He cast his eyes up to the ceiling as he endeavoured to keep his temper. He had never before met with a woman so very determined to pursue her own ideas. He had always considered himself a very calm man, but here was a test even of his patience. ‘But you will not trouble Miss Neville, or her mother, with more questions?’ he asked at last.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I shall try not to. But as yet I cannot decide where I ought to look next. You see, if Miss Neville is innocent, then I must admit I am no nearer discovering the truth than I ever was.’
He sat down and regarded her very earnestly. ‘Miss Kent,’ he began with a renewed effort at calm. ‘It is very much to your credit I am sure that you should wish to spare your cousin pain by proving her friend innocent. But I cannot help but wonder whether your affection and concern are not getting the better of your considerable powers of reason in this case. After all, Mr Lansdale may well be the guilty party. He had the opportunity of committing the deed and he was the only person to benefit from the lady’s death.’
‘Yes, I do not deny any of this.’
‘And yet you continue to defend Mr Lansdale.’
‘No. I do not defend him,’ she cried. ‘I agree with you that he may be guilty. I only say that his being guilty cannot be a sufficient explanation for all that has happened at Knaresborough House.’
He sighed at her stubbornness. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘since we last talked I have learnt something which I believe rather supports his guilt. I asked Lady Carrisbrook about the line in your mysterious letter. And she is certain that it is taken from
‘Ah yes!’ said Dido eagerly. ‘“The world is not their friend, nor the world’s laws…” And do you believe that it is young lovers to whom the poet refers?’
‘Of whom would it be more appropriate than Romeo and Juliet – or any pair of lovers suffering opposition from their families?’
‘And you believe the writer of that letter meant to tell me that Mr Lansdale was guilty – but to plead that this was a special case, that the extremity of his situation excused him?’
Mr Lomax raised his brows. ‘It is something which I believe you should consider,’ he said.
Dido smiled. ‘I have considered it, Mr Lomax,’ she said. ‘But, you see, there is a difficulty. I have read the play; and I find that the words are not spoken about the play’s principals at all. Those lines are spoken of an
He stared at her – momentarily silenced. ‘I do not understand,’ he said at last. ‘Do you believe the writer of the letter wished to plead for Mr Vane?’
‘No. Upon consideration, I do not believe that the writer meant to plead for anyone. Of course while I thought that it was a pair of lovers who were to be considered beyond the restraints of law, I believed the writer to be defending them – from some romantic notion or other. But I cannot conceive of any argument of emotion or reason which could be brought for the excuse of apothecaries. Can you?’
He shook his head.
‘In short, I think the writer meant to do no more than to point me in the direction of Mr Vane.’
‘But you cannot seriously suspect Vane of harming the woman. What could his motive be?’
‘I did not say that I suspect Vane,’ said Dido carefully. ‘I only suggested that the letter might be designed to
He considered a while and at last admitted, ‘It is well reasoned.’ She smiled, extremely well pleased to have carried her point. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘it does not change my opinion that it is dangerous for you to interest yourself in this business. It is for a court to decide. It is their duty to determine the truth, not yours.’
Her spirit rose against that. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, that I cannot accept. I believe it is the duty of all rational men and women to ensure that justice is done.’
‘But our duties must always be proportionate to our powers. You had better leave this matter to those better qualified to deal with it.’
She coloured. ‘You rate my powers very low, Mr Lomax, but I think even you would have to agree that they extend at least to the observation of what is happening around me. You will have noticed that I am neither blind nor deaf.’
Colour rose in his face too. ‘Miss Kent,’ he replied. ‘I do not, for one moment, doubt that you are capable of observing what is passing around you. It is an art you are very practised in. But what I would doubt – what I believe I have cause to doubt – is your power to always interpret correctly and safely the information which you gather from your observation.’
Dido could not trust herself to reply. She feared she might say something in anger which she would later regret.
Meanwhile, he had gained a little control over himself. ‘I fear I am intruding upon your time,’ he said rather stiffly. ‘I am keeping you from your letter.’ He rose from his seat. ‘I hope you will forgive the freedom with which I have spoken. Nothing but my very great concern for your welfare could have induced me to do so.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, also rising. ‘I am grateful for that concern.’
He stared down upon the floor. ‘Last autumn,’ he said. ‘I flattered myself that there was a particular degree of understanding and regard existing between us.’
Dido also was suddenly very interested in looking at the polished wood of the floor.
‘Perhaps you may feel,’ he continued, ‘that that very particular understanding entitles me to advise you. If that is so, my advice – my very strong advice – is that you abandon these enquiries and cease to interest yourself in the business of Mrs Lansdale’s death.’
She said something – though what it was neither she nor he could tell. However, her tone was encouraging enough for him to continue.
‘Of course, after due consideration, you may decide that the degree of acquaintance does not authorise me to interest myself in your well-being. If that is so, I pray you will forget entirely what I have said – and act as you please.’
He was gone, and Dido must endeavour to recover her composure before her cousin’s return. But every kind of reflection served only to increase her agitation.
And, altogether, between pleasure that he should recall a ‘particular understanding’; anger at the authority he supposed that understanding gave him; and confusion over how she should act next, there was no repose to be found for mind or body. She walked restlessly about the room until the walls themselves became oppressive and she was forced to fetch her bonnet and repair to the garden in the hope that fresh air and flowers might soothe her spirits and inform her decisions.
And, out among the roses, a consideration of his last speech soon produced one certainty. He would judge her upon her actions. Continuing to pursue her mystery in defiance of his advice was to be a sign that she did not value his regard. She must choose between affection and curiosity. If she was to retain his esteem, she must adopt his opinions.
She should perhaps not have taken such pleasure over identifying the Shakespearean quotation. As her grandmamma had once told her long ago, ‘Gentlemen most particularly dislike being contradicted. If you know that they are wrong, you had better conceal the truth rather than inform them of it.’
Now, thought Dido as she seated herself in the honeysuckle arbour, in connection with whom had she said it? Was it Mr Powel, the promising young lawyer with expectations of almost a thousand a year? No, on second thoughts, it was the reverend Mr Fawcett, with only seven hundred a year, but a
The difficulty had arisen because Mr Fawcett was sure that Mary Queen of Scots was sister to Queen
