‘I am afraid you will find the best of the strawberries all gone.’
‘It is no great matter.’
‘You do not like strawberries?’
‘I am very fond of them. But on the present occasion
Dido coloured and turned her eyes upon the path.
‘I have been particularly anxious to talk to you.’
Dido fell to studying the pale rose petals that lay upon the path, noting how their edges were becoming dry and brown.
‘I have,’ he continued, ‘been very concerned about you.’
‘Concerned?’ she cried, looking up. ‘Why ever should you be concerned about me?’
‘My dear Miss Kent,’ he said with all the appearance of great seriousness, ‘you must be aware that it is far from usual to find
Dido raised her eyebrows. ‘And what precisely is the nature of your concern, Mr Lomax? Do you suppose that I endanger young men by being acquainted with them?’
He smiled. ‘I had considered that possibility,’ he said. ‘But, upon reflection, I have dismissed it as unlikely.’
‘I am very glad to hear it! But why should you be concerned about me?’
‘I fear that you are distressing yourself unnecessarily over this business of Mr Lansdale and his aunt’s death.’
‘Oh.’
‘These accusations of Mrs Midgely’s,’ he continued gently, ‘are probably no more than common gossip. As I had the pleasure of explaining to you and your cousin, it is unlikely that any harm will come of them.’ He studied her face. ‘I hope that you have now put them quite out of your mind.’
Dido hesitated – thought for a moment of putting off the subject and talking of something else, but found that she could not.
‘I cannot put them out of my mind,’ she said quietly. ‘You see, I think there may be a great deal of harm to come. I think there will be new evidence against Mr Lansdale.’
‘Why should there be?’ he asked quickly.
‘Because I believe that…that maybe Mr Vane is right to be suspicious of Mrs Lansdale’s death…I think… In short, I think that she may indeed have been murdered…’
‘My dear Miss Kent!’
‘You think that I am being fanciful?’
‘No,’ he said hastily, ‘no, not at all. I know that it is not in your nature to be fanciful. But…I think that perhaps your late, distressing experiences at Belsfield have – very understandably – biased your mind and made you a little too liable to see mystery and infamy. You are perhaps too inclined to suppose the worst because, last autumn – at Belsfield – all your very worst suspicions were proved to be true.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Dido, rather vexed, ‘but this sounds remarkably like fancy to me.’
‘I am very sorry if I have offended you. I assure you that nothing but my very great interest in your welfare could make me speak so plainly.’
It was several minutes before she could answer him. Her feelings were in confusion. His concern for her well-being was very pleasing indeed. But his suggestion that she was behaving irrationally was intolerable.
She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, struggling for control, unwilling to speak until she could be sure that her voice would not betray her; and he watched her in silence, not wishing to say anything which might provoke her further.
The sun, almost at its highest, was beginning to find its way even into the alcove, warming her face. A cuckoo was calling in the wood. The housekeeper appeared a little way off and began scattering corn for the pheasants. Dido watched them as they ran jerkily to peck grain from the crevices of the old brick path.
She must remain calm, or how could she hope to convince him that she was speaking rationally?
‘I am very grateful for your concern, Mr Lomax,’ she said at last. ‘And if I had been led astray in the way which you are suggesting, it would be very kind of you to set me right, I am sure. However…’ She drew a long breath. ‘However, I cannot by any means agree that I am biased, or that I am fancying intrigue where none exists. The evidences I have observed are too strong… In short, it would be dull and blind to see no mystery in this case.’
And then, before he had time to reply, she began to set forward, as calmly as she could, all the reasons for her suspicion; beginning with the unaccountable death of the lap-dog, through the mystery of the emerald necklace, and the extraordinary ill-will of Mrs Midgely towards Henry Lansdale; and winding it all up with an account of the strange letter which she had herself received.
As she talked, she was pleased to see, from his changing expressions, that he was very far from being unmoved by her story. Once or twice he interrupted her with a question.
Had the villains been apprehended? he wanted to know, when the burglary at Knaresborough House was mentioned. What steps had been taken to discover them?
And a little later: had anyone else any cause against Mr Lansdale? Was he an unpopular man in general?
But it was the letter which troubled him most. ‘Have you no notion,’ he cried when she described it, ‘have you no suspicion at all as to who could have sent you such an extraordinary note?’
‘None at all.’
‘I do not like it.’ He jumped to his feet and took a few restless steps along the path. ‘It is very worrying.’ He sat down beside her again with an agitated look. ‘Miss Kent, has it not occurred to you that the letter might have been sent by the guilty party? That it might, in fact, be a threat.’
‘A guilty party, Mr Lomax? I did not think that you believed there was guilt of any kind – except in my wild imaginings. Have I convinced you otherwise?’
He passed one hand across his face. ‘I do not quite know what I think,’ he confessed. ‘But your account proves that there is something afoot. There is – at the very least – housebreaking. There is some villainy going on and you are known to be concerning yourself with it. I am very much afraid that you are putting yourself in danger.’
‘Danger? I hardly think so. I have done nothing but ask some questions.’
He looked at her very earnestly. ‘I have the pleasure of knowing your character too well,’ he said, ‘to suppose that you will easily abandon this mystery. And I do not have the right of a father or a brother to advise you. But,’ he added feelingly, ‘I do beg you, Miss Kent, to be careful. Very careful.’
Dido was silenced. She could only look into his anxious face. He was about to press the point further. For a moment it seemed as if he might take her hand – indeed she wondered afterwards whether she might not have half-offered it to him.
But just then they were disturbed by the sound of rapid steps on the gravel. They moved slightly apart.
Lady Carrisbrook was hurrying along a side path alone, in a state of such agitation that her bonnet was slipping off her head, exposing shining red-brown curls to the sun. Dido thought that she was coming to speak to Mr Lomax; but she did not seem to see them in their alcove. She ran instead to the housekeeper.
‘Ah, Mrs Stephens!’ she cried and then, lowering her voice, she began talking eagerly. It was not easy to make out her words, but the established habit of an over-curious mind prompted Dido to struggle for them. Mr Lomax gave an exasperated smile as he noticed her listening, but only shook his head and said nothing.
The lady seemed to be asking how something was to be done – and when. Her eyes were wide as she spoke, her gaze fixed upon the servant’s face as if she were half-pleading with her.
The answer was clearer than the question. There was definitely nothing for her Ladyship to worry about. ‘I will see to everything,’ was spoken with assurance and an obvious desire to comfort.
It was not quite possible to see whether or not she was comforted by the answer; her face was turned a little away. Dido leant forward to see more clearly and at that very moment Lady Carrisbrook turned back – and saw them. There was a moment of confusion and then she came tripping along the path, holding out her hands and laughing.
