A Woman of Consequence mdk-3

by Anna Dean

  And, once it was all recalled, she found that she could lie still no longer.

  She jumped up and stood beside the room’s small window, gazing down upon the early-morning street and the milkmaids who were now hurrying away from the inn, the empty pails swinging lightly on their yokes, and at a cart which was drawn up to bring fowls and vegetables from the country.

  There was in her head such a picture of guilt and deception! And yet she was still like a little girl in the schoolroom endeavouring to fit together her map of Europe. Some pieces fell into place very neatly indeed – but there were gaps and missing pieces which left the continent woefully incomplete. She could not finish her lesson – she could not even be sure that the pattern she had formed was correct …

  There were still details to discover. She must ascertain from Silas exactly what it was that he had hinted at last night. But the most pressing business was to speak to Mrs Nolan. It was absolutely essential to know for certain who it was that had placed Penelope in her care: who it was that maintained the girl. When that was established, then perhaps she would know how to proceed.

  However, they were to leave Bath this very morning and she had only an hour or two in which to persuade the schoolmistress into confiding. Within five and twenty minutes she was dressed and making her way out of the inn’s door.

  The light was strengthening now as the sun rose. Two men were throwing down water on the steps and sweeping dirt away into the gutters. The farmer’s cart was just finishing unloading its goods and, as Dido passed it, she detected a sweet, slightly rotten smell which reminded her sharply of the inn-yard at Great Farleigh …

  She turned quickly and saw a boy swinging the last basket from the cart onto his shoulder. Through the wickerwork there protruded several brown and green feathers of game birds.

  A smile of satisfaction spread across her face and, as she began to walk slowly across the Pump Yard towards the upper town, she was fitting another small piece of her map into place.

  * * *

  Dido could not help but feel hopeful about her errand. There had, she reasoned, been marked signs of gratitude in Mrs Nolan’s address since the scene in Sydney Gardens – a disposition to regard Dido as a special friend for the service she had rendered in separating Penelope from Captain Laurence. There had even been moments when she had detected an inclination to confide – but caution had always intervened.

  Somehow the confidence must be won this morning. A great deal depended upon it – for she was sure that, once she had it, she could find the countries which were still missing from Europe …

  She brightened at this thought – and hurried on with such determination that she almost ran against a gentleman just then descending the steps of his house. He drew back immediately with a bow, a well-mannered apology – and a look of earnest admiration …

  A look to which Dido was not insensible, despite the preoccupation of her mind. He walked off – but paused twice to look again before turning away into George Street – and she continued on her way amused and delighted to find that the animation of mystery-solving could add such charm to her person. But, as she approached Mrs Nolan’s house, her mood became more sombre – her manner businesslike.

  She was admitted by a housemaid and shown into a parlour which could never be mistaken for belonging to anyone but the keeper of a school, it was crammed so full with fancy work. Everything, from the six or seven worked footstools, to the pictures in coloured silks hanging upon the walls and the imitations of china crowding the mantelpiece, attested to the accomplishments of Mrs Nolan’s ‘lasses’.

  ‘Well, I am right glad to see you Miss Kent,’ cried the schoolmistress, standing up to receive her, and seeming not to mind the earliness of the hour at all. ‘I’d have been sorry not to have wished you goodbye before you start out on your journey and I particularly wished to see you alone so that I might thank you for dealing so neatly with that little business over the letters. It was very cleverly done indeed. For neither Miss Lambe nor Miss Lucy Crockford had to admit that they had been mistaken – and you know that counts for a great deal with young people.’

  ‘I believe it counts for a great deal with people of any age,’ said Dido smiling. ‘But I hope Miss Lambe has not been too much hurt.’

  ‘Eeh well, there were a few tears when she was on her own in her bed, I daresay. But it’ll be got over. She’s not the sort to mind it long. And,’ she leant forward and tapped Dido’s arm, ‘I reckon what’s needed is another fellow for her to fall in love with – someone a bit more suitable, eh?’

