Place of Confinement (33 page)

‘No, you are mistaken!’ she cried, with a blush. ‘I have no particular regard for Mr Tom Lomax. I believe I have as low an opinion of his general character as anyone at Charcombe – it is only murder I believe him incapable of.’

‘Indeed!’ he said. She heard the continued thoughtful tap of leather on leather. ‘So it is not on the young man’s account you’d have the name of Lomax cleared of suspicion.’

She suspected he was guessing at her true motive, and dared not look at him for fear the truth might be written too plain in her eyes. They remained in silence for a while. The dark shape of a lark swung up across the downs and mounted to the sky. The horse shuffled restlessly, then, seeming to resign herself to waiting, settled to a breakfast of grass.

‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I’m in a fine fix, ain’t I, Miss Kent? Damned if I know what I should do! For I ought to be on my way to Parry right now with that letter of Bailey’s.’

Dido’s head lifted at that. ‘You have not yet shown the letter to the magistrate?’ There was a kind of hope in her voice – though she did not know quite what it was that she hoped for. ‘Why did you not take it straight away?’

‘Why?’ he said looking very seriously at her. ‘Because it’s as plain as the nose on my face that your little heart’s set against such evidence getting to the court.’

She stared up into his smiling face. Her heart was beating violently and it seemed all but impossible to draw breath. If only she could find the right words. If only she could snatch from the warm, thyme-scented air the words – the argument – which would persuade him to destroy the hateful document.

‘Well now,’ he said. The whip tapped faster against his boot. ‘Whatever am I to do?’

‘It is,’ she said with great care, ‘a very powerful – a very dangerous document. It is sufficient, perhaps, to convict young Mr Lomax, even if he is not guilty.’ He nodded at that. ‘A man’s life is in your hands, Mr Fenstanton. What … what do you suppose is the
right
thing to do?’

‘Ha! The right thing? I’m damned if I know what that would be. You see this letter is what the lawyers like to call
evidence.
So I’m sure a fellow
ought
to hand it over. I’ll tell you what – there’s very likely a law to say a fellow
must
hand over such a thing. But…’ He laid his arm along his horse’s neck, patting her thoughtfully. ‘The fact is, you don’t want Parry to see the letter. And I cannot believe it would be right to break the heart of such a charming lady.’

‘You are very kind.’ She spoke with painful care – fearing every moment to say the wrong word – the word which would determine him upon disclosure. ‘I confess I should be sorry to see Mr Parry … misled by the document. But…’ she attempted a smile ‘… you would no doubt claim that I am influenced by prejudice.’

‘Well, well, ain’t we all prejudiced, Miss Kent? Come now, don’t look so sly! I know you have been watching us all at Charcombe Manor. You’ve found out that we are all hiding secrets, have you not? You know we’re all ploughing our own furrow, so to speak! Why, you’ve scared dear Augusta almost out of her wits with your cleverness in fathoming her. And let me say I honour you for that.’

‘You did tell me that I was free to enquire…’

‘Yes, yes, of course I did! And I don’t mind it one little bit. Why, it’s kept me better amused than a whole month of good shooting, seeing how you’ve gone to work on ’em all. But I can’t suppose that with all this investigating carrying on, you ain’t taken the measure of me too.’

‘Oh, I would not presume so far, Mr Fenstanton! You, I believe, are not so easily understood as your guests.’

‘Ha! But are you really ignorant of my guilt – have you not fathomed my secrets?’ He put up a foot on the rock and planted his hands on his bent knee. With eyes narrowed against the sun, he searched her face. ‘No! You cannot be ignorant of what I am up to. For I know you have been asking little Miss Gibbs about my reluctance to ride after our fugitive. You know that I ain’t behaved quite honourable.’

Dido hesitated over a reply. He seemed close to a confession, and to insist upon ignorance might make him withdraw. ‘I have made some observations,’ she said, ‘but my conclusions are not quite complete.’

‘Are they not?’

‘Perhaps you would sit down here with me and explain a little more?’

