A Gentleman of Fortune (18 page)

Flora stared at it. ‘Relative? What did he mean by it? Was he referring to his aunt? Or to Mrs Midgely perhaps…but no, he cannot have been, for Mrs Midgely is not a relative of Miss Bevan’s… My dear Dido why would he wish to say anything about a relative to Miss Bevan?’

‘He did not. Remember, the letters were not in this order when he put them on the table. Relative is only the word Miss Bevan chose to make, in order to hide his meaning from the others. This is the message which she really saw in the letters…’

With a few quick movements Dido rearranged the letters: reveal it.

‘Oh! Oh, Dido, how very clever you are!’

‘Thank you,’ she said feeling more gratified than she would have liked to admit – and perhaps rather better pleased with herself than the occasion merited.

‘But how can you know that she understood his meaning?’

‘Because she replied to him. This is the message which she passed back to him.’ She took the second word – license – and rearranged the letters: silence.

‘Oh! And the third word?’

‘That was my message to Mr Lansdale.’

‘Solver? You meant to tell him that you hoped to solve the mystery of his aunt’s death?’

‘Not quite – although that is what he pretended to see in my message. In fact he saw my meaning and knew that I had discovered his secret.’

She moved the letters of the last word: lovers. 

Dido laid down her pen and turned to the looking glass on the toilette table beside her, frowning at the little round face which peered out so anxiously from its dark surface. She had, from the beginning, prided herself upon being disinterested. She had set out neither to blame nor exonerate, only to ensure that justice was done by coming at the truth. Yet now she had to confess that she would much rather that truth was not Mr Lansdale’s guilt. And she did wish most heartily that his engagement might be concealed a little longer, for its publication would certainly bring a world of trouble upon his head.

‘But you have no proof at all that that trouble would be unmerited.’ That is what Mr Lomax had said when she talked to him about the matter yesterday.

They had contrived to have a few minutes conversation in the hall at Brooke while they were all waiting for the carriages. They were standing by the window watching rain slant across the terrace and the rest of the party were occupied with saying their farewells.

‘I think,’ he had urged her, ‘that you had better leave well alone. After all, my dear Miss Kent, what proof do you have of his innocence, beyond a pleasing person and very plausible manners?’ He stepped closer and spoke with gentle urgency. ‘Have you considered that Mrs Midgely might know of this engagement between Mr Lansdale and her ward; that it may have been the reason for her visit to Mrs Lansdale – she went to inform her of it.’

‘Yes,’ Dido replied quickly, ‘I have considered it. And I have also considered the next point which you are about to make.’

‘And what is that?’

‘That Mr Lansdale might well have wished his aunt dead before Mrs Midgely could call again and expose him.’

He smiled. ‘I doubt there is any need for me to argue against you when you can argue with yourself so well!’

‘I have certainly argued myself out of
that
explanation, Mr Lomax. For it will not do. Why should Mrs Midgely wish to put an end to the engagement? Is she not the very woman to be delighted by a connection with the powerful family of Lansdale? Would you not expect her to enjoy visiting the great house in Westmorland? And to enjoy talking about the visit afterwards even more? No, I am convinced she knows nothing of the engagement. She would think again about maligning Mr Lansdale if she knew that such a connection was at stake.’

He sighed. ‘It seems to me that you are not willing to countenance the possibility that the young man
might
be guilty!’

‘I am not so unreasonable! No, I will accept that he might be guilty…’ She hesitated, shook her head. ‘But, if he is, what of the lap-dog?’

‘Why do you believe the dog to be significant?’

‘Because its death proves that there were forces at work in Knaresborough House that night which were quite unconnected with Henry Lansdale. Indeed I am convinced that the killing of the dog proves that there were
strangers
in the house that night – for I can see no other reason for its needing to be silenced.’

He sighed. ‘You are very determined.’

‘And,’ she continued, ‘there are a great many things which Mr Lansdale’s guilt cannot explain – the burglary, and Jenny White and Mrs Midgely’s malice.’

‘Well, well, you may be right. But none of this makes Henry Lansdale an innocent man.’

‘Perhaps it does not, but it proves that his trial – that his conviction – would leave a great many mysteries unexplained. And that is why I think it would be better avoided – or at least delayed.’

‘And I think,’ he said rather forcefully, ‘that you had better not put yourself in danger by being seen to interfere. You would be well advised, Miss Kent, to allow justice to take its course.’

Unfortunately they had been interrupted before she could reply. The carriages were announced and everyone was on the move.

Now, loitering over the toilette table in her chamber, she regretted that they had not been able to talk longer, but did not think that he would have been able to convince her. She sighed and took up her pen again.

The next morning saw Flora and Dido driving along a narrow street in a rather shabby part of Richmond, in search of Mrs Neville’s home.

