman.’

  ‘My conclusion is correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They rattled on a little way, turning at the zigzag which rendered the assent easier on the horses. The picnic in all its glory came into view. White cloths and sparkling glasses and steaming urns, surrounded by bracken and gorse bushes and the black, staring faces of a dozen or so bemused sheep. The manor party was elegantly disposed about it: Miss Fenstanton and Miss Gibbs in new white muslins and Mrs Bailey in unbecoming puce; and Mrs Manners in uncompromising black, seated regally upon a chair beneath a gay parasol, hands clasped upon the head of her walking stick – looking with marked approval towards the approaching carriage.

  ‘It is my aunt!’ cried Dido.

  He only shrugged up his shoulders under the many capes of his riding coat and slapped the reins needlessly along the backs of the straining horses.

  ‘My aunt,’ she repeated more quietly, for they were now almost within earshot of that lady, ‘my aunt has promised to settle money on me!’

  The words were shrill and frail in the warm salty breeze and they sounded so foolish when spoken aloud that she was ashamed of having uttered them. Her companion began to laugh. He pulled the horses to a standstill on the grass beside Mrs Manners’ chaise.

  ‘Ha! Your logic gets you but halfway there,’ he said. ‘She ain’t promised to settle money.’

  ‘No, I did not think it possible…’

  ‘You see,’ he explained hurriedly, ‘dear Mrs Manners don’t like the way her whole family is after her fortune. We don’t give her any peace, she says. And she don’t see how she can satisfy us all. So she wants an alliance between the families of Manners and Fenstanton. She has promised that if you marry me, she will keep only the money settled on her at her marriage – and make you heiress to your uncle’s entire fortune.’

  Chapter Forty

  As she stepped down from the curricle, the picnic closed about Dido with all its noise and business – and there is a great deal of noise and business when ladies and gentlemen have determined upon taking refreshment without the walls of a dining parlour. Every cup of tea is drunk with a sense of something achieved; the eating of every slice of cold meat, every spoonful of jelly, i
n a safe and elegant manner is an accomplishment.

  With a mind so burdened, Dido would have been very glad indeed to have been excused eating entirely. She would have liked nothing better than to be left alone to consider just why her aunt should make such an extraordinary offer. Mr Lancelot’s explanation had shaken her badly and she longed for an hour or so of quiet reflection … But that, of course, was not permitted. The purpose of the party gathered on the cliff top was to eat – and eat with elegance. She immediately found herself attacked with pigeon pie and a dressed cucumber and a wine glass – which she could find nowhere to stand.

  But she was at least able to escape from Mr Lancelot, thanks to the kind offices of Mrs Bailey who laid claim to that gentleman’s attention as soon as he set foot from his carriage. She was fortunate too in finding a seat at a little distance from the main party, on a rug beside Martha Gibbs – who proved a very kind and sympathetic listener.

  ‘Lord!’ cried Miss Gibbs when the startling cause of Mr Lancelot’s proposal had poured from Dido’s lips. ‘Fancy you being an heiress and not knowing it! And do you mean to have him?’

  Martha was smiling in that manner peculiar to discussions of matrimony, and her look made Dido cautious. The immediate need to communicate her news had been overwhelming, but now she exerted herself to think rationally – and remembered that the proof they needed was still not found; that an acceptance of the proposal might yet be necessary. ‘Mr Fenstanton,’ she said – seeking for a place on the grass which might accommodate the troublesome glass – ‘appears to be a very agreeable, respectable gentleman…’

  ‘Oh! But Miss Kent, do you love him? Do anything rather than marry without affection!’

  Dido smiled sadly at the commonplace saying, considering what the ‘anything’ was in her case. She said nothing, but Miss Gibbs seemed to catch at her expression.

  ‘You think me foolish and romantic, I know,’ she said, reddening. ‘You think me taken in by Mr Lomax. But you know, I am not so very stupid. I have been thinking a great deal these last two days, and it seems to me that a woman can only be safe if she is poor.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Dido looked at her companion with sudden interest. Something in her words had struck a chord …

  Martha’s face was flushed but calm, her pale eyes solemn as she gazed down at the ham rind and bread crust on her plate. ‘I believe a woman can only really be sure that a man loves her if she is poor. Else you know she will always wonder whether his motives are unworthy. Or,’ she glanced up, ‘or else other people will always be doubting him and that, you know, must make a woman uneasy. Lord, Miss Kent, I’m sure no one can be happy when there is suspicion.’

  ‘Why,’ said Dido with increasing respect. ‘I believe you are in the right!’

  ‘And so,’ Martha continued hurriedly, ‘I mean – just as soon as we are sure Tish is safe – I mean to write the whole truth to Mr Lomax and release him from our engagement.’ She paused, and put her hand to a little constriction in her throat, but continued with determination. ‘Then, you know, if he really loves me, he will seek me out and…’

  Her words faltered and stopped; but Dido was busy with her own thoughts. ‘Your reasoning is very sound indeed, Miss Gibbs,’ she cried. ‘In point of fact, it is so sound that I cannot help but wonder whether someone else has found her way to exactly the same conclusion!’

  ‘Someone else?’ Martha looked bewildered. ‘Who?’

  Dido was pretty well bewildered herself. ‘Someone,’ she replied with a shake of her head, ‘that I had certainly not set down as “romantic”. In fact, the last person among my acquaintance who I would ever suspect of making a disinterested gesture.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘But I believe you may have explained the reason for my aunt’s extraordinary behaviour! Please excuse me. I must talk to her directly.’ She turned towards the laden picnic table where Mrs Manners sat in state – then hesitated.

