A gentleman of fortune mdk-2

by Anna Dean

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  …Well, Eliza, it was Mr Lomax who saved Mrs Neville and me from our oppressor: coming, like the hero of a novel, at precisely the right moment. Though, naturally, the setting of Mrs Pickthorne’s shop did not lend itself to the usual garb of great coat and spurs – nor was there any leaping from his horse nor challenging to duels. But, despite these deficiencies, his assistance was timely and effective.

  He appeared upon the scene just as little Joseph with his black curls and his snub nose and his big, wondering eyes arrived behind the counter to stare at us. And I will not deny that I was extremely glad to see him. (I mean of course that I was glad to see Mr Lomax, not Joseph.)

  He seemed to understand at once everything about the situation and his first endeavour was to persuade Mrs Pickthorne that a mistake had taken place. This she was not willing to countenance, for I truly believe that the woman has a heart of stone and in a moment would have had young Joseph running off to inform the law of Mrs Neville’s crime.

  However, just as I thought that all was lost, Mr Lomax said, very quiet and grave, ‘Madam, it cannot possibly benefit you to pursue this matter. Your property has been recovered,’ he said, ‘and I promise you that the lady’s family will ensure no more such mistakes are made.’

  And then Mrs Pickthorne said something about property having to be protected. ‘Or where would we poor shop keepers be?’

  ‘Quite so, madam,’ said he, very calm, ‘quite so. But,’ and at this he leant a little closer over the counter. ‘But I doubt the pursuit of the law will profit you much in this case – and I fear it might do you some harm.’

  ‘Harm sir?’ says she.

  ‘You may not be aware,’ he says very quietly with a nod at Mrs Neville, ‘you may not be aware madam, that this lady’s daughter is a friend of the new Lady Carrisbrook.’ And at this I saw her eyes widen! ‘In fact,’ he goes on, ‘in fact, it was Lady Carrisbrook herself who sent me here on some errands this morning. My lady is a stranger in this neighbourhood and I did not hesitate to recommend your establishment to her,’ he says. ‘But I doubt very much whether she would wish to deal at a shop in which her friend had been…embarrassed…’

  And then she changed! For though she might complain a bit more about how ill-used she was, she was not willing to forfeit such a customer and the upshot of it all was that we were allowed to leave the shop and take Mrs Neville home – where her daughter, alerted I suppose by Jenny, was waiting anxiously for her return.

  I was, I confess, shaken and distressed by this adventure, Eliza. I cannot help but blame myself and I have passed an almost sleepless night…

  Dido broke off as the maid announced a visitor. Mr Lomax was come and, since Flora was from home, she must receive him alone.

  There was no little confusion attending the meeting, for she had not seen him since they parted yesterday at Mrs Neville’s door and there had been that in his manner then which spoke, if not quite anger, then at least a very strong disapproval of her behaviour. She met him now with heartfelt, but rather nervous thanks and raised her eyes anxiously to his face.

  He looked very grave as he took a seat and gazed down at the breakfast room floor.

  ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that you have recovered from the shock you sustained yesterday.’

  ‘Oh yes, thank you. I am quite recovered.’

  There was a silence and Dido longed to begin talking of something else, but somehow she could not. She knew that more ought to be said about the situation in which he had discovered her; for there had been little opportunity for discourse yesterday while Mrs Neville was with them. But she was not entirely sure what it was that must be said. She certainly did not wish to admit that she had been at fault; though she half-suspected that she ought to.

  She tried to thank him again, but he raised a hand to stop her.

  ‘Miss Kent,’ he began, ‘I perhaps presume too much upon the friendship which I hope exists between us. But I cannot help but speak. It was, if I may say so, an ill-judged undertaking to accompany Mrs Neville into a shop.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed quietly. ‘It was.’ And then discovered, rather to her dismay, that she could not stop there. She just could not. For, painful as it was to suffer his disapproval, it was even more painful to admit that she was wrong – or to accept unjust criticism. ‘At least,’ she said, ‘if I had known of the danger, it would have been very ill-judged indeed. But, please consider, Mr Lomax, that was not the case. I had no reason to suppose that the outing would end as it did.’

