Place of Confinement (29 page)

Martha stood quite still for a moment, her mouth a little open. Dido waited, glad to let their companions move away. The soothing sound of birdsong and running water wrapped itself around them, bringing a very welcome privacy to their conversation.

‘Yes, of course it is true,’ said Martha at last. ‘Why should it not be?’

‘Well, everyone speaks of Miss Verney as being a cautious young lady, and unlikely to enter into a secret engagement.’

‘But if she is in love!’

‘Yes, of course, that would make a great difference.’

Martha looked sullen – as if determined against communication.

‘Mrs Bailey,’ said Dido, ‘believes that there is a degree of regard between Miss Verney and
Mr Lancelot.
’

‘Well, you know,’ said Martha, ‘the engagement must be kept secret. Letitia don’t want people suspecting her real feelings.’

‘Yes. I see.’

They stood for a moment on the mossy stones of the stream’s edge. The cool, damp breath of the water was upon their faces, but overhead bright sunlight played through the newly opening leaves.

‘Miss Gibbs,’ began Dido very seriously, ‘do you know of any plans which Miss Verney and Mr Lomax have made for their future?’

‘They are determined to be married.’

‘Yes, but how is that to be accomplished?’ She watched Martha’s face closely as the light and shadows played across it. ‘Do you know whether Mr Lomax has applied to your friend’s guardian?’

Martha looked shocked. ‘Mr B would never agree to it.’

‘So what are they to do? Elope?’

‘It is the only way. And so I told—’ She stopped talking and swung about her reticule.

‘You advised Miss Verney to elope?’

‘No … But…’

She stopped again and looked down sullenly at the sunshine sparkling on the stream. Dido said nothing, allowing the silence to stretch out until poor Martha could bear it no longer.

‘But there ain’t no other way for them to be together, is there?’ she said, half pleading. ‘And if they
love
one another…’ She withdrew her arm and began to walk on after the others.

‘But,’ said Dido as she followed, ‘I confess myself to be a little puzzled. When we spoke last on this subject you seemed to be very sure that the cause of your friend’s disappearance was
not
an elopement.’

‘I
know
she has not eloped.’

Dido looked at her sharply. Why was she so sure on this point? And why was her account of her friend’s behaviour so very much at odds with everybody else’s ideas? Again she felt the certainty of Martha knowing more than she would confess.

They had come now to a place where a spring ran into the ride, making it too wet and muddy for pedestrians. A narrow footpath climbed the bank on one side, through a carpet of bluebells and primroses, to follow a higher route. Martha took the opportunity of hastening up this path as if she wished for escape.

‘But why are you so certain?’ persisted Dido, ducking her head beneath the low branches and hurrying after her.

Martha said nothing.

‘I beg you,’ said Dido, ‘if you know where Miss Verney is, to tell it.’ She laid her hand on Martha’s arm and they stood together a moment. Mrs Bailey’s soliloquy was fading away through the trees, leaving them alone with only the insistent singing of the birds. ‘I am becoming increasingly concerned for your friend,’ Dido continued urgently. ‘This morning Mr Fenstanton told me he has received word from your connections in Worcestershire – from Mr Hargreaves. He says Miss Verney is not in his house.’

‘Oh Lord! But is he sure?’

‘Why, I think a man may be trusted to know about the guests in his own house! I have seen his letter myself and there can be no doubt. He complains … I mean he
remarks
that the house is, as always, full of his wife’s friends; but he is quite certain that Miss Verney is not among them.’

Martha plucked a tight green hazel bud and ground it between her fingers. ‘Mr Hargreaves don’t like Melia’s friends,’ she said.

Dido looked at her keenly. ‘And might that discourage Miss Verney from going there?’

‘No, it would not. She would go to Melia, for sure.’

‘But she has not and we know not where she is. I beg you to consider your friend’s danger—’

‘But I can’t help her!’ cried Martha, ‘I don’t know where she is!’ And Dido saw now that there were tears forming in her eyes and beginning to roll down her cheeks. ‘You do not understand! Oh, I wish I dared explain.’

