Place of Confinement (28 page)

She held his hand and they sat in silence for several minutes; he struggled for control and she laid her free hand once more upon the letter in her pocket. Thin shreds of mist twisted up from the dark surface of the pool; the rising sun turned the larches on the hill below the summer house into brilliant green flames. And, in her heart, Dido felt all the corrupting power of love.

Until this moment she had been wretched in the prospect of delivering the letter to Lancelot Fenstanton, but she had never doubted that it was what she should do – what she
would
do. The time only of that delivery had been uncertain. But now she looked at Mr Lomax; at his bowed shoulders, his shaking hand, his eyes filled with visions of suffering and shame.

She looked – and that sense of duty which had been urging her to deliver up the letter to its rightful owner lost all its potency. Propriety, she found, counted for nothing at all; even the principles of honesty instilled in her nursery days were beginning to seem of little value.

The overwhelming need was to save him from pain.

She drew the tattered paper from her pocket and laid it gently in his hand. He stared down at it, reading the direction and gradually comprehending what she had done. ‘You have not…?’

She shook her head, turned her face away. ‘I wish you to take it,’ she said quietly, ‘and do with it whatever you think fit.’

She looked towards the house where folk were beginning to stir; watched smoke rise from the kitchen chimneys as the fires were stoked within. There was a rattling of a well bucket. A little maid was hurrying to the poultry houses with a basket on her arm …

‘Miss Kent?’ He was struggling. The words seemed difficult to form.

She would not – could not – look at him.

‘Dido?’ The name, which he had never pronounced before, brought her eyes immediately to his.

He took her hand and held it firmly between both his own. ‘Do you know … do you understand the seriousness of the step you take in passing this letter to me? Are you aware of the consequences in law if it were known that you had had in your possession an important piece of evidence – and disposed of it in such a way?’

‘Yes, I understand … that is, I know nothing of the law, but I cannot suppose it would acquit me. You may be sure I understand entirely what I am doing.’

‘No, I cannot believe that you do.’ He replaced the letter in her hands, folded her fingers gently around it and resumed the warm pressure of his grasp, enclosing her hands entirely so that she could not release the document. ‘I cannot,’ he said firmly, ‘I
will
not allow you to do it. You must take this to Fenstanton now – without delay.’

She met his eyes in a steady challenge. ‘Why? Would you have done so? If you had found this letter, how would you have acted?’

Just for a moment his gaze flickered from her face; but he shook his head. ‘There is nothing to be gained from considering that,’ he said. ‘The fact is that
I
did not discover the letter.
You
did. Whatever crime I might have been tempted to commit for my son’s sake is of no importance. All that matters is that you shall not commit a crime for
my
sake.’

‘But you cannot prevent me! You cannot compel me to deliver the letter.’

‘No, I cannot.’ He raised her hand, which still held the fateful paper, and pressed her wrist to his lips. He kissed her again and again, moving slowly from wrist to fingers. ‘I do not believe I could ever compel you to do anything. And it is that which makes you so very, very dear to me. But I beg you to do as I ask on this occasion.’

‘No, do not ask—’

‘I must. Your offer is a proof of your kindness, your generosity and – if I may presume so far – a proof of your regard for me. I cannot but be deeply grateful. It is a gesture which I shall always remember with tenderness. But if I were to accept, the very memory would be tainted. The … friendship which has grown up between us has given me more happiness than I have ever expected, or deserved. But Tom’s actions – the terrible cloud which is gathering over him –
must
bring our friendship to an end. After today I shall not seek you out and I beg that you will…’ he faltered ‘… not quite forget me, I hope, but cease to think of me with any particular regard.’

‘No!’

‘My dear,
please
listen to me. Just for once do not argue. Do as I ask. Let my memories be pure – uncorrupted by guilt.’

She tried very hard for speech but it was impossible. Neither her brain nor her mouth were capable of forming words. She could only look at his face, cut clean and clear against the blue of the morning sky; notice the way a single muscle moved constantly in his hollow cheek as he fought for control of his emotions; and feel still upon her hand every single place that his lips had touched.

