A Gentleman of Fortune (12 page)
Read A Gentleman of Fortune Online
Authors: Anna Dean
Tags: #Historical Detective, #Mystery, #Napoleonic Era, #female sleuth
It being a Sunday, it was perhaps not quite right to be so busy about puzzles and secrets. Though, when she came to consider the matter, Dido could not
recall
any laws in the bible forbidding the solving of mysteries on the Sabbath. It seemed to be a point upon which holy writ was silent.
However, she was quite certain that she was straying from the strict path of virtue by allowing her mind to range over broken window catches, corrupted laundresses and unsigned notes during divine service itself. And, as she sat beside Flora in their high-sided pew, she did strive most earnestly to rein in her thoughts to proper contemplation and devotion. But it was exceedingly difficult for just across the worn flags of the aisle, shut into another crowded pew, was Mr Vane himself – providing her with an opportunity for contemplation of a very unreligious kind.
Sunshine was flooding into the nave of the church through the old leaded windows, very bright against the plain white plaster of the ceiling and the colourful coats and gowns and bonnets of the congregation. And one ray of light was falling directly upon Mr Vane, lighting him up as if he were an actor upon a stage – though whether he should play a hero or a villain, Dido found hard to determine.
He was certainly not an ill-looking man. Indeed he had a rather handsome face – though it was too broad and habitually smiling to suit her taste. He had a kind of polished look, a gleam of self-satisfaction – and ingratiation.
He was a very ingratiating man.
She had first caught sight of him this morning in the churchyard. A black, bowing figure moving restlessly about among the bright colours of the gathering ladies, repeatedly baring his shining fair hair to the sun as he swept the hat from his head. He attended, she noticed, exclusively to wealthy widows – constantly smiling his care and concern at them.
Watching him, it had been impossible (even with all the virtuous intentions of a Sunday) not to wonder about his motives. They were mercenary. She did not doubt that from his slighting of all his poorer patients in the crowd. But she could not quite determine whether his ambitions reached only to substantial fees, or whether they might aspire to more. To legacies perhaps… Or even to marriage – for, after all, it was not unknown for rich widows to fall in love with their physicians…
It was just as her thoughts were got to this point that she noticed he was stopped in the shadow of the church porch – and talking very earnestly to Mrs Midgely. He seemed to be giving some very particular piece of information – and she was smiling at what she heard. Dido pressed forward eagerly through the crowd, certain in her own mind that he was telling of his visit to the magistrate and determined to hear what she could. But there were a great many twisting parasols and jealously guarded muslins between her and the porch and before she could come close enough to hear anything, the pair had been interrupted.
As Dido approached the porch, Mrs Midgely’s broad yellow back was retreating and it was Miss Neville who was now standing beside the apothecary, her sallow face twitching nervously beneath a remarkably ugly grey bonnet as she whispered something urgently about ‘my poor mother’.
The look of gentle concern was gone from Mr Vane’s face. He seemed very far from sympathetic about Mrs Neville – although he seemed to think that she was very unwell, for he shook his head and said something about it being, ‘A bad business. Very bad indeed.’
He began to walk away, but Miss Neville detained him with an anxious question. ‘But, you will say nothing about…?’
Mr Vane bowed abruptly and walked off into the church before she could finish.
All of which was very strange and interesting; and now, as she sat in her pew, Dido could not help but dwell upon the memory of it – rather to the exclusion of Mr Hewit’s earnest discourse. She could not like Mr Vane – it was weak of him to be influenced by Mrs Midgely – and why should he be so negligent of Miss Neville and her poor mother? But he looked so very much at ease with himself that she could not doubt his motives in going to the magistrate. He had all the appearance of a man who
believed
he was acting with integrity.
Her eye slowly moved away from Mr Vane, along the lines of dutifully attentive faces. There was Miss Neville, her hands plucking at her reticule, frowning at the preacher as if she resented his words; and, beside her, Mr Lansdale, one arm resting along the side of his pew, head thrown back, fine blue eyes fixed attentively upon the pulpit. And then, in the row behind, Miss Prentice and Mrs Midgely…
Dido’s wandering eye was immediately halted. She stared – at least she stared as much as a person
can
stare while discreetly craning her neck in church.