  Dido agreed to it wholeheartedly, and congratulated herself upon her work of the previous afternoon – when Silas’s poem had been shown to Penelope – and had been very favourably received. ‘The Nun’s Farewell to her Lover’ had in fact been declared ‘so sweet, and so very clever and just exactly like the poems one read in books. Or rather better; for one understood just exactly what was meant by it. Which was not always the way with poems in books …’

  ‘And, in the meantime,’ pursued Dido, intent upon making the most of the present opening, ‘there is another little matter concerning Miss Lambe about which I hoped to talk to you.’

  ‘Eeh well,’ said Mrs Nolan, turning away and smoothing the threads of an indifferently worked cushion. ‘I think I know what that is. It concerns her going to Badleigh does it not?’

  Dido studied the schoolteacher’s averted face, very sensible under the extravagant coquelicot ribbons of her cap. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it does concern her visit there …’

  ‘Aye, I guessed from the way you looked at me so sharp upon Pulteney Bridge yesterday that you suspected I knew more about that than I was telling.’

  ‘And do you know more than you were telling?’

  ‘Eeh yes, to be perfectly candid with you, Miss Kent, I do. And I’m still right uneasy about it …’ She hesitated again. Dido waited in silence. ‘I’ve been awake half this night wondering whether I ought to speak to you about it. For, if there’s trouble brewing, maybe you can put things right.’

  ‘I shall certainly do everything within my power to … put things right. And, of course, you may rely upon my discretion.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Nolan raising her eyes. ‘The fact of the matter is, I never was happy about her going off to be with the Crockfords.’

  ‘Because you knew Captain Laurence would be close at hand?’

  ‘Aye, there was that. But there was something else too …’ She stopped and turned her eyes once more upon the cushion as if appraising its pattern. She did not seem to know how to go on.

  ‘Did you,’ Dido prompted, ‘know that Miss Lambe had … connections in that neighbourhood?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Mrs Nolan seemed to make up her mind to disclosure. She looked up, her gaze straight, honest and sensible. ‘The lass herself knows nothing about it of course. She knows nought of her own history. I was told to tell her nothing. But her mother … or rather I should say, the lady who sent her here, she lived very near the Crockfords – at Madderstone Abbey.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Dido. She could scarcely draw breath for fear of saying something which might prevent the schoolteacher from continuing. ‘And … this lady was …?’

  ‘Miss Fenn. Miss Elinor Fenn.’

  ‘Oh!’ It was quite impossible for Dido to sit still a moment longer. She absolutely must walk about. She could not think while remaining stationary. Excusing herself, she went to the window and found some relief in gazing out at the steep sunny cobbles and a couple of chairmen labouring up the hill. ‘Are you quite sure?’ she asked, turning back into the room. ‘Are you quite sure that it was Elinor Fenn who sent Penelope here?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Though I never met her.’

  ‘Did you not?’ asked Dido sharply.

  ‘No, but I am quite sure of the name. There were letters and money sent; and for the first two years I wrote to her from time to time to tell her how the lass went on – so I am very sure of the direction too. I always fancied
she was companion to a lady at the abbey, or something of that sort.’

  ‘A governess,’ said Dido rather absently, ‘she was a governess. But,’ she paced back across the room, ‘I do not quite understand. Miss Fenn has been dead for fifteen years …’

  ‘Dead? Poor soul! But I always suspected it.’

  ‘And has no one paid Miss Lambe’s allowance in all that time?’

  ‘Eeh! Miss Kent, I wish I was such a rich woman I could keep on lasses for nought. But no … No, the fact is, about fifteen years ago – just two years after Miss Lambe came here – the money for her maintenance stopped coming. Naturally I wrote to Miss Fenn to enquire about the matter.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And, after a short delay, I received a reply. Not from the lady herself – but from … a friend of hers. This letter said … now what was it … ? It said Miss Fenn was “no longer able to meet her obligations with regard to the child” and he – the writer of this letter – would in future pay what was necessary. And – all credit to him, Miss Kent – he’s never missed. Never been so much as a day late sending the money. Which leads me to suppose …’ she stopped and primmed up her lips.

