A Woman of Consequence (25 page)

‘In God’s name, I wish – for the honour of my own sex – that I could repudiate it. But I cannot.’

‘Very well then,’ she said solemnly, ‘the young lady’s face reveals Lord Congreve’s nature – the behaviour he is capable of towards women.’ For a moment there was no sound within the room except the soft flap and stutter of flames on the hearth. But from below came the shouts of coachmen and the ringing of plates and tankards upon tables – reminding Dido that they must soon be disturbed. Hastily she picked up the third – and final – thread of her reasoning. ‘Yesterday,’ she said, ‘when we were all discussing His Lordship, Mr Crockford remarked that the captain’s connection with him would be disapproved at Madderstone. He seemed to hint at a particular reason for that disapproval.’

Mr Lomax was watching her intently, his fingers just tapping slightly against one another.

‘I meant,’ she said, ‘to ask Mr Crockford to explain his remark. For you know, masculine disputes are generally
better known to gentlemen. But perhaps
you
can supply the information, Mr Lomax. Why is Mr Harman-Foote Lord Congreve’s enemy?’

‘Ah!’ he cried, ‘I am not sure that is a question …’

‘… that a lady should concern herself with. But,’ she ran on hastily, ‘I find that I
must
concern myself with this question of the gentlemen’s enmity. For I believe it is all to do with the scar upon His Lordship’s cheek – and Mr Harman-Foote’s reputation for having fought and marked his man.’ She paused, brows raised. ‘I am right, am I not?’ she said. ‘The man he fought many years ago
was
Lord Congreve?’

He nodded.

‘And the cause of their fight was?’

‘My dear Miss Kent, gentlemen do not discuss the cause of a duel!’

‘Then gentlemen are very foolish indeed,’ she cried impatiently. ‘I am sure no woman would put an embargo upon a subject which might uncover the guilt of a murderer! Upon my word, I begin to suspect that between considerations of what women must not think about and men may not talk of, a great many crimes go undetected!’

‘But, it is a matter of honour not to disclose the name of a lady …’

‘Ah!’ she cried, well satisfied. ‘So, there was a lady involved in the dispute between Mr Harman-Foote and Lord Congreve!’

He groaned and passed his hand across his face. She seemed to defeat him at every turn.

‘Very well, then,’ she continued. ‘And, to spare you the
dishonour of speaking her name, I shall supply it myself. It was Lady Congreve, was it not? It was His Lordship’s ill-treatment of his own wife which Mr Harman-Foote sought to punish in that meeting?’

‘It was. However,’ he said, finding suddenly a new angle of attack, ‘I am sure that your hitting upon the name is no more than a lucky guess. For I defy even you to produce any proof of your surmise.’

‘No,’ she said with dignity. ‘It is not a guess; it is an hypothesis.’

‘An hypothesis?’

‘Yes, for once we assume that she was the cause of the fight, the events at Madderstone become a great deal more comprehensible. Consider the matter carefully: more than twenty years ago, Lady Congreve suffered such ill-usage at the hands of her husband that she removed herself from his house. And Mr Harman-Foote fought His Lordship over the matter. And …’ Her face was glowing with something of the fervour that can be seen in those high-spirited women who follow the fox-hunt. ‘And, at about the same time as Lady Congreve disappeared, a governess appeared at Madderstone Abbey – upon the recommendation of the Foote family: a friendless woman who, apparently, had no relations, no connections.’

‘But,’ objected Lomax, ‘the governess was Elinor Fenn.’

‘No,’ insisted Dido quietly. ‘The governess was
Lady
Congreve
. A homeless fugitive, after her flight from a wretched marriage had left her utterly destitute.’

She had certainly won her companion’s attention. He was leaning towards her, his brow gathered into a
frown of concentration, his fingers tapping together as he considered.

‘I believe,’ she continued, very eager to strengthen and elaborate her case, before he could begin to doubt, ‘I believe that the key to the name – Elinor Fenn – might lie in the matter-of-fact character of old Mrs Foote. Called upon to introduce Her Ladyship under a new identity, the poor woman found that invention was beyond her, and she fell back upon a name fresh in her mind from her maid’s recent departure. But the one point which convinces me that I am right is the bedchamber.’

‘You think a great deal about this bedchamber.’

‘I do indeed. You see, I can conceive of a country gentleman like Mr Harman taking in – out of compassion – a viscountess, and hiding her under the guise of a governess. But I am sure he would be quite incapable of consigning her to an attic!’

Lomax shook his head. ‘It is a fantastic – an impossible tale! That a lady of such standing should take on the post of country governess …’

‘It may be fantastic to a man,’ said Dido with quiet feeling, ‘but I believe it would fall within the comprehension of many women: we have so little power over our own destiny, Mr Lomax, we slip so easily from comfort – even luxury – into poverty. We have so little that we can truly call our own …’ She sat for a moment looking down at her own hands folded in her lap.

And he watched her in silence, the telltale muscle in his cheek moving slightly in the way it always did when he was forcing himself to hold back words.

