‘There is only one way, Mr Lomax – by discovering that another man has a better claim.’
‘And you believe that that is what happened to Mr Richard Montague?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And may I ask who this man is who has a better claim to the Belsfield estate?’
‘Richard Montague’s older brother, Edgar. The son who was born two years before him. The heir with whom Sir Edgar was painted under the walnut tree. The child who was afflicted and so was banished from this house.’
Lomax stood up suddenly and paced to the hearth. Placing one hand upon the mantel and one foot on the fender he stared down into the fire as if anxious to avoid her eyes. ‘You seem to know a great deal, Miss Kent. May I ask how you know it?’
‘Oh, chiefly by piecing together a great many little things. There is the painting of course – and Annie Holmes gave me some hints about why young Richard was so fearful of his father’s displeasure. He, of course, dreaded that he shared his brother’s infirmity and would, like him, be rejected. And then there was the gentleman we spoke to at Lyme. He remembered a little boy of the name of Montague staying at the Old Grange, and Catherine and I both believed it to be Richard – who recuperated from scarlet fever there. But afterwards I saw that it could not have been him. For the man said that the child played out in all weathers –
‘Upon my word, Miss Kent, you are remarkably observant!’
‘Thank you.’
‘It quite frightens me to think that you have been scrutinising us all these last few days.’
She smiled. ‘You need have no fears for yourself, Mr Lomax. Your only weakness is your courtesy. It is only that which gives away your secrets.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Yes, for although Sir Edgar persuaded you into conniving at the lie that he had only one son, your sense of propriety is always unconsciously betraying you.’
‘Is it?’
‘Oh yes. I noticed that, unlike everyone else, you never speak of “Mr Montague”; you must always give him his Christian name and call him “Mr Richard Montague” – as is correct for a younger son.’
He shook his head and stirred a log upon the grate with the toe of his boot. ‘You are, as I have said before, a truly remarkable woman.’ He watched the sparks from the disturbed fire fly up the chimney. ‘But, my dear Miss Kent, since you know so much, you must know…’ He stopped, seemed to collect himself and began again. ‘I don’t doubt that you have heard from someone the conclusion of young Edgar’s story.’
‘Yes. It was not easy to discover, for Sir Edgar has made it very plain that his eldest son is not a subject he wishes to be talked about. But Annie Holmes has – reluctantly – informed me that the boy remained at Lyme – and is supposed to have died there of a putrid fever when he was sixteen.’
‘And yet you do not believe this?’
‘Mr Lomax, I have visited the church at Lyme and the chapel here at Belsfield and I know that this particular Edgar Montague has not a grave or a memorial in either place.’
Dido wished that he would look at her. She longed to know how he was feeling – and how he intended to behave. But his back remained turned and his face bowed over the fire. There was nothing for it but to carry on with her tale. When it was done, then was the time for him to reveal his intentions – and his true character. He was, at heart, she did not doubt, an honest man, but how much had he been corrupted by long loyalty to an unworthy master?
‘I am sure, though, that nearly everyone at Belsfield believed him dead,’ she continued. ‘You have always known the truth, of course, for you formed the household at Hopton Cresswell and established the young man there under the name of Blacklock. Her ladyship knows that her son is alive, though such was Sir Edgar’s unkindness to her that she would have been entirely cut off from him, had you not sometimes taken her to him in your carriage.’ She paused, but still he did not turn. ‘I suppose,’ she went on, ‘that it was the only conveyance he would consent to since he wanted none of his own servants to know about Tudor House.’
Still he did not stir.
‘Of course, the material point is that Edgar’s brother, Richard, believed him dead – until that moment at the ball…’
‘Ah!’ He turned at last, his face flushed from the heat of the fire and raised one long finger. ‘The scene at the ball! I shall be very glad to hear what you have to say about that, Miss Kent. You believe that Mr Pollard told Richard that his brother was still alive?’
‘Oh yes. Most certainly. That is the only thing which can have made him behave as he did. Consider the matter, Mr Lomax. Here was a young man very much in love. And he was, most sincerely in love – the level of trust and confidence he had placed in my niece certainly proves that. What other motive can he have had for abandoning his lady other than the conviction that he was acting in the interests of her happiness? His conscience would not allow him to continue to usurp his brother’s place, but he knew that the most painful scandal would ensue if he exposed his father’s lie. He behaved in the only way possible for a loving and honourable man to behave.’
Lomax paced back to the table, threw himself down in his chair in an attitude not unlike his son’s, and studied her face. ‘Miss Kent! I do believe that despite your love of reason and logic, you are a romantic at heart! But this will not do. Last night you told me that the young man had betrayed your niece and was secretly married to another woman.’
‘Last night I was mistaken. And,’ she added more quietly, ‘last night you allowed me to continue in my mistake, Mr Lomax. That was not fair of you.’
The colour deepened on his face. ‘Are you suggesting that I lied to you?’ he demanded.
‘Oh no, you were very careful not to lie. But you allowed me to believe what you knew was not true.’ She was surprised at her own anger. She felt it heating her face and making her grip the arms of her chair. She had not known until that moment how badly his behaviour had hurt her.
They regarded one another warily. The library suddenly seemed very airless. Dido did not trust herself to speak, lest she should say something hasty which she would regret – and his looks suggested that he was fighting the same battle between temper and propriety. But it was eventually he who broke the silence.
‘There is, of course, a flaw in your reasoning,’ he said coolly. ‘You say that Mr Pollard told Mr Richard Montague that his brother was alive. And yet, Miss Kent, both you and I know that Mr Pollard said nothing at the ball.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘that is the strangest part of this mystery.’ But inwardly she was contemplating the mystery of the man before her. Lounging as he was in the chair, he reminded her irresistibly of his son. Was corruption, after all, a family trait? Or was William Lomax truly the honourable man she had always taken him for?
Catherine’s future happiness depended upon his integrity, for unless he agreed to disclosure, the truth of what had happened here at Belsfield could never be made public. And that of course was why her head was aching with anxiety now. There could be no other reason why his character should matter so much to her…
She leant forward earnestly. ‘If I can explain to you this last mystery – if I tell you how a man can say so much in a moment of silence – will you agree to break your promise to Sir Edgar and make his secret known to the world?’
‘You are very sure, Miss Kent, that I have made such a promise.’
‘Oh, I know that you have. You are almost twenty years his junior; he must have expected that you would survive him and I cannot believe that he did not make plans for what would happen after his death. You have promised him that you will continue to hide Edgar Montague; but now justice and humanity demand that you break your promise. If you do not, you will be parting two young people who love each other dearly.’
He frowned and shook his head, but said, ‘Well then, I shall admit it. Yes, I have indeed promised Sir Edgar that I will not reveal the true heir of Belsfield.’
‘And will you now agree to break that promise?’
He stirred his long limbs uncomfortably in his chair, rearranged the pens in their rack, drew his finger through the grains of sand on a letter. ‘You have not yet kept your side of the bargain, Miss Kent,’ he said, pushing the sand grains into a tiny pile. ‘Explain the mystery to me. Then we shall consider my promise and the demands of humanity