The expressions upon both women’s faces were arresting. Startling. Though they could not have been more different. Miss Prentice was enraptured; her eyes were wide and she was so moved that tears were running down her round cheeks. But Mrs Midgely’s face burnt red – the rouge all swallowed up in a flush of fury.
Hastily Dido turned her wandering attention in its proper direction – and began to listen to the sermon. What was Mr Hewit saying which could produce such widely differing effects in his audience?
‘…Charity, my dear friends! St Paul teaches us that it is the greatest of all virtues. “Charity suffereth long and is kind,” he tells us. Charity “thinketh no evil”. It “rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth”. When we have charity in our hearts, my friends, we do not bear grudges, or resentments, we are able – we are willing – to forget the past mistakes and transgressions of others. We are willing to forgive what is past…’
He spoke gently and feelingly; but there was a great deal of power in his accents – and in the expression of his lined and careworn face. And, Dido noticed that, as he spoke, he was looking very directly at Mrs Midgely.
‘That was a very moving sermon, Mr Hewit,’ said Dido, pausing in the shady porch as she and Flora left the church.
Mr Hewit’s sombre face broke immediately into a very kindly smile. ‘Dear Lady! You are extremely generous to say so.’ He bowed and lowered his voice. ‘And may I say that your approval of my little discourse does you credit. In my experience it is the charitable who take most pleasure in hearing charity commended.’
‘Thank you.’
The broad smile had somewhat eased the deep lines of the clergyman’s face; but the sadness lingered in his eyes – and there was something too in the stoop of his slight shoulders, his haggard face and, most particularly, in his rather shabby clothes and his unfashionably powdered hair, which was not like any other popular visiting preacher that Dido had ever met. He was now looking rather despondingly at the departing crowd. ‘I do not think,’ he continued, raising a thick white eyebrow in half-comical regret, ‘that my discourse gave universal satisfaction.’
Dido found that the man was rather winning upon her. She smiled and stepped closer to him. ‘I fear there may have been a little disappointment,’ she whispered playfully.
‘Disappointment?’
‘Yes,’ she confided, ‘I believe you were expected to preach against the French.’
‘Indeed?’ He looked very thoughtful. ‘But, my dear lady, why do you suppose that there should be disappointment? Did I not preach most eloquently against the French?’
‘I beg your pardon? I do not quite understand you.’
‘Was not every word which I spoke in praise of charity a rebuke to our neighbours across the channel? Are not a want of charity and compassion at the root of every violent scene lately enacted among them? Is it not the absence of charity which has turned the high ideals of their revolution into tyranny and outrage?’
‘Oh!’ said Dido, startled into seriousness. ‘Yes…’ She was quite struck by his words, and she could not help but wonder whether they might not have some bearing upon Richmond as well as France – and whether the lack of charity among her neighbours might not also end in a scene of violence…
She shivered – the old stone porch suddenly felt remarkably damp and cold. And she was on the point of making him a more thoughtful reply, when his attention was drawn away.
‘Ah!’ he cried, ‘Mrs Midgely, Miss Prentice! It is such a very great pleasure to meet with old friends!’
Dido turned just in time to see Mrs Midgely walking past with scarcely a nod, while Miss Prentice stopped and held out her hand smilingly. ‘Such a beautiful sermon, Mr Hewit. It was so very…’
‘Thank you! Thank you, dear lady!’ He took her hand, folded it in both his own and seemed to study her face.
Dido watched with great interest.
But Flora suddenly seized her arm. ‘Pray excuse us, Mr Hewit,’ she cried. ‘We must hurry away, you know.’ And without more ado she pulled her cousin out of the cool porch into the sudden heat and glare of the churchyard.
‘But I wished most particularly to hear what they said,’ protested Dido as they came to a halt beside a gravestone, just a few yards from the porch.
‘And they,’ whispered Flora with a giggle, ‘most certainly did not
wish
you to hear.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dido looked back through the ivy-hung doorway into the shadows where it was just possible to see the stooping clergyman leaning close to the neat little figure of Miss Prentice. Her eyes were cast down. He was still holding her hand as if he had forgotten to release it.
‘Why, is it not obvious?’ said Flora. ‘I am sure it is plain for all the world to see! They are in love!’
‘In love?’ cried Dido. ‘How can you know? You have never seen them together before.’