‘Consider the situation of a woman such as Lady
Congreve,’ said Dido at last. ‘A woman who finds herself living in fear of her husband’s violent temper. She has no power, no right even to remove herself, much less take any wealth with her. Even a viscountess might be compelled to seek employment in such an extremity.’

‘Well,’ he conceded with a heavy sigh, ‘Congreve’s vicious nature would certainly have made concealment necessary for his poor wife.’

‘You believe then that I am right?’

‘Ah! I did not quite say that,’ he cried hastily. ‘I admit that there are evidences in support of your theory; however there are also arguments against it.’

‘Indeed? And what are they?’

‘Principally the character of Lady Congreve. She was, by all accounts, a very religious woman …’

‘And so was Elinor Fenn,’ countered Dido quickly. ‘I am by no means suggesting that the lady changed her character with her name. Indeed, I rather consider Her Ladyship’s piety to be a point in my favour. For I believe there is evidence of scruples. Consider the verse in the Bible which had been underlined. It was the second part of the commandment which was so very important to her. St Paul begins by demanding obedience from women; but he then insists upon a man’s kindly treatment of his wife. And I believe Lady Congreve found comfort in considering that, by his abominable behaviour, His Lordship had been the first to break the sacred pact of matrimony.’

But still he insisted upon disbelief. ‘It would all have involved such a degree of calculation,’ he objected, ‘not only upon the part of Lady Congreve, but of others
too. Compassion, I believe, is rarely carried to such extremes.’

‘But,’ she said, ‘there is one circumstance which might have made Lady Congreve’s friends particularly willing to assist her. You see, she was with child when she left her husband; and I believe this provides whatever explanation is still wanting for her desperate scheme – and her friends’ compliance in it. If it was feared that her husband’s vicious conduct not only threatened her own safety, but also put at risk the life of the child she carried, might not very religious, moral people feel that the highest duty was to protect that young life?’

He considered her words in silence. Meanwhile the noises about them were becoming louder. The old staircase of the inn was in such constant and heavy use now that the panelled walls of their parlour were shaking a little. Harriet, Lucy and Silas must soon make their appearance.

‘Have I convinced you, Mr Lomax?’ she ventured to ask.

But he avoided admitting the force of her arguments. ‘And do you believe that Congreve discovered his wife – and exacted a terrible revenge for her desertion?’ he asked.

She would have dearly loved to make him acknowledge defeat. It would have been delightful to have him admit the superiority of her reasoning – but, unfortunately, it was an indulgence for which she had no time.

‘No,’ she said in a great hurry, ‘I do not think that His Lordship was the murderer. For I am quite sure that Laurence carried out his investigations in order to please his influential friend. I believe the two men met about
two months ago and, when Laurence heard the tale of his new acquaintance’s divorce, he remembered the coming of the governess to Madderstone.
That
is what prompted him to begin his enquiries.’

‘I see.’

Harriet and Silas could now be heard talking on the landing.

‘And all this,’ Dido ran on hurriedly, ‘argues for Lord Congreve wishing for information about the fate of his wife – and that of course rather rules out his having murdered her.’

‘That is soundly reasoned,’ he acknowledged. ‘But if Congreve is not the murderer, then who is it that you suspect? And why should you believe Congreve’s latest commission to Laurence to be so dangerous, if he only wishes for the business to be covered up?’

A hand turned the lock of the parlour door. ‘Because,’ Dido said urgently, ‘Lady Congreve was a remarkably clever woman. I have been thinking it all over for half the night, and I believe that Captain Laurence has not yet discovered her most dangerous secret. And it is,’ she added, ‘of the greatest importance that he never does discover it. That is why he
must not
be allowed to find the missing letters.’

Harriet and Silas were actually in the room now; but, fortunately, they were too busy arguing over whether Silas should wear a flannel waistcoat for the journey to take any notice of the couple in the window seat. Lomax leant close and, in his anxiety, laid his hand upon Dido’s arm. ‘Why?’ he whispered. ‘What do you fear the letters might reveal?’

‘I fear they will reveal that His Lordship is mistaken in thinking his wife stole nothing from him. You see, Mr Lomax, I believe that when Lady Congreve left her husband’s house she defied those laws which said she could take nothing. She took with her something of very great value indeed – something which was the cause of her death. And, if her husband ever discovers that she robbed him, he will stop at nothing to retrieve his property.’

‘Good God! Explain yourself, please! I do not like to see you involving yourself with the affairs of such a man as Congreve. I would advise against it if I dared, but I fear my very opposition would make you more determined …’ Without his knowing it, the pressure of his fingers on her arm increased and their urgent warmth moved her more than any words of persuasion.

‘But I cannot explain it yet,’ she answered regretfully, ‘for I do not yet understand it all myself. I must send a message to Great Farleigh immediately; and I need to find out who stole the letters and the ring; and I
must
look again at the pieces of gold and silver which were taken from the lake …’

The last hour in Bath passed in a muddle of rapidly packed boxes and conflicting anxieties. Dido knew not whether to worry most about Captain Laurence speeding towards Madderstone ahead of them, or the ideas which were swarming through her head – or the effect which the communication of those ideas had had upon Mr Lomax.

