by Anna Dean
‘In plain language, you mean that Mr Vane should be threatened.’
‘Ah…Yes, I believe that I do.’
‘I see.’ He continued to watch her; but unluckily the light was behind him and she could not see the expression of his face. ‘And this,’ he said at last, ‘is what you mean to do? You mean to approach Mr Vane and threaten him into silence?’
It had certainly not needed the incredulity in his voice to make her modesty shrink from the prospect. She very much doubted whether all her sense of justice and indignation could make her capable of it. But she must stake everything upon the pretence.
‘It is not,’ she said, lowering her eyes demurely, ‘it is certainly not an errand which I – or any woman – would wish to undertake, Mr Lomax. But, as you have pointed out, I am alone, unprotected. I have no gentleman to act for me.’
‘This,’ he cried stepping back from her and bringing his hand down upon the balustrade with considerable force. ‘This is intolerable! Now you are threatening me!’
‘I am very sorry that you should think so, Mr Lomax. That was certainly not my intention.’
‘Pardon me for contradicting a lady, but I rather think that it was.’
She made no reply.
He had half-turned as he stepped back and now the light of a lantern was shining upon one side of his face. His warring emotions were visible in every feature. The muscles moved in his throat as he forced back furious words. She guessed that anger and humanity were fighting it out inside him; but did not suspect the rest of his torment. For she did not see how pleasantly the shaded light played across her own face, nor how the heat of argument had brightened her eyes and brought back the bloom of youth to her cheeks.
At last he let out a kind of groan. ‘If,’ he said slowly. ‘If I consent to act for you in this matter, Miss Kent. If I take it upon myself to approach Vane and to…bring all these matters to his attention, it will be purely in order to protect you from further…unpleasantness. You must understand that it does not, in any way, mean that I condone your past behaviour.’
‘No, of course not,’ she said quietly. ‘I understand that entirely, Mr Lomax.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘It is a great pity,’ observed Flora at breakfast two days later, ‘a very great pity that you should have been at so much trouble over this affair of Mr Lansdale’s. For after all, you know, there was nothing to be done and it has all worked out quite harmlessly in the end.’
‘Oh! Oh yes,’ said Dido looking up from the note which she was reading. ‘It was very fortunate indeed that Mr Vane should have failed to appear in the court and that the magistrate should have discharged Mr Lansdale.’
‘Well, perhaps,’ said Flora with a sly smile, ‘perhaps you might now agree with dear Mr Lomax that such matters are best left to the authorities appointed to deal with them.’
Dido laid down her letter with a frown. ‘Has he expressed that opinion to you?’
‘Oh yes, he told me all about it at Brooke – while you were talking with Maria, you know. But,’ she added, ‘he also gave me to understand that it is the only point upon which you and he disagree. Oh yes! We had the most delightful conversation about you! And he assures me that in all else you and he are in perfect accord. And as for your person,’ she finished, ‘you are quite the loveliest and cleverest woman in the world!’
‘Well,’ said Dido ungraciously, ‘when you and Mr Lomax next discuss me, you may tell him that I am not at all sure that I have changed my opinion of the appointed authorities, for they have shown themselves to be neither diligent nor clear-sighted in the performance of their duty.’
‘You may tell him whatever you wish yourself – he is to call here this morning. It is to be a farewell visit, for he returns to Belsfield tomorrow,’ said Flora – still smiling. ‘And so, since I am sure the two of you must have a great deal to talk about, I shall take care to leave you alone together.’
‘Oh no!’ Dido rose hastily from the table. ‘You will not do anything of the kind, my dear cousin, for I shall not be here to see Mr Lomax. I have another engagement.’ She picked up her letter. ‘It so happens that Mary Bevan has written and asked me to meet with her this morning.’
‘But you cannot go!’ cried Flora. ‘I am sure he wishes most particularly to see you.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Dido as she walked out of the room, ‘I think Mr Lomax will be very happy to find that he has missed me!’
This morning the weather was rather cooler than it had been of late. Small white clouds were drifting across the sky and a pleasant breeze pulled at the ribbons of Dido’s bonnet as she walked down the hill towards the green and the inn.
As she approached Mrs Midgely’s house she discerned Miss Prentice’s white cap at its usual station beside the window. She raised her hand to wave, but then, as she drew nearer, she saw that, for once, the lady was not looking outward at all – nor was she alone. Mr Hewit was there – sitting so close and talking so earnestly that his companion had no attention to spare even for the window and the activities of the neighbourhood.
Dido smiled. She could not but suppose that the gentleman must be saying something very interesting indeed to hold her attention, for there was actually a coroneted coach driving past; furthermore, just across the road at Knaresborough House, a wagon was drawn up on the sweep and men were carrying the trunks and boxes of new tenants up the steps.
