‘Oh?’
‘You see…’ Miss Neville’s hands writhed and twisted harder than ever. ‘You see when I told you…or rather, when Mr Lansdale told you that I was at home that evening…it was certainly not my intention to deceive you…or to deceive anyone.’
‘So it was not true? You were not at home all evening?’
She stared down at her clenched fingers. ‘No,’ she said very quietly. ‘The truth is, I left the house soon after Mr Lansdale.’
It changed everything. That was Dido’s first thought. And for a little while the surprise of it was too great to allow her to think further.
The two ladies sat in silence for several minutes. The sun beat down upon the brick path and upon the roses – raising a sweet scent. One of the pheasants strutted past, turning its little bright head to eye them curiously.
It changed everything. It made a great deal possible that had before seemed only wild surmise. There
Dido turned to Miss Neville and saw that her cheeks were very red and she was holding a plain little handkerchief to her eyes. ‘And when did you return to Knaresborough House? Before Mr Lansdale, or after him?’
‘Oh before him,’ said Miss Neville eagerly, ‘I was very careful of that – because, you see, he did not know that I had gone. And, Miss Kent, if you would be so very kind…I should be very grateful if you would not mention my going to him.’
‘Why do you wish to hide it?’
‘Because I should not have left his aunt. It was my duty to remain with her. I am quite well aware of that. But then you know,’ she continued in a plaintive voice, ‘it was also my duty to go… And, I ask you, how was I to decide?’
‘What was it that took you out that evening?’
‘I had to visit my mother.’
‘Your mother?’ repeated Dido disbelievingly. She could see no reason for concealing such a respectable errand.
‘I always did visit mother on a Tuesday, you see. It was quite an agreed thing.’
‘I see.’
‘But, there was a problem. The truth is that there often was a problem,’ she added irritably. ‘It had become quite a habit with my cousin to complain on Tuesdays of feeling unwell – of feeling too unwell for me to leave her. And sometimes, as on this particular day, she would forbid me to go. You see, Mr Lansdale had told us that he was to spend the evening in town. It was not quite fair! But I thought there was nothing wrong with her, and after she had retired, I went out…to see mother. After all, she was expecting me…’
‘I see. It must have been very difficult for you.’
‘It was,’ came the eager reply. ‘The truth is, Miss Kent,’ continued Miss Neville, who seemed to be as fond of enunciating truths as any clergyman in his pulpit, ‘that I found myself in a
‘I understand, of course. It must have been a very trying situation.’
‘And you see, I was so very worried about mother.’
‘Ah yes, your mother is unwell is she not?’
‘Oh no, thank you, she is well – as well as a woman of her age can be. Why should you think she is ill?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No reason – it is just that you were consulting Mr Vane on Sunday – I thought you were perhaps worried about your mother’s health.’
Miss Neville looked extremely uncomfortable. ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘that was quite a different matter.’
‘I see. But you say that you were worried about your mother on this particular day.’
‘Yes, because she was going to be alone on that evening and…you know how it is with old people. They can become confused and forgetful. They cannot be left long unattended.’
‘I see.’
‘And she was expecting me to go,’ said Miss Neville querulously. But then she recollected herself and added more calmly, ‘Naturally now, I feel that I should have stayed. Poor Mrs Lansdale really was unwell, you see. Perhaps,’ she said with great sentiment, ‘perhaps, if I had stayed, I could have helped her.’
‘It is only natural that you should feel so. Though I doubt your presence could have saved her. I am sure you have nothing with which to reproach yourself.’
Miss Neville seemed very grateful for this reassurance, but, nevertheless, she soon afterwards stood up and proclaimed her determination of resuming the hard labour of strawberry picking.
‘Before you go, Miss Neville, there is something else I was hoping to ask you,’ said Dido. She was unwilling to lose this rather promising opportunity of putting a very important question. ‘Can you tell me – was Mrs Lansdale at all acquainted with her neighbour, Mrs Midgely?’
Miss Neville stopped under the roses. A little cluster of petals spilt down onto the crown of her bonnet. She stared at Dido, rather perplexed. ‘No, she was not,’ she said. ‘That is, Mrs Midgely had called at the house but once.’
‘Ah!’ cried Dido eagerly. ‘And when was it that she called?’
‘It was on the morning before my poor cousin died. But she was not admitted because Mrs Lansdale did not…feel equal to company that morning.’
‘And so she left her card and went away?’
‘Yes. And she left a message too – with Fraser – she asked to be allowed to call again. She had, she said, something she particularly wished to say to my cousin.’
‘Did she indeed! And tell me,’ Dido pursued, ‘did Mr Lansdale know of her visit – and her message?’
‘Why yes, I believe he did.’
Dido remained in the alcove. The heat became oppressive; the chatter and laughter from the strawberry beds became more languid as the pickers tired; bees droned in the pale roses. Hidden in her corner, she considered what she had learnt.
It would appear that when Mr Henderson called at the house, Mrs Lansdale was alone. That raised a multitude of possibilities.
And then there was Miss Neville herself to consider. There was a kind of dissatisfaction about the woman: a reined-in anger, which was most intriguing. And what was the ‘bad business’ she had been discussing with Mr Vane, if it was not her mother’s health? Dido did not trust her at all. She had a great idea that anyone who was so very eager to point out that she was stating truths, must be concealing some other – perhaps more important – truths.
And finally, and perhaps most interesting of all, there was this visit of Mrs Midgely’s. What had been its purpose…?
She was able to proceed no further in her musing. There was a heavy footstep on the path and she looked up to see Mrs Midgely herself bearing down upon her, her cheeks very red and her cherry-coloured parasol aflutter.
‘Miss Kent! Here you are! I hope that you are not unwell. Your cousin is becoming quite anxious about