There had been some reluctance on Flora’s part; she had not wanted to pay the call. Her acquaintance with the lady was ‘very slight’; and she had been intending to drive to town this morning to call upon a particular friend in Harley Street; and, from all she could remember, Mrs Neville was quite the dullest woman in the world. And that had been when she was in her right senses, you know. Now, by her daughter’s account, they must expect to find her confused as well as dull. It would be perfectly dreadful!

But Dido had persevered, assuring her that it was all done for Mr Lansdale’s sake, and had given an account of everything Miss Neville had told her at Brooke.

‘Oh, and so you do not believe her?’ Flora asked when the tale was finished. ‘You do not believe that it was in order to visit her mother that she left Knaresborough House that evening?’

‘I am still not sure,’ confessed Dido. ‘A call upon her mother would be of great use to us. At the very least we can discover whether it is true – whether Miss Neville did go there that evening.’

‘Oh well, I daresay I can go to Harley Street tomorrow instead. We shall go to your Mrs Neville today; though I confess, I did not know that helping poor Mr Lansdale must involve so many visits to tedious old women.’

So here they were, in a street of small, unprosperous looking houses and shops; and it seemed that nearly everything that Dido had heard of Mrs Neville’s circumstances was true. She did indeed live in a very small way. The house which she occupied was small and the portion allotted to her use was even smaller, for the house belonged to people in business and Mrs Neville had only two tiny apartments on the drawing room floor.

There was however one circumstance for which Dido was quite unprepared. Flora had told her that Mrs Neville employed no servant; but when they arrived at the house a woman appeared to show them up the stairs – and that woman was none other than Jenny White.

They exchanged very wondering looks as they climbed the narrow stairs; but there was little opportunity for talking.

‘I assure you I have never seen her here before in my life!’ was all that Flora could whisper as they waited on the dark landing to be announced. Then the door was thrown open, Jenny had given them a look which suggested she suspected them quite as much as they suspected her, and they were walking into the parlour.

It was a poor, threadbare, little room; low ceiled, very dark from the smallness of the windows and the extreme narrowness of the street outside, and so very noisy that the pewter candlesticks rattled on the chimney-piece whenever a carriage passed over the cobbles below. But the old lady in her chair was straight-backed and bright-eyed under her white cap. She was smaller than her daughter, with more regular features. She certainly had an air of more intelligence. She was knitting; but she set down her pins and threw a look of some keenness at them – and at her servant – as they were shown into the room.

She expressed gratitude for their visit and fell easily into conversation. The first subject, after being seated, was her work.

‘Well, my dears, you find me very busy,’ said she. ‘I have not the eyesight for the fine work that I used to do. Which is not at all to be wondered at, at my age, is it? But I have lately learnt to knit and I find it suits me very well. And I can make all manner of little things that are of use to myself and to the poor people hereabouts.’

Her voice was as calm and rational as her appearance, and Dido was surprised. She had expected the confusion which the daughter had spoken of to be more apparent. They talked a little more of how she passed her days. And everything she said, marking as it did either her gentility, her sense, or her gentleness, was adding to Dido’s surprise.

‘I daresay you miss the society of your daughter a great deal,’ she asked at the first opportunity.

‘Well, yes, I daresay I do, my dear,’ was the quiet reply. ‘But I was very glad for her to go to the Lansdales, you know. She has had so little opportunity for change and variety.’

‘Of course. And no doubt she has been able to visit you tolerably often?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Neville, ‘Clara is very good. She comes to me without fail every week – on a Tuesday evening.’ Quite suddenly she dropped her voice to such a whisper as they could barely hear. ‘I rather fancy…’ she said, setting aside her knitting and leaning very close, ‘…I rather fancy that she conditioned with Mrs Lansdale for coming on Tuesdays from the very beginning.’

Dido wondered at this sudden bid for secrecy; but then she followed the direction which Mrs Neville’s eyes had taken and saw Jenny White, not gone away to the kitchen as she had supposed, but standing still beside the door, her stout, red, laundress’s arms folded across her breast. ‘Jenny,’ whispered Mrs Neville, ‘takes her evening off on Tuesday, you see, and Clara does not like me to be left alone.’

‘Oh!’ Dido looked from the eager, elderly face before her, to the broad, red, expressionless one beside the door, which had something of a prison warder’s watchfulness.‘That is very thoughtful of her, I am sure.’

Mrs Neville pursed her lips, picked up her knitting and studied it for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she repeated, still speaking in a whisper. ‘Yes, Clara fears that if I am left, I may go out on my own and there will be trouble. That is why she insisted that Jenny should come here while she is at the Lansdales. Either she or Jenny must be with me all the time.’

‘I see.’ Dido was whispering now too. ‘I am sure it is very kind of your daughter to take such great care of you.’

‘Well, yes.’ She sighed. ‘But you know sometimes it is very hard. It is a very dull life. Sometimes I quite long to walk out as I used to do. I do so love to walk out – and take a little look at the shops, perhaps.’