Maria’s eyes widened.
‘And I noticed that Sir Joshua wears hair powder – like the man who was entertained in Mr Lansdale’s drawing room that evening.’ She hesitated: dissatisfied with herself. ‘I was rather foolish about that,’ she admitted. ‘I had not paid enough attention to Sir Joshua’s hair. After all, one rather expects a man of his age to have greying hair. It was not until his hair powder was washed away in the thunderstorm that I realised the natural colour of his hair is black.’
Maria shook her head wonderingly. ‘And was there anything else?’ she said.
‘Well, there was your anxiety to keep Mr Lansdale away from Brooke. It must have been a great worry to you to discover that he was acquainted with your husband. For of course you did not wish Sir Joshua to discover that his friend occupied the very house he had visited. And then of course,’ she continued, ‘there was the beggar.’
‘The beggar?’ cried Maria, ‘Do you even know about the beggar, Miss Kent?’
‘Oh yes! He stood by the gate all evening – I imagine that he was paid to do so. To be exact – for I consulted with Miss Prentice most particularly over this – he stood upon the left hand side of the gate. With him standing just there, of course, it would be impossible for anyone arriving at the house to read the name-plate which young Sam fixed there a few weeks ago. It would not have done to have Sir Joshua knowing the name of the house at which he was being entertained!’
Maria was beginning to look fearfully at Dido. ‘It seems,’ she said anxiously, ‘impossible to keep a secret from you, Miss Kent.’
Dido looked down and said nothing. Maria reached out a shaking hand and laid it upon her arm. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I am quite at your mercy. I beg you will say nothing of this to Sir Joshua. He does not know the truth about that evening. He must never know. He would be so angry, so very, very angry if he knew that he had himself been exposed to discovery and embarrassment. You will not tell, will you?’
Dido looked from the clutching hand to the lovely, anxious face and hesitated. Should she make such a promise? Could it be right to conceal self-interest and shameless deception?
‘It was – if I might say so, My Lady – a very bold, indeed a desperate plan. A great many things might have gone wrong.’
‘But my dear Miss Kent, you must consider how much I had to gain from the scheme – how very much I had to lose by never seeing Sir Joshua again!’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Dido quietly. ‘I had not realised that you were so excessively attached to your husband.’
Maria blushed and lowered her eyes.
‘Ah! I see that is was this that you feared to lose.’ Dido made a scornful gesture which encompassed not only the pleasant house in which they sat, but also the estate around it – and all Sir Joshua’s possessions beyond. ‘It was wealth and consequence that you were prepared to risk all for – not the man himself.’
‘No!’ Maria jumped up from her seat. ‘No, you are wrong, Miss Kent. It was for an establishment that I took that risk: for security and an end to poverty and friendlessness. You may think my actions reprehensible, but I have not yet grown so used to comfort and prosperity as to condemn my own behaviour. And, no matter what my past has been, no matter what I may have been guilty of in getting a husband, I would defy even you to discover any fault in my behaviour as a wife. Sir Joshua will never, never have any cause to regret his choice.’
Dido shook her head helplessly: moved in spite of herself. ‘Lady Carrisbrook,’ she said, ‘you do not know what you are asking when you wish me to be silent on this matter. For the truth is that the charade you enacted that night was the cause – the partial cause – of Mrs Lansdale’s death. And in just two days time her nephew must answer for that death before the court. What am I to do? Am I to stand by and see him hanged for a killing of which he is no more guilty than you and your friends?’
Maria turned pale. She sat down beside Dido again. ‘You are mistaken,’ she said earnestly. ‘Completely mistaken. We played no part in that lady’s death – I swear to you that we did not.’
‘Did you not?’ said Dido looking steadily into the beautiful hazel eyes. ‘Tell me, My Lady, how could you be certain that she would sleep through the whole of the evening?’
She looked away, traced out the shape of one of the little leaded panes of the window with her finger. ‘We gave her a little of the laudanum mixture she was in the habit of using,’ she said quietly. ‘It was put into her chocolate while it was in the kitchen. But I promise you – upon my life, I swear – that it was only a few drops. Enough to make her sleep a few hours: no more. It cannot, it certainly cannot have brought about her death.’
‘It was poor Mrs Lansdale’s misfortune,’ said Dido with a sigh, ‘to be very much in the way that evening. She seems to have been an inconvenience to everyone around her. Everyone wished her to sleep!’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Would it be brought more within your comprehension if I were to tell you that I have spoken to two other people who also put a sleeping draught into that very same jug of chocolate?’
Maria’s hand went to her lips and Dido watched dawn upon her face an understanding of shared guilt such as she had seen in Mr Lansdale and Miss Neville. For several minutes she was too aghast to speak. Then she said, in a trembling voice, ‘Do you mean to expose me?’
Dido would dearly have loved to protest against the question – to abdicate such a heavy responsibility. But it could not be done. She may have entered too lightly upon this business of investigation; but she recognised that it would not be so lightly got out of. For there is no unknowing truths once they are discovered.
To expose Maria: to publish all the events of that night; to destroy all her happiness – and Sir Joshua’s too – was more, a great deal more, than she felt herself capable of. And yet not to do so would leave Henry Lansdale in as much danger as ever…
‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘I do not know what I ought to do – except… Except that I cannot permit Mr Lansdale to bear all the blame for what happened that night. It would not be right or just.’
Tears gathered in Maria Carrisbrook’s eyes; but she did not attempt to argue against this. Dido took a long draught of the cool, thyme-scented air from the window. There was no escaping it…‘But…’ she said quietly, ‘there may be…I think, perhaps, there may be another way of saving Mr Lansdale.’
The hope was so frail – so fraught with difficulties – that she had hoped she need never try it. And she shrank from voicing it. But what other chance was there?
‘Yes?’ Maria’s voice was small and hopeful. ‘What is it?’
She leant back in the window embrasure and closed her eyes. With a great effort she drew together the thoughts and suspicions which had been on the very edges of her mind for the last hours.
‘There was a fourth dose,’ she said very slowly.
‘A fourth dose?’
‘Yes. If Mr Vane was correct in his description then there were four usual doses of opium. But – as yet – we know of only three. In short, there was yet one more person who wished Mrs Lansdale to sleep that night. If we could but find out that fourth person…’
Maria looked troubled. ‘And you would force that person to bear the guilt of all?’
‘No – not quite.’ Dido jumped up. Now that her mind was pressed into action her body could not remain still. ‘No,’ she said, pacing restlessly across the room. ‘I hope – that is if this last portion of blame falls where I believe it does – I hope that all those who played a part in Mrs Lansdale’s death might be…’ she hesitated, looking at Maria’s lovely, tearful face. ‘I will not say excused entirely, My Lady…but rather left to bear only that punishment which I am sure their own consciences will inflict.’