‘Well, you can,’ said Catherine ungraciously and Dido had to remind herself of the poor girl’s misery in order to keep in charity with her. ‘Who is it that you are watching so intently?’
‘As you said, I am watching everyone. I cannot help it. It is on account of having a sharp and satirical eye.’
‘You are in a very ill mood this evening.’
‘And you are all sweetness, I suppose?’
Catherine linked her arm through Dido’s. ‘You know that I only insult you because I am fond of you.’
‘And if you disliked me I suppose you would be full of compliments?’
‘Yes, I probably should.’
‘Well, well, you always were a contrary child.’
Dido patted her hand and studied her pale unhappy face with great affection and an irresistible memory of the little girl who used to cling to her every morning as she asked, ‘Has Mama returned?’ Very little had changed; Dido still longed to protect her and make her happy.
But it was impossible. She could no more restore Catherine to her happy engagement than she could reply to her all those years ago, ‘Yes, all is well, your mama is here in the house.’
The reflections of the afternoon had left her more troubled than ever. There was, stronger than ever, a feeling that she was being foolish; that there were answers which she ought to see and yet was blind to.
And there were also some very difficult things which must be said.
‘My dear,’ she began cautiously, ‘there is something I must talk to you about. And I had better say it now while I have leisure, because I expect to be occupied shortly with a little scheme I have promised to help the Misses Harris with.’
‘Indeed? I did not know that you were intimate with the Harris girls.’
‘I am not particularly intimate with them – but, in fact, it was something Miss Sophia said this afternoon which made me think…’
‘Made you think what?’
‘Oh,’ said Dido, trying to speak lightly, ‘it just made me think that I should talk to you about…about one or two observations that I have made.’
‘Observations?’
‘Yes. Just little things.’ Dido picked up her work and began to stab in stitches rather randomly. ‘There is, for example, Annie Holmes’ great regard for Mr Montague.’ Catherine’s head jerked; her lips moved, but no sound came out of them. ‘And,’ continued Dido earnestly stitching away, ‘there is the very comfortable parlour at the lodge house, and little Susan’s costly doll…and her large brown eyes. Things like that. But, most of all, my dear, there is your very great dislike of Mrs Holmes; the way you cannot bear to look at her or hear her spoken of.’
‘Aunt Dido,’ cried Catherine suspiciously. ‘What have you been about with your endless questions?’
‘There is no need to worry, my dear; no one has told me anything. No confidences have been broken. I have only made use of my senses and my brain to see what is before me.’
‘And what do you see? Or, rather, what do you think that you see?’
Dido stopped sewing and instead began to turn her work around as if intent upon studying the pattern she was making. ‘I see that when he was a very young man, Mr Montague was fond of Annie Holmes – and that little Susan is his natural daughter. I see that Sir Edgar knows of the business and the woman and her child have been provided for. I also see that Mr Montague has confessed to you his youthful mistake. Asked your forgiveness perhaps…’ There was a gasp from Catherine and Dido stopped. ‘Please, don’t be uneasy about me knowing this, my dear,’ she said, taking her hands. ‘Because it has helped me to understand you; helped me to understand how well founded your love seems to be – if he could be so honest with you. This is why you have been so determined to trust him, is it not?’
Catherine gulped and nodded. ‘I have good reason to trust him,’ she said. ‘I know he could not have broken with his father over a lover. Why should he? Why should there be a “rupture”, as you so elegantly put it, over this woman when there had not been over the last one? Aunt Dido, I tried to make you understand that that could not be the trouble, but without betraying Mr Montague’s confidence, I could not convince you.’
‘Yes, I understand. And I am very sorry that, at first, I thought so lightly of your attachment. That was very wrong of me, my love. But I was convinced in the end – convinced that you must have some good reason to place so much trust in Mr Montague. And then I knew that there must be more at stake here than a youthful mistake – or a natural child.’ She sighed. ‘It all goes much deeper than that.’
Chapter Eighteen
It wanted but half an hour until tea was brought in when Miss Harris and Miss Sophia caught Dido’s eye and beckoned her out of the drawing room into the hall, where a good fire was burning and the spaniel was pursuing dream-woodcock.
Sophia said, ‘We are going to the morning room. We will wait for Mr Tom Lomax there. We thought it would be the best place to carry out your plan.’
‘The place will suit our purposes very well,’ said Dido. ‘But how do you know that Mr Lomax will follow you there?’
‘He will,’ said Amelia.
‘My sister means that when he does not find me in the drawing room, he is sure to come in search of me. It would hardly be attentive of him not to, would it?’
Dido smiled. ‘You are Mr Lomax’s sole object now, are you?’
‘Yes. As you suggested, Amelia has given him to understand that she has accepted the colonel’s offer.’
‘That should make our plan work more smoothly.’
The three women paused a moment and listened to the sound of voices from the dining room, where the gentlemen were still sitting over their port wine.
‘They will be finished soon,’ said Amelia abruptly.
Sophia nodded and again explained her sister’s remark. ‘You can judge by the sound of their voices, Miss Kent. They always talk louder just before they leave the table.’
And then, as if to prove her point, there came the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping back across the floor. Sir Edgar’s loud voice was heard proposing that they ‘join the dear ladies’. The dog woke and hid herself behind the hooded chair. Dido and her companions hurried away into the morning room.
‘We will not have long to talk to him,’ said Amelia as she took a seat beside the low fire.
‘No, Mama will come to look for us when tea is served.’ Sophia hesitated and looked about. It was a large room with heavy, old-fashioned furniture; there was a great deal of very dark wood and velvet upholstery which had once been red but which had faded over the years to the colour of cold chocolate. At the moment the room was full of shadows because the only light came from the fire and from one stand of candles on the writing table by the window. After considering for a moment, Sophia took a seat upon a couch close beside the table and Dido noted that she had chosen her position very well; the colonel himself, commanding his troops, could not have made a wiser decision. When Tom came into the room and sat beside her – as he surely would – she would be able to turn her back to the candles; but the light would be full in his face.
Dido placed herself opposite Amelia by the hearth and put two fresh logs into the grate. The fire was little more than a heap of grey ash and red embers, but the logs – like everything else at Belsfield – were of the very best and little flames were soon licking around them and giving up a faint smell of applewood. Their crackle and the ticking of a clock upon the mantelshelf were the only sounds in the room. Amelia and Sophia exchanged looks – anxious, but determined too.