A Gentleman of Fortune Page 10

  She shivered – the old stone porch suddenly felt remarkably damp and cold. And she was on the point of making him a more thoughtful reply, when his attention was drawn away.

  ‘Ah!’ he cried, ‘Mrs Midgely, Miss Prentice! It is such a very great pleasure to meet with old friends!’

  Dido turned just in time to see Mrs Midgely walking past with scarcely a nod, while Miss Prentice stopped and held out her hand smilingly. ‘Such a beautiful sermon, Mr Hewit. It was so very…’

  ‘Thank you! Thank you, dear lady!’ He took her hand, folded it in both his own and seemed to study her face.

  Dido watched with great interest.

  But Flora suddenly seized her arm. ‘Pray excuse us, Mr Hewit,’ she cried. ‘We must hurry away, you know.’ And without more ado she pulled her cousin out of the cool porch into the sudden heat and glare of the churchyard.

  ‘But I wished most particularly to hear what they said,’ protested Dido as they came to a halt beside a gravestone, just a few yards from the porch.

  ‘And they,’ whispered Flora with a giggle, ‘most certainly did not wish you to hear.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dido looked back through the ivy-hung doorway into the shadows where it was just possible to see the stooping clergyman leaning close to the neat little figure of Miss Prentice. Her eyes were cast down. He was still holding her hand as if he had forgotten to release it.

  ‘Why, is it not obvious?’ said Flora. ‘I am sure it is plain for all the world to see! They are in love!’

  ‘In love?’ cried Dido. ‘How can you know? You have never seen them together before.’

  ‘Oh, but they are! Or at least they were when they were young. And now they have met again and they find they have not forgotten… Only look at how he is talking to her – and how she listens to him. Yes, they are in love for sure! I am never wrong about these things.’

  ‘I do not know…’ said Dido doubtingly. Miss Prentice was withdrawing her hand now, turning away. She walked out into the sunshine, her face pale and distressed. ‘I do not know at all. That does not seem so very much like love. She seems in quite a hurry to get away from Mr Hewit.’

  Flora laughed, linked her arm through Dido’s and drew her away along the worn flagged path that led through roughly mown grass to the lych-gate. ‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘but it is very like love. You see, I have noticed that some women are not at all comfortable about being in love.’ She shook her curls and flashed a very meaning, sidelong glance at her companion. ‘And I have observed,’ she continued, ‘that such women will go to quite extraordinary lengths to conceal their attachments – even from their most intimate friends. Why, I do not mean to shock you, but I believe that sometimes they will even try to hide their love from their cousins!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  …I am not at all sure whether to believe Flora – I mean as to Mr Hewit and Miss Prentice being in love. I do not at all share her belief that she is always right in these matters, though she can sometimes be quick-sighted enough… That is to say, I have known her guess correctly in another case…

  And there did, I suppose, seem to be some evidences of affection – they were certainly very glad to meet. And he held her hand a great while longer than was necessary. And I think perhaps they were acquainted with one another when they were young, back in Northamptonshire… Maybe it is possible…

  But if there is a real attachment, Eliza, why were they not married long ago? Flora, I should say, believes that they were parted by a lack or fortune on his side and a fiercely disapproving Papa on hers. She has made up quite an affecting little story about it.

  But, whether or not there was ever a disapproving Papa, there is undoubtedly now a disapproving friend! For Mrs Midgely certainly does not like Mr Hewit. Dear me! I begin to think that that woman does not like anyone!

  And I keep remembering Mrs M’s visit to Knaresborough House – and how Miss Prentice fainted when she heard of it. I wonder whether Mr Hewit might have played some part in that little mystery. In short I wonder whether…

  But I had better not go on, or I fear I shall be in danger of telling a tale as rich in fancy and as poor in fact as Flora’s. I shall instead wait and watch a little more – and hope that my book is soon delivered from the bookseller. And I think I shall also try to discover exactly where in the north-country Mr Hewit’s new parish may be situated…

  And, in the meantime, I shall tell you about our dinner last night at Knaresborough House.