Dido drew out a handkerchief and gave it to her companion, then watched quietly for a minute or two while she struggled for composure. ‘I think you might confide in me, Miss Gibbs,’ she ventured at last. ‘There is clearly some secret weighing upon your mind which I make no doubt it would be a relief to share.’

‘I do not know,’ said Martha, twisting the handkerchief about in her hands. ‘I do not know what I should do…’

The signs were all very promising. Dido sensed that Miss Gibbs was a little adrift without her friend to guide her, and would dearly love to find someone else to rely upon.

‘If only I could be sure—’ Martha stopped short, her head raised, listening. Her face was suddenly pale.

It was a moment before Dido could discern the sound which had alarmed her. Then she made out the clatter of a horse being ridden along the lower track. She looked down but could discern nothing through the hazel thickets.

However Martha’s mind was made up; she called out to Miss Fenstanton who stopped and waited for her to catch up.

Greatly vexed at having lost the opportunity of discovery, Dido remained where she was, struggling to get the better of her disappointment and straining her eyes and ears towards the sound of hooves. It was probably a stranger riding down there upon the track; but Miss Gibbs had feared an eavesdropper – a secret follower. Who did she think it was?

The trees here were coppiced and grew very thickly. It was impossible to see the ride below. And then, after a moment or two, the horse was halted. It was standing with only an occasional restless movement of its hooves and the small tuneful sounds of harness. Dido considered turning back in an attempt to discover the rider, but doubted she could move quietly enough. If the horseman wished to remain unseen it would be the work of a moment to turn his mount and hurry off. He could be out of the wood entirely before she regained the lower track. Better to continue and let the pursuer – if he was a pursuer – believe himself undetected.

She walked on after her companions, and soon saw that the path and the ride were drawing back together. They would meet at a stile just a hundred yards ahead. When she reached that point she would be able to look back along the track and see the mysterious rider.

Chapter Thirty-One

The whole party stopped to rest at the stile, Mrs Bailey taking possession of the most comfortable seat upon its step, and the others all standing about her. Ahead were the open downs: gorse and wild thyme, and grass kept short by sheep, stretched away to a wide expanse of cloudless sky with a single buzzard hanging motionless in the clear air.

Beside the stile a gate closed off the end of the ride and Dido and Martha turned together to look over it. There was nothing remarkable to see; just a dim tunnel under the arching hazel boughs, a track so awash with water that it seemed to be half a stream, and high banks covered with moss, primroses and white windflowers. It was possible to see no more than fifty or sixty yards along this tunnel before a turn obscured the view. If the horseman was still in the ride, then he had stopped. He was staying back, determined to keep out of sight.

Martha peered and peered, and twisted her locket about in a growing state of dread.

‘Perhaps the rider does not wish us to see him,’ said Dido quietly, while the others were shading their eyes to watch the bird of prey.

Martha gave a great start and edged herself away. And, when they all began to be in motion again, she took care to place herself as far from Dido as possible.

Dido walked slowly at the rear of the party as they made their way across the downs, looking back frequently to the stile and the gate beside it. Each time she did so she hoped to see a rider emerging from the trees. But she saw no one, until they came to the highest point on the path and all stopped for a moment to sit upon a large stone and catch their breath.

The air was very still and the rock was warm to the touch. The sun was so bright that it was already difficult to see the stile and the path into the wood. Dido drew down the brim of her bonnet to protect her eyes as she gazed backward – and thought that she discerned a slight movement. She narrowed her eyes.

Her companions were moving on now but she held her place, struggling to see. There
was
a horse down there, standing just within the shelter of the trees in the shifting light and shade. The horse was brown with a blaze of white down its face. And she was almost sure that the rider wore a green coat. She waited a moment longer, but the horse did not start towards her. It remained where it was. Perhaps its master was watching the walking party.

Suddenly Dido felt very much alone – and was immediately angry with herself for it. Why should she be so discomposed by a fellow sitting upon his horse and watching her? If he was indeed watching her. It was more likely that he was pausing to admire the view of the downs, or else to decide upon his way.