Suppressing a desire to stop and watch the couple, Dido passed on, pausing instead by the big stone gateposts of Knaresborough and gazing up at the solid, peaceful bulk of the house. The breeze was rustling through the ivy on its walls and one thin column of smoke was rising from a back chimney. She recalled how she had stood here on that first day – and thought how very respectable the place looked. She had then had no notion of everything these red-brick walls might contain. She could not have predicted hidden passion, nor thieving, nor elopement, nor the daring charade which ambition had played out here… And she certainly could not have had any suspicion of that other, more terrible sin which she believed to have taken place here…
Of course, she thought as she turned and continued on her way down the hill, she might be mistaken – only Mary Bevan could confirm, or dispel this final suspicion. And very glad she was that Mary had agreed to meet with her and satisfy her curiosity. This last detail of her mystery might be something which she could never speak about to anyone else – she had certainly lacked the courage to enter into the subject with Lady Carrisbrook – but it was, nevertheless, a matter which she could not bear to remain in ignorance of.
As she came within sight of the inn she saw that the London coach was stopped on the green, attended with all its usual bustle of boxes and parcels being lifted up into the basket and horses being led out of the shafts and passengers hurrying into the parlour to eat and drink as fast as they might. Miss Bevan was sitting upon a bench nearby – which was what her letter had led Dido to expect. But what she was not entirely prepared for was the travelling cloak lying on the bench – and the corded trunk beside it. She frowned rather thoughtfully as she made her way across the grass, through the little throng of gossiping friends, dawdling lovers and darting children.
‘Are you going upon a journey, Miss Bevan?’ she asked as they shook hands.
‘Yes, I am just now taking the coach to London and there I get into another – for Yorkshire.’
Dido sat down and took a long look at her companion. Her face was white and every strand of hair had been scraped back into the dark, severe bonnet. Her wide brown eyes looked larger than ever – there was a suggestion of fear in them, but also great determination.
‘You go to the house of Mr Grimbauld?’
A smile darted across Mary’s face. ‘I do indeed, and it is to be hoped that his nature is pleasanter than the sound of his name!’
‘I sincerely hope that it is.’
Dido was now the one being scrutinised. ‘I think,’ said Mary, ‘that you are not entirely
surprised by my decision.’
‘I was not quite prepared for Mr Grimbauld,’ admitted Dido. ‘I had not expected you to go away today – to Yorkshire.’
‘When once we have determined upon a right course of action, I believe it is best to embark upon it straight away – otherwise it is all too easy to begin to argue against ourselves.’
‘I am sure you are right.’
‘So, Miss Kent, you, at least, did not expect me to stay here and marry Mr Lansdale?’
‘No, I do not think that I did.’
‘May I ask why?’
Dido only shrugged and repeated Mary’s own words back to her, ‘It is better to be a governess – better even to be a teacher in a school – than to marry a man one does not care for.’
‘Oh!’ Mary turned aside with a look of great consciousness and, one of the guards just then appearing, began to busy herself over getting her box tied onto the coach. When that was all settled and the man had warned her, with a broken-toothed smile, that they were to, ‘be off in just ten minutes, miss,’ she resumed her seat and folded her arms tightly about herself. ‘You know then that I do not…? You understand my feelings?’
‘Yes,’ said Dido gently. ‘Though when you first spoke those words to me, I did not quite understand that you were speaking about yourself. It was only afterwards…’
‘Afterwards?’
‘Yes, after I realised that it was you who had sent the mysterious letter to me. Then, you see, I began to wonder about your behaviour and your motives. And, of course, I recollected that at Ramsgate you had been unwilling to accept Mr Lansdale’s offer – that it was only after the discovery of your parentage – when your need for a home was pressing – it was only then that you accepted him.’
Mary bowed her head. ‘I should not have consented. But I persuaded myself that there was nothing wrong in what I was doing. After all, there was no shame in marrying prudently: it was no more than what other women were doing every day. And he seemed to be so very much in love…’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘This will not do. I cannot excuse myself. The truth is that I was desperate. When Mrs Midgely said that I must leave her house, I did not know what I would do. It is very hard, Miss Kent, to be entirely friendless.’
‘Yes, I am sure that it is. I do not wonder at what you did. I only wonder at what you have failed to do.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Why, you have failed to fall in love with Mr Lansdale! Which, considering he is young, handsome, rich, lively and good-natured, besides being excessively in love with you, is, I think, rather remarkable.’
‘You are right to wonder at it! There was a time when I wondered at it myself. At Ramsgate, when he first made his offer, I was unsure. Though I did not doubt my present feelings, I thought that they might change. I thought that I might learn to love him. That is why I did not give him an outright refusal – but only asked for time in which to consider.’
‘But now you are sure you can never love him?’
Mary hunched up her shoulders and folded her arms tightly across her breast. ‘Since the discovery in the book room…’ she began, but her voice faltered – that subject could not be talked of with safety. ‘Miss Kent,’ she said simply, ‘I do not think that I could ever confide in a man again. And if I were to marry Mr Lansdale I should despise myself forever. I should hate myself because I would know that I had been mercenary; and I would know that I had nothing to give in return for everything I had received from him – nothing but a pretence of affection.’ She stopped, pressed her hand to her mouth as if to prevent any more words escaping it, and sat a while in silence before asking, ‘How did you know? It must have been more than just the timing of my acceptance. What made you suspect that I was indifferent to him?’