  I was, for a while, afraid that we should not be able to dine out. Unfortunately, while she was at the shops yesterday morning, the news of Mr Vane going to the magistrate was forced upon Flora’s attention and she suffered afterwards with the headache. But she bore with the news much better than I had expected. She seems to rely entirely upon Mr Lomax’s judgement and continues to believe that there is no great danger of a trial.

  And so, since she was most anxious to prove to Mr Lansdale that he was not deserted by his friends, we kept our engagement. And very grateful I am that we did!

  I wish most particularly to give you an account of this dinner, Eliza. You see it has produced what is perhaps the strangest mystery of all this unaccountable business.

  First of all you must know that, although we had only been invited to a family dinner, when we arrived, we found that there was one other guest: a young man Mr Lansdale introduced as ‘My great friend Jem Morgan.’ And a great friend he was – both tall and broad!

  I do not mean to suggest, however, that there was anything strange or mysterious about Mr Morgan himself. Indeed, he seemed a remarkably ordinary young man with a lot of unruly black hair which would not lie flat, and a rather ill-shaven chin with a cut upon it. He is one of those young men who, even when they are freshly dressed for dinner, have not quite the knack of looking tidy. He has chambers in the Temple, is studying law and suffers under the common delusion that a woman may be pleasantly entertained by the relating of endless anecdotes about his friends, his horses and his dogs. As you have no doubt understood from this complaint, I had all his attention throughout dinner. For Mr Lansdale, as usual, devoted himself to Flora – and by the by I rather wonder at our cousin. Does she allow the young man to engross her so when her husband is present? – well, I suppose that is no business of mine. All I meant to say was that I was Mr Morgan’s sole object. And a heavy misfortune it was, because, besides his conversation, I had spilt wine and dropped knives to contend with, for he really is the clumsiest man I ever met.

  And it is to his clumsiness that we are indebted for the great discovery of the evening.

  Flora and I were not long alone with Miss Neville after dinner before the gentlemen joined us. Though I would not have you think that I wasted my time, for while Flora amused herself at the pianoforte, I talked again with Clara Neville about the evening on which Mrs Lansdale died. And I discovered two things which may be of interest.

  Firstly, she said that Mr Vane visited the lady not long before she retired to her dressing room and administered to her ‘her usual dose’. It seems that she complained then of disordered nerves and wished the apothecary to remain in the house with her. But Mr Vane was not overly worried and said only that he would be at home all evening and she must send for him if her symptoms became worse.

  And second, I found that she was served with chocolate in her dressing room before going to her bed. Now the chocolate I believe to be of some significance, for it seems to me that its strong, rather bitter taste would effectively disguise any physic put into it. If I was going to poison anyone, Eliza, I would certainly make use of a jug of chocolate if I could. With this in mind, I took some trouble to find out more about the chocolate and discovered that it had been prepared in the kitchen and that Miss Neville had carried it up to the dressing room. However when she arrived at the dressing room Mr Lansdale was there and, since his aunt particularly requested that they be left alone, Miss Neville handed the tray to him.

  In short, both Miss Neville and Hen
ry Lansdale had opportunity enough to introduce the opium mixture to the jug…if they wished to do so.

  And another thing to consider is that we have only Mr Vane’s word that it was no more than the ‘usual dose’ which he administered that evening.

  By the by, I rather fancy Mr Vane for a murderer, though I confess that, try as I might, I have not yet been able to think of any reason why he should wish for the lady’s demise. Nor why, having brought it about, he should wish to draw attention to his crime by starting the idea of an unnatural death.

  But I do not quite despair of his being guilty. I must give the matter more thought.

  For now I shall return to Mr Morgan and his clumsiness.