But she was suddenly keenly aware that by attempting to save Tom from the accusation of murder, she was threatening a real murderer with discovery. And a man who had killed once might have little compunction in killing again to save his own neck …

In the past she had laughed when Mr Lomax suggested that her passion for uncovering secrets might place her in danger. So why should she now feel so very exposed, so very lonely? Perhaps it was because he was not by to reprove her. Perhaps there was comfort to be had from criticism born of concern. And now, separated from Mr Lomax, she was truly alone, without the annoyance – or the safety – of a man’s censure.

She jumped up from the stone and determinedly turned her mind to purely rational thoughts. Rational thoughts which soon reminded her there was only one man in Charcombe Manor who habitually wore a green coat – and that was Mr George Fenstanton.

*   *   *

Once they arrived at the sands, Dido hoped for another opportunity of talking with Martha Gibbs. She had come very close to discovering Martha’s secret and was quite determined to win it before the end of the day.

But, unfortunately, when the descent to the beach had been made and the party paused – as all visitors to the sea must pause to take in its beauty and health-giving atmosphere – Mrs Bailey stepped forward to claim Dido’s arm and attention.

And it soon became clear that, during the course of their walk, Mrs Bailey had formed a resolution of action. The affront which Mr Fenstanton had given in the breakfast room was not, by any means, forgotten.

‘Well now,’ she said quietly as they all turned away from the town and began to walk along the sands, ‘I have been quite worried about you, my dear, since your suffering so badly with the headache yesterday.’

Dido began to protest that she was entirely recovered, but Mrs Bailey only tightened her hold upon her arm. The grip of her fingers was steely.

‘I am afraid, Dido,’ continued Mrs Bailey, ‘that you are exerting yourself too much in this business of poor Letitia’s disappearance. I fear Lancelot is imposing upon your good nature.’

‘Imposing, Mrs Bailey?’ Dido stopped and looked directly into her smiling face. ‘Why, I am sure Mr Fenstanton has done no such thing.’

‘Oh! I know that he does not mean to be unkind. But the dear, dear man is so
very
worried about Letitia. He is so very attached. I fear that he will stop at nothing to find out what has become of her.’ Another sidelong look to see how her words were affecting her listener. ‘I fear that he may be attempting to enlist your support – using his charming manners to persuade you to help him. For he is an excessively charming man, is he not?’

There was no mistaking the meaning of all this. Mrs Bailey was jealous – on her ward’s account – and it would have been the work of a moment to silence her. Dido had only to assure her that she did not suspect anything
particular
in the gentleman’s attentions towards herself. It would only require a word or two.

But there was in Dido a contrary spirit – upon which Aunt Manners frequently remarked. She had a great dislike of being manoeuvred into saying what was expected of her. And she saw no reason to oblige Mrs Bailey now. She turned her face away to watch the long waves rolling in across the sands. ‘Mr Fenstanton,’ she said demurely, ‘is a …
delightful
gentleman.’ There was a sharp intake of breath from her companion. ‘I find his society very pleasant indeed, and I am happy to give him any assistance within my power.’

Dido enjoyed discomposing Mrs Bailey; but, as they walked on in hostile silence, she found that she was more than a little discomposed herself. For there was no denying that Lancelot Fenstanton
was
a delightful man – and she could not help but notice it. Which she found a little odd and inconvenient. Since her affections were now most decidedly fixed, she had supposed that she would cease to notice the agreeableness of other men; but it seemed that was not the case. And whatever was one to do about it? While there was the
possibility
of falling in love, then appreciation of a handsome man seemed allowable; but to appreciate when one’s heart was already engaged elsewhere did not seem quite
proper.

This little conundrum – which most women are compelled to contemplate long before they reach the age of six and thirty – kept Dido silent for some minutes.

And meanwhile Mrs Bailey’s brows were gathering into a look of deep consideration. ‘My dear,’ she began at last, in a dangerously gentle voice, ‘there is another little matter which I feel I must just mention to you. I hope you will not take offence.’

‘I am never offended when no offence is intended, Mrs Bailey.’