by Anna Dean
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.
She was by no means sure that she was entirely in the right this time.
For she had blundered badly over Mrs Neville. And, though she could not believe the things she had uncovered about Mrs Lansdale’s death to be of no value, she could not help but admit that she knew not what to make of them. Perhaps Mr Lomax was right and such matters were better left to the authorities appointed to deal with them.
It was, of course, intolerable that he should so doubt her powers of understanding, when, last autumn, she had proved herself to be greatly his superior in resolving mysteries… And yet it was so very kind of him to worry that she was putting herself in danger. And, since the late discovery about Mrs Neville left her at a loss to know where to turn next in the matter, perhaps she might just as well leave off…
Flora returned from her morning calls to find her cousin walking about the garden in an unusually quiet, desponding mood and she might perhaps have enquired what had happened in her absence – if only she had been able to spare time for it. But Flora was too much occupied with the information which she had to give to do more than remark upon Dido’s paleness, before saying, ‘I have heard such news! I declare, you will never guess it.’
‘I daresay I shall,’ said Dido with no great interest. ‘Everyone is talking about Mr Lansdale’s engagement, I make no doubt.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Flora. ‘As to that, of course, the whole place is alive with it. And, by the by, he has behaved extremely well. He has been to Mrs Midgely, you know, and made everything open.’
‘Well, I am glad to hear it,’ said Dido. ‘It was much to be desired for the sake of Miss Bevan’s reputation. It would not do to have it only a matter of gossip. And what will the poor girl do now? She is not going to Yorkshire?’
‘No. Nothing is decided upon; but she is to go to Windsor tomorrow to stay with some friends.’
‘I am sure that is wise. It cannot be pleasant for her to remain here.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Flora impatiently. ‘But this is not my news. My news is about how the gossip was started!’
‘Oh?’ Flora was pleased to see that she had roused Dido from her strange lethargy. ‘And how was it started?’
‘By Mrs Midgely herself!’ cried Flora.
‘It cannot have been,’ protested Dido.
‘But it was! For Miss Prentice told me all about it. And very distressed she is by it, for she cannot understand why the woman should do such a thing. And no more can I!’
‘Mrs Midgely let out the news of Miss Bevan’s engagement?’
Flora nodded eagerly and took Dido’s arm. As they walked on along the path she explained. ‘Well, you see, Miss Prentice says that it happened in Mrs Clark’s shop yesterday. She says that she and Mrs Midgely were gone into the village upon an errand – to the inn I believe for Miss Bevan, poor thing! was unwell with the headache, and so she had asked them to call at the inn to bespeak her a place in the coach for Yorkshire. And then, Miss Prentice says that after they had accomplished that, Mrs Midgely suddenly took it into her head to visit Mrs Clark’s. So in they went – and no sooner were they in the shop than she – I mean Mrs Midgely of course – fell to talking with Mrs Clark. Of course, Miss Prentice was not supposed to hear what was being said. But she did – for, you know, her hearing is better than you would think. She does not see so clear, but I am sure she hears as well as any creature alive. And so she heard Mrs Midgely telling the shopkeeper of the engagement. “I have long suspected them to be engaged,” she heard her saying. “But now I am quite sure of it”.’
Dido had been changing during this speech: looking more lively and altogether more like herself every moment. ‘Is she quite sure that that is what was said?’ she asked now.
‘Oh yes, she is quite sure.’
‘But, Mrs Midgely must have known that to let the engagement out would endanger Mr Lansdale.’
‘I am sure she must.’
‘But she must also…’ Dido struggled to comprehend all the new ideas which were crowding into her brain. ‘If she knew of the engagement… She must also have known that Miss Bevan’s happiness was concerned in the matter.’
‘Exactly so!’ cried Flora. ‘And that is what poor Miss Prentice cannot understand – or forgive.’
‘But…’ Dido sat down abruptly on a bench and stared ahead in a way which Flora found rather alarming. ‘But if she has “long suspected” the engagement, then she has known – she has known all along – that Mary’s well-being – her whole future and happiness – depend upon Mr Lansdale. And yet here has she been maligning him! Accusing him of murder. Practically consigning him to the gallows! She has knowingly been ruining not only his prospects but Mary’s too. How could she be so unfeeling to a girl who is almost a daughter to her?’ She pressed both hands to her mouth: her eyes widened as the full meaning of the news bore in upon her.
‘Dido, what is it? Please do not look so strange! What are you thinking of?’
She lowered her hands. ‘I am thinking,’ she said inexplicably, ‘of a violin: a violin hanging behind a door.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
…Do you remember the violin behind the door, Eliza? We saw it on our tour into Derbyshire with Charles – at Chatsworth. I am sure you must remember it for we were all agreed that it was one of the most remarkable things that we saw in all that county of wonders. It is no more than a painting, but so very cleverly done that at first, knowing no better, you take it for a real instrument and then afterwards you walk around it and see it plainly for what it is. It is all a matter of perspective.
