that he is over his ears in gaming debts, which his father has refused to pay.’
‘Mmm, but he is a good-looking fellow.’
‘Is he? Yes, I suppose he is. And what do you mean by saying that so earnestly?’
‘Just that it is not unknown for a young lady to marry without her papa’s consent. Mr Harris had perhaps better take a little care. And Colonel Walborough too, if, as one must suspect, he has an interest in the matter. A man of forty – and that, I think, is being kind to the colonel – had better take a little care if he finds himself opposed to a handsome fellow of five and twenty.’
‘No, I am sure you need not worry on his account, Aunt. The Harris girls may not be very clever, but neither of them would be so foolish as to give up the colonel and his four thousand a year for Tom Lomax. The colonel may take his pick; he only needs to decide which inflames his passions most: paintings of pineapples, or indifferent concertos.’ She cast a meaningful look in the direction of the piano stool, which was occupied by Miss Sophia Harris: a short, fussy-looking girl who wore her hair looped about her ears in a way that put Dido in mind of a spaniel.
‘Do not be ungrateful,’ said Dido. ‘The music may not be quite polished, but it has the recommendation of allowing us to talk unheard.’ And she looked beyond the instrument to the other end of the long room where a fire was burning and working candles had been lit against the darkness of the day. There, in the circle of warm light, sat the other three ladies, working – nominally at least – upon their embroidery. In fact, Mrs Harris was chiefly employed in relating a long narrative of her own affairs, while Margaret yawned and Lady Montague played with the rings on her fingers with a look of such extreme ennui upon her face that not even the dreadful music and the tedium of Mrs Harris’s conversation could account for.
Dido was arrested by the lady’s look and began to study her with interest. The profile thrown back wearily against the brocade of the sofa was remarkably beautiful. But her expression, her pose, her whole air seemed to suggest that the morning – the day – or perhaps even the whole life – was a blank.
‘How do you like your new mother-in-law?’ she asked Catherine after a moment or two.
Catherine shrugged. ‘Well enough,’ she said calmly. Then a dimple flashed in her cheek. ‘But then you know, Aunt, I am quite liberal in my notions.’
‘Oh? And what does that mean?’ asked Dido. She knew that dimple well; it meant mischief.
‘I had better not tell you, Aunt. You would find it too shocking.’
‘I shall do my best to bear it philosophically, my dear. Please tell me.’
‘Well,’ whispered Catherine leaning close, even though Miss Sophia’s music was now making up in volume what it lacked in fluency, ‘they say that her ladyship has a lover.’
‘Oh yes? Who says it?’
‘People in the village, you know. I understand it is very generally believed among the tradesmen and shopkeepers.’
‘I daresay,’ said Dido sharply, ‘that there are a great many things believed by the tradesmen of Belston, which you and I would do well to give no heed to.’
‘Ah,’ whispered Catherine. ‘But I have my own grounds for suspecting her. In fact, if you were not being so ill-tempered, I could tell you who the gentleman might be!’
‘I have no need to improve my temper, my dear,’ said Dido calmly, ‘because I know that you are quite incapable of not telling me what you suspect.’
‘And I daresay you will give me no peace until I do explain. So I shall tell you: I think it is Mr William Lomax.’
‘What nonsense!’ cried Dido indignantly. Unluckily there was a slight pause in the music just then and her exclamation made everyone turn in her direction.
Catherine giggled.
‘And what grounds do you have for making such a preposterous claim?’ whispered Dido when Miss Sophia had resumed her playing.
‘Well, twice since I have been staying here, she has driven away in his carriage. She
‘But you do not believe that it is business she goes about?’
‘My dear aunt, what business has a married woman to deal with? And besides, even if she had, my lady is the last woman in the world to be conscientious about it.’
‘Mmm,’ mused Dido. ‘I wonder.’ She studied the elegant, fashionably dressed figure and the pale face against the dark green brocade. The features were as small and delicate as a girl’s and the lines about the mouth and eyes had more of discontent than age in them. She must have married – and borne her son – very young, for she could not now be very much past forty, and she was perhaps twenty years her husband’s junior.
And Mr Lomax, though he might have a slightly grave air and what Catherine would, no doubt, call a ‘business look’, was a fine figure of a man and had, moreover, a kindly manner and a pleasing consideration of other people’s feelings that must be preferred by any woman of taste to Sir Edgar’s excessive self-importance and that devotion to ancestry which made him seem as much a part of history as the dark old portraits that hung upon his walls…
Oh dear, thought Dido when her musings had reached this point, that is the very worst of gossip: it has a way of being more believable than discretion.
She was going to pursue the subject, but just then the music began to falter a little. ‘Catherine,’ she continued hurriedly, ‘before Miss Sophia exhausts her repertoire, there are other things I need to ask you.’
‘Then ask, my dear aunt. I am quite at your service.’
‘Well, first of all: who exactly was in that shooting party the day before yesterday?’
‘All the men from the house. Sir Edgar, Mr Harris, Colonel Walborough, Tom Lomax and his father. Though I do not believe Mr William Lomax was shooting that day. He rarely does; but he walked out with the others and remained out with them all morning.’
‘And at what time did they return?’
‘At about one o’clock.’
‘I see.’ Dido considered in silence for some moments.
‘Excuse me,’ said Catherine abruptly, ‘I will go and order the carriage.’ She got to her feet and hurried away before Dido could stop her. And the reason for her hasty departure was plain: Margaret had detached herself from the group by the fire and was sailing down the room towards them.
Dido would just then have dearly loved to have an hour to herself in which to think over all that she had seen and heard. But instead of being left to the luxury of solitary reflection, she found herself instead condemned to a tete-a-tete with her least favourite sister-in-law, a situation which she knew was not likely to promote amiable feelings on either side.
‘Well?’ demanded Margaret, lowering herself into the chair Catherine had vacated – and setting it creaking under her. ‘What do you think now of this strange affair of Catherine’s? Can you find out whether she has heard from the young man, or when she expects him to come back?’
‘I suppose,’ said Dido guardedly, ‘that only Sir Edgar can tell us when his son will have completed his business and be at liberty to return.’
‘Oh, don’t you give me those excuses! Anyone can see that there has been a falling out and that Sir Edgar, like the gentleman that he is, is covering up for them.’
‘Really, Margaret, since you understand it all so well yourself, I wonder that you need to ask my opinion.’
‘Hmph!’ said Margaret sourly. ‘I hope, Dido, that you are not encouraging Catherine in anything foolish. You must see that she is not likely to get another offer as good as this.’
‘I would never encourage Catherine in anything that was likely to injure her happiness.’
Margaret was driven to be more explicit. ‘You must know that it is very important to me that this marriage takes place. For the boys’ sake.’
‘Oh?’ said Dido with mock innocence. ‘The boys? What boys?’ She knew the answer, of course, but she could not help but be irritated when Margaret spoke of her little sons as if they were the only boys in the world.
Margaret coloured and retaliated sharply. ‘You know what I mean, Dido. Girls who are too choosy over getting a husband have a way of turning into old maids. And I would not have Catherine being a burden on
Dido winced.