Slowly he got to his feet.

‘Don’t leave me!’ she cried.

‘I must. And you must go to Fenstanton. Give him the letter – and try not to concern yourself about what becomes of Tom and me. You have done your best to help. You have acted like a true friend.’

‘I have acted,’ she cried desperately, ‘like a woman in love.’

He stopped upon the very point of turning away; indeed it seemed as if the whole world stopped, as if the very birds ceased singing in order to listen.

‘It is true,’ she said with an air of defiance. ‘I love you.’

Afterwards she could never be certain whether pleasure or pain was most obvious on his face as he took in her words, for, in a moment, he stepped back and bent over her.

‘Then I know you will not fail me,’ he said. ‘I know you will do as I ask.’

‘No! I cannot.’

‘Dido, please! I shall never ask anything of you again. Please promise me that you will take the letter to Fenstanton –
now.
’ His eyes held hers.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, feeling that the word would choke her.

He put a warm, unsteady hand to her cheek – and then he was gone.

Chapter Thirty

The company was gathering in the breakfast room when Dido returned to the house. But, as luck would have it, she met Mr Lancelot almost as soon as she entered the front door. He was just crossing the hall from his business room and called out a hearty greeting.

‘But Miss Kent,’ he said hurrying forward. ‘You look quite done up! You should not be about so early in the day. I am sure you are putting your health at risk.’

She could not even raise her eyes to his. The promise weighed heavily upon her – like the curse of a witch in a fairy tale, compelling her to act against her will. With her gaze fixed upon the freshly swept flagstones, not daring to give herself a chance for second thoughts, she held the letter out to him.

He stared at it as he took it and she began upon a hurried explanation of its discovery – and Tom’s account of his possession. Her voice sounded harsh and unreal in her own ears. It seemed to echo too loudly about the high walls of the hall, although she spoke as quietly as she could. Phrases jarred in her head like notes struck too loud upon an instrument. ‘Hidden in the stones … won at the card table … I believe he is telling the truth…’

‘I am sorry,’ she finished hastily. ‘I should have delivered the letter to you yesterday, but I have had little opportunity.’

He looked concerned. Dido longed for escape.

He began upon a reply, but they were interrupted just then by Mrs Bailey hurrying down the stairs and seizing the arm of her host. ‘
Mon cher,
Lancelot,’ she cried, ignoring Dido entirely and compelling the gentleman to walk with her towards the breakfast parlour. ‘The girls and I are quite determined to take a
long
walk today. We shall go out across the downs to the sea and walk on the sands. And I
insist
upon your accompanying us. No, no, do not talk to me of business, I shall not listen to a word of it. You
must
accompany us.’

Dido drew a long breath of relief at being alone and turned away to the great window. The ground seemed to heave a little beneath her feet. There was a feeling of everything having slipped away from her, of everything now being beyond her power. She hated the sensation. She liked to have control over events … And now that the letter was given up she was uncertain …

In the very moment of surrender there had been doubt – an agonising uncertainty. And, as she stood in the morning sunlight, she forced herself to recall the vow which had propelled her into action; the promise that bound her …

The letter was given up. It was done and could not be undone.

But, she reminded herself, she had promised only to deliver the letter. She had made no other undertaking. When Mr Lomax spoke of her ceasing to concern herself over Tom’s danger, she had agreed to nothing …

Her face burnt, she put out a hand to the cold stone of the window frame for support, as she recalled what she
had,
in fact, said …

She had told him that she loved him! She had all but shouted the words at him!

That Dido Kent should at last make the irrevocable declaration of a woman’s life in a cry of defiance was perhaps not to be wondered at. Other women might whisper the decisive words in tones of tremulous modesty – but tremulous modesty had never been a part of Dido’s character.

Her hand tightened on the cold stone and a small smile lit up her face. The words were spoken, and she would not recall them if she could …

And, oddly enough, the memory of those words had the power to stop the ground from lurching beneath her. There was strength here. It was as if she had discovered a new power of resolution by openly acknowledging a truth she had prevaricated over so long.

