as if the family is a part of me – or I am a part – a small, humble part – of it. Perhaps it would be more proper to put it that way.’
‘You are too modest, Mr Lomax. I am sure Sir Edgar relies upon you a great deal.’
‘You are very kind.’
They walked on a little while in silence across the park and Dido took the opportunity of studying her companion’s face. The low light of the sun was making him narrow his eyes, rather emphasising the deep lines at their corners. She was suddenly struck by the inconsequential thought that, though lines upon a woman’s face always marred her beauty, they could merely lend interest to the features of an intelligent, handsome man. And yet, for all that, she thought, he looks tired and worried. A great deal more tired and worried than before he went away.
‘You are very quiet, Mr Lomax. Is anything troubling you?’
‘It was impossible!’ The words seemed to burst from him.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He stopped and gazed towards the knoll and the spinney where the lowering sun was glinting through the trees and throwing long shadows from their trunks across the park. ‘It was impossible,’ he said more calmly, but still with great feeling. ‘The murder. I see no way in which it could possibly have taken place.’
His vehemence surprised her. ‘It does indeed seem impossible that any of the gentlemen left…’
‘Ah, but it goes deeper than that,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Does it?’
‘Oh yes. Much deeper. Miss Kent, when I had the pleasure of talking with you the other evening, you very eloquently represented the difficulties that a stranger would have in walking armed with a shotgun into Sir Edgar’s grounds without being observed.’
‘And did I convince you, Mr Lomax?’
‘I believe you did.’
‘I am delighted to find my arguments so persuasive!’
He smiled. ‘Your reasoning is undoubtedly excellent, Miss Kent, but I must confess that on this occasion it was not unaided by my own recollections. You see I was not shooting that day – which, of course, gave me a great deal of opportunity for looking about me. And,’ he said with another nod towards the sunny little hill, ‘from the knoll there is an excellent view of the park. I am certain that I saw no one cross to the shrubbery. Neither the murderer, nor – and this is a point to be considered – the young woman.’
‘I see.’ She said thoughtfully. ‘Then you believe that they both entered through the gardens?’
‘But that, too, is, we know, impossible. For the gardeners are quite certain that they saw no one.’
They had come now to the bench beside the stump of the old walnut tree and, at his suggestion, they sat down. He sighed and gazed out across the park. ‘I like this spot,’ he said. ‘I believe it commands the best view on the estate.’
Dido studied his face and tried to understand his mood. He looked so very troubled. It was true of course that the murder did present a puzzle; but baffled curiosity alone could not explain his agitation. She remembered the great urgency of his prayers in the chapel.
‘Mr Lomax,’ she began cautiously. ‘May I ask? I hope you do not think I presume too much; but why are you so troubled by these questions now?’
He made no reply, but there was no sign of anger or displeasure at her enquiry. She waited. A sheep called and was answered by one of its companions. In the distance she watched a farmer at work with his plough, turning a field of grey stubble into rich, chocolate-brown furrows. A cloud of gulls wheeled about him and, so still was the evening, their cries reached her faintly on the smoke-laden air.
Mr Lomax rested his arm on the back of the bench and leant his head upon his hand. His suffering troubled her.
‘When we last spoke of the murder,’ she said, ‘you seemed only to wish to put my mind at rest and you were kind enough to do all that you could towards that end. Today, if I may say so, it is your own mind which seems to be sadly in need of repose.’
He merely shook his head.
‘I should be very glad to return the favour and ease
‘You are very kind.’
‘You know – I am sure you know – Mr Lomax, that you may trust me with any confidence.’
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I know that.’
She tried again. ‘I believe something has happened to make the business of this murder more troubling to you.’
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘It is perhaps nothing. But you must understand, Miss Kent, that from the very outset I have been concerned – very concerned – for the embarrassment, the public notoriety, which this unfortunate incident has caused Sir Edgar’s family.’
‘Your loyalty does you great credit, I am sure, Mr Lomax.’
‘But,’ he replied with some vehemence, ‘it would be no credit to me – nor to my employer – if I were to neglect the pursuit of justice in such a cause.’
‘No, it would not.’ She hesitated, half afraid to go on, yet unwilling to give up the interesting subject. ‘Would I be right,’ she ventured at last, ‘to guess that you have lately discovered something which would – if publicly known – increase Sir Edgar’s embarrassment?’
He nodded heavily and then, after a moment’s hesitation, said, ‘The truth is, Miss Kent, that, in the course of my recent business, I have discovered that a Miss Wallis – a young woman in the employ of Sir Edgar – has gone missing from her home.’
Dido started and it flashed through her mind that his business had taken him to Hopton Cresswell. Nor was she insensible to the idea that Miss Wallis had been employed by Sir Edgar. But she found – rather to her surprise – that her chief concern was for the man before her – and his evident suffering.
‘And you think that it was this Miss Wallis who met her death here?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘She left her place of employment on the day of the murder saying that she was travelling to Dorchester to visit her family, and she has not been heard of since. I have made enquiries and I have discovered that she never arrived at her mother’s house, nor has any message been received from her. I think that it is all too likely that it was she who…No, it is saying too much to say it is likely. But it is, at least, possible.’
‘And you wish to make this possibility public?’
‘Sir Edgar is, naturally, very reluctant to agree. He believes that it will raise a great many unpleasant conjectures without materially advancing the cause of justice. But I think that maybe it is my duty to speak to Mr Fallows about it.’
She remembered their conversation as they left the chapel and comprehended how difficult such a step would be for him. It would be acting counter to a lifetime of promoting and safeguarding the Montague name and credit.
He gave a long sigh. ‘But, since the whole business is so perplexing, Miss Kent, and bearing in mind that I have no definite proof of my suspicion, would I be justified in going against Sir Edgar’s wishes in this?’
‘I doubt,’ said Dido carefully, ‘that the perplexity of the business can be a sound argument for not throwing a little light upon it.’
‘Except that it might not be light that was thrown – but only more darkness and confusion. The disappearance of this young woman might be nothing but a remarkable coincidence.’ He sat in silence for some minutes and his eyes seemed to be drawn back to the spinney. ‘It is impossible, Miss Kent. It cannot have been done by anyone connected with this family.’
‘And yet,’ she pointed out gently, ‘by your own reasoning, Mr Lomax, it cannot have been done by an outsider either.’
‘That is true.’
‘But we know that it was done. We have the body of the woman as proof that it was done.’
‘Your logic is without fault, Miss Kent. And,’ he added with rather a sad smile, ‘without mercy too. You will allow me no escape.’
‘Because I do not believe that such an honourable man can find lasting peace in an escape which denies the truth.’