  His gravity deepened. ‘Pardon me,’ he said, ‘but I understood you to say, when we talked at Brooke, that Mrs Neville’s daughter had given you a warning.’

  ‘No,’ she protested. ‘No. Not quite a warning. She had only mentioned in a general way that her mother was confused and forgetful.’

  Mr Lomax closed his eyes and shook his head with a pained expression. ‘That should have been…’ he began, but checked himself. ‘It is to be regretted,’ he said more calmly, ‘that that general warning was not sufficient to put you upon your guard.’

  ‘But it could not put me on my guard, Mr Lomax,’ she said. She was becoming a little angry herself now. He was being unreasonable and she could not help but justify herself. ‘How could it put me on my guard? For the daughter’s words were entirely contradicted by the mother’s demeanour. She showed no signs of confusion or forgetfulness.’

  ‘That I believe is common among individuals who suffer from the…weakness of character which Mrs Neville has demonstrated. In all outward shows a lady or gentleman may be moral and rational, and yet have burning within this wicked desire to posses what belongs to others.’

  Dido made no protest against that. She did not try to defend Mrs Neville with any claim of a ‘mistake’ having taken place. It would have been impossible to do so since, after she had been safely removed from the haberdasher, a search of her reticule had revealed two pairs of new kid gloves, a cameo brooch and even a toy whistle…

  ‘I could not know,’ she protested.

  ‘But why were you so very determined to take an elderly lady upon an outing which you knew neither her maid nor her daughter would be easy about?’

  Dido blushed. ‘Because,’ she began a little uncomfortably. ‘Because it all looked so very strange. You must remember, Mr Lomax, that I did not know what the lady was capable of. I saw only a harmless…a seemingly harmless old lady, whose daughter prevented her from going out or talking to visitors. You must grant me, that that had a very strange…a very suspicious appearance.’

  He stood up and began to walk about the hearth rug in some agitation. ‘I regret, Miss Kent, that the only thing I can grant is that you have determined upon suspecting Clara Neville. You discover that she left Knaresborough House on the night that her cousin died – and immediately you suspect her. She explains to you that she left to visit her mother; but you continue to suspect her. Why? It seems to me that the concern of a dutiful daughter is explanation enough for her actions.’

  ‘But she lied!’ The words burst out before she could stop them. She forced herself to speak more calmly. ‘Why should she lie about only visiting her mother?’

  ‘For two good reasons,’ he countered. ‘Because of the guilt she felt on leaving her cousin alone; and because she was ashamed to admit the cause of her concern for her mother. What other reason did you have to suspect her?’

  ‘She associates with – she employs – a woman of very doubtful character.’

  ‘Consider the poor lady’s dilemma. With such a secret to hide about her mother, she dare not employ a decent maid. Her only recourse would be to engage the services of such a one as Jenny White who no one else will take – and then to pay her well to hold her tongue.’

  ‘Yes, yes I grant you, I can see that now. But this is not a fair argument. I did not know – I could not know – about Mrs Neville’s shocking behaviour. You cannot use against me a circumstance which has only just come to light. I only saw that
Clara Neville had crept away from Knaresborough House without the consent of her cousin. And that she kept her mother almost a prisoner.’

  He sighed and passed a hand across his face. ‘And what do you think now? Do you still harbour these suspicions against Miss Neville?’

  Dido hesitated. It was a question to which a large part of her night-time musings had been devoted. ‘I do not know…I cannot help but wonder what it was she was discussing with Mr Vane at church – what it was that she wished him to keep secret.’

  ‘I think I can supply an answer to that question. I have made enquiries and I discover that Mr Vane is one of those who has suffered in the past from Mrs Neville’s…weakness of character. There were, I believe, several bottles of eye tincture taken from his shop.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Well? Have you anything else to say against the poor lady?’

