A Gentleman of Fortune (23 page)

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.

Mary avoided her eyes, but nodded. ‘There were,’ she whispered, ‘letters in his desk…from my mother. Of course I have not seen them… But I believe they were letters of such…intimacy…as left Mrs Midgely in no doubt of the relationship subsisting between them.’

‘And, until she read these letters, she had never suspected anything?’

Mary shook her head. ‘Until then neither she nor I had ever thought that the colonel’s actions in taking me into his family were anything but good and disinterested. It was a shock. For poor Mrs Midgely I believe it has been painful beyond measure. She has, I believe, been beside herself with the suffering of it… Miss Kent, please do not think too badly of her for what she has done. I truly believe that she scarcely knows what she is about.’

‘You would defend her?’ cried Dido wonderingly. ‘After all she has done to injure you?’

‘No,’ said Mary, ‘I cannot defend what I know to be wrong. But, believe me, I would gladly suffer her malice ten times over if only I could retain that affection and respect I had been used to feel for her husband: a man I have, since the age of five years old, looked up to as all that was noble and honourable.’

‘It is very much to your credit that you should feel so. And I am sorry – very sorry – if anything I have said or done has added to your pain.’

Mary shook her head.

‘I am sure I do not need to tell you that the information will be spread no further by my means.’

‘Yes, I have no fear on that score, Miss Kent,’ she replied with a small smile. ‘I have observed that you are a collector rather than a disseminator of information.’

‘And I would not have tormented you with this conversation if I had not thought that I could assist you in your present situation.’

‘You mean then to continue with you enquiries concerning Mrs Lansdale’s death?’

‘Oh yes, for it will soon all be in the hands of the magistrate and his jury. And how else, but by the uncovering of the truth, is Mr Lansdale to be saved from being punished for a crime he did not commit?’ As she spoke she took care to watch her companion closely. The fine brown eyes held her gaze steadily; not a muscle moved in the face to betray doubt – or any other emotion.

‘He is innocent,’ said Mary solemnly. ‘I have no fear of you, Miss Kent. I am sure that he must…that he will, in the end, be proved entirely guiltless.’ She sighed. ‘I wish with all my heart the engagement had not come out. I have done everything within my means to conceal it.’

Dido eyed her keenly. ‘And, may I ask – how long has the engagement existed?’

‘No, I do not mind your asking at all. I have been engaged for about five months. Mr Lansdale asked me to marry him while I was at Ramsgate. I was unsure of my own feelings then; but, soon after my return, I wrote and accepted his offer. As soon as he received my answer he began to make plans to come to Richmond – so that he might be near me and so that he might work to bring about our marriage.’

‘And how did he plan to do that? Considering the very great opposition he must have suffered from his aunt. Did he mean to get her consent or act without it?’

‘He meant to…persuade her into acceptance. She was extremely fond of him in her own way. And he is a very determined young man. He had ways of working upon her.’ She caught Dido’s eye and shook her head very solemnly. ‘But I know,’ she said very firmly, ‘that it was not his intention to harm his aunt.’

‘I am very much afraid that it will appear to the jurymen that he did.’

‘To my mind, Miss Kent, they would be more likely to come at the truth by attempting to find the housebreakers. They are probably the guilty ones. For it seems to me that such fellows might have made more than one attempt upon the house. Perhaps they came on the night of Mrs Lansdale’s death – carried out the murder, but failed to take anything of value – and so they returned.’

Dido looked doubtful. ‘It is not easy to see how housebreakers might have poisoned the lady, but I grant you that they would have had good cause to dispose of the little dog.’ She considered for a while. ‘The thieves appear to have been searching for something when they entered the house,’ she continued. ‘Have you any notion of anything that Mrs Lansdale had which was of particular value? Something which might be the object of such a search? Something which was of greater value – at least to the thieves – than silver candlesticks?’

‘No, I cannot think of anything.’

‘Do you know of a particularly dangerous document which is presently in Mr Lansdale’s keeping?’

For the first time since their conversation began, Mary seemed anxious to avoid her eyes. She stood up, clasping her arms about her. ‘What kind of document do you mean?’ she asked.

‘I do not know,’ said Dido, watching closely. Mary began to chafe at her arms as if she were cold, though it was such a warm day there was no chill in the air even in this shady corner. ‘A will perhaps?’ she suggested.

‘No,’ said Mary sharply. ‘I know nothing about a will. However, I am quite sure that if Mr Lansdale had such a document in his possession he would not conceal it.’

‘I am sorry, I did not mean to suggest anything dishonourable.’

‘Of course you did not. But, I really feel that we have said enough upon this painful subject. I pray you will excuse me. I have a great deal of business to attend to, for I am to go away today.’

As she spoke, a very unexpected memory stirred in Dido’s mind. She paused and took a long survey of her companion, taking in the pale face, the crossed arms, the agitated manner. She was touched by doubt – almost suspicion.

‘Of course,’ she said slowly as she stood up. ‘I am sorry to have delayed you so long. You must have a great deal of business to attend to, Miss Bevan – I don’t doubt that you have all your gowns to pack, and your travelling dress to prepare, have you not?’

‘Yes,’ she said, with a puzzled look, ‘I have.’

Mary waited – expecting some explanation of this strange speech; but Dido merely bade her a rather distracted farewell, and walked away.

Dido walked slowly down the hill to her favourite seat by the park wall and looked about her.

It was a lively, interesting scene; two grand carriages were drawn up outside the inn to deposit a large family with all the proper busyness of footmen and trunks and band-boxes and children and nursery-maids. In the
lime-walk
, ladies strolled about under parasols and, close by, in the little row of shops, other ladies and gentlemen were more purposefully engaged.

But, once she was comfortably seated, her thoughts began to turn inward and she soon forgot her surroundings as she fell to considering everything which her talk with Miss Bevan had revealed.

First of all, she was quite sure that Mary believed Mr Lansdale to be innocent. There had been no doubts, no demurs; she had answered every question with candour and intelligence… At least she had done so until mention was made of a document. Then there had certainly been consciousness and a desire for evasion. Dido was sure of that – though she still held to her earlier view of Mary’s character and doubted very much that she had given a direct lie. For Mary was an exceedingly bad liar. When she had lied about the letter in the post office, her red face and downcast eyes would have betrayed her to any listener more sensitive than Mrs Midgely.

But just now, in the garden, there had been no symptoms of dishonesty – though, perhaps, there had been a desire to avoid some truths…

Dido recollected her words carefully. She had said that she knew nothing of a will… Yes, it had only been a will she denied knowledge of… Did it follow then that she knew of some other document? And, if so, what could it be? And why did Mr Morgan believe that it was so dangerous to his friend…?