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‘Logs?’ I said.

‘Yes, logs,’ he said. ‘Gad! My basket is always empty, don’t you know, and I believe it’s that young rascal’s duty to fill it.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said.

And then he made another ill-judged bow and wandered off. But, Eliza, I noticed that he was not walking towards the house. And I do not believe that it was Jack he had been searching for at all. His manner of peering around and into the bushes suggested a search for something that had been deliberately hidden.

Unless, of course, young Jack has taken to playing hide-and-seek with his master’s guests…

Chapter Five

Catherine was not in the morning room when Dido went there. Miss Harris was there with her paints and her drawing board and some hothouse fruits arranged upon a table – and Mr Tom Lomax was at her side, trying very hard to be gallant. As Dido entered he was entreating the lady to paint his likeness and obligingly turning his, undoubtedly handsome, face from side to side so that she might judge for herself from which angle he might be best portrayed.

‘I have told you, Mr Lomax,’ she said, primming her lips over her slightly prominent teeth, ‘that I do not take likenesses. I know nothing of the art. It is landscape and still life which are my passion.’

‘But I will be still,’ he said. ‘I will be as still as these oranges and pineapples and you know it does not matter to me one bit whether the likeness is good or bad, for I only care that you will have to look at me a long while. And I really do not see why this pineapple should be honoured with your attention when it has done nothing but sit upon its dish while I have been labouring this last half hour to entertain you.’

Miss Amelia shook her head helplessly.

‘Come now,’ said Tom, stretching his long body in the chair. ‘Could you not paint a picture of me?’ He picked up a cushion, balanced it upon the back of his chair and threw his head back on it.

Dido studied his pose for several minutes – then crept away unseen.

‘I think,’ she said when she had found Catherine in the drawing room, ‘that Mr Tom Lomax is being very attentive to Miss Harris.’

‘Oh, as to that,’ said Catherine carelessly, ‘I am sure he would happily catch her and her twenty thousand – or her sister for that matter. Indeed, Tom Lomax probably wishes he was a Mohammedan so he could have both girls and all forty thousand pounds. But he is wasting his time, for there is not the least chance of their papa agreeing.’

‘You do not think so?’ said Dido cautiously. ‘You do not think that…well, it might be important to him to keep secret from Mr Harris anything that might be to his disadvantage. Twenty thousand pounds is a great deal of money. A man might go to some lengths to secure it…’ she mused. ‘He might, I mean, go to some lengths to silence anyone who could speak against him and to…well, to appear respectable.’

‘My dear aunt, I have no idea what you are talking about. But I assure you that under no circumstances would Mr Harris consider Tom as a husband for one of his daughters. Tom is penniless, you know. It is well known that he is over his ears in gaming debts, which his father has refused to pay.’

‘Mmm, but he is a good-looking fellow.’

‘Is he? Yes, I suppose he is. And what do you mean by saying that so earnestly?’

‘Just that it is not unknown for a young lady to marry without her papa’s consent. Mr Harris had perhaps better take a little care. And Colonel Walborough too, if, as one must suspect, he has an interest in the matter. A man of forty – and that, I think, is being kind to the colonel – had better take a little care if he finds himself opposed to a handsome fellow of five and twenty.’

‘No, I am sure you need not worry on his account, Aunt. The Harris girls may not be very clever, but neither of them would be so foolish as to give up the colonel and his four thousand a year for Tom Lomax. The colonel may take his pick; he only needs to decide which inflames his passions most: paintings of pineapples, or indifferent concertos.’ She cast a meaningful look in the direction of the piano stool, which was occupied by Miss Sophia Harris: a short, fussy-looking girl who wore her hair looped about her ears in a way that put Dido in mind of a spaniel.

‘Do not be ungrateful,’ said Dido. ‘The music may not be quite polished, but it has the recommendation of allowing us to talk unheard.’ And she looked beyond the instrument to the other end of the long room where a fire was burning and working candles had been lit against the darkness of the day. There, in the circle of warm light, sat the other three ladies, working – nominally at least – upon their embroidery. In fact, Mrs Harris was chiefly employed in relating a long narrative of her own affairs, while Margaret yawned and Lady Montague played with the rings on her fingers with a look of such extreme ennui upon her face that not even the dreadful music and the tedium of Mrs Harris’s conversation could account for.

Dido was arrested by the lady’s look and began to study her with interest. The profile thrown back wearily against the brocade of the sofa was remarkably beautiful. But her expression, her pose, her whole air seemed to suggest that the morning – the day – or perhaps even the whole life – was a blank.

‘How do you like your new mother-in-law?’ she asked Catherine after a moment or two.

Catherine shrugged. ‘Well enough,’ she said calmly. Then a dimple flashed in her cheek. ‘But then you know, Aunt, I am quite liberal in my notions.’

‘Oh? And what does that mean?’ asked Dido. She knew that dimple well; it meant mischief.

‘I had better not tell you, Aunt. You would find it too shocking.’

‘I shall do my best to bear it philosophically, my dear. Please tell me.’

‘Well,’ whispered Catherine leaning close, even though Miss Sophia’s music was now making up in volume what it lacked in fluency, ‘they say that her ladyship has a lover.’

‘Oh yes? Who says it?’

‘People in the village, you know. I understand it is very generally believed among the tradesmen and shopkeepers.’

‘I daresay,’ said Dido sharply, ‘that there are a great many things believed by the tradesmen of Belston, which you and I would do well to give no heed to.’

‘Ah,’ whispered Catherine. ‘But I have my own grounds for suspecting her. In fact, if you were not being so ill-tempered, I could tell you who the gentleman might be!’

‘I have no need to improve my temper, my dear,’ said Dido calmly, ‘because I know that you are quite incapable of not telling me what you suspect.’

‘And I daresay you will give me no peace until I do explain. So I shall tell you: I think it is Mr William Lomax.’

‘What nonsense!’ cried Dido indignantly. Unluckily there was a slight pause in the music just then and her exclamation made everyone turn in her direction.

Catherine giggled.

‘And what grounds do you have for making such a preposterous claim?’ whispered Dido when Miss Sophia had resumed her playing.

‘Well, twice since I have been staying here, she has driven away in his carriage. She says that it is to deal with business.’

‘But you do not believe that it is business she goes about?’

‘My dear aunt, what business has a married woman to deal with? And besides, even if she had, my lady is the last woman in the world to be conscientious about it.’

‘Mmm,’ mused Dido. ‘I wonder.’ She studied the elegant, fashionably dressed figure and the pale face against the dark green brocade. The features were as small and delicate as a girl’s and the lines about the mouth and eyes had more of discontent than age in them. She must have married – and borne her son – very young, for she could not now be very much past forty, and she was perhaps twenty years her husband’s junior.