‘And maybe it would do for the housekeeper.’
That brought an encouraging little smile.
‘Mmm, now I wonder about the housekeeper,’ pursued Dido – and she was beginning to rather enjoy her own inventiveness. ‘She really is a most superior woman, you see, and she has been in my friend’s employ for nearly twenty years. I would not wish to offend her.’
‘Oh, I don’t think she would be offended, madam. I think she’d be pleased to get this dimity.’
‘Do you truly think so?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure she would. You see, Miss Wallis – that’s Mr Blacklock’s housekeeper – she bought some for herself just a few weeks ago. And very pleased she was with it, I assure you.’
Chapter Seven
…And so, you see, Eliza, I am now convinced that the dead woman was actually housekeeper in the house where Mr Montague’s mysterious visitor stayed. This brings Mr Montague dangerously close to the murder and I must own that I rather wish I had not discovered it. It has already lost me Catherine’s favour; she has hardly spoken to me since I told her about it. Of course, it was raining heavily when I reached Belston again, and she assures me that her yellow bonnet is now quite ruined because I was so late in returning with the carriage. But I think that my worst offence lies in mistaking her instructions. When she said that I must find out what was happening here, she did not, of course, mean that I must find out just anything, but that I must discover things that pleased her.
How foolish of me to misunderstand.
However, as somebody says somewhere in Shakespeare – and I believe it is in connection with a murder – ‘what is done cannot be undone.’ And I certainly cannot undo my morning’s work, nor cease to know what I know. I believe that all I can do now is to carry on my enquiries and discover what I may. Though I shall try not to tell Catherine any more until I am quite certain of what has happened here. Perhaps it will all yet work out well and I will discover a solution that Madam Catherine approves. And if not – well, I shall at least have the comfort of knowing that I have saved her from an unfortunate alliance – and, though she may hate me for the rest of her life, she will no doubt recover from the loss of the young man within a few months.
For what, after all, is this ‘love’, Eliza, which can be supposed to arise from such very slight acquaintance and which is often described as being felt before two words have been exchanged with the object? Any girl is authorised to say she ‘loves’ a man she has danced a few dances with and sat beside during a half-dozen dinners. I doubt whether Catherine has ever conversed with Mr Montague upon a serious subject…
But this is quite by the by and I must be wearying you with my strange ideas – and with telling over all the events of my day. But truly I feel that I must tell it all, for I do not know what is of importance and what is not. It is getting late now and if I do not finish soon the bricks in my bed will be cold. Rose has brought me three bricks tonight and I expect to be very snug indeed. It seems that she has had an extremely pleasant day, sitting in the housekeeper’s room and telling her story.
But, before I close, I shall lay before you all the little unconnected questions which keep returning to my mind, in the hope that if I communicate them to you, they will not trouble me so much as to keep me from sleeping. Here they are:
Firstly (and maybe this is not such a very little question), there is the matter which has long puzzled us, and which has particularly troubled me since I have become better acquainted with Belsfield and its ways: why has such a man as Sir Edgar – one who sets more store upon dignity and ancestry than anything else – promoted the match between his son and Catherine – a girl of small fortune and no alliance at all?
Second: why does it pain Sir Edgar to talk about his son?
Third: why did Annie Holmes look so uncomfortable when I asked her if she had seen Mr Montague?
Fourth: why has Annie Holmes’ daughter got such a costly doll?
Fifth: why does Lady Montague seem so languid and yet play such difficult games of Patience? One can, after all, play simple undemanding forms of Patience. When Catherine said this morning that her ladyship was the last woman in the world to be conscientious about business, it occurred to me that she was wrong – that my lady might indeed be very conscientious about something that interested her. And yet she chooses to be so very supine that one almost forgets she is there.
Sixth: is Mr Tom Lomax up to no good?
Seventh: what do the constant looks passing between the Misses Harris signify? They make me uneasy and make me suppose that they have some secret and are determined to play a part or ensure that they tell a story correctly.
And lastly: what exactly was the colonel looking for in the garden yesterday morning?
If you have any answers to offer to these questions, then I hope you will write to me straight away; but I suspect that you will think me ridiculous for worrying over trifles. I cannot help myself though, Eliza, for I believe that the very air of this place breathes suspicion. It seems to be a house of secrets and I see mystery and intrigue wherever I turn.
It rained very heavily during that night, but the morning showed a blue and white sky with raindrops gleaming on the storm-battered roses of the terrace and puddles shining in the worn hollows of the lawn steps.
All the gentlemen were gone to the inquest and the ladies were left with nothing to do but to settle the verdict among themselves without the inconvenience of considering any evidence. By about three o’clock Dido had become weary of their speculations, which ranged freely over burglars and gypsies and highwaymen without any regard for what was probable, or even possible, and she announced her intention of walking into Belston village.
‘You will be ankle-deep in mud,’ cried Catherine.
‘I shall wear my pattens and my old pelisse.’
Catherine looked pained and lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. ‘Aunt Dido, no one but maids and farmers’ wives wear pattens now!’ She glanced quickly around the comfortable room and its elegant inhabitants. ‘Do you mean to shame me in front of everyone?’
‘No, my dear,’ said Dido calmly, ‘I only mean to stop my shoes being spoilt by the dirt.’
‘Well, I tell you honestly that in that shabby pelisse and pattens, you will look like a servant.’
‘If that is so, you will not wish to accompany me?’
For answer Catherine turned away and picked up some needlework. (Which Dido considered to be a mark of how deep her displeasure was; for it must be an extreme emotion which could make Catherine willingly open her work-box and sew.)
Unfortunately for Dido, who had been counting upon a solitary walk, Mrs Harris did not shrink from the shame of being seen in company with a woman wearing pattens. She had a bit of ribbon she wanted to match at the milliner’s and she was sure that an airing would ‘set her up nicely.’
‘For, would you believe, I have not stirred from the house these last two days, Miss Kent,’ she said comfortably as they walked up the drive, ‘and to own the truth, my dear, it doesn’t suit my digestion to be always sitting down. Doesn’t suit it at all.’