‘Why, that’d suit me very well, Miss Kent! For that’s what I’ve rid out here for, you know. I want to explain myself to you.’ He looped the reins more securely about the saddle and sat down on the rock beside Dido, holding the whip across his knees with both hands.

She waited.

He looked into her face and then out towards the sea.

‘Why have you not pursued Miss Verney?’ she prompted.

‘I ain’t pursued her,’ he said, ‘because I don’t want her back at Charcombe – not yet.’ He looked sidelong with his puzzled little boy expression. ‘Because the fact of the matter is, Miss Kent, I’ve got myself into a bit of a scrape over Miss Verney.’

‘A scrape?’

‘You see everybody is expecting me to marry her. No definite engagement, you know. But one of those growing understandings that everyone – women in particular – set such store by.’

‘And … is it not…? I mean, why do you call it a scrape?’

‘Because it ain’t what I want … That’s the truth of it. Not now.’ He rubbed at his brow, threw another sidelong look. ‘I thought Letitia and me would suit well enough. I’ve known her all her life And Reg and Augusta believed it would be a fine match. She’s a pleasant girl, and I will not deny that her fortune was an inducement. But, the long and short of it is, Miss Kent, I don’t love her. I thought I liked her enough to marry her; but I don’t. I know that now.’ He finished with a shrug of his broad shoulders, looking more bewildered than ever.

‘I see.’

‘Ha! Do you, Miss Kent? Do you understand that when a fellow’s got to two and forty without falling in love he thinks it ain’t ever going to happen to him? So then, why should he not marry a pretty girl with twenty thousand pounds. It seems it’ll do well enough, until…’ He stopped and looked very directly at his companion, his eyes wide, his smile disarmingly open …

There was silence between them in which could be heard the distant surge of the sea and the cry of a whinchat. Dido gazed into the earnest brown eyes and, at last, guessed at exactly what her companion had followed her out onto the downs to explain.

He reached out and took her hand. ‘It will do well enough until a fellow really falls in love,’ he said. ‘And then, you see, he knows a pleasant girl he likes ain’t enough at all. Twenty thousand pounds ain’t enough. Because the only thing that’ll make him happy is to spend his life with the woman he’s set his heart on.’ He bent his head and pressed his lips to her hand.

Dido stared, quite unable to speak.

‘Miss Kent, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? No!’ he held up his hand. ‘I don’t want an answer straight away. But say you’ll consider, I beg you. Don’t turn me down out of hand.’

Dido’s reeling mind struggled for words. She reached out for every convenient phrase which can help a lady at such a moment: she was flattered; she was astonished; she had never suspected that he thought so very highly of her; he did her too much honour. The words poured out. They seemed to be no part of her; it was as if she was listening to another woman providing the perfect reply.

And, in the minutes which it took to complete the speech, there seemed to be an almost infinite amount of time for thought; time to consider – as she looked sidelong at the sturdy knees beside her, the strong square hands clasped about the whip – how would it be to be married to him?

The idea was vague – for he was little more than a stranger to her. And yet many of her friends had married upon just such a short acquaintance.

The world, if it ever heard of the match, might cry out in amazement over the union of Miss Dido Kent (‘six and thirty, you know, and her brothers can give her nothing’) and Mr Lancelot Fenstanton of Charcombe Manor (‘a
very
fine estate, and the family settled there for centuries’); but the slightness of their acquaintance would not figure among the causes of wonder. It was the fate of many a woman to place her future happiness into the hands of a man she scarcely knew …

Meanwhile his eyes were following her eagerly through her speech and he seemed relieved that there was no outright refusal contained within it. ‘You will consider my proposal?’ he asked when she fell silent.

‘Oh! Y-yes,’ she stammered, wanting nothing but to be alone; to clear her mind; to
think.
‘Yes, I will consider.’

He pressed her hand and smiled. ‘And, I’ll tell you what – if you say yes, I’ll give you that letter of Bailey’s. A gift to mark our engagement.’

Chapter Thirty-Five

… I cannot accept him, of course, Eliza. It would be very wrong, would it not, to accept a man while loving another – no matter how hopeless that other attachment is?

But it is such a very remarkable proposal!