‘Well, when I came to consider carefully I saw that your behaviour over these last weeks has been…wrong. You see, although you have been uneasy, even distressed, you have not behaved like a woman who sees the life of the man she loves under threat. Not at all. If you had really loved Mr Lansdale you would not have been able to hide your concern for him. Nothing else would have mattered to you but his safety.’ She stopped, half-expecting Mary to protest; but she only shrugged up her shoulders and gave a little nod of understanding.
‘Well, that is not how you have behaved. You have been reserved – quiet. You have not come forward with the information which you had about the night his aunt died – though from the beginning you have known things which must – at the very least – have shifted blame and attention from him. And then, when you did act – when you sent that note to me – it was not to protect Mr Lansdale – it was to protect Maria Carrisbrook, was it not?’
There was a very slight nod from Mary.
‘It was for the destitute, the desperate and friendless that you pleaded: you pleaded for women like Maria Henderson – women like yourself. You wished to protect her because you felt such a strong affinity with her. You were the same. Two women who must both sell their accomplishments in order to make their way in the world. “The world is not their friend, nor the world’s laws.” You meant that Maria should be excused for thinking only of herself – just as you should be.’
Mary had been watching anxiously through this last speech: her face becoming more shocked as Dido progressed. ‘You know!’ she cried when it was finished. ‘You know the truth about Maria!’
‘Yes, I believe I do.’
‘But how? How can you know?’
Dido hesitated awkwardly, for once unsure about explaining herself. But fresh horses were now, with much shuffling of hooves and shaking of heads, being backed into the shafts of the coach and two farmers were already climbing up to take their seats on the roof. There would not be much more time for talking.
‘Well,’ she began cautiously, ‘first of all there was your interest in her – which I traced to the time of your returning from Ramsgate. I knew that – after the discovery in the book room – you were uncomfortable in Mrs Midgely’s company and fell into the habit of sitting in the back parlour with Miss Prentice. And, as I have discovered myself, to sit with Miss Prentice is to sit beside the window – and to begin to watch out of that window as she does.’
Mary smiled. ‘It seems impossible to avoid it.’
‘It does indeed! But your eyesight is rather better than Miss Prentice’s I think – and your mind perhaps a little quicker. Though you might not have watched Knaresborough House so long, I think you saw a great deal more than she did!’ She paused, but Mary said nothing. ‘You were not taken in by the unbecoming clothes and bonnets in which the Misses Henderson walked abroad – you saw that they were very pretty women. More than pretty – quite beautiful. And, though I am only guessing at it, I think you saw other little things which made you suspect that this was a rather…unusual household.’
‘What kind of little things, Miss Kent?’ asked Mary with interest.
‘Oh well… Perhaps you saw that Mr Henderson bore a likeness to the butler Fraser. And perhaps – while Miss Prentice saw only that family carriages arrived in the evenings – you were able to discern more. You were able to see, perhaps, that it was not families who descended from those carriages – but only gentlemen. Certainly you saw enough to make you so interested in the inhabitants of Knaresborough House that you were prepared to set aside propriety and introduce yourself to the young ladies in the park.’
‘You are right, of course. And you are right too in supposing that my interest was heightened by the similarity I saw in our situations. I was, you must understand, very unhappy at that time – my consent was given to Mr Lansdale and he was beginning to plan our elopement, but already I was blaming myself for agreeing – and yet, independent of him, my future was so very unpromising that I had not the courage to withdraw my consent.’
‘Of course, I quite understand.’
Mary looked curiously at her. ‘You seem to understand me very well, Miss Kent, and I daresay I am more transparent than I had hoped! But ho
w do you come to understand Maria Carrisbrook? That is beyond my comprehension.’
‘Oh well, it was her accomplishments that I first wondered at,’ said Dido.
‘Her accomplishments?’
‘Yes. You see I watched her very carefully during our day at Brooke and I concluded that hers had been a very strange education indeed! Maria Carrisbrook plays and sings; she knows French; she knows how to charm and put people at their ease; she is able to enter into pleasant conversation upon any subject. In all these things she is remarkably accomplished. But there are odd deficiencies. Why, I wondered should she be so very anxious about a cold collation? And why did she not know what entertainments were usual at a summer garden party? Why had she never been instructed in these little matters – or observed how they were done by others?’
Mary was now watching her talk with unabashed wonder. Dido smiled and shook her head. ‘In short, Miss Bevan, I concluded that, although she had been taught how to captivate and delight a man, she had not been taught the business of being a wife.’ Colour rose in Dido’s cheeks. She looked down. ‘Marriage,’ she finished quietly, ‘was not the purpose of her education.’
‘No,’ said Mary. ‘It was not.’
Now the coach passengers were beginning to come out of the inn parlour and the guard with the broken tooth was reminding Mary that they would ‘be off in just two minutes, miss.’
‘And then, of course,’ Dido hurried on, ‘there was the way in which Sir Joshua behaved when I asked him about Mr Henderson. He became very uncomfortable indeed at the sound of the name. As he ought to be! For he knew his own guilt! He knew very well that the establishment the butler had had the audacity to form in Knaresborough House was…a disreputable one.’