And matters were not, after all, beyond her control. She could think. She could act. Tom’s situation was more perilous than ever – but that was a spur to action, not an excuse for despair.

There were evidences pointing to guilt within the walls of Charcombe Manor. Someone here had been astir on the night of Mr Brodie’s death; the dead man was intimately connected with the secrets of this house. There was also motive aplenty here for wishing Letitia Verney out of the way …

There was a great deal to be discovered. And only two days before the judges arrived for the Devonshire assizes …

Dido turned from the window with a new air of resolve and determination. And, as she walked towards the breakfast room, the floor of the hall lay firm and still beneath her feet.

*   *   *

In the breakfast room she found Mr Lancelot (with the letter still unread beside his plate) manfully resisting Mrs Bailey’s attempts to enrol him in her scheme.

‘I have matters to attend to at home,’ he was saying, ‘but…’ as Dido entered the room ‘… I am sure Miss Kent will be very glad to join your walking party. She is too pale this morning. A little of our sea air will set her up famously.’

‘Oh! Miss Kent!’ cried Mrs Bailey with her shrill laugh; and she looked about, as if she must remind herself just who this insignificant creature was. ‘Why, I had not thought of little
Miss Kent
coming with us. I am sure her
duties
will not allow it. She will be a great deal too much employed with Mrs Manners. She had much better stay here where she is wanted.’

‘No, no,’ said Mr Lancelot firmly, ‘I quite insist upon her joining you, Augusta. She is too much in need of refreshment. And as for Mrs Manners. Ha! She is my aunt too! This morning I shall play the part of dutiful nephew. I can measure out medicine and place cushions, you know. Though I doubt I can do it as prettily as Miss Kent does.’ He smiled kindly at Dido – and she could not but be grateful for his attention.

So, in the end, Mrs Bailey began upon her Long Walk in a state of profound dissatisfaction – resenting Dido’s presence and feeling the loss of the gentleman acutely. ‘Dear Lancelot, he is so very devoted to his aunt,’ she remarked loudly as they left the house.

‘No he ain’t,’ whispered Miss Gibbs, drawing close to Dido. ‘He is much more devoted to
you.
’

Dido coloured and hastily put the idea aside. She was by no means sure what she thought of Mr Lancelot’s gallantry and she preferred not to investigate her feelings.

She was, however, very glad to be at liberty from her aunt. Walking was a great relief and she was in hopes that the excursion might produce some very convenient opportunities for conversation.

She was particularly anxious to talk alone with Martha, but at first that was impossible, for Mrs Bailey was in full flow about another scheme she had just devised.

‘I have decided,’ she said as they all crossed the high road and entered the ride which provided the shortest route to the new town, ‘that we shall form a little exploring party to the cliff tops on Saturday. It will be the simplest thing imaginable. We shall dine
al fresco
– as the French say.’

Emma smiled and tried to catch Dido’s eye to share the joke, but Dido resisted.

They walked on under yellow showers of hazel catkins, and Mrs Bailey continued to detail the rustic simplicity of her delightful scheme. There were to be pigeon pies and cold hams and tea and wine laid out upon a table in the shade. There was to be but one man to wait upon the company and only hothouse fruit and jellies for dessert. It was all to be done with the greatest simplicity!

‘It sounds mighty pleasant,’ said Martha. ‘Quite like a Gypsy party.’

‘Why yes!’ Emma’s dimples flashed into being. ‘I believe we had better give Mr Parry warning – else he might have his constables arrest us all for rogues and vagabonds.’

This time she succeeded in catching Dido’s eye. But fortunately they were come now to a set of stepping stones which crossed a small stream and for several minutes everyone was occupied in their delicate negotiation. When they had all safely reached the other side – with a great deal of arm waving and a wet foot on Miss Gibbs’ part – Dido dawdled a moment and allowed Mrs Bailey and Miss Fenstanton to walk away.

‘Miss Gibbs,’ she said quietly, taking possession of that lady’s arm, ‘Mr Tom Lomax has told me that he is engaged to Miss Verney – and that your friend has confided in you. Is this true?’