Of course, there was money to be considered. But the Ashfield estate, she knew, was entailed upon the male line. It was not a subject ever entered upon by Lucy or Harriet, but it was generally known in the village that there was somewhere a distant relation who could ‘turn them out of the house if anything should happen to their brother’. It was also universally supposed that Lucy and Harriet’s marriage portions were small – a thousand – two was the most that even generous gossip allotted to them.
Two thousand pounds was certainly no great inducement to an ambitious man. And Dido would take an oath that Laurence was ambitious. It was possible that Lucy was deceived – either by her own wishes, or by the gentleman himself …
Meanwhile Lucy was chattering on. ‘Two days ago, on the evening we all dined at the abbey, Captain Laurence and I were in the conservatory alone all the time between dinner and tea. And he was very attentive.’
She smirked and raised her brows in a way which invited her companion to beg for confidences – but Dido was in no mood to oblige her. ‘And you are certain,’ she said briskly, ‘that Harriet would oppose an engagement?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘But why? Why should Harriet wish to prevent your happiness?’
Lucy primmed up her lips. ‘It is not in my nature to be suspicious,’ she said, ‘nor to speak ill of a sister.’
Dido stared a moment, then understanding dawned. ‘You suspect her of … admiring the captain herself?’
Lucy tossed her head. ‘Why do you suppose she has insisted upon staying at Madderstone with Penelope?’ she cried in a sharp, quick accent.
‘Why, she is nursing her!’
‘But why cannot she leave the house? The business of nursing could be safely left in the hands of Nanny and the Madderstone housekeeper. But there is no shifting her from the place! She is determined to remain where he is.’
‘I cannot believe …’ began Dido, but just at that moment, Margaret’s unmistakable green and yellow bonnet emerged from the butcher’s shop. Forgetting everything but her own need for liberty, Dido began to hurry towards the stile, pulling Lucy with her.
‘Please, please say that you will speak to Harriet for me.’
‘I do not know,’ Dido said distractedly … The stile was just a few paces away now. They had reached it. She was climbing the step; but her companion was dragging upon her arm, preventing her from crossing over. ‘Very well! Yes, I shall speak to her.’ She broke away: climbed the stile.
‘Oh thank you! Thank you!’ Lucy clapped her hands together like a child. ‘You will be sure to do it without delay, will you not?’
‘Very well,’ said Dido resignedly. ‘I shall speak to her this morning.’
The trees of the copse at last cut Dido off from the sight of the village street. She stopped among the dripping branches, drew a long, grateful breath of damp leaf-mould and considered this new responsibility which had been laid upon her.
She found she was rather angry at what had just passed. She had more than enough to occupy her at present and she certainly had no wish to be deeply involved in Lucy Crockford’s affairs. She was determined to fulfil her promise of ‘speaking to Harriet’ as briefly as possible.
She gave no credit at all to Lucy’s notion of Harriet being in love with Captain Laurence – she had seen no symptoms of it … Although there was no denying that Harriet had seemed determined to fix herself at the abbey, and she did appear to be opposed to a match between her sister and the captain. Dido had observed as much herself.
Now, why should she oppose such a match? Was it possible that she knew something about Captain James Laurence which made her fear for her sister’s happiness?
That was a very interesting thought indeed!
As she began to hurry along the path away from the village, Dido gladly abandoned all thoughts of love affairs for the rather more interesting subject of the Captain’s character. Why did she distrust him so very much herself?
And why, when Lucy spoke of Captain Laurence as considerate, had she suddenly remembered again that moment when she had been with him upon the gallery? – the moment of the bones’ discovery. Why should that moment have come into her mind?
She stopped walking and pressed her hand to her head in a great effort of memory. The trees dripped disconsolately around her. A pigeon broke cover suddenly and whirred up into the sky.
She tried to recall every detail of that moment on the ruined gallery. The dying light, the damp, gloomy stillness of the abbey, the captain’s fingers laid gently on her own hand, his very considerate words: ‘Miss Kent, I think you had better wait here. I shall go to see what it is and return to tell you …’
‘Oh!’ The answer came upon her so suddenly and forcefully she could not help crying out. How stupid she had been! Of course, it was not his consideration which must be suspected, but its cause.
On noticing that something was discovered in the water, Captain Laurence had immediately advised Dido to remain where she was, while he went on alone to investigate. But why? How had he known – how could he have known – that the discovery was unsuitable for a lady’s eyes?
‘He knew!’ she cried wonderingly to the dripping trees. ‘James Laurence knew that there was a body to be discovered in the pool.’
Chapter Fourteen
How, thought Dido as she walked briskly towards Madderstone, could the captain have known about the body before it was discovered?
She ran eagerly through everything she knew about the man. He had certainly been at Madderstone on the day Miss Fenn disappeared. Anne had spoken of ‘all the Laurence cousins’ being in the house. But he cannot have been more than … (A little bit of rapid calculation and counting of fingers.) No, he cannot have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old at the time. One did not like to suspect anything of a boy of just sixteen or seventeen … And yet, he was a big man; even at sixteen he would have been strong enough …
It would certainly be very interesting to know whether James Laurence had been on familiar terms with the governess: whether he might have had any cause to harm her.
She stopped as she came at last within sight of the abbey, wondering how best to pursue this subject. The mistress of the house had already told all that she could – or would – tell, and the master did not wish the matter to be discussed. But there were certainly those among the servants who remembered Miss Fenn. And, in Dido’s experience, the testimony of an intelligent servant was always worth attending to.
She turned aside from the main sweep, passed the hothouses and the wall of the kitchen garden, and came into the poultry yard. Here she paused and looked about for anyone she might talk to.
It was a well-kept yard, enclosed by a wall so ancient it might be a relic of the abbey’s domain, and furnished with a dozen or so low wooden poultry houses. The hens strutted and fussed in the dusty earth and strings of black and yellow chicks hurried, cheeping, behind them. In one corner there was a rough bench and sitting on that bench, plucking a chicken, was … Harris Paynter.
She stared; but there was no mistake. It most certainly was the young surgeon sitting there with a sack spread about him to protect his clothes, his hands full of brown feathers which he was diligently stuffing into a bag, the limp body of the bird hanging across his knees. His hat was tilted onto the very back of his head and stray pieces of white down were clinging to his black hair.
How very odd!
‘To be quite candid with you,’ she said, glancing at the half-naked hen as she approached, ‘I rather think that this patient is beyond hope of recovery.’