‘Who?’
She shrugged up her shoulders. ‘I do not yet know. But someone else at Madderstone has a great secret to hide. From the beginning, someone has been working against me: stealing the letters and the ring, attempting to stop me from discovering the truth.’
‘The murderer?’
‘No, I am almost certain that the person who killed Lady Congreve has already answered for that crime in the highest court of all. The murderer, I am sure, is dead – but someone yet living wishes the identity of the killer to remain hidden.’
The horses were stamping outside now and Harriet was calling out that time and tide waited for no one. Lomax studied Dido’s face closely, his expression very grave. She was still unable to tell how her revelations had affected him. Was he angry, or only concerned for her safety?
‘There is one question which I must ask you,’ he said, with quiet urgency. ‘There is one very important subject we have not yet talked of – and that is, what do you mean to do when all is discovered? Will you approach the coroner? Do you wish me to act for you? I will be in Madderstone again in just a few days …’
‘Oh no!’ she cried in alarm.
His look told her that she had confirmed his worst fears. ‘You do not intend to take any action?’ he said quietly. ‘You mean to keep the identity of the dead woman a secret?’
‘No possible good could come of revealing it,’ she said quickly, ‘and there might be a great deal of harm. No, believe me, her identity – everything – must remain in the obscurity that she desired.’
His look darkened. ‘And you are to decide this?’ he said raising an eyebrow. ‘May I ask upon what authority you, and you alone, are to decide what is to be revealed and what is to be kept hidden?’
Dido drew herself away from him stiffly. ‘Upon the indisputable authority of my knowing what no one else has taken the trouble to discover,’ she said.
‘That is arrant nonsense!’ He passed his hand across his face. ‘You must inform the authorities of what you know. It is entirely contrary to the law to keep information to yourself when a murder has taken place.’
She stared up at him in defiant disbelief. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you insist that I must supply the coroner’s court with information you did not even wish me to seek out?’
The muscle moved in his cheek as he forced back angry words. ‘Because,’ he said, his face all stony composure and insufferable self-righteousness, ‘you are privileged to live in a civilised land and it is your duty to abide by its laws.’
‘But the laws of this civilised land did nothing to save the poor lady who died,’ protested Dido. ‘She lost everything she owned in order to protect her child from her husband’s cruelty and in the end gave up her life to guard her secrets. No, Mr Lomax, you must excuse me, I will not expose those secrets now, to satisfy laws which are wrong.’
‘Why, I am sure that every thief in the commonwealth thinks that our laws against burglary are wrong – and every killer would see murder go unpunished if he could!’
‘You would call me a criminal, because I will not agree with you?’ she cried with energy.
‘I would call you a criminal because you are intent upon breaking the law! We cannot, any of us, disobey laws simply because we do not like them.’
‘Can we not? Well, I certainly cannot do what I know is wrong simply because there happens to be a law about it.’
‘Oh!’ he cried bringing his hand down upon the table and making the band-box leap an inch into the air. ‘This is argued like a woman!’
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said coldly. ‘But I am a woman and it is hardly to be expected that I should argue against my nature.’ She picked up the band-box and turned away.
‘I am sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘I should not have spoken so violently. I only meant that these considerations fall far outside a woman’s usual sphere.’ The muscle moved restlessly in his cheek as he struggled for composure. ‘Nothing in your experience has prepared you for making a decision of such a very serious nature. It is natural – it is amiable – that you should put private feelings before public duty. But …’
‘No, you are wrong, Mr Lomax,’ she said, with chilling composure. ‘I am very well prepared to make this decision. I am prepared by six and thirty years of being a woman with no independent fortune. I understand Miss Fenn’s wretched plight as no man ever could – and I will never betray her.’
She curtsied and walked off around the screen, just as Harriet bustled into the passage to remind her that only early birds catch worms and they must put the better foot first.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
If Dido could have chosen the luxury of solitude she would probably have deemed herself incapable of bearing with company. But having no such choice and being shut into a carriage for several hours with three other people, she found that she could endure well enough by only turning her thoughts inward and being rather silent.
She certainly had more than sufficient thoughts to fill the tedious miles between Bath and Madderstone. And the first and most melancholy of her thoughts was that their experiment had failed. It would seem that, after all, it was not possible for a man and woman to exist in a state of well-mannered disagreement. She had been right to anticipate a moment when difference of opinion must lead to disapproval of conduct.
Perhaps it could all be explained by Mr Lomax’s theory of ‘a woman’s usual sphere’. For, if such a thing existed – and there was also a corresponding ‘sphere’ usual to men – then nothing of importance could be communicated between the sexes; their experiences and their natures differed so widely they never could agree upon important matters.
Perhaps the only happy marriages were rather silent ones …
She sighed and leant her face against the cold, lurching window-glass. If this were the case, there seemed to be no escaping the thought that she was herself constitutionally unsuited to marriage. For she doubted it was in her nature to be restrained and uncommunicative in the most intimate connection of a woman’s life.
When she was got to such a pitch as this, there was an uncomfortable suspicion that tears might not be very far away and some kind of diversion of her thoughts was absolutely necessary.
And so she sought refuge in the mysteries of Madderstone. For they at least offered the possibility of solution – unlike the horrible dilemma of the spheres …
She set herself to consider the stolen letters. If she was to prevent their falling into Captain Laurence’s hands, then she must discover who had taken them – and discover it quickly. As the carriage rattled on, she fell to a careful consideration of the nine people who had been at the dinner table on the day the letters were stolen, running over everything she knew of their whereabouts during that all important interval between dinner and tea.
Harriet had been with Penelope, Anne had been with Dido herself in the drawing room and, by Lucy’s account, Captain Laurence had been making love to her in the conservatory. Mr Harman-Foote testified to Silas and Mr Portinscale having been with him in the billiard room. And that left only Henry Coulson unaccounted for! But …
‘Oh!’ she cried involuntarily.
‘Dido, whatever is the matter?’ demanded Harriet.
Dido looked about her and saw, to her surprise, that the scene of barren common-land and furze bushes beyond the carriage window proved them to be many miles from Bath. The carriage was cold and gloomy with late afternoon – and becoming colder every minute. Opposite her Silas and Lucy were drowsing, their two heads drooping closer and closer together and nodding in time to the jolt and creak of the wheels.