‘Oh, but they are! Or at least they were when they were young. And now they have met again and they find they have not forgotten… Only look at how he is talking to her – and how she listens to him. Yes, they are in love for sure! I am
never
wrong about these things.’
‘I do not know…’ said Dido doubtingly. Miss Prentice was withdrawing her hand now, turning away. She walked out into the sunshine, her face pale and distressed. ‘I do not know at all.
That
does not seem so very much like love. She seems in quite a hurry to get away from Mr Hewit.’
Flora laughed, linked her arm through Dido’s and drew her away along the worn flagged path that led through roughly mown grass to the lych-gate. ‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘but it is very like love. You see, I have noticed that some women are not at all comfortable about being in love.’ She shook her curls and flashed a very meaning, sidelong glance at her companion. ‘And I have observed,’ she continued, ‘that such women will go to quite extraordinary lengths to conceal their attachments – even from their most intimate friends. Why, I do not mean to shock you, but I believe that sometimes they will even try to hide their love from their
cousins
!’
…I am not at all sure whether to believe Flora – I mean as to Mr Hewit and Miss Prentice being in love. I do not at all share her belief that she is always right in these matters, though she can sometimes be quick-sighted enough… That is to say, I have known her guess correctly in another case…
And there did,
I
suppose
, seem to be some evidences of affection – they were certainly very glad to meet. And he held her hand a great while longer than was necessary. And I think perhaps they were acquainted with one another when they were young, back in Northamptonshire… Maybe it is possible…
But if there is a real attachment, Eliza, why were they not married long ago? Flora, I should say, believes that they were parted by a lack or fortune on his side and a fiercely disapproving Papa on hers. She has made up quite an affecting little story about it.
But, whether or not there was ever a disapproving Papa, there is undoubtedly now a disapproving friend! For Mrs Midgely certainly does not like Mr Hewit. Dear me! I begin to think that that woman does not like anyone!
And I keep remembering Mrs M’s visit to Knaresborough House – and how Miss Prentice fainted when she heard of it.
I wonder whether Mr Hewit might have played some part in that little mystery. In short I wonder whether…
But I had better not go on, or I fear I shall be in danger of telling a tale as rich in fancy and as poor in fact as Flora’s. I shall instead wait and watch a little more – and hope that my book is soon delivered from the bookseller. And I think I shall also try to discover exactly where in the north-country Mr Hewit’s new parish may be situated…
And, in the meantime, I shall tell you about our dinner last night at Knaresborough House.
I was, for a while, afraid that we should not be able to dine out. Unfortunately, while she was at the shops yesterday morning, the news of Mr Vane going to the magistrate was forced upon Flora’s attention and she suffered afterwards with the headache. But she bore with the news much better than I had expected. She seems to rely entirely upon Mr Lomax’s judgement and continues to believe that there is no great danger of a trial.
And so, since she was most anxious to prove to Mr Lansdale that he was not deserted by his friends, we kept our engagement. And very grateful I am that we did!
I wish most particularly to give you an account of this dinner, Eliza. You see it has produced what is perhaps the strangest mystery of all this unaccountable business.
First of all you must know that, although we had only been invited to a family dinner, when we arrived, we found that there was one other guest: a young man Mr Lansdale introduced as ‘My great friend Jem Morgan.’ And a
great
friend he was – both tall and broad!
I do not mean to suggest, however, that there was anything strange or mysterious about Mr Morgan himself. Indeed,
he seemed a remarkably ordinary young man with a lot of unruly black hair which would not lie flat, and a rather ill-shaven chin with a cut upon it. He is one of those young men who, even when they are freshly dressed for dinner, have not quite the knack of looking tidy. He has chambers in the Temple, is studying law and suffers under the common delusion that a woman may be pleasantly entertained by the relating of endless anecdotes about his friends, his horses and his dogs. As you have no doubt understood from this complaint, I had all his attention throughout dinner. For Mr Lansdale, as usual, devoted himself to Flora – and by the by I rather wonder at our cousin. Does she allow the young man to engross her so when her husband is present? – well, I suppose that is no business of mine. All I meant to say was that I was Mr Morgan’s sole object. And a heavy misfortune it was, because, besides his conversation, I had spilt wine and dropped knives to contend with, for he really is the clumsiest man I ever met.
And it is to his clumsiness that we are indebted for the great discovery of the evening.