  Well, he and Mr Lansdale soon followed us into the drawing room, and once we were all gathered in that room it was only natural that conversation should turn to the burglars who had entered it. The subject, as you may imagine, had been discussed already in the dining room, but now the local interest of the window through which the ruffians had come and the drawers they had disturbed, soon led Mr Lansdale into a more detailed account of the events. We were all deeply interested and, when he stepped to a window saying, ‘This was the one that had the broken catch,’ we all naturally followed him and looked at it.

  There was nothing to see – except that the window opens outward, just as I suspected. So, after a moment or two, we all turned back into the room. But, as we did so, Mr Morgan had the ill-luck to catch his foot in the long window curtain and fall headlong into a sofa.

  And, as he fell, something bright caught my eye: something which had been lying hidden in the trailing hem of the curtain. I cried out ‘Oh look!’ or something foolish like that as one does on such occasions – and picked it up.

  Eliza, it was an emerald necklace!

  Well, you may imagine how we all gathered around and exclaimed over it. It was an extremely pretty thing: a slender gold chain with one stone hanging in the centre flanked by two pairs of smaller ones. Naturally Flora and I thought that it had been taken from elsewhere in the house and accidentally dropped by the thieves as they made their escape.

  But – and this is the unaccountable part of the business – both Miss Neville and Henry Lansdale were sure that it had not. They both declared that they had never set eyes on the necklace before. And Mr Lansdale was quite certain that it had not belonged to his aunt. He said that he had carefully examined her jewel case when the intruders had first been discovered and he was certain that the case had not been broken into, nor was anything missing from it. Furthermore, he was sure that the emerald necklace could not have been his aunt’s.

  ‘For,’ he said, ‘I know she did not like emeralds at all. She fancied that they did not suit her complexion. Everything in her jewel case is diamonds or rubies and very different from this. This is very new,’ he said. ‘Fresh from the jewellers I should say. Everything that my aunt had was old-fashioned, heavy stuff. Believe me,’ he said, ‘she never wore anything like this.’

  My next suggestion was that it might have been dropped by the last tenants of the house and remained unobserved until now; but Mr Lansdale negatived that immediately. It seems that every inch of the house was cleaned before he and his aunt took possession. Every curtain had been removed, thoroughly cleansed and rehung. His aunt had insisted upon it.

  So, Eliza, this is our mystery: thieves break into a house and take nothing from it – this might be explained by their being disturbed before they can find anything of value – however, they not only fail to remove any goods, but they leave behind them a valuable item which was not there before.

  What kind of thieves are they who bring goods into a house and leave the householder a little wealthier than he was before they came?!!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tuesday – the day of the party to Brooke Manor – dawned fair and still, and so very hot that even Flora – who did not like the countryside – thought that a drive out of town might be refreshing. But the air was heavy and Dido was inclined to agree with the coachman when he threatened them with thunder before the day was over.

  She was very glad though that the storm was not yet come for she would not have liked their visit to be put off. She had high hopes of it – and not just in the enjoyment of strawberries either. For here was surely an opportunity of solving some at least of the many mysteries which surrounded her. Today there were to be, gathered around Sir Joshua’s strawberry beds, all the people who interested her most. Mrs Midgely was to be there, with Miss Prentice and Miss Bevan. Mr Hewit, she had learnt from Flora, was invited, and Mr Lansdale was also expected, together with his friend Jem Morgan and Miss Neville.

  ‘I confess,’ she said to Flora, when they and their strawberry baskets were comfortably settled in the barouche-landau and they were rattling out of Richmond’s streets, ‘I am a little surprised that Mr Lansdale should consent to be of the party. To be in company with Mrs Midgely cannot be pleasant for him. He is very well aware of the unkind things she is saying about him.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Flora quietly. ‘And he certainly knows she is to be of the party today, because her ladyship sent me a note asking me most particularly to acquaint him of the fact. Sir Joshua would invite him you see – for men are the last creatures in the world to notice gossip – but poor Lady Carrisbrook was most anxious that there should be no unpleasant scenes.’

  ‘And you did as she requested and informed him?’

