Meanwhile Mrs Harman-Foote was struggling for composure. ‘I have spoken,’ she said at last, in the same quiet, feeling voice, ‘I have spoken to Mr Portinscale …’ She broke off. Dido wondered why Madderstone’s clergyman had been consulted. ‘He is quite unpersuadable …’ She stopped. It was necessary to take the handkerchief out again and wipe away a fresh tear. ‘My dear Miss Fenn is to be buried in a suicide’s grave on the north of the churchyard. In unhallowed ground.’
She stopped, her face working with emotion, the handkerchief pressed firmly to her lips. And Dido watched in silent sympathy; for a little while she was beyond words herself. Poor lady! To see a beloved friend laid outside the benediction of the church; to be denied all the natural solace of religion in her loss. The idea must frighten even Dido into silence, still for a while even the workings of her mind …
They sat together for a while saying nothing. The little fire smoked sullenly; there was a loitering footstep in the passage and Rebecca’s face peered once around the door, full of questions, but upon receiving nothing but a frown, it was withdrawn.
At last, with a great effort: ‘You are wondering I am sure, Miss Kent, at my calling here – at my speaking so openly. I hope you do not feel that I intrude too much upon our friendship.’
‘No,’ stammered Dido hastily – and a little untruthfully. ‘No, not at all.’
‘But I must do something you see.’
‘Oh, yes, quite.’
‘And I have no one else to whom I may speak without reserve on this subject. My husband does not wish me to concern myself over the matter, you see. He believes that my making any enquiries will only add to my distress.’
‘Yes, I quite understand,’ murmured Dido, though she was beginning to wonder where all this might be leading.
‘And so I have decided that I must ask for your help, Miss Kent. For, you see, I have always had the highest regard for your good sense and understanding – I have always felt that you are someone whose judgement may be relied upon.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dido, surprised and flattered by a good opinion which she had never had much cause to suspect. ‘I am sure I should be very glad to be of any assistance.’
Mrs Harman-Foote looked pleased and put up her handkerchief. ‘You see,’ she said, ‘I am quite sure that, if only a few enquiries were made into the matter, it would be possible to establish that dear Miss Fenn is innocent of this terrible crime which is charged against her.’
‘I suppose it might be possible to find out a little more,’ said Dido thoughtfully, rather intrigued by the problem. ‘Her friends might be questioned. The history of her last days examined more closely …’
‘Excellent,’ cried Mrs Harman-Foote. ‘Then it is agreed – you will make the enquiries my husband will not permit me to make. You will find out about Miss Fenn’s death – so that we may prove to Mr Portinscale that she did not take her own life and her body must be laid in consecrated ground.’
‘Oh! But …’
‘I am very grateful to you for undertaking the matter Miss Kent.’ Mrs Harman-Foote stood up to take her leave. ‘I know the matter could not be in more capable hands.’
‘It is very kind of you to say so, but …’
‘I should be particularly glad to have the whole matter settled before the All Hallows ball at the end of the month. I must have the poor, dear lady removed from that dreadful grave by then.’
Dido hesitated, disconcerted to find herself imposed upon again – and yet not entirely unwilling to undertake the commission. For it was shocking to think of a woman cast needlessly into a suicide’s grave. And, besides, her own curiosity was piqued. Had there been another cause of death? Or had the young pupil been entirely deceived as to the character of her governess?
However, her ever-active curiosity was at war not only with propriety, but also with memories of previous enquiries of her own: enquiries which had brought upon her responsibilities she had neither expected nor welcomed.
‘Mrs Harman-Foote,’ she said, ‘please forgive the question: but have you thought about the consequences of any enquiry into the events surrounding your friend’s death?’
‘The consequences?’
‘We have to consider Mr Wishart’s opinion,’ Dido explained. ‘I mean his opinion that the death could not have been an accident. I understand that the nature of the pool – the way in which the edges of it slope so gradually – makes it most unlikely that Miss Fenn could have fallen into it unintentionally.’
‘Of course there was no accident. Miss Fenn was neither clumsy nor imprudent.’
‘And if she did not fall … and if she did not take her own life … then someone else …’ She stopped.
Mrs Harman-Foote was regarding her impassively.
‘You believe that Miss Fenn was murdered?’ cried Dido in amazement.
‘I rather think that she must have been,’ was the calm reply. ‘Mr Wishart says that an accident was not possible. And, since I know that it was impossible for a woman of her character and principles to harm herself, I have no choice but to believe that someone else was responsible for her death.’
Chapter Seven
… Well, Eliza, be warned by this simple little tale: great ladies of Mrs Harman-Foote’s stamp are no less dictatorial for having tears in their eyes! Grief does not make such a woman any less determined upon getting her own way.
I am fairly caught!
Though I confess that I am not entirely sorry to be caught. The question of Miss Fenn’s death intrigues me. Mrs Harman-Foote seems so very sure that her principles would have prevented her from ending her own life. And I should be very glad indeed to help exonerate her if I can – an unconsecrated grave is a terrible thing.
I am to dine at Madderstone on Monday – rather to the surprise of Margaret. At first she was inclined to be offended by an invitation which does not include herself or Francis, but now she has very wisely decided to be delighted, and says again and again how perfectly charming it is that Mrs Harman-Foote should show attention to her family.
So the invitation does not, at least, disturb the peace of the household. Whether it will produce anything of interest remains to be proved. I am to be shown the governess’s room and also her ring. And I should very much like to look for myself at the place in which the remains were found …
Dido was forced to break off. There had been, all through the last few lines, a voice of protest attempting to make itself heard: a voice which was none the less insistent for being entirely imaginary.
‘My dear Miss Kent!’ it was saying. ‘Is it wise to interest yourself in such a very … unpleasant business?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Perhaps it is not exactly wise, Mr Lomax,’ she replied in a whisper, ‘but it is certainly humane. Poor Mrs Harman-Foote is so very distressed.’
‘And, tell me honestly, is her distress the real motive here? Do you not seek rather to satisfy your own curiosity?’
Dido coloured. His knowing tone – even in imagination – made her uncomfortable. ‘Curiosity may play a part,’ she consented reluctantly. ‘It certainly qualifies me for the task. But I cannot allow it to lessen the force of the poor lady’s distress.’