  ‘To suppose that he is the girl’s father?’

  ‘Aye – though of course, it is none of my business to have an opinion. And I only mention the matter to you because you might be able to make sure the secret don’t get out. You see, Miss Kent, I know how gentlemen can turn when their secrets are exposed. They’re inclined to get angry – and stop paying the money. I wouldn’t want ought to happen that’d hurt the poor lass – for she’s a dear soul. Not so very clever – but as good-hearted as you could wish.’

  ‘Yes, she is. I agree that she must be protected.’ Dido turned back to the window to hide her eagerness and asked, as calmly as she could, ‘Can you tell me the name of this gentleman who maintains Miss Lambe?’

  ‘Aye. His name is Mr Foote – Mr Harman-Foote I believe he calls himself now.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Dido hurried down Gay Street, her mind busy with the notion of Mr Harman-Foote being Penelope’s father. Very carefully, tentatively, she tried to fit this new piece into her map …

  It explained a great deal: that reluctance to have Penelope stay at Madderstone which she had detected in her first conversation with Mr Harman-Foote after the accident; his determination to prevent his wife discovering the truth about the death in the lake; his persuading his mother to recommend Miss Fenn as governess.

  She was very reluctant to think the genial master of Madderstone a murderer – but this latest information pointed to a powerful motive. Had he drowned his former mistress in order to silence her passionate demands which, had they become public, would certainly have prevented his very advantageous marriage? Maybe Captain Laurence had come to suspect the liaison and his investigations into the matter were a preliminary to exacting money in exchange for silence – that was a stratagem she believed the captain to be quite capable of …

  But no. She shook her head, deeply dissatisfied. There were yet pieces which did not fit into the map at all: the handwriting which argued against Mr Harman-Foote being Miss Fenn’s lover; and Laurence’s distasteful conferences with Lord Congreve; and there was still the strange appearance of the ghost to be accounted for.

  And then there was one point which troubled her more than any other: one small, but very disturbing fact. It would seem that Mrs Nolan had never met Elinor Fenn …

  The town was becoming busier now: the chairmen were much occupied with getting people to the hot baths and the sweet smell of fresh bread and pastry was drifting from half a dozen little bakeries – turning Dido’s thoughts inevitably towards breakfast. And, despite the urgent demands of her mysteries, she was becoming rather occupied with chocolate and hot buns as she once more crossed the quiet Pump Yard and came to the front of the White Hart.

  But there she encountered a sight which rapidly returned her thoughts to business. A post-chaise was drawn up outside the inn door and a groom was just stowing aboard a box and greatcoat which she recognised immediately as belonging to Captain Laurence.

  ‘Is Captain Laurence going to Portsmouth to join his ship?’ she enquired of the groom.

  ‘Oh no, miss, he’s going back to his family in the country first.’

  ‘To Madderstone Abbey?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Now that, she thought, coming to a standstill beside the inn door, was odd: very odd indeed. She had been quite sure that, after the failure of his scheme against Lucy and Penelope, Laurence would simply take himself off to sea. Why was he returning to Madderstone? She did not like it at all. If he was still scheming – if he had still an interest at Madderstone, then matters might be more complicated – and dangerous – than she had supposed …

  She stepped hurriedly into the inn’s public parlour in the hope of snatching a word with him alone, but was instantly disappointed.

  Just inside the door there was a high oak screen which formed a kind of dark, ale-scented passageway with a dirty, stone-flagged floor, from which stairs led to the upper chambers. And, as she stepped into the passageway, Dido heard Laurence’s voice talking in the parlour on the other side of the screen. He had company.

  ‘… I promise I will do it …’ he was saying hurriedly. She turned away. She was upon the point of continuing up the stairs (or so she assured herself afterwards).