  ‘Oh yes! But he was not to be put off, you know. He said… He said that while there was such pleasant company to be met with…’ She blushed and lowered her eyes with a consciousness that was quite out of place in a married woman. ‘Since there were such dear friends to be there, he would not, he said, be put off by the likes of Mrs Midgely.’

  ‘Did he indeed!’ said Dido and, while Flora endeavoured to regain her composure, she turned away disapprovingly and gave herself up to thought – for she had a great deal to consider this morning. As the carriage continued through bright hayfields and shady coppiced woodland, she drew a slim volume from her basket, turned over its pages and wondered…

  ‘Is that your Treatise upon Citizens?’ asked Flora when she had at last got the better of her blushes.

  ‘Yes, it came from Mr Lister this morning.’

  ‘Well then, I congratulate you upon its being so very short – for I think it will make remarkably dull reading.’

  ‘Fortunately,’ said Dido, ‘I do not think I shall need to read beyond this title page. All the information I need is here.’ And she held out the book to show Flora the name of its author – John Hewit Esquire.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Flora. ‘A revolutionary! Mr Hewit is a revolutionary!’

  ‘I think it would be more accurate to say that he was a revolutionary thirty years ago,’ corrected Dido. ‘From the things he said on Sunday I rather think that experience – and the late horrors enacted in France – have changed his views.’

  ‘Well,’ said Flora eagerly. ‘Now, of course, we know why Miss Prentice had to give him up when she was young!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dido rather doubtingly. ‘Perhaps we do. But, unfortunately, we also know that Mr Hewit has a secret which he must hide. He is, I understand, shortly to take up a very good living in the north of England. I am quite certain that he does not wish anyone to know that he once held such very radical views.’

  And she lapsed once more into very thoughtful silence.

  Brooke Manor was a pleasant, respectable, old-fashioned country house, with the date of 1565 written up above its dark front door. Black beams and pale plasterwork comprised the greater part of its building and an arm of ancient forest curved around to embrace it at the back. In front, sunken lawns, moss-grown paths and old, old yew hedges led down to meadows and a stream shaded by willows.

  The kitchen garden, very properly enclosed with warm, ivy-covered bricks, was, at present, so full of ripening strawberries that their scent reached Dido and Flora as they stepped down from the carriage.

  S
ir Joshua was on the front step to greet them as they arrived and very well did he suit his setting: a slight, grey-haired, healthy looking man of over fifty, dressed in the fashion of his youth. The young wife on his arm presented a very pretty contrast and, despite having been prepared by everything the Richmond gossips could say of the lady’s youth and beauty, Dido found that she must look and look again at Maria Carrisbrook.

  It was impossible not to do so. To say that she was beautiful fell far short of the truth. There was beauty certainly in the delicate features, the soft eyes and the pleasing, upright figure, but there was something more. In the expression of the eyes, the turn of the graceful head, the way of moving and speaking, there was a something which, at first, Dido must call ‘charm’, although, having watched Lady Carrisbrook a little longer, she wondered whether a man might not call it ‘bewitchment’.

  She certainly seemed to be a devoted wife, for, in between paying very proper attention to her guests, she worried that Sir Joshua’s eyes were not properly shaded from the sun, sent a servant to fetch a hat and finally, being dissatisfied with the one which was brought, ran off to find exactly the right piece of headgear herself.

  Her husband complained about, and enjoyed, her attentions. ‘Now, now. Don’t fuss, my dear. Don’t fuss,’ he muttered happily as he led them to the kitchen garden – where a large company was already gathered.

  A glance around the garden soon told her that Mr Lomax was absent; but all her other acquaintance were here. It was a strange scene: ladies and gentlemen stooping and bending in a domain which is usually left to gardeners. Elegant, well-modulated voices echoed about the old brick walls of the kitchen garden. Printed muslins brushed the earth between bright green and red rows of strawberry plants, and a pretty pink parasol had been set aside in a neighbouring bed of cabbages.