‘I shall not apologise for disturbing you, Miss Kent,’ said a merry voice beside her, ‘for, by the look upon your face, I see that your thoughts are so unpleasant you ought to be disturbed.’
She looked up and saw Mr Lansdale himself making his bow and asking if he might sit with her a moment.
‘I have,’ he said as he sat down, ‘been seeking you in order to ask a very great favour. I have been to Mrs Beaumont’s house but found you both from home. Mrs Beaumont has, I understand, driven out to Brooke Manor, but the maid said that you had walked out and I hope you will forgive me for coming after you.’
‘Of course. And I am sure that both Flora and I will be happy to help you in any way we can.’
‘Thank you.’ He then said nothing for a while, gazing out across the busy scene. He had begun in his usual laughing way with all his usual determination to be serious about nothing. But now he had changed and his handsome face was more solemn than she had ever seen it before. A frown had gathered on his brow. ‘I am hoping,’ he said at last, ‘that you and Mrs Beaumont will be so kind as to perform the office of true friends to Miss Bevan.’
‘In what way do you wish us to show our friendship?’
‘Will you be so good as to persuade her…or, at least, to represent to her the wisdom of complying with my wishes – and marrying me immediately.’
Dido could only look the astonishment which she felt, the application had taken her so completely by surprise. He held up a hand. ‘Please, Miss Kent, do not begin upon the dangers – the impolicy – of a hasty marriage. I have had it all from her.’
‘I shall make no such argument, then. I shall only say that I can see no reason for such a step being taken while matters are in their present unfortunate state of uncertainty.’
Something of his usual smile returned. ‘Matters,’ he said, ‘are perhaps not quite so uncertain as you suppose. There is at least the certainty that I am to be brought to court. I am summoned to appear at the Quarter Sessions in just five days’ time. The paper was delivered to me yesterday.’
‘I am extremely sorry to hear it. It grieves me beyond measure.’
‘I am innocent,’ he said quietly. ‘And in that and in the will and justice of God, I will put my trust. However…’ And, although he had been speaking with great solemnity and feeling, the irrepressible smile was returned now. ‘However, when it comes to the justice of men… Well, I hope I shall not shock you when I say that I have not quite so much faith in our English laws not to suspect that they have sometimes hanged an innocent man – and may do so again.’
‘I sincerely hope… It will be my most fervent prayer that, in this case, they will not.’
‘Thank you. And now, as to my marriage…’
‘Forgive me, but I cannot understand what possible reason there can be for hurrying it on. It had better not take place… Not until after you are released from this dreadful suspicion. For I cannot help but feel that your marriage – the apparent self-interest and heartlessness of such a measure so soon after your aunt’s death – would greatly prejudice a jury against you.’
‘Miss Kent,’ he said, instantly solemn and fixing his eyes upon her face, ‘you may not be aware – there is, of course, no reason why you should be – that a man condemned for murder forfeits his estate.’
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I did not know it.’
‘Consider it now then. Consider that if…if the laws of England should fail me, I will lose not only my own life but also the power to provide for Miss Bevan’s future comfort. I would be able to make no will. I could bequeath nothing to her.’
‘I see.’
‘Consider too her present poverty, her friendless state, and I am sure you will agree that a marriage – which would enable me to settle money upon her – is the best possible course of action. Jem is drawing up the settlement now. We could be married tomorrow and my mind would be at ease. Miss Kent,’ he said, turning pleading eyes upon her, ‘I hope I can face my own fate with fortitude; but to leave her alone and unprovided for is more than I can bear.’
Dido was so affected by this appeal that it was several minutes before she could speak; but when she was able to make a reply she could not do other than to promise her assistance in persuading the lady to an immediate marriage. ‘Though I rather doubt my arguments will have any effect. She is a very…determined young woman.’
‘She is indeed!’ he cried, his lively air immediately restored by her promise. ‘But I will be extremely grateful if you will make the attempt.’
‘And are you sure that a marriage can be accomplished within four days?’
‘Oh yes. It can certainly be accomplished.’
‘But what about the calling of banns?’
‘There need be no banns, Miss Kent.’ He stood up and made his bow. ‘For it just so happens that I have about me a special marriage licence!’
And, before Dido could consider all the meaning of this reply, he had made his final thanks and adieus and was walking away. She almost called him back, but then changed her mind and sat instead watching his retreating figure and thinking very hard indeed. It was one of those rare moments when human thought seems to transcend the limit of words and move with all the rapidity of a higher power.
As she watched him stride across the green – and throw a sixpence to the ragged little boy who was holding horses outside the inn – she was considering this special licence and everything that his possession of it might mean…
By the time he was hurrying past the bright bow-window of the trinket shop, she had come to an understanding of exactly what it meant…
And, before she lost sight of him in the crowd beyond the haberdasher’s, she was very busily reckoning up exactly the part he had played in his aunt’s death.
At last some of the tangled knots of this mystery were beginning to unravel.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘It is all a matter of Trump Loy, Flora. It is nothing more.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Flora, though she had very little hope of understanding her cousin. When Dido was in such a mood as this, it was advisable not to attempt too much understanding – for it was liable to occasion headaches. And, just now, she would gladly forgo comprehension for the sake of only getting the french doors closed before the drawing room was quite filled with evening air. Henry Lansdale and Clara Neville were engaged to drink tea with them and she did not wish to receive them in a damp room.
But Dido was too restless to remain within doors and was gone out to pace about on the veranda while they awaited their guests. ‘It is Trump Loy,’ she repeated. ‘Or, if you will insist upon the French being spoken correctly, “trompe l’oeil” – an appearance of reality that is entirely false. You see, Flora, for the last few weeks I have been supposing that what I saw at Knaresborough House was either murder or accident. But, the fact is, it was neither.’
Flora decided that she must, after all, expose herself to the risk of headache and her drawing room to the risk of damp. She went to stand beside the door and watched the figure of her cousin moving ceaselessly in the slanting light of the setting sun. ‘Do you mean that Mr Vane is lying?’ she asked hopefully. ‘That it was not by taking too much medicine that Mrs Lansdale died?’
‘Oh no. I am sure he is telling the truth – as far as he knows it. But he too has been deceived – deceived into seeing something which is not there.’
‘Deceived by whom? Who has been lying?’
‘No one has been lying. That is the remarkable thing. There have certainly been truths left unsaid, but, since Miss Neville has confessed that she left the house on the night of her cousin’s death, I do not think I have detected lies in anyone. I have had before me all the details of the case – but the picture they have made has been false. False through and through! It is all a matter of perspective. A change of perspective can make those details form an entirely different picture. Do you understand?’