A moment of silence

‘Nothing could be easier. Sir Edgar has said he wishes you to see the countryside, has he not?’

‘Yes…’

 ‘And of course you would wish to see Lyme. Everyone goes to Lyme. It shall be a regular exploring party.’

‘I am not sure I wish to go exploring just now.’

But Catherine would not be denied and a moment later she was off to ‘talk to Mama about it.’

Dido sighed. She really was a very wilful, difficult girl!

Which was, of course, just what Margaret was forever saying and what Dido and Eliza regularly denied. Margaret maintained that it was those three formative years spent with her aunts that had done the damage; she believed – and frequently said – that by the time she had taken control of Catherine at six years old, she had been spoilt beyond hope of correction.

Maybe she had been spoilt, just a little, the sisters would sometimes admit to each other. But not so very much. And who could help indulging a little lost child who used to open her eyes every morning to ask, ‘Has Mama returned yet?’ It was certainly more than they had been capable of.

But today Dido was ready to admit – to herself at least – that it might have been better if the girl had not learnt so early the pleasure of getting her own way; nor formed such a determination to believe only what she wished to believe.

All she could hope was that Catherine’s exploring party would not take them from Belsfield while there were still questions to be answered there.

It was beginning to seem that the interview in the library had been going on a very long time and Dido was becoming very impatient to know whether a charge of murder had been brought against Tom and whether Mr Harris’s information had told heavily against him. The clock ticked on beside her and she became drowsy. She was dimly aware of someone playing the pianoforte in the drawing room and she was wondering who the musician could be since the performance was much too assured and accomplished to be Miss Sophia’s, when the door opened at last and the three men came out of the library.

The dog at last dropped its paw from her lap and crept away to hide behind the chair.

She peered eagerly around the great wooden hood, but, to her surprise, only one of the three was looking at all distressed – and that one was Mr Harris. His colour had improved a little, but he still looked seriously discomposed. Sir Edgar, on the other hand, was smiling benignly. And, as for Tom Lomax, he strode out into the hall looking very pleased with himself indeed.

Chapter Eleven

‘Sir Edgar, might I speak with you a moment?’ Dido made her way across the hall as Mr Harris hurried off up the stairs and Tom lounged away towards the billiard room.

Sir Edgar stopped and eyed her gravely. She rather fancied that there was disapproval in his look. ‘Good morning, Miss Kent. How may I help you?’

‘I was,’ she said with a look of innocence, ‘I was just wondering whether my young friend Jack had spoken to you. He told me yesterday that he had a rather delicate matter on his mind. I recommended that he should speak with you.’

‘Ah! He mentioned the matter to you, did he, Miss Kent?’ There was no mistaking the note of dignified disapproval now: the slight, the very slight, emphasis upon the pronoun, which was intended to remind her of what a humble position she occupied in the great commonwealth of his house.

‘He did not give any details, of course,’ Dido assured him.

‘I am glad to hear it. I would not recommend that you trouble yourself over the business.’

‘So,’ said Dido, rather wondering at her own audacity, ‘his information was of no use to you?’

Sir Edgar sighed. ‘Well, I would not say that it was of no use. I know now that the young woman was killed after five and twenty past twelve. It seems Mr Tom Lomax was in the shrubbery at that time and saw nothing.’

‘So it is true? He was in the shrubbery?’

‘Miss Kent, I beg you will not trouble yourself over this matter.’

‘I am sorry, Sir Edgar, but it does seem so very odd that he should not have mentioned this circumstance before.’

Sir Edgar looked so angry for a moment that Dido quaked. But then, all of a sudden, he seemed to relent. He gave his benign smile. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but Mr Lomax was there upon a private matter – an affair of the heart – you see, Miss Kent. Something he preferred to keep silent about. It seems he and Mr Harris came down together from the spinney to the hermitage. On a rather happier errand than murder.’ He rocked himself ponderously upon his toes. ‘They wanted a quiet talk, you see – about Mr Lomax’s offer for one of Mr Harris’s daughters.’

Dido remembered Catherine’s words about Tom’s debts, and also the purple colour that had lately been on Mr Harris’s face, and she rather doubted whether such a talk would have been so very quiet.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘And Mr Harris confirmed Mr Lomax’s account?’

‘Yes, he did.’

So that had been Mr Harris’s mission. Little wonder that he had been distressed, for he could not have liked owning to the conversation. Tom’s audacity in even asking had been an insult. But, it seemed, he was a good, principled man and he had known it was his duty to lift the suspicion of murder – even from a man he disliked.

‘So, you see, Miss Kent,’ continued Sir Edgar with great condescension, ‘there is another wedding in sight here at Belsfield. Now that is something pleasanter for you to be thinking about than murder, is it not?’

‘A wedding!’ Dido stared in disbelief. ‘Sir Edgar, am I to understand that Mr Harris gave his consent?’

‘Oh yes. Both gentlemen were quite clear about that. They both spoke of an agreement having been made.’

‘No! No, it is quite impossible,’ said Catherine when she joined her aunt a few moments later in the hall and was told what had happened. ‘They are both lying. They must be. I could sooner believe that Mr Harris shot the woman himself than that he should give his consent for Tom Lomax to marry dear little Sophia or darling Amelia.’

‘Well, I mean to ask Mr Tom Lomax about it myself,’ said Dido with determination. ‘I do not care much for Mr Tom. It seems that wherever I turn there he is, smiling his foolish smile and looking altogether too pleased with himself.’

Resolutely, she turned and made her way across the hall to the gloomy billiard room.

Tom was alone at the big green table, working away diligently with his cue and still smiling contentedly to himself in between whistling snatches of a coarse popular song.

‘I understand,’ said Dido, stepping into the male atmosphere of old cigar smoke and brandy, ‘that congratulations are the order of the day, Mr Lomax.’

Tom’s cue scraped the table and he cursed as balls clattered about in all directions. ‘I beg your pardon?’ He turned, cue in hand, looking wary.

‘Oh, I am sorry!’ cried Dido clapping her hand to her mouth in mock innocence. ‘Is it meant to be a secret? But Sir Edgar just mentioned to me the subject of your talk with Mr Harris, and I was so delighted! Another wedding! I do so love to hear of weddings, and marriage does seem to be quite the fashion at Belsfield just now. So lovely!’

‘Well…’ Tom ran a finger round his cravat. ‘We have not yet made the engagement public. So, perhaps if you would not mind, well…not mentioning it for a little while… I am sure you understand how it is, Miss…er…Kent.’

‘Oh! A secret engagement! How delightful!’ Dido clasped her hands together – and began to wonder whether she might not be overplaying the part of silly spinster. But Tom seemed to suspect nothing.

He made a great effort to be gallant. He laid down his billiard cue, took Dido’s hand and bowed over it. ‘It shall be our secret for now, shall it, Miss Kent? I am sure I can rely upon you not to betray us.’