  ‘Oh well…perhaps she is innocent…But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I do not quite know why it is,’ said Dido frowning, ‘but there is something…I feel as if something she has told me is wrong…’

  He cast his eyes up to the ceiling as he endeavoured to keep his temper. He had never before met with a woman so very determined to pursue her own ideas. He had always considered himself a very calm man, but here was a test even of his patience. ‘But you will not trouble Miss Neville, or her mother, with more questions?’ he asked at last.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I shall try not to. But as yet I cannot decide where I ought to look next. You see, if Miss Neville is innocent, then I must admit I am no nearer discovering the truth than I ever was.’

  He sat down and regarded her very earnestly. ‘Miss Kent,’ he began with a renewed effort at calm. ‘It is very much to your credit I am sure that you should wish to spare your cousin pain by proving her friend innocent. But I cannot help but wonder whether your affection and concern are not getting the better of your considerable powers of reason in this case. After all, Mr Lansdale may well be the guilty party. He had the opportunity of committing the deed and he was the only person to benefit from the lady’s death.’

  ‘Yes, I do not deny any of this.’

  ‘And yet you continue to defend Mr Lansdale.’

  ‘No. I do not defend him,’ she cried. ‘I agree with you that he may be guilty. I only say that his being guilty cannot be a sufficient explanation for all that has happened at Knaresborough House.’

  He sighed at her stubbornness. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘since we last talked I have learnt something which I believe rather supports his guilt. I asked Lady Carrisbrook about the line in your mysterious letter. And she is certain that it is taken from Romeo and Juliet.’

  ‘Ah yes!’ said Dido eagerly. ‘“The world is not their friend, nor the world’s laws…” And do you believe that it is young lovers to whom the poet refers?’

  ‘Of whom would it be more appropriate than Romeo and Juliet – or any pair of lovers suffering opposition from their families?’

  ‘And you believe the writer of that letter meant to tell me that Mr Lansdale was guilty – but to plead that this was a special case, that the extremity of his situation excused him?’

  Mr Lomax raised his brows. ‘It is something which I believe you should consider,’ he said.

  Dido smiled. ‘I have considered it, Mr Lomax,’ she said. ‘But, you see, there is a difficulty. I have read the play; and I find that the words are not spoken about the play’s principals at all. Those lines are spoken of an apothecary. It is the apothecary from whom Romeo procures poison that is said to be unfriended by the world and its laws.’

  He stared at her – momentarily silenced. ‘I do not understand,’ he said at last. ‘Do you believe the writer of the letter wished to plead for Mr Vane?’

  ‘No. Upon consideration, I do not believe that the writer meant to plead for anyone. Of course while I thought that it was a pair of lovers who were to be considered beyond the restraints of law, I believed the writer to be defending them – from some romantic notion or other. But I cannot conceive of any argument of emotion or reason which could be brought for the excuse of apothecaries. Can you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘In short, I think the writer meant to do no more than to point me in the direction of Mr Vane.’

  ‘But you cannot seriously suspect Vane of harming the woman. What could his motive be?’

  ‘I did not say that I suspect Vane,’ said Dido carefully. ‘I only suggested that the letter might be designed to make me suspect him. After all, we have no reason to assume the writer of that letter is either honest, or disinterested.’

  He considered a while and at last admitted, ‘It is well reasoned.’ She smiled, extremely well pleased to have carried her point. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘it does not change my opinion that it is dangerous for you to interest yourself in this business. It is for a court to decide. It is their duty to determine the truth, not yours.’

  Her spirit rose against that. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, that I cannot accept. I believe it is the duty of all rational men and women to ensure that justice is done.’

  ‘But our duties must always be proportionate to our powers. You had better leave this matter to those better qualified to deal with it.’

