Do you see, Eliza, how, incredible though this seems, it does bring a great many other incredible things ‘within the compass of belief’? For such a party to take place the dog would have had to be destroyed for he would have raised the alarm the moment strangers entered the house. I do not doubt that that was what Mr Henderson – I mean Fraser – was doing out on the lawn when Miss Prentice saw him.
And then there is the burglary… That very contrary and back to front burglary.
The company who gathered in Knaresborough House on the evening of Mrs Lansdale’s death came there in secret. Now, Eliza, supposing something was left behind by mistake that evening – something of value. The only way it could be retrieved would be by stealth…
Do you understand? I mean to say that, perhaps, Fraser searched the drawing room for something that had been left by one of his visitors – and was surprised by his master as he did so – and broke open the window and started the story of ‘two big rough-looking men’, in order to explain the evidence of his searching, and to draw suspicion away from himself.
Perhaps you will say that I am being too fanciful once more; but, if you are inclined to doubt my genius, I would respectfully remind you that my fancies have in the past proved rather well founded; and I would also draw your attention to the fact that those big rough fellows were never seen by anyone but Fraser. They were – we are told – gone before Mr Lansdale entered the room. The watchmen cannot recollect seeing them; they seem to have vanished the moment they left Knaresborough House. Which, you must grant, is a very remarkable thing for two such large and obviously criminal-looking men to do – unless, of course, they never had any corporeal existence at all and were nothing more than useful products of the butler’s invention.
But, leaving aside the thieves for a moment and returning to the night of Mrs Lansdale’s death, there is another, more pressing, question which I am sure you have anticipated: what steps did Fraser take that evening to ensure that his party passed undetected by the real tenant of the house – who was upstairs in her chamber all the time that he was entertaining his guests?
Now you and I know that Mrs Lansdale presented no danger because she had been drugged by her nephew and her companion. But Fraser cannot have known that. And yet he had so much confidence in her insensibility that he dared to invite strangers into her drawing room!
As I have been sitting here tonight, I have remembered my meeting with Mrs Midgely in the post office. She told me then that, in Mr Vane’s opinion, four times the usual dose of Black Drop had been drunk. So, was some part of it introduced by Fraser while the chocolate was preparing in the kitchen?
I think that it may have been, and that he may share in the guilt of the lady’s death.
But how am I to prove that it was so? It pains me to admit it, even to a sister, but there are limits to my genius. I cannot yet come at a certain proof – or even a full explanation of the events of that night. And as for understanding the reasons for Fraser’s deception – I have some strange ideas – half-memories of things I have been told, and unformed suspicions. But nothing more… However, I have confidence in my own abilities and I do not despair of soon achieving a complete understanding.
And, in all seriousness, I must attempt it, for I do not yet know enough, or understand enough to be of use to poor Mr Lansdale. I have a great deal still to accomplish if he is to be saved and I had better attempt to sleep before day begins to break and the importunate baby birds in the nests outside my window put an end to all hope of repose. I have a busy day before me.
Flora has rearranged all her engagements so that the carriage may be at my disposal all day. Do you see what a remarkable degree of consequence this business of mystery solving confers? Upon my word, it is almost as good as being married.
The last word brought her pen to a standstill, for, by a series of very natural and very painful connections, it brought her to Mr Lomax. And she had been trying all day not to think about Mr Lomax.
Her continuing activity in this matter would probably come to his attention. She hardly dared to hope that it would not. And if he discovered what she was about he would be angry and disapproving…extremely disapproving…
But it could not be helped. She certainly could not reconcile her conscience to leaving an innocent man to hang simply to save herself from an unpleasant scene. And there was nothing to be gained from worrying about the business, nor rehearsing arguments she might never be called upon to make.
She returned to her letter and did her best to think only of her plans for the next day…
I think the poor horses and coachman will be quite worn out by the time I am finished tomorrow, for I have a great many errands to perform. First of all I must send a message to Mr Lansdale asking him to perform a very particular favour. Then I must drive to Windsor and call upon Miss Bevan. I must fulfil my promise to Mr Lansdale and attempt to persuade her to an early marriage – although I am almost sure that I will fail. And I have besides several questions to put to her about Mr Henderson’s daughters – and about Mrs Midgely’s card parties. And then I must go to Sackville Street and ask the boy at Gray’s to repeat his description of the lady who enquired about an emerald necklace – and see how much he blushes. And finally, I must visit Miss Prentice once more and ask her about the beggar who was outside Knaresborough House on the night Mrs Lansdale died: it is essential to know on which side of the gate he was standing.
It was after five o’clock when Dido returned home in the afternoon, very tired, very thoughtful and very silent – a great deal too silent for the taste of Flora who had been waiting anxiously for her return.
There was no answer to be got at all to such questions as, ‘what have you discovered?’ and, ‘what can be done for poor Mr Lansdale?’ and only the information that a small package had been delivered for her drew even a smile from Dido.
‘Is the parcel of importance?’ asked Flora as she handed it to her cousin.
‘Yes, I hope it may be.’
‘Who is it from?’
‘Mr Lansdale.’
‘And what is in it?’
‘Something which I hope to return to its rightful owner.’
‘But what is it?’
Dido did not reply; but only sat down in the cool of the drawing room and pressed her fingers to her brow. Her head ached and she did not know how she ought to proceed. All her attempts at discovering exactly what had happened on the night of Mrs Lansdale’s death had led her to more puzzles and uncertainty. She wondered – she doubted – but she could be certain of nothing. What should she do? She dared not speak for fear of being wrong. And yet, how could she remain silent when Mr Lansdale’s life might depend upon her?
Flora watched her for a little while, biting at her lip in impatience. ‘Dido,’ she burst out at last, ‘this is not fair! Please! You must tell me what you know!’
‘But, my dear cousin,’ cried Dido helplessly, ‘I cannot. For the truth is I do not know anything. I suspect a great deal. But there is no certainty about anything. And to tell you of suspicions would be wrong, for I might be slandering the innocent – and doubting the honesty of people we both esteem…’
‘Who are you talking about?’ said Flora, catching at the suggestion immediately. ‘Dido if you know anything against my friends, then you must tell it.’
‘I cannot. It may, after all, be nothing.’