  She turned quickly back to Martha, whose eyes were once more downcast as she bit at her lip, lost in her own thoughts. ‘And remember, Miss Gibbs,’ she said gently, ‘if, when he knows that you are poor, Mr Tom Lomax does not seek to revive the engagement, then he is unworthy of your love. You may forget him and find a more deserving man.’

  She laid her hand in brief encouragement on Martha’s shoulder, then made her way towards the dignified black figure beside the fluttering white cloth.

  * * *

  Mrs Manners sat alone beside the picnic table under a large parasol. The rest of Mrs Bailey’s intrepid exploring party was seated at ease on rugs spread about among the gorse and sheep. But Mrs Manners held to her chair – as erect as if she had been at a court banquet.

  A little exploring party of wasps had already established itself about the cold meat and the cakes on the table and the footman was constantly employed in walking up and down flapping his hands at them. They rose each time at his approach – and settled again when he was past. Except for one particularly angry wasp which had become trapped in a wine glass and kept up a constant drone of fury.

  Dido took a seat opposite Mrs Manners who looked upon her suspiciously. ‘Well, miss,’ she began, ‘and what have you to say for yourself?’

  ‘Just this: why do you wish to give away your fortune?’

  ‘That, miss, is my own affair.’ Mrs Manners folded her hands about the fan in her lap and turned her face away to the sea.

  Dido waited a while, hoping for more. She watched her aunt in silence across the crumbling pies and melting jellies. The wasp in the wine glass droned furiously. Mrs Manners’ face was shaded by the vast brim of a sun hat which obscured her eyes entirely – leaving visible only lips drawn tight and a chin lifted in determined silence.

  ‘It is a test, is it not?’ said Dido at last. ‘A test of Mr Sutherland. That has been your plan from the beginning. You came to Charcombe to find him out; to give him the opportunity of a reunion – if he chooses it. But the fortune might be a barrier between you. A village doctor might well hesitate to approach such a very wealthy widow.’

  Mrs Manners continued to watch the distant waves.

  ‘You do not deny it?’

  ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I do not deny it.’

  ‘Well!’ Dido sat for several moments in astonishment. ‘I am all amazement!’ she said at last. ‘You, who have always spoken so firmly of duty … of family obligation … That you should make such a gesture of affection! Here is greater inconsistency of character than I would have supposed possible!’

  Mrs Manners turned slowly to face her. Her eyes, still heavily shaded by the hat, were difficult to read, but they fixed themselves in a steady stare. ‘No, Miss Dido! I do not recant a single word I ever spoke. I only advocate the need for duty in the young. But I,’ she struck the table with her fan, ‘I am no longer young. I, miss, have done my duty for thirty years. I have earned the right to act for myself – to think only of my own interest.’

  ‘And you will act like an impulsive girl of sixteen!’

  ‘That is no concern of yours! I shall act as I please – for the first time in my life. I think you had better consider how you are to act yourself.’

  Dido’s thoughts turned abruptly from wonder at her aunt’s romantic gesture, to her own danger. ‘You consider that I am yet young enough to be constrained by duty?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ pronounced Mrs Manners firmly. ‘But I do not need to tell you that. You know your duty. That is why I have chosen you from among all my husband’s nieces. I know that every little attention you pay to me is done for the sake of duty; you do not court me for selfish motives, it is all done for the sake of your family, is it not?’

  Dido coloured. ‘I hope,’ she said, ‘that my behaviour has never seemed grudging or reluctant.’

  ‘Oh, it has seemed very grudging and reluctant indeed!’ cried Aunt Manners. ‘And I honour you for it! But,’ she folded her fan with a sharp snap and pointed it at her niece, ‘what I wish to know – what I have set out to discover – is how du
tiful you will be in greater matters. I knew from the beginning that you might need a little persuasion. When your sister-in-law told me you were determined to refuse the widowed clergyman, I wondered about you, Miss Dido. How unexceptionable would an offer of marriage have to be to overcome your romantic scruples? I was, I confess, surprised to hear that you had hesitated over the proposal of such a very eligible man as the master of Charcombe Manor. But then,’ she reached across the fruit and broken loaves on the table and tapped her fan against Dido’s wrist, ‘Lancelot told me of your attachment to Mr William Lomax – and I began to think that perhaps you must know the whole truth before you would do your duty.’

  ‘And,’ said Dido in a rather unsteady voice, ‘you would claim it is my duty to marry Mr Fenstanton?’

  ‘But of course it is your duty. Just as it was my duty to marry your uncle. Think, Miss Dido!’ she smiled knowingly. ‘You would be a rich woman – able to assist your brothers, able to save your sister from poverty. You could reward the family who have supported you. Think how they would all cry out against your refusing so advantageous a match.’

  ‘No!’ answered Dido immediately. ‘My sister would never speak a word against my refusal. Eliza would teach in a school before she would let me marry a man I do not love! And as for my brothers…’ she hesitated a moment here. ‘I cannot believe … I will not believe that my brothers are as selfish and unprincipled as yours proved themselves to be. And if they are so corrupted as to sell their sister’s person for worldly advantage … then their disapprobation can be of no consequence to me. I care not what they think!’

  Mrs Manners narrowed her eyes in disbelief and studied her niece. Dido endeavoured to meet her stare calmly, but her heart was beating so hard it was difficult to keep her hands still upon the table. The brilliance of the sun-spangled sea hurt her eyes and the picnic smell of sweet jellies, vinegar and bruised grass seemed oppressive; her breath caught and ached in her breast.