‘Are you sure of that?’ asked Dido, rather more abruptly than she intended.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘because I took it down to the kitchen at that time and fed it as I always did. Then I let it out to run about in the garden. It was still in the garden when I left at about half after seven to keep my evening engagement in town.’
‘You were from home that evening?’ asked Dido keenly.
‘Yes,’ he said looking at her in some surprise.
She blushed. ‘I am sorry. I only meant to say that I suppose you were not able to search for the dog.’
‘No, I was not. But Miss Neville was here all evening and she says that the butler, Fraser, searched the lawns and called for it. Did he not, Miss Neville?’
‘Oh!’ Miss Neville dropped her work and put her finger to her mouth. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I was telling Mrs Beaumont and Miss Kent about the little dog. He was searched for during the evening, was he not?’
‘Oh yes. Yes. Several times.’
‘I see,’ said Dido, with her eyes fixed upon a little spot of fresh blood on the white linen lying in Miss Neville’s lap.
‘And I suppose,’ she said, carefully, ‘I suppose you have asked everyone who visited that evening whether they saw the dog?’
‘There were no visitors that day,’ said Mr Lansdale unhesitatingly. ‘Nor had there been for some days past.’
‘Were there not?’ said Dido with some surprise, remembering the signs of company which they had found in the drawing room.
‘Oh no,’ said Mr Lansdale, ‘we kept hardly any company.’
Dido could not let the opportunity pass her by. ‘Did you not?’ she said, her mind upon Mrs Midgely’s calling card. ‘Your aunt was not upon visiting terms with any of her neighbours?’
‘Oh no. They were not such people…’ He stopped himself and smiled. ‘My aunt, you see, was very particular about the company she kept. It is an invalid’s privilege, is it not?’
‘And of course,’ added Miss Neville in her whining voice, ‘we were not allowed visitors on account of her nerves… Though I am sure,’ she added hastily, bending over her work once more, ‘for my own part I did not mind it one bit. It is much pleasanter to be private, is it not?’
There was another short silence which was broken by Mr Lansdale’s sighing. ‘I am grateful,’ he said feelingly, ‘that my poor dear aunt never knew what had happened to the pug. She was extremely fond of the animal.’
‘Oh dear yes! I am sure you all were,’ cried Flora politely.
He made a strange noise and covered his face with his hand. It almost seemed that he might be smothering a laugh.
At the same time Miss Neville’s grating voice burst out with: ‘Yes, to be sure it is a very great pity. My poor cousin would have been quite heart-broke… Though it was not a nice little dog – barking away every time there was a knock on the house door. And it bit me once. I only picked up and returned a length of sewing cotton which Mrs Lansdale had dropped, and it bit me! And I am sure the servants disliked it too. I doubt there is one of them who has not been bitten by it.’
‘Do you think perhaps one of them…?’ began Dido.
‘No,’ said Mr Lansdale quickly. ‘Its death would have upset my aunt to such a degree…put her into such a passion. She would…’ He recollected himself again and stopped. ‘I am sure you understand, Miss Kent, that the state of the mistress’s temper must be of the first importance to her servants.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Dido, noticing once more his determination to always speak of his aunt with respect – and the effort which it sometimes cost him. She did not doubt that the lady had been just as difficult to defer to when she was alive.
Mr Lansdale drummed his fingers on the side of his chair for a moment. Miss Neville continued to sew and smile. But there was something uncomfortable about her smile which Dido could not understand.
Nor could she quite form an opinion of Mr Lansdale. He seemed all handsome appearance and proper feeling; but how deep this manly beauty went – whether it was a matter of person and manner only, or whether it was rooted in his character, she could not yet tell.
He was certainly unreserved. He had, while talking about his aunt’s death, already alluded to the unkind gossip concerning him and now, after sitting thoughtfully for a few moments, he gave a wry smile. It seemed his youth and high spirits could not long be held in check even by death and danger. ‘What I cannot quite determine,’ he said, ‘is whether the death of the dog will exonerate me in the eyes of my neighbours, or whether it will confirm me a murderer.’
‘A murderer!’ cried Flora. ‘How perfectly horrid! I beg you will not say such things.’
But Dido held his gaze and said quietly. ‘Yes, Mr Lansdale, I am finding that point difficult to settle myself.’
The remark served to fix his attention upon her. Until that moment she had been only the lovely Mrs Beaumont’s poor cousin; but now, all at once, she had an existence of her own.
‘Miss Kent!’ he cried, smiling, ‘I do believe that you suspect me!’
Flora hastened to assure him that her cousin had no such doubts, that it was just too horrid for words to even suggest it.
But Dido waited until she had finished speaking and then, finding that the young man was still regarding her with slightly raised brows and shining eyes full of questions, she said, very seriously, ‘No, Mr Lansdale. Upon consideration I do not think that I suspect you. From what you have told me, the evidence seems to be in your favour.’
He shook his head and became suddenly solemn. ‘I am very glad to find that I have your good opinion, Miss Kent – and,’ turning with a softened voice, ‘yours too Mrs Beaumont.’ He sighed deeply. ‘And you are quite right. Those who can suspect me of lacking affection for my aunt quite mistake the matter.’ He paused again. ‘If I am guilty of anything,’ he said with great feeling, ‘it is certainly not a lack of affection.’
It was said very quietly, very properly and Dido did not doubt he meant to convey regard and respect for his dead relation. But, all the same, she could not quite like the way in which his gaze fell upon Flora as he spoke.
It started a new – and entirely unwelcome – suspicion in her head.
Chapter Four
‘“Something”,’ said Dido thoughtfully as the door of Knaresborough House closed behind them, ‘“something is rotten in the state of Denmark”.’
‘Is it?’ said Flora anxiously. ‘I am very sorry to hear it… But what has Denmark to do with us?’
‘It is a quotation from Shakespeare,’ Dido explained. ‘It is said by…one of his characters, in…one of his plays.’
‘Oh, that is all right then.’
‘I meant that, in the present case, for “Denmark” we should substitute “Richmond”.’
‘Oh yes! “Something is rotten in the state of Richmond”,’ Flora mused. She looked about her at the smooth lawns and the raked gravel of Knaresborough House, and, beyond the sweep gates, the new-built villas which lined the hill, sloping down to the slow, wide river with its willows and hayfields. A heat haze shimmered over everything and all was still but for one fashionable gig driving past at a smart pace, its high yellow wheels a blur of dust and speed. It all appeared very ordinary and proper. The warm air was full of the scents of hay and lilac – and still, just a hint of that other, less pleasant smell. Flora looked towards the cedar tree and the raw grave beneath it. ‘Yes! Of course!’ she cried. ‘“Something is rotten”. Yes, I quite see what you mean. Something is very rotten.’