Chapter Twenty-One
…Well, like a heroine in a horrid novel, I have taken the precaution of pushing a linen chest against my door tonight. Except that I had to remove it just now when Jack came to bring my chocolate – which is a difficulty that I do not recall any young lady in a novel ever having.
It seems such a very foolish measure to take and even as I was pushing and tugging it across the carpet I was half laughing at myself. And yet the fact remains, Eliza, that someone in this house would seem to be a murderer – and that someone may have overheard my suspicions.
Oh, Eliza, I hardly know what to do next. Though one thing I am quite determined upon. Tomorrow I must persuade Catherine to break her engagement and leave Belsfield. It must be done and reluctant though I am to tell Catherine what I have discovered, I am yet determined to tell her as much as is necessary to make her abandon all connection with the family of Montague. So look for us at Badleigh within these next few days.
Though I confess that, for myself, I shall be extremely sorry to leave the place with so many questions still unanswered.
Was it Sir Edgar or his wife who went to that fateful appointment in the shrubbery? Will it ever be possible to discover exactly what happened?
And then there are two points on which I most particularly wish to be satisfied. Firstly: how could the murderer have walked armed across the grounds of Belsfield without anyone remarking upon the fact? And secondly: how did Mr Pollard contrive to convey his message at the ball without speaking a word?
Dido laid down her pen with a sigh, rubbed at her weary eyes, and blew out her candle.
It distressed her that she must leave Belsfield with these questions unanswered. And that, of course, must be the reason why she found that she was so very reluctant to go. There could be no other cause. She could safely resign the pursuit of justice to Mr Lomax and, even if there were no positive danger in remaining, there would certainly be very unpleasant scenes enacted here soon, scenes which she had no wish to take part in. She ought to be glad to go…
Of course she would miss her conversations with Mr Lomax; he was a very pleasant companion. And it was unfortunate that once Catherine’s engagement was broken there was little chance of her ever meeting with him again. But it was foolish to waste time sighing over that…
No, she told herself stoutly, if only she could answer those few lingering questions, then she would be very happy to return to Badleigh. Very happy indeed.
The little room was full of shadows, and the dark bed-hangings and the little old witch shape of her cloak and bonnet on the door reminded her of her first night at Belsfield, when she had sat here beside her fire, dreading what the next day’s investigations might produce.
It was about two hours after midnight and she was tired, worn out with the agitation and shocks of the day. She could not summon the strength, or the determination, to get herself into bed. She watched the firelight slide across the threadbare rug, her writing desk, the tray with her silver chocolate jug and the cup with its dark dregs, and she turned the two questions over in her mind. She could find no answers – and yet she was sure that they were there, somewhere within her reach.
The fire burnt low. She was on the very edge of sleep now and the questions began to form a kind of rhythm in her head until they seemed almost like a litany repeated in church. How can a gun be carried without it being seen? How can a man speak without opening his mouth? How can a gun…
The scene about her was growing indistinct, the shadows of the curtains seeming to swallow up the writing desk as her eyes flickered and closed…
She was sitting on the green bench in the park, looking across the long shadows of trees to the ploughman and his wheeling cloud of gulls.
‘I like this spot,’ said a voice beside her. ‘I believe it commands the best view on the estate.’
She turned towards the speaker and saw, not Mr Lomax as she had expected, but Sir Edgar Montague. He was standing, feet planted well apart on the short grass, under the broad canopy of a great tree. There was a half smile on his face and he was gazing out over the park with all the pride of ownership; completely in control of everything he saw. And he had the symbols of his status with him – the servile dog and, carried negligently under his arm, the gun…
Dido woke. She sat for some time staring into the grey ash and red glow of her fire; her mind was suddenly wide awake and working very hard.
Yes, of course. The picture. The answers were all there in the picture. How stupid she had been! But she had not wanted to look for the answers because they would involve her in calculations which were particularly distasteful to her.
But now she must face those calculations. There was no escaping from them. And the first thing to be done was to look again at the painting.
Without allowing herself time to think further about it, she took a taper from the box on the mantelshelf and relit her candle from the fire. Then she pushed the chest away from the door, turned the lock and stepped out of her room.
The passage was narrow and very dark. She stood still for a moment, hardly daring to breathe and listening hard. There was an occasional creaking sound, either from beds, or else from settling floorboards; and somewhere not far away, someone was snoring loudly. Beyond the little circle of light that her candle threw upon the plaster walls and old, uneven floorboards, there was utter blackness. Her courage almost failed her and she very nearly turned back. But that would be foolish. There was nothing to be afraid of in a dark house, she told herself firmly. And she crept along the passage, one hand holding her candle high and the other just brushing the wall.
This passage took her down the side of the East wing to a little lobby and three steps which connected it with the Great Gallery at the front of the house, and, as she tiptoed down the steps, she saw that there was more light in the gallery. The big windows at the end admitted long rectangles of moonlight, which fell over the window seat and the highly polished, honey-coloured floor and onto one wall, cutting across the face of a dark, cracked Sir Edgar with a wheel ruff and a pointed chin.
As she passed, she could not but think that his eyes had turned to follow her, and, as the candle’s light fell on each of his companions in turn, she felt that they, too, were watching her progress with interest. The boards creaked alarmingly beneath her feet and she expected at any moment to be confronted by the butler in his nightshirt, armed with a cudgel and intent upon defending his master’s property from burglary.
Her heart was beating so hard when she reached the end of the gallery that the light in her hand was shaking. She stopped and listened at the head of the stairs. And very faintly, from one of the best chambers on the landing below, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps. Carefully setting her own candle down upon the floor, she leant over the banister, but she could discern no light below her. She stood for several moments with the cold polished rail beneath her hands, listening so intently that she scarcely dared to draw breath. There was the sound of a door opening, the faint gleam of a candle’s light flickered across the white wall of the stairwell, then there were more footsteps. A second door opened and the light was gone.
All was quiet again in the big old house. There was nothing now but the faint creaking of ancient floors and, very faint and distant, the same spluttering snore. Satisfied that she had not been detected, Dido took up her candle and turned into the dark passage in which was hidden the painting of Sir Edgar and his domain.
By candlelight it seemed larger than ever and it was not easy to study. The candle would light only a fragment of it at a time and the unsteady beam shimmered distractingly over the surface of the oil-paint. But there was Sir Edgar, just as she had recalled him in her dream: proud and self-important with his dog and his wife… And with his gun slung easily and negligently upon his arm as if it were a natural part of him.