And, at the end, the drawing up of the chaise at the door took her entirely by surprise and she ran down the stairs into the dark passageway with a band-box in her hand and the ribbons of her bonnet still untied – to find Lomax himself waiting for her in the gloom.

With an urgency which was surprising – but not entirely unpleasant – he seized her free hand and drew her around the end of the screen. The public parlour – a black-beamed room with high settles and smoke-yellowed plaster – was empty now, but for an old grey deerhound stretched out upon the dirty flags in a patch of sunlight. Mr Lomax took the band-box from her and set it down on a table scarred with the notches made to reckon card games and the sticky rings of tankards.

‘Miss Kent,’ he said quickly, ‘you must take great care that Congreve does not know what you are about. He is a
vile man. You cannot conceive what he is capable of.’

‘I have seen that young woman’s face.’ she said quietly, ‘I can believe him capable of any evil. But do not fear. If all goes well, he will suspect nothing – he will continue to have no interest in Madderstone. And if all does not go well …’ She hesitated. ‘If Captain Laurence succeeds in finding the letters, then there may be danger – but not for me. It is someone else who will be at risk.’

‘Who?’

She shrugged up her shoulders. ‘I do not yet know. But someone else at Madderstone has a great secret to hide. From the beginning, someone has been working against me: stealing the letters and the ring, attempting to stop me from discovering the truth.’

‘The murderer?’

‘No, I am almost certain that the person who killed Lady Congreve has already answered for that crime in the highest court of all. The murderer, I am sure, is dead – but someone yet living wishes the identity of the killer to remain hidden.’

The horses were stamping outside now and Harriet was calling out that time and tide waited for no one. Lomax studied Dido’s face closely, his expression very grave. She was still unable to tell how her revelations had affected him. Was he angry, or only concerned for her safety?

‘There is one question which I must ask you,’ he said, with quiet urgency. ‘There is one very important subject we have not yet talked of – and that is, what do you mean to
do
when all is discovered? Will you approach the coroner? Do you wish me to act for you? I will be in Madderstone again in just a few days …’

‘Oh no!’ she cried in alarm.

His look told her that she had confirmed his worst fears. ‘You do not intend to take any action?’ he said quietly. ‘You mean to keep the identity of the dead woman a secret?’

‘No possible good could come of revealing it,’ she said quickly, ‘and there might be a great deal of harm. No, believe me, her identity – everything – must remain in the obscurity that she desired.’

His look darkened. ‘And you are to decide this?’ he said raising an eyebrow. ‘May I ask upon what authority you, and you alone, are to decide what is to be revealed and what is to be kept hidden?’

Dido drew herself away from him stiffly. ‘Upon the indisputable authority of my knowing what no one else has taken the trouble to discover,’ she said.

‘That is arrant nonsense!’ He passed his hand across his face. ‘You
must
inform the authorities of what you know. It is entirely contrary to the law to keep information to yourself when a murder has taken place.’

She stared up at him in defiant disbelief. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you insist that I must supply the coroner’s court with information you did not even wish me to seek out?’

The muscle moved in his cheek as he forced back angry words. ‘Because,’ he said, his face all stony composure and insufferable self-righteousness, ‘you are privileged to live in a civilised land and it is your duty to abide by its laws.’

‘But the laws of this civilised land did nothing to save the poor lady who died,’ protested Dido. ‘She lost
everything she owned in order to protect her child from her husband’s cruelty and in the end gave up her life to guard her secrets. No, Mr Lomax, you must excuse me, I will
not
expose those secrets now, to satisfy laws which are wrong.’

‘Why, I am sure that every thief in the commonwealth thinks that our laws against burglary are wrong – and every killer would see murder go unpunished if he could!’

‘You would call me a criminal, because I will not agree with you?’ she cried with energy.

‘I would call you a criminal because you are intent upon breaking the law! We cannot, any of us, disobey laws simply because we do not like them.’

‘Can we not? Well, I certainly cannot do what I know is wrong simply because there happens to be a law about it.’

‘Oh!’ he cried bringing his hand down upon the table and making the band-box leap an inch into the air. ‘This is argued like a woman!’

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said coldly. ‘But I am a woman and it is hardly to be expected that I should argue against my nature.’ She picked up the band-box and turned away.

‘I am sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘I should not have spoken so violently. I only meant that these considerations fall far outside a woman’s usual sphere.’ The muscle moved restlessly in his cheek as he struggled for composure. ‘Nothing in your experience has prepared you for making a decision of such a very serious nature. It is natural – it is amiable – that you should put private feelings before public duty. But …’

‘No, you are wrong, Mr Lomax,’ she said, with chilling composure. ‘I am very well prepared to make this decision. I am prepared by six and thirty years of being a woman with no independent fortune. I understand Miss Fenn’s wretched plight as no man ever could – and I will never betray her.’

She curtsied and walked off around the screen, just as Harriet bustled into the passage to remind her that only early birds catch worms and they must put the better foot first.