It is a Trump Loy – or so the housekeeper who showed it to us said – though I think her knowledge of French was a little deficient!
But I am convinced now that this hatred of Mr Lansdale which I thought I saw in Mrs Midgely was nothing but a Trump Loy. A mere deception of the eye. And all this time I have been taken in by it!
Eliza, Mrs Midgely does not hate Mr Lansdale at all. She has never borne him any particular ill-will. It is Miss Bevan: it is her own ward, the girl she has raised, whom she dislikes: and dislikes her so much that she will do anything to destroy her happiness!
It is as if I have walked around the picture and at last seen it plainly.
Everything Mrs Midgely has done – all this spreading of rumours and persuading the apothecary into action – has been aimed at injuring not Henry Lansdale but Miss Bevan.
As soon as it is considered from this perspective, everything becomes comprehensible.
Instead of providing for the poor girl – instead of putting her in the way of a good marriage – Mrs Midgely wished to mortify her by sending her away to earn her bread. But, at some point, she began to suspect the engagement. Marriage to such a wealthy man would ensure the girl’s comfort and put her beyond Mrs Midgely’s reach. So, she has turned her efforts to destroying Mr Lansdale – because that is the only sure way of preventing his marrying Miss Bevan.
First I think she tried to rob him of his inheritance by warning Mrs Lansdale of the attachment; but she was denied admittance at Knaresborough House and, of course, the lady d
ied before she could make a second visit. So, I believe, she seized upon the suspicions of the apothecary, determined to make as much trouble as she might.
Of course, she has known all along that publication of the engagement would convince the whole world of his guilt and by hurrying on Miss Bevan’s departure she hoped that he would be forced to make it public in order to save her. But Miss Bevan would not allow him to reveal the secret. She would rather go away to Yorkshire than permit him to endanger himself by acknowledging the engagement. You will notice, Eliza, that it was only after she had shown herself determined to go away – when she had actually bespoken her place in the coach – that Mrs Midgely decided to act by spreading the rumour herself.
This explains a great many little things. It explains, for example, why Miss Bevan has lately avoided her guardian’s company – preferring to sit with Miss Prentice instead…
But, now that I see the picture for what it truly is, I find that there is one very important new question to be answered. Why should Mrs Midgely suddenly turn against a girl she has known for nearly twenty years?
And the dislike was certainly sudden. Flora is sure that this plan to send Miss Bevan away was never mentioned until last November. In which month, of course, according to Miss Merryweather’s account, Mrs Midgely lost not only her taste for love stories but also her soul…
What can have happened last November?
It is made all the more puzzling by Flora’s information that Miss Bevan was not even at home at this time. For in November of last year Mary was in Ramsgate – and forming her attachment to Mr Lansdale.
And this, Eliza, leads me to suppose that this hatred – and I am sorry to use so strong a word, but such I think it must be called – this hatred arose, not from anything Miss Bevan did, but rather something which Mrs Midgely learnt about her.
You will, I trust, be very distressed to hear that it is now past two o’clock in the morning and I am endangering my health by passing another sleepless night. For I cannot cease to puzzle over this conundrum. What was it that Mrs Midgely learnt during Miss Bevan’s absence which rendered her soulless – and determined to be rid of her ward…
I find that there are two things which I keep remembering: there is the desk in Miss Prentice’s room – and the portrait hanging above the fire in Mrs Midgely’s parlour. And together these two memories point to such an answer… But I will not write it until I am certain.
Tomorrow I must visit the house and look again at these things to be sure that I am remembering correctly. And if I am… Well, then, I think I had better consult with Miss Bevan.
Of course Mr Lomax had almost persuaded me that I should leave these matters alone… But if I go about things very quietly then perhaps he need not know what I have done… And besides, now that I have come so close, I cannot leave this part of the mystery in uncertainty. I simply cannot. It is a great deal too much to ask of me.
Next morning Dido found Mary Bevan in the little garden at the side of Mrs Midgely’s house – a dark, sunless place of severely clipped grass, grey gravel and stunted yew hedges. She was seated upon a narrow bench, looking paler than ever, with great shadows beneath her eyes; but she greeted Dido warmly and immediately said, ‘I am very glad to see you, Miss Kent, for there is something I have been wanting to tell you about.’
‘Oh yes? And what is that?’
‘The extract in your mysterious letter – have you succeeded yet in finding its origin?’
‘Oh!’ said Dido with some surprise. ‘Yes, I have. It comes from Romeo and Juliet.’
‘Does it? I did not know.’
‘Why do you ask me about it?’
‘Because…’ Mary stopped, looking a little confused. ‘Well, it is nothing. But I happened to read it yesterday – quoted by Doctor Johnson in The Rambler – it is in number one hundred and seven. I thought it might be of use to you to know… But if you have already found the original…’ She shrugged up her shoulders and smiled.
