‘Ah!’ said Dido, ‘Miss Bevan, I presume, is a relation of the colonel – not of his wife?’
‘Yes. At least she is a connection of the colonel’s. No relation I think. Her father was an officer in his regiment and the colonel thought particularly well of the young man – there is some story about a camp fever – the colonel did not believe he would have survived without the attentions of Lieutenant Bevan. Something of that sort, you know. But I do not remember the details.’
‘And so, when the little girl was orphaned, the colonel undertook her care? How very kind!’
‘He was the kindest, most generous man in the world! And as unlike his wife as you can possibly imagine!’
Dido continued some way in silence, intrigued by this picture of the late Colonel Midgely – and surprised too. Somehow she had always imagined a husband as small-minded and illiberal as his wife.
And as for Mrs Midgely’s character, she could not make that out at all. Cold-hearted and over-fond of money she certainly appeared, but there was nothing in all this to show why she should so dislike a rich and handsome young man such as Mr Lansdale. Indeed women of Mrs Midgley’s stamp were usually but too inclined to seek the favour of the rich and powerful…
At last she stopped in the shade of an old pear tree which hung over a high garden wall. They were come now almost to Mrs Midgely’s house and, looking at its shaded windows and dark, sunless garden, Dido sighed. ‘There is only one thing I am able to conclude about Mrs Midgely,’ she said. ‘It would seem that Miss Merryweather is correct – the woman did lose her soul last November and it is that which is making her behave so very strangely.’
‘Well,’ said Flora comfortably, ‘we need not worry about the tiresome woman any longer. Your charming Mr Lomax is quite sure that Mr Lansdale is in no danger.’
‘Yes…’ Dido was confused – partly from finding herself given possession of the gentleman, and partly from the memory of what she had lately heard in the library, which led her to suspect that Mr Lansdale was, in fact, in a great deal of danger. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘of course, we must hope that there will be no prosecution… But, I wish that I could understand Mrs Midgely a little better. How much does she know about events at Knaresborough House?’
Flora looked troubled and Dido’s heart smote her. Hurting Flora seemed as wicked as hurting a child. ‘There is, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. But I think I may perhaps just call upon Mrs Midgely…since we are so close now to her house.’
‘You will not find her at home,’ said Flora frowning. ‘For I saw her just now in the town.’
‘Oh.’ Dido was disappointed. But, in a moment, her mind had picked up one of the many other threads of the mystery. A new idea slipped into her head. ‘Then perhaps I will take the opportunity of calling upon Miss Bevan while she is alone,’ she said.
In order to prevent any further questions, she began to walk quickly towards Mrs Midgely’s grim little villa. But, as they passed the gates of Knaresborough House, something caught her eye. There was a movement by the bushes near the back of the house. Her curiosity was piqued. She stopped.
‘What are you looking at?’ asked Flora.
Dido waved a hand to silence her. ‘Look,’ she whispered, ‘there on the path of Mr Lansdale’s house. There are two women. Is not one of them Miss Neville?’
‘Yes, I believe it is; but…’
‘Who is the woman she is talking to?’
‘I do not know, I am sure! Why…’
‘Hush! they are coming towards us.’
The two women had emerged now from the shadow of the bushes into the bright sunshine. They walked slowly towards the front of the house. One of them was, indeed, Miss Clara Neville – looking as tall and bony and as discontent as ever – and the other was a stout woman in a grey gown and a shabby straw bonnet. They were too deep in earnest conversation to notice that they were being watched, and, when they came to the gravel of the sweep, they stopped. The stout woman thrust out her hand and Miss Neville put something into it. The woman frowned, said something – and walked away. Miss Neville turned back to the house.
‘Now,’ said Dido, drawing Flora further into the shadow of the gatepost, ‘I wonder what they were talking about.’
They moved a few steps along the road as the woman approached the end of the sweep, but then, as she turned into the road, they stopped and looked back at her. She had a plump face, red and shining with the heat, and blemished with a great many broken veins. She was now smiling as she looked down at what she held in her hand. But it was not a pleasant smile.
‘Why! What an ugly, trollopy-looking creature!’ whispered Flora as the woman walked off. ‘Do you suppose she was come to beg?’
‘I do not know,’ said Dido thoughtfully. ‘But she had not the look nor the manner of a beggar.’
‘No,’ agreed Flora. ‘And I am sure Clara Neville has nothing to spare for giving away to chance-comers.’
‘Hmm,’ said Dido as she watched the plump woman hurry along the shady road. ‘Is Miss Neville so very poor?’
‘Oh dear, yes! I have known her and her mother for ever. They have barely enough to live on, you know, and cannot even afford a proper servant. I believe Mrs Lansdale paid Miss Neville an allowance while she lived with her – but I think it was very small.’
‘Indeed,’ mused Dido. ‘Then that is very strange indeed.’
‘Why do you say so?’
‘Because I am almost sure that it was a guinea which that woman was holding in her hand just now.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘Why would an impoverished lady like Miss Neville give so large a sum to such a very rough-looking woman?’
Chapter Ten
Dido found Miss Bevan sitting alone at the pianoforte in the dismal front parlour of Mrs Midgely’s house, where the blinds were half-closed to prevent the sun injuring the furniture, every inch of carpet was covered with green baize, and a grim, hook-nosed old fellow in military dress stared down disapprovingly from his dark frame above the fireplace. It might be high summer beyond the walls, but here within Mrs Midgely’s domain it was winter: a settled chill filled the room, together with the lingering smell of old coal fires.
Mary’s greeting was pleasant and well-mannered and she fell into conversation easily enough; but there was something wary in her look – as if, perhaps, she suspected the motive of the visit. As they exchanged remarks about the weather, Dido studied her face. It was undoubtedly pretty, but the dark hair was dressed with unbecoming plainness, as if Mary had already chosen to adopt that self-effacing style which would be expected of her in her future life. And there was, besides, a pallor and thinness which spoke of sleepless nights and ill-health.
She was clearly anxious about something. Of course, with her future so unsettled, anxiety was quite natural; but certain things she had noticed were beginning to make Dido suspect that Miss Bevan might have something else upon her mind…
‘I am sorry,’ began Dido after a short pause in the conversation, ‘I am extremely sorry to find that we are soon to lose you from our society here in Richmond.’
‘You are very kind.’ As she spoke, Miss Bevan lowered her eyes with a sad smile.
‘I hope that you will be settled with an agreeable family.’
‘Thank you, Miss Kent.’ There was a very serious little shake of the head. ‘But, in truth, I cannot believe that the agreeableness of the family will be of much consequence, can you? At least it would be a very remarkable family in which the life of the governess herself could be described as agreeable.’