And could he have crossed the ha-ha?
Well, yes, I think that he might. It is formed of only a moderate ditch – just deep enough to prevent the fence it contains from interrupting the view from the pleasure grounds – and the fence itself is not high. It does not need to be, for Sir Edgar’s park has no deer in it to come marauding in the gardens; there are only sheep and cattle, neither of which are remarkable for their prowess in jumping. Yes, I think a man in shooting dress might scramble down into the ditch and climb the fence without too much difficulty.
In fact, I can say more than that, Eliza. I can say that I am almost sure that someone did just that.
You see, I went and stood beside the ha-ha at the point nearest the hermitage. The point at which it would have been most convenient to cross. And there, sure enough, in the soft mud of the bank, were furrows gouged as if by the skidding heels of boots. And there were marks on the other side too coming down from the park. Someone had crossed there – recently.
So, the question filling my head now is: were all the men of the house out that day? Must they all be equally under suspicion? I must ask Catherine about it.
Which reminds me that I have promised to go with Catherine upon her morning calls; I am to meet her in the morning room at eleven o’clock and it is already just a quarter before the hour. I cannot write much more, but there are yet one or two points that I wish to mention.
First, there is this, rather happier, thought: whoever else might have been a member of that shooting party, Mr Montague was certainly not in it, because he had left Belsfield two days before. So he cannot have been the man who crossed the ha-ha with a gun in his hands, can he?
He cannot have been here on that day…
I have been thinking it over carefully. My information on this matter all comes from dear Mrs Harris and I am almost certain that she said the gatekeeper had been questioned very particularly and that she had said she admitted no strangers that day. A suspicion arises in my mind – this solving of mysteries is very apt to make one suspicious. Is it possible that, either by chance or design, the gatekeeper omitted to mention admitting Mr Montague because he was not a stranger?
I must make my own enquiries about that too.
And now the clock has struck the hour and Catherine will be becoming very impatient; but there is one more thing that I must tell you before I close and it concerns Colonel Walborough.
He is a very strange man. He is large and corpulent and has what I make no doubt our mother would have called a ‘bilious look’. Moreover, he has very large, flat feet and walking does not seem to be easy for him – though I suppose he must be rather more nimble on horseback or he would never have won the high reputation that he has in his profession.
Well, as I was returning from the shrubbery yesterday, I saw a very strange sight. I had just crossed the lawns and come onto the drive in front of the house at a place where it is bounded on either side by a succession of large, high yew bushes. I was amazed to see Colonel Walborough making his way along the drive and, as he passed each bush, peering around it – and into it.
He looked so strange, Eliza! He was perspiring with the effort and he looked rather as a man does at a ball when he has been, by the tyranny of good manners, trapped into a dance against his will.
‘Are you looking for something, Colonel?’ I asked.
‘Ah!’ He came to a standstill on the gravel. ‘Good morning, Miss…er, yes, good morning to ’ee.’
‘Can I help you?’ I said. ‘Have you perhaps lost something?’
‘Oh, no. No, I thank ’ee, but no.’
The colonel, I should say, has a rather strange way of speaking, which it is difficult to do justice to on paper; it is rather like a gallant young fellow of fifty years ago. It suggests to me that he has perhaps not always lived in the best society and has learnt his manners by reading the wrong sort of novels.
He smiled at me and gave an exaggerated bow. ‘I was just looking for that boy,’ he said, ‘that footman. The young one, you know.’
‘Jack?’ I said. ‘I believe all the footmen are in the butler’s pantry cleaning silver at this time in the morning.’
‘Ah, good. Thank ’ee.’
I must have looked as puzzled as I felt because after a moment he added, as if in explanation, ‘Logs. Logs you know, Miss…er…’
‘Logs?’ I said.
‘Yes, logs,’ he said. ‘Gad! My basket is always empty, don’t you know, and I believe it’s that young rascal’s duty to fill it.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said.
And then he made another ill-judged bow and wandered off. But, Eliza, I noticed that he was not walking towards the house. And I do not believe that it was Jack he had been searching for at all. His manner of peering around and into the bushes suggested a search for something that had been deliberately hidden.
Unless, of course, young Jack has taken to playing hide-and-seek with his master’s guests…
Chapter Five
Catherine was not in the morning room when Dido went there. Miss Harris was there with her paints and her drawing board and some hothouse fruits arranged upon a table – and Mr Tom Lomax was at her side, trying very hard to be gallant. As Dido entered he was entreating the lady to paint his likeness and obligingly turning his, undoubtedly handsome, face from side to side so that she might judge for herself from which angle he might be best portrayed.
‘I have told you, Mr Lomax,’ she said, primming her lips over her slightly prominent teeth, ‘that I do not take likenesses. I know nothing of the art. It is landscape and still life which are my passion.’
‘But I will be still,’ he said. ‘I will be as still as these oranges and pineapples and you know it does not matter to me one bit whether the likeness is good or bad, for I only care that you will have to look at me a long while. And I really do not see why this pineapple should be honoured with your attention when it has done nothing but sit upon its dish while I have been labouring this last half hour to entertain you.’
Miss Amelia shook her head helplessly.
‘Come now,’ said Tom, stretching his long body in the chair. ‘Could you not paint a picture of me?’ He picked up a cushion, balanced it upon the back of his chair and threw his head back on it.
Dido studied his pose for several minutes – then crept away unseen.
‘I think,’ she said when she had found Catherine in the drawing room, ‘that Mr Tom Lomax is being very attentive to Miss Harris.’
‘Oh, as to that,’ said Catherine carelessly, ‘I am sure he would happily catch her and her twenty thousand – or her sister for that matter. Indeed, Tom Lomax probably wishes he was a Mohammedan so he could have both girls and all forty thousand pounds. But he is wasting his time, for there is not the least chance of their papa agreeing.’
‘You do not think so?’ said Dido cautiously. ‘You do not think that…well, it might be important to him to keep secret from Mr Harris anything that might be to his disadvantage. Twenty thousand pounds is a great deal of money. A man might go to some lengths to secure it…’ she mused. ‘He might, I mean, go to some lengths to silence anyone who could speak against him and to…well, to appear respectable.’
‘My dear aunt, I have no idea what you are talking about. But I assure you that under no circumstances would Mr Harris consider Tom as a husband for one of his daughters. Tom is penniless, you know. It is well known
