Well, Eliza, I shall make no more apology for busying myself about this mystery. I consider that this strange letter, by seeking to prevent me, authorises me to proceed. For it proves beyond doubt, that there is something to find out. And I very much fear that it might be something which will put Mr Lansdale in greater danger.
Though I regret that I still cannot determine even whether the greatest mystery lies in the cause of Mrs Lansdale’s death – or the reason for Mr Lansdale having such an enemy as Mrs Midgely.
Why is she so vehement against him? I confess that I cannot make out her character at all; which is extremely vexing. For I had thought that my two weeks acquaintance was quite sufficient to see to the bottom of such a woman and it is just too provoking to discover that a fat woman who wears rouge and yellow muslin may have a deep and complicated character! There are so many things about her which I cannot understand. There is, besides this unkindness to Henry Lansdale, her sudden decision to send Miss Bevan away…
I say as little as I may about all this to Flora, for I do not wish to distress her. But I hope you will forgive me for troubling you about it all, for it is such a very great help to me to write down my ideas.
I must break off in a moment, for it is almost time for church – we are to go today to St Mary’s to hear the Reverend Mr Hewit, who is, by all accounts, a very fine preacher and is to preach here for two Sundays only before travelling north to take up a new parish. It seems the reverend gentleman has spent some years in France and everyone is in high hopes of a spirited tirade against the iniquities of that country.
But, before I close, there is one more matter with which I wish, most particularly, to trouble you: the window at Knaresborough House.
I spoke with the man who mended it. And, Eliza, he was quite certain that no tool had been used to break the catch: that the damage had been done only by pushing – and do you see what this means?
I am almost sure that the windows in the drawing room at Knaresborough are like every other casement that I ever saw – I mean, they open outwards. In short, if the window was broken open by pushing, then I think it must have been broken open not from outside the house but from within the room.
So, this morning, in between puzzling over my letter and considering all the obscurities of Mrs Midgely’s character, I must think about the burglary too. Do you see what a multitude of demands there are upon a woman’s attention when once she sets herself to this business of solving mysteries?
I cannot cease to wonder about the window. Is it possible that someone within Knaresborough House admitted the burglars? And, if so, was that person Miss Clara Neville…
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.