‘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.’
‘Of course…’
‘And I am quite sure,’ she ran on in an eager whisper, ‘that I could accomplish it safely – if I only had a companion to go with me. I say often to Clara “I do not doubt one of my neighbours when they come to call, would be so kind as to lend me their arm and walk with me as far as the green, or to Mrs Clark’s shop. I am quite sure one of my visitors would oblige me…”’ And she looked very significantly from Flora to Dido.
‘Well…’ began Dido uncertainly. But there was a loud cough behind her and she turned to see that Jenny had taken a step nearer and was frowning darkly at her mistress.
Poor Mrs Neville sighed, seemed to shrink a little, and pretended to be engrossed in her knitting again. ‘It is so very dull, to never go out at all,’ she said a little more loudly.
‘Why, I am sure it is,’ said Flora with gentle sympathy. ‘I am sure it is very dull indeed.’
‘You must look forward to your daughter’s visits very much,’ said Dido.
‘I do,’ she said with another sigh. ‘For you know, my eyesight is not good enough to even allow me much pleasure in books – except when Clara is here to read to me.’
‘And you say that she always comes on Tuesdays. She came to you on that Tuesday on which Mrs Lansdale died?’
Flora’s casting up her eyes told Dido that her questions were becoming too particular. But Mrs Neville did not seem to be at all offended. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, more loudly, ‘Clara certainly came here the night Mrs Lansdale died.’
…And you see, Eliza, I have been wondering ever since just what she meant us to understand by that. Did she mean in fact to assure us that her daughter had come. Or by speaking so loudly, did she mean to remind us that we were being overheard – and so quite deliberately make us doubt the truth of her words?
I have been puzzling over Mrs Neville ever since we returned. And, though I fear my account may be insufficient to convince you of the strangeness of the encounter, I assure you that, if you had been present, even your trusting heart would have been suspicious. If you had seen the way that woman stood in the room all the while the poor lady was talking: the look upon her face – and her manner entirely!
Flora has suggested that there may be fears for Mrs Neville’s safety: that she might be subject to sudden attacks of some kind – which would explain her being constantly attended. But there was nothing about the lady to hint at such a danger – any more than there were signs of the confusion her daughter talked of. She seemed to be not only as healthy but also as sensible as you or me, Eliza.
And there is this too to consider: why should Miss Neville employ such a woman as Jenny White – with such a reputation – to care for an invalid? It is highly unsuitable and I still do not know what to make of this confederacy between Miss Neville and a woman of bad character. I have seen her myself making payment far beyond what ought to be expected in a servant waiting upon a sick old woman. And it cannot be a coincidence that Knaresborough House was robbed after Jenny White had visited it!
Is it possible that Clara Neville has employed thieves to search the house for something that is hidden there – something she very particularly wishes to obtain…something such as a will…?
Oh Eliza! I see now how you will shake your head over this letter and smile that particular smile – all affection, disbelief and exasperation. But I am not ashamed of my suspicions, nor can I consider them to be so very unreasonable. After all, we know that the window of the drawing room was broken open from the inside.
And, if Mrs Lansdale had upon that last evening carried out her threat to her nephew and drawn up some rough and ready will – might that document not have bestowed upon Miss Neville some of the wealth which was lost to him?
Miss Neville would have as powerful a motive for wishing to find such a will as Mr Lansdale would have for ‘keeping it safe’.
And such an account would also explain the extraordinary situation of Mrs Neville – who seems to be imprisoned in her own home. Why is she never to be left on her own when she is as rational as you or me? Why can she not talk freely to her visitors without fearing that that woman will overhear? I can think of only one reason. There is something she knows which she must not tell.
Well, I doubt I have convinced you, Eliza, but I am quite determined to find out more about the burglary and, to that end, I would particularly like to speak with the butler Fraser who discovered the villains in the drawing room. However, Flora tells me that that will not be possible, as the fellow has been dismissed for stealing Mr Lansdale’s cigars. Which is very vexing indeed, for I would have been very interested in hearing his account.
So instead I shall go to town with Flora tomorrow when she makes her call in Harley Street. I shall go to Bond Street to see what I may discover about the emerald necklace.
Chapter Twenty-One
It had rained again in the night and Bond Street was wet and crowded: the gutters awash with water and dirt, the paving stones shining and steaming in the sun. The noise of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves, and of voices raised so as to be heard above the din, was almost unbearable to Dido’s country-bred ears and she was very near regretting that she had asked Flora to set her down there.
In the cool and quiet of the breakfast room it had seemed rather a good idea. Since the carriage was coming into this part of town to convey Flora to Harley Street, why should she not take the opportunity of pursuing some enquiries relative to the burglary at Knaresborough House – and the necklace which had been dropped? She would, she had decided, visit as many fashionable jewellers as she had time for and attempt to discover the one which had supplied the necklace. If she was very fortunate she might even learn who had purchased it.
So now Flora was gone on to pay her visit and Dido was in Bond Street – but not quite alone because Flora had insisted upon leaving her servant to protect her cousin from the indignity of solitude.
‘Will you wait here at the door, Robert,’ she said as she turned into the first shop. ‘I shall not be long.’
She was not long – not in that shop individually. But there were a great many jewellers’ establishments in Bond Street and the streets surrounding it. By the time she approached Gray’s in Sackville Street her ankles were weary and her head was aching – and Robert had begun the look-out for the carriage.