‘Thank you,’ said Dido. ‘Thank you very much – that might prove very useful indeed.’
‘So,’ said Mary with a curious look, ‘you are still pursuing your enquiries?’
‘Oh yes.’ She looked sidelong at her companion. ‘In fact,’ she said, ‘I have been about them this morning.’
‘Oh? And what have you been investigating?’
She hesitated again, but decided to be frank; there was something about Miss Bevan’s own open manner which seemed to demand a return in the same kind. She would be honest – though she doubted very much that her companion would like what she had to say. ‘I have been investigating Colonel Midgely’s old desk,’ she replied quietly. ‘And the portrait hanging in your parlour.’
‘Indeed? Have you?’ cried Mary in surprise. And then they sat in silence for a little while. A blackbird sang high up on the roof of the house and, out on the street, carriage wheels rumbled by. At last Mary turned and looked her full in the face. ‘And what have you learnt from the desk and the portrait?’ she asked with a tolerable pretence at calm.
Dido took so deep a breath she might have been about to plunge into a cold bath. ‘I believe I have learnt the cause of Mrs Midgely’s…resentment against you,’ she said.
A little colour rose into Mary’s pale cheeks, but she showed no other sign of distress – or surprise. ‘I think,’ she said at last, ‘that you had better explain exactly what you mean, Miss Kent.’
‘Well,’ began Dido, turning her eyes down upon the gravel at her feet, ‘at first, you know, I could not determine why Mrs Midgely should change towards you during the short time that you were absent in Ramsgate.’
‘I see.’ Mary thought for a moment. ‘It would, I suppose, be of no use to attempt to convince you that such a change did not take place?’
‘No, I do not think you would succeed in convincing me.’
‘Very well, I shall, as the saying goes, save my breath to cool my porridge.’ Mary folded her hands tightly in her lap and waited calmly; it seemed she would let Dido reveal what she knew, rather than risk any disclosure of her own.
‘You see,’ Dido said, ‘I set myself to think of what might have taken place during those two months to produce so strange a revolution in feeling.’
‘Yes?’
‘And the only thing I could think of was that, during that time, Colonel Midgely’s book room had been emptied of its papers. You see I remembered that Mrs Midgely had told Flora that that must be accomplished before Miss Prentice could take possession of the room.’
Mary put up her hand to check a little spasm in her throat, but said nothing.
‘And then you see,’ continued Dido, still very intent in her study of the gravel, ‘then I recalled the broken lock upon the desk. Which made me think – for I have a mind which is always seeking answers and explanations – which made me think that there must have been something locked within. Something which was only got at with violence. And then…’
‘Yes? What did this remarkable mind of yours turn to next?’ asked Miss Bevan, attempting to speak lightly, but with her hands all the while knotting themselves together in a way which showed her far from indifferent to what was being said.
‘Well,’ said Dido, ‘I am afraid my mind turned next to the portrait in the parlour.’
‘It is,’ said Mary quickly, ‘a picture of Mrs Midgely’s father.’
‘Yes. And a very grim old fellow he seems to have been!’
‘I beg your pardon, but I cannot understand what interest he can have held for you.’
‘Oh, none at all…except that he is old and ugly.’
Mary unclenched her hands and instead crossed her arms across her breast as if, all at once, she was cold. ‘What were you expecting to see, Miss Kent?’
‘Well, I hardly knew what to expect. You see, Flora – who has not been in the parlour since last summer – believed that it was the handsome Colonel Midgely who was hanging there; but yesterday it occurred to me that it was not a handsome man I
had seen when I was in the parlour two weeks ago. I had quite a distinct memory of a scowl and a hooked nose. An impression which I confirmed this morning. And the only explanation I can think of is that there has been an exchange. An explanation which seems all the more likely from the observation I have just made of there being a narrow band of unfaded wall paper running around the frame – as if there has been, recently, a slightly larger portrait hanging in that position.’
Mary wrapped her arms tighter about herself. ‘And this you believe to be of some significance?’
‘Oh yes, most certainly. For why should a widow remove the portrait of her late husband from the place of honour above the parlour fire?’
Mary offered no reply.
Dido raised her eyes at last from the gravel and looked into her companion’s face. ‘In short, Miss Bevan. I cannot help but conclude, that something was discovered in the drawer of the desk which turned your guardian’s heart not only against you but also against her husband.’
Miss Bevan said nothing, but shivered slightly and clasped her arms more tightly than ever – as if the burden of all she had had pressing upon her mind for the last months was grown almost unbearable.
Dido’s conscience whispered against her, but she continued, convinced – or rather, hoping – that an end to secrecy must offer the best relief. ‘I believe…’ she said. ‘At least, the most likely explanation would appear to be… when your history is also taken into account…’ She drew a long breath. ‘You are his natural daughter, are you not?’ she finished quietly.