He declares that he loves me; and how can I doubt it? For there are no other inducements – I am not rich; I am not beautiful; I can furnish him with no useful connections; I am not even young. No, I cannot suppose that he would pursue me without love.

But then, you know, men with large estates do not fall in love with poor women – unless the poor women are young and very beautiful. It is a principle which one so rarely sees violated it seems almost a law of the land.

And altogether I do not know which is more unlikely: that the gentleman should love me, or that he should marry me without love.

Oh, what am I to do?

It must be a negative, of course. I ought to have spoken it straight away, but the shock of the offer seemed to take away my wits entirely. I hesitated over inflicting the pain of refusal – and then he mentioned Mr Bailey’s letter …

He would keep that promise I am sure, Eliza. For a man would wish to save his bride from the pain of seeing a friend suffer. And besides, the shame of the connection would be his too, if he were my husband …

Oh! Would marriage be such a high price to pay for dear Mr Lomax’s peace? Or would it be so very wrong to pay it? Women – when all is said and done – marry for a great variety of reasons. It is not always love, and many moralists would have us believe that love matches are not the best foundation – that they do not produce the greatest happiness …

And Mr Fenstanton is a fine man. I esteem him highly. And admire him. He is very much the gentleman; there is no objection to be made to his person … there would be no
unpleasantness
in being his wife. In fact, Eliza, if there had been no Mr Lomax in the case – if I had never met that gentleman – I believe I might have been favourably inclined towards Mr Fenstanton.

And that consideration brings me to a
very
great dilemma …

For, if my only cause of refusal is love for Mr Lomax, then how paltry, how very selfish must that love appear! What manner of love is it which condemns its object to a lifetime of shame and misery rather than endure a union with another man? This is
false
delicacy;
false
affection.

Mr Lomax and I are divided now. We cannot be together. So why should I hesitate over marriage to another? The man I love can never be more lost to me than he is now. The consequence of my marriage would not be to divide us further – but only to save him from wretchedness.

Eliza, I believe that love directs me to accept the offer … And duty demands that I make Mr Fenstanton content with his choice. I must give up every thought of Mr Lomax – learn not to love him. And learn instead to love my husband …

*   *   *

She stopped writing at this point, for her own arguments had produced a conclusion from which she could not help but recoil. The course of the future which her pen had just mapped out was bleak and painful; and yet the logic which had brought it there was unassailable.

She looked up from her writing desk, glancing about with a kind of desperation – as if she hoped to find in the surrounding scene some argument against the terrible reasoning on her page.

She was sitting in the window of the great hall and the sun was now high in the sky. Out in the garden Mrs Bailey was gathering flowers, Miss Gibbs was slowly pacing the gravel walk beside a high yew hedge which divided the lawns from the meadows beyond, and Miss Fenstanton was curled upon a sunny bench avidly devouring the last pages of …
Blair’s Sermons.

The two Mr Fenstantons were discussing business in the Mr Lancelot’s room. Mr Sutherland and the electrical tractors were in attendance upon Mrs Manners, and Dido was free for an hour or so to pursue her investigations. But she was not ‘getting on’ as she ought. The extraordinary proposal had set up such a tumult in her brain that it had been absolutely necessary to confide the whole business to her sister.

And now the sun’s position in the sky declared another day to be nearly half gone. Tomorrow the assize court judges would arrive. It seemed almost possible to hear the approaching hooves of their horses …

Well, Mr Fenstanton need not be given an answer yet – and, in the meantime, everything must be done to make acceptance unnecessary. She must find the murderer. It was perhaps an unusual alternative to marriage: but she must not give it up.

With a great effort of will she put away her letter and turned her attention to the figure of Miss Gibbs, just visible in the shadow of the yew hedge. There were still more questions to be put to that young lady.

*   *   *

Martha was walking slowly beside the yew hedge, looking down upon something in her hand. And, as Dido drew close, she saw that it was the locket that she held and Tom Lomax’s insinuating features that she was studying.

She hesitated to interrupt. But Martha happened to look up – and made no attempt to hide the portrait; she looked steadily at Dido.