Dido and Sir Edgar were the first to make their appearance in the breakfast room the next morning and, on discovering that it was so, Dido felt a strong inclination to walk back out of the door – in spite of the tempting smell of chops and eggs and toasted bread. There was something alarming in the sight of Sir Edgar rising ceremoniously from his seat at the head of a table gleaming with silver and white linen to enquire whether she had passed a comfortable night.
He was a rather well-looking old gentleman of only average height; but there was such an excess of dignity in his silver-grey hair and lined face that he seemed large. And, as he made his bow, Dido was struck by his manner. There was a ponderous air about him; as if his land, his money and his importance weighed him down and made him do everything slowly.
‘It is very kind of you, Miss Kent,’ he said gravely, ‘to come to your niece at this troubled time. I am sure you are a great comfort to her.’
She made as slight a reply as she could for her treacherous fancy was now busily remarking on the similarity that there was between the man before her and the lines of framed Sir Edgars in the gallery upstairs. The resemblance was so striking that she was looking for paint-cracks in his face and, in her imagination, replacing his modern dress with a doublet and ruff. All of which rather distracted her from his words.
‘I believe you are aware,’ he was saying – and all the while watching her closely, ‘I believe your niece has informed you of Richard’s…’ He hesitated and seemed to force himself to continue. ‘That is, I am sure your niece has told you about the manner of my son’s departure?’
Dido acknowledged that she had.
‘Yes.’ He was silent for so long that she began to think that he had done with the subject. But then, with a heavy shake of his head, he continued. ‘It is quite natural, of course, that Miss Catherine should seek a sympathetic confidante. Quite understandable. But I hope, Miss Kent, that you will agree with me that it is a very delicate business and not a matter for general discussion.’
‘Oh, no, Sir Edgar. I understand,’ she said virtuously. ‘I have spoken to no one about it.’ (What she had
‘Ah, good!’ He turned away to the window, at which mist was pressing so closely that it was scarcely possible to see beyond the first gravel walk and some stone urns that flanked the steps leading down to the lawns. ‘I hope you will enjoy your stay here,’ he continued smoothly. ‘I hope that the weather will improve and it will be possible for you to enjoy our countryside.’
‘Thank you. You are very kind.’ And then, with her heart beating with trepidation at her own daring, she returned to the former subject. ‘Do you know, Sir Edgar, why Mr Montague felt he must leave – or where he may have gone to?’
There was a long silence in the elegant room. The chops hissed softly in their heated dish; footsteps sounded across an upper landing and, out in the misty garden, a wheelbarrow squeaked and rattled.
‘Well now, as to that…’ said Sir Edgar at last. He stopped and watched a dispirited peacock as it picked its way fastidiously across the wet gravel. ‘The reason… It is nothing of great consequence, Miss Kent. A family matter which can easily be smoothed over. And the less said about it, the sooner it will be forgotten. And as to
‘A physician?’
‘Yes. You were perhaps unaware that…’ Again there was hesitation and a forcing of himself to go on. ‘That the poor boy does not always enjoy the best of health.’
‘Catherine mentioned to me that he is liable to headaches.’
‘Yes. Quite so,’ he replied. Then, turning to the door with palpable relief, ‘Ah, Colonel Walborough! Good morning. I hope you passed a tolerable night.’
Dido was left to her own thoughts. And chief amongst those thoughts was that Sir Edgar was far from easy in talking about his son. There was something in his manner as he spoke of him: a hesitation, almost a reluctance – as if he disliked naming or acknowledging him.
‘Oh dear! Rose, are you unwell?’ The clear voice echoed across the gloomy back yard, making itself heard above the sounds of rattling pots in the kitchen and the rhythmic squeaking of the pump in the wash-house.
The kitchen maid wiped her mouth on a corner of her apron and reflected that only a lady would ask you such a question when you were so ‘unwell’ the remains of your breakfast were there for the whole world to see, spread all over the cobbles. But, seeing that it was that nice Miss Kent, she managed not only to give a civil, ‘Sorry, miss,’ but even picked up a bucket of fresh water and sluiced away the mess.
‘You had better sit down for a moment.’ Dido seated herself on a low wall, beckoned the girl to sit beside her and studied her face in the dim light that found its way down between the high brick walls.
She was a well-grown, sturdy girl of fifteen or sixteen with a complexion that was usually highly coloured, but at the moment was drained to a mauvish grey. There were dark shadows like bruises beneath her eyes.
‘Have you eaten something that has disagreed with you?’
‘No, no, it ain’t that, miss. I’ve just been…doing a nasty job.’
‘Oh?’ Dido tilted her little head questioningly, then – apparently – received inspiration. ‘Oh, you mean that poor woman they found in the shrubbery yesterday?’
Rose nodded. ‘They sent old Molly Sharpe from the village to…well, to do what had to be done before they could take her away to be buried. But she ain’t so strong as she used to be and she said she needed someone to help – with the lifting and such. So, of course, it had to be me, didn’t it?’
‘Dear, dear, how perfectly dreadful for you.’ Dido felt in her pocket. ‘There now, have a peppermint; it will help stop the sickness.’
‘Thank you, miss.’ Rose took the sweet and sucked gratefully.
Dido’s little round face puckered thoughtfully beneath the edge of her white cap. ‘You say the woman has been taken away to be buried?’
‘Why, yes, miss.’
‘But I understood – that is Sir Edgar spoke yesterday as if she would be taken to the inquest.’
‘But Mr Fallows came this morning to look at her again and when he’d done he said they should bury her.’ Rose sucked harder on her peppermint. ‘She wasn’t fit to be seen.’
‘But now they will not be able to discover who she was.’
‘Nor would they by looking at her, miss. Her face…’ Rose put her hand firmly over her mouth and prayed that her breakfast was all gone and nothing remained with which she might disgrace herself before the lady.
‘I see,’ said Dido. ‘I had not understood that she was injured in the head.’ It was a detail which even the hardy Mrs Harris had failed to discover. But, she thought, it was a shame that Mr Fallows should order immediate burial; there was surely a great deal of information which a body might reveal… If only one could get at it.
‘Was there anything you wanted here, miss?’ asked Rose. ‘Only I’d better be getting on. There’s all the breakfast dishes to be washed and cook’ll be shouting for me.’
‘No, no, you just sit down until you feel a bit better.’ Dido gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘You have had a shock, my dear, and you need to go about things a little slowly this morning – otherwise I don’t expect you will be able to tell cook and all the others everything they want to know.’
‘Everything they want to know,’ the girl repeated with a confused look.
‘Yes, everything they want to know about the dead woman. I expect everyone is wondering about her and, after all, you have actually
‘Oh yes, yes, I suppose I have.’
‘And – with you being so upset and everything – I don’t suppose you will be able to remember much at all unless people are kind to you.’
Understanding dawned and Rose gave a lopsided grin that lit up her grey face. ‘No, no maybe I won’t. But…’ The grin dissolved. ‘But the truth is, miss,’ she said sadly, ‘I don’t think I’ve got much to tell, what with her face being all…’
‘Oh, I am sure you have plenty to tell,’ said Dido bracingly. ‘Let me see, what might they want to know? Well, what sort of woman do you suppose she was?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know, miss.’