  She coloured. ‘You rate my powers very low, Mr Lomax, but I think even you would have to agree that they extend at least to the observation of what is happening around me. You will have noticed that I am neither blind nor deaf.’

  Colour rose in his face too. ‘Miss Kent,’ he replied. ‘I do not, for one moment, doubt that you are capable of observing what is passing around you. It is an art you are very practised in. But what I would doubt – what I believe I have cause to doubt – is your power to always interpret correctly and safely the information which you gather from your observation.’

  Dido could not trust herself to reply. She feared she might say something in anger which she would later regret.

  Meanwhile, he had gained a little control over himself. ‘I fear I am intruding upon your time,’ he said rather stiffly. ‘I am keeping you from your letter.’ He rose from his seat. ‘I hope you will forgive the freedom with which I have spoken. Nothing but my very great concern for your welfare could have induced me to do so.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, also rising. ‘I am grateful for that concern.’

  He stared down upon the floor. ‘Last autumn,’ he said. ‘I flattered myself that there was a particular degree of understanding and regard existing between us.’

  Dido also was suddenly very interested in looking at the polished wood of the floor.

  ‘Perhaps you may feel,’ he continued, ‘that that very particular understanding entitles me to advise you. If that is so, my advice – my very strong advice – is that you abandon these enquiries and cease to interest yourself in the business of Mrs Lansdale’s death.’

  She said something – though what it was neither she nor he could tell. However, her tone was encouraging enough for him to continue.

  ‘Of course, after due consideration, you may decide that the degree of acquaintance does not authorise me to interest myself in your well-being. If that is so, I pray you will forget entirely what I have said – and act as you please.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He was gone, and Dido must endeavour to recover her composure before her cousin’s return. But every kind of reflection served only to increase her agitation.

  And, altogether, between pleasure that he should recall a ‘particular understanding’; anger at the authority he supposed that understanding gave him; and confusion over how she should act next, there was no repose to be found for mind or body. She walked restlessly about the room until the walls themselves became oppressive and she was forced to fetch her bonnet and repair to the garden in the hope that fresh air and flowers might soothe her spirits and inform her decisions.

  And, out among the roses, a consideration of his last speech soon produced one certainty. He would judge her upo
n her actions. Continuing to pursue her mystery in defiance of his advice was to be a sign that she did not value his regard. She must choose between affection and curiosity. If she was to retain his esteem, she must adopt his opinions.

  She should perhaps not have taken such pleasure over identifying the Shakespearean quotation. As her grandmamma had once told her long ago, ‘Gentlemen most particularly dislike being contradicted. If you know that they are wrong, you had better conceal the truth rather than inform them of it.’

  Now, thought Dido as she seated herself in the honeysuckle arbour, in connection with whom had she said it? Was it Mr Powel, the promising young lawyer with expectations of almost a thousand a year? No, on second thoughts, it was the reverend Mr Fawcett, with only seven hundred a year, but a very comfortable vicarage. She smiled at the memory. Grandmamma had been almost sure that the seven hundred and the vicarage would be hers; and Dido herself had found Mr Fawcett pleasing – until the regrettable business of the Tudor queens.

  The difficulty had arisen because Mr Fawcett was sure that Mary Queen of Scots was sister to Queen Elizabeth. He had been extremely disconcerted when Dido informed him that they were but cousins. And Dido had been even more disconcerted to find that producing a history book and proving her point had not settled the matter at all – or at least had not settled it in the way that she and her grandmother had hoped. For the end of it had been that little Caroline Corner got the comfortable vicarage… And Dido had been left to rejoice in nothing but an accurate understanding of history.

  Sitting now in the tranquillity of Flora’s garden, watching yellow and red butterflies busy about the pansies and listening to the bubbling song of a pair of white doves that had perched on the wall behind her, she could smile easily at the memory of Mr Fawcett. But she had to acknowledge that Mr Lomax had much stronger claims, not only upon her affections but also upon the truth.