  ‘… If those letters are there to be found,’ said Laurence, ‘I promise I will find them.’

  Such an invitation to eavesdropping! Resistance would have required the ethic of a saint – and Dido had never pretended to sainthood. She stopped.

  ‘Why, you’re a good fellow, Laurence,’ drawled a lazy voice. ‘A damned good fellow and you won’t find me ungrateful.’

  She puzzled over the voice a moment – knowing she had heard it before, but uncertain where, until the scene in the theatre lobby recurred. Her dropped fan, the insolent oath. The second man was certainly Lord Congreve.

  ‘Yes, get the letters and burn them,’ he was saying now. ‘All I want is to have the whole business covered up. I had hoped I’d get what I need out of this …’ He stopped; there was a sound as of a hand striking a table. ‘But the infernal woman didn’t … Well, no matter, it seems she did not rob me after all. All I want now is for it to be covered up. I’ve no interest in the little miss. Just get the letters and destroy them.’

  Chairs scraped across the stone floor as he spoke, footsteps approached the screen. Dido turned to hurry away; but as she went she caught the captain’s repeated assurance that there was nothing for His Lordship to worry about – that everything would be settled safely.

  Dido fled up the dark stairs. Suspicions were turning into certainties, new fears presenting themselves, and plans forming so very rapidly that her map was almost made up by the time she arrived at the door of the private dining parlour.

  Lord Congreve was at the root of it all! It explained so much.

  She pushed open the door – and saw Mr Lomax just rising from the window seat to make his bow.

  ‘Miss Kent, I am sorry to call upon you so early,’ he began quickly, taking a step towards her, his face anxious. ‘But I have been uneasy since our conversation in the theatre last night – your interest in Lord Congreve. I have been blaming myself ever since for not warning you sufficiently …’ He hesitated, aware perhaps that she was as agitated as he was himself. ‘I was concerned about your … investigations,’ he said, eyeing her more closely. ‘I wished to warn you to take no interest in that wretched fellow’s affairs. They are not …’

  ‘They are not the kind of thing a lady ought to concern herself with,’ she finished for him, closing the door and stepping into the room. ‘Yes, I am aware of that – though I am very grateful to you for taking the trouble to warn me of the danger.’

  He watched her uneasily as she crossed to the window and looked down into the street where the chaise was just drawing away. ‘However,’
she said, ‘I am also aware that Captain Laurence is, at this moment, setting off for Madderstone – upon business for “that wretched fellow”. And,’ she added distractedly, ‘he must be prevented from completing that business. The safety of a friend of mine depends upon his being prevented.’

  She put a hand to her brow, almost overwhelmed by the thoughts rushing in upon her. Mr Lomax stepped back to the window seat. ‘You had better sit down and tell me all about it,’ he said quietly.

  She hesitated. He would not like many of the things which she had to say: he would be shocked – disgusted, perhaps, to hear them from her lips. But the words were on the point of spilling out of her. It would be agony to hold them back. She had to speak.

  And, perhaps this was the moment at which all their theories must be tested. For, if he could bear to hear her now without objection, then that miraculous union might yet stand within the compass of belief.

  She sank down gratefully on the window seat and drew in a long breath. Behind her she could still hear the agonising sound of chaise wheels speeding towards Madderstone Abbey, and around her the inn was coming to life: footsteps echoed on the stairs as the maids carried up hot water, voices were calling out below in the public rooms and the smells of coal smoke, hot bread and coffee filled the air. The day was advancing; soon she must return to Madderstone and face the difficulties and dangers which awaited her there.

  But, for now, she could indulge herself in the exquisite relief of talking – of sharing her ideas with a mind she knew could meet hers in understanding.

  She folded her hands in her lap, as demure as a child preparing to recite a lesson, turned her face into the sun’s warmth and began to ‘tell all about it’ – starting with the information she had gained upon her recent visit to Mrs Nolan, and the conversation between Captain Laurence and his friend which she ‘happened to have heard as she passed through the parlour just now.’