Flora and I were not long alone with Miss Neville after dinner before the gentlemen joined us. Though I would not have you think that I wasted my time, for while Flora amused herself at the pianoforte, I talked again with Clara Neville about the evening on which Mrs Lansdale died. And I discovered two things which may be of interest.
Firstly, she said that Mr Vane visited the lady not long before she retired to her dressing room and administered to her ‘her usual dose’. It seems that she complained then of disordered nerves and wished the apothecary to remain in the house with her. But Mr Vane was not overly worried and
said only that he would be at home all evening and she must send for him if her symptoms became worse.
And second, I found that she was served with chocolate in her dressing room before going to her bed. Now the chocolate I believe to be of some significance, for it seems to me that its strong, rather bitter taste would effectively disguise any physic put into it. If I was going to poison anyone, Eliza, I would certainly make use of a jug of chocolate if I could. With this in mind, I took some trouble to find out more about the chocolate and discovered that it had been prepared in the kitchen and that Miss Neville had carried it up to the dressing room. However when she arrived at the dressing room Mr Lansdale was there and, since his aunt particularly requested that they be left alone, Miss Neville handed the tray to him.
In short, both Miss Neville and Henry Lansdale had opportunity enough to introduce the opium mixture to the jug…if they wished to do so.
And another thing to consider is that we have only Mr Vane’s word that it was no more than the ‘usual dose’ which he administered that evening.
By the by, I rather fancy Mr Vane for a murderer, though I confess that, try as I might, I have not yet been able to think of any reason why he should wish for the lady’s demise. Nor why, having brought it about, he should wish to draw attention to his crime by starting the idea of an unnatural death.
But I do not quite despair of his being guilty. I must give the matter more thought.
For now I shall return to Mr Morgan and his clumsiness.
Well, he and Mr Lansdale soon followed us into the
drawing room, and once we were all gathered in that room it was only natural that conversation should turn to the burglars who had entered it. The subject, as you may imagine, had been discussed already in the dining room, but now the local interest of the window through which the ruffians had come and the drawers they had disturbed, soon led Mr Lansdale into a more detailed account of the events. We were all deeply interested and, when he stepped to a window saying, ‘This was the one that had the broken catch,’ we all naturally followed him and looked at it.
There was nothing to see – except that the window opens
outward
, just as I suspected. So, after a moment or two, we all turned back into the room. But, as we did so, Mr Morgan had the ill-luck to catch his foot in the long window curtain and fall headlong into a sofa.
And, as he fell, something bright caught my eye: something which had been lying hidden in the trailing hem of the curtain. I cried out ‘Oh look!’ or something foolish like that as one does on such occasions – and picked it up.
Eliza, it was an emerald necklace!
Well, you may imagine how we all gathered around and exclaimed over it. It was an extremely pretty thing: a slender gold chain with one stone hanging in the centre flanked by two pairs of smaller ones. Naturally Flora and I thought that it had been taken from elsewhere in the house and accidentally dropped by the thieves as they made their escape.
But – and this is the unaccountable part of the business – both Miss Neville and Henry Lansdale were sure that it had not. They both declared that they had never set eyes on the necklace before. And Mr Lansdale was quite certain that it had not belonged to his aunt. He said that he had carefully
examined her jewel case when the intruders had first been discovered and he was certain that the case had not been broken into, nor was anything missing from it. Furthermore, he was sure that the emerald necklace could not have been his aunt’s.
‘For,’ he said, ‘I know she did not like emeralds at all. She fancied that they did not suit her complexion. Everything in her jewel case is diamonds or rubies and very different from this. This is very new,’ he said. ‘Fresh from the jewellers I should say. Everything that my aunt had was old-fashioned, heavy stuff. Believe me,’ he said, ‘she
never
wore anything like this.’
My next suggestion was that it might have been dropped by the last tenants of the house and remained unobserved until now; but Mr Lansdale negatived that immediately. It seems that every inch of the house was cleaned before he and his aunt took possession. Every curtain had been removed, thoroughly cleansed and rehung. His aunt had insisted upon it.
So, Eliza, this is our mystery: thieves break into a house and take nothing from it – this might be explained by their being disturbed before they can find anything of value – however, they not only fail to remove any goods, but they leave behind them a valuable item which was not there before.
What kind of thieves are they who bring goods into a house and leave the householder a little wealthier than he was before they came?!!
