‘I’m sorry, Mr Lomax. You know I would if I could. Truly I would. But Mr Bartley was very definite. He said I wasn’t to let you have anything at all. Not till your account was settled. It seems he has spoken to your father…’
‘My father,’ began Tom hotly, ‘is an interfering old…’ He recollected himself and said, with an effort at calmness, ‘It is all nothing but a misunderstanding. A temporary lack of funds. It will all soon be put straight.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it, Mr Lomax.’
‘In fact, Robert…’ Tom clasped his hands over the head of his cane and leant across the counter familiarly. ‘In fact, I don’t mind telling an old friend like you that I shall soon be coming into a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. It is all quite settled.’
Robert grinned proudly and rubbed his hands harder than ever, looking as if he did not quite know what to do about being so honoured with a gentleman’s confidence – and being called a friend into the bargain.
‘So if you could see your way to just letting me have a dozen of the pills…’ said Tom.
And then it was all, Well, Mr Bartley did say… But then, sir, with you coming into money… And it’s always a pleasure to do a favour for a friend…
And the upshot of it all was that a few minutes later Tom walked out of the shop with a package of horse pills whistling cheerfully to himself. Dido quickly turned her face away as he passed and he saw only an insignificant female in pattens and a shabby pelisse. A creature not worth a second glance.
And, much to her mortification, it seemed as if the shop assistant received a similarly unfavourable impression, for no sooner was she alone with him than he began with, ‘Are you the maid from the hall? Mr Bartley has my lady’s stuff ready,’ and produced a package wrapped in brown paper.
Chagrined at having Catherine’s unkind remark confirmed, and still occupied with what she had overheard, Dido spared herself the pain of an explanation and, for the next ten minutes – as she gave detailed instructions for the making of her cough medicine – the boy fumed inwardly against the arrogance and self-important airs of great ladies’ maids.
However, as she stepped out into the sunny street carrying her two parcels, Dido found that she was not sorry the mistake had been made; indeed she was very much tempted to take advantage of it.
She hesitated and looked up and down the street; Mrs Harris was not to be seen. There was a small boy eyeing gingerbread in the little bow window of the baker’s shop and a stray dog lapping rainwater from a dirty puddle. Two housewives with laden shopping baskets hurried by deep in conversation. She caught the words ‘murder’ and ‘inquest’ and ‘Sir Edgar’ as they passed. Then she was alone again with the dog and the child. No one was watching her.
Should she look at the package she had been given? She was almost certain that her ladyship’s languor was aided by laudanum. One quick look in this parcel might confirm that suspicion. Of course she should not do it. But it was for Catherine’s peace of mind that she was acting. She had to find out all that she could. It was all done in a very good cause.
As usual, her curiosity triumphed over her manners.
Very quickly – before her conscience could argue against her – Dido unpicked the knots in the string and pulled the paper away to reveal the bottle inside. She read the label.
And then, thinking that she must have been mistaken, she read it again.
‘My dear Miss Kent! Are you unwell?’ Mrs Harris was at her side now, looking concerned. ‘You are very pale.’
‘Oh no, no, I am quite well, thank you. Just a little tired perhaps.’ Dido hastily pulled the paper back about the package and did her very best to smile; but the shock she had received had been so great that the rutted street and the little black and white shopfronts, and even Mrs Harris’s plump pink cheeks, were all swimming together in a kind of mist.
‘I think we had better go home.’ Mrs Harris linked arms very kindly and set off on the road to Belsfield. Dido was glad of her support – and glad, too, to find that she had heard enough gossip in the milliner’s shop to keep her occupied all the way in retailing it, without expecting many answers from her companion.
‘For it seems the inquest is over and still no one knows who that poor woman was. And there’s no one missing from the village that it might be. Though Judith Jenkinson, the milliner, was almost certain it was Clara from the Crown because no one had seen her for almost a week, and everyone in Belston has been quite sure that she’ll come to a bad end these last two years; but then she came home safe and well this morning and it seems there’s a young sailor at the bottom of that little mystery.
‘So you see, my dear, the verdict the jury gave was that the poor woman was killed wrongly…or unlawfully… or something of that sort because Judith Jenkinson says it can’t be murder on account of them not knowing whether it was planned beforehand or whether someone just took it into his head to shoot her all at once – because then it would be only homicide – so Judith says. Which seems very strange to me for the poor soul is just as dead whether the fellow was thinking about it before or not…’
Dido let her run on unchecked while she struggled for comprehension of what she had seen inside the parcel. Never had she expected to see such stuff sent to a respectable woman. What use could a prosperous married woman have for it? Indeed, a gentlewoman ought not even to know what it was…
She paused there, recollecting that she herself had recognised it.
In fact, she remembered seeing such medicine twice before – on charitable visits to the homes of the poor and despairing, but…
‘So, there you are, my dear, what do you say to that?’
Mrs Harris was looking at her, her little dark eyes sparkling. Dido was obliged to ask her to repeat herself.
‘What do you say to Sir Edgar’s generosity?’
‘His generosity?’
‘Why yes, my dear. Did you not hear me saying? You see, there being no kin to come forward and prosecute the case, Sir Edgar has taken all the trouble upon himself – and he has offered a reward. Two hundred guineas,’ she mouthed with a significant nod.
‘Oh! Indeed, yes, that is very generous.’
‘It is, and I am glad to say that everyone in the village seems to agree that it is. Everyone is full of praise for Sir Edgar. Which is just as it should be and, just between ourselves, my dear, it does not happen often enough. People are too much inclined to speak against the poor man, in my opinion. For they say he is proud and his tenants call him hard, which I do not believe is true…’
Dido could not attend any longer. Her own thoughts made her deaf. She was certain…yes, she was quite certain that this was the same stuff she had seen in those wretched, overcrowded cottages. And she knew how it had been used. She was not deceived by the benign-sounding message on the label:
And why would her ladyship use such stuff – in defiance of the laws of God and man – unless the gossip about her was true?
Dido remembered now that that gossip had seemed to have its origin among the tradesmen of the village. Perhaps the supplying of medicine like this had begun it.
She thought again of that pale face lolling against the green brocade: its beauty and, above all, its discontent. Yes, she thought, my lady might be capable of an indiscretion.
But could Mr Lomax be her fellow sinner? Dido found that notion much harder to countenance.
Chapter Eight
The party presently collected at Belsfield was much inclined to play at cards; it was perhaps her ladyship’s influence. Every evening ended with the tables being set and, while Lady Montague was careful to gather about her whist table the most serious-minded and the best players – her husband, Mr Harris and Margaret – the cheerful Mrs Harris was left to preside over a round game where the slight demands of play allowed for a great deal of flirtation and gossip.
