demurs; she had answered every question with candour and intelligence… At least she had done so until mention was made of a document. Then there had certainly been consciousness and a desire for evasion. Dido was sure of that – though she still held to her earlier view of Mary’s character and doubted very much that she had given a direct lie. For Mary was an exceedingly bad liar. When she had lied about the letter in the post office, her red face and downcast eyes would have betrayed her to any listener more sensitive than Mrs Midgely.
But just now, in the garden, there had been no symptoms of dishonesty – though, perhaps, there had been a desire to avoid some truths…
Dido recollected her words carefully. She had said that she knew nothing of a will… Yes, it had only been a will she denied knowledge of… Did it follow then that she knew of some other document? And, if so, what could it be? And why did Mr Morgan believe that it was so dangerous to his friend…?
She shook her head helplessly and tried to come at the business in a different way entirely. She imagined how it would all look to the jurymen. Here was Mrs Lansdale dead and the apothecary saying she had died of too much opium mixture. And it would seem that there were but three people who had had opportunity to administer it. There were Mr Lansdale and Miss Neville who might have introduced the fatal dose to the evening’s chocolate; and there was Mr Vane himself who might have administered it under the guise of the ‘usual draught’. But Miss Neville and Mr Vane, far from having anything to gain from the terrible act, could only be made the poorer by it: she by the loss of a comfortable home and he by the loss of a wealthy patient. Only Henry Lansdale had any motive for wishing the poor lady dead.
She found herself so extremely discontent with this conclusion that she could not help but wonder whether Mr Lomax was right and she had, almost without knowing it, determined upon exonerating Mr Lansdale…
‘I shall not apologise for disturbing you, Miss Kent,’ said a merry voice beside her, ‘for, by the look upon your face, I see that your thoughts are so unpleasant you ought to be disturbed.’
She looked up and saw Mr Lansdale himself making his bow and asking if he might sit with her a moment.
‘I have,’ he said as he sat down, ‘been seeking you in order to ask a very great favour. I have been to Mrs Beaumont’s house but found you both from home. Mrs Beaumont has, I understand, driven out to Brooke Manor, but the maid said that you had walked out and I hope you will forgive me for coming after you.’
‘Of course. And I am sure that both Flora and I will be happy to help you in any way we can.’
‘Thank you.’ He then said nothing for a while, gazing out across the busy scene. He had begun in his usual laughing way with all his usual determination to be serious about nothing. But now he had changed and his handsome face was more solemn than she had ever seen it before. A frown had gathered on his brow. ‘I am hoping,’ he said at last, ‘that you and Mrs Beaumont will be so kind as to perform the office of true friends to Miss Bevan.’
‘In what way do you wish us to show our friendship?’
‘Will you be so good as to persuade her…or, at least, to represent to her the wisdom of complying with my wishes – and marrying me immediately.’
Dido could only look the astonishment which she felt, the application had taken her so completely by surprise. He held up a hand. ‘Please, Miss Kent, do not begin upon the dangers – the impolicy – of a hasty marriage. I have had it all from her.’
‘I shall make no such argument, then. I shall only say that I can see no reason for such a step being taken while matters are in their present unfortunate state of uncertainty.’
Something of his usual smile returned. ‘Matters,’ he said, ‘are perhaps not quite so uncertain as you suppose. There is at least the certainty that I am to be brought to court. I am summoned to appear at the Quarter Sessions in just five days’ time. The paper was delivered to me yesterday.’
‘I am extremely sorry to hear it. It grieves me beyond measure.’
‘I am innocent,’ he said quietly. ‘And in that and in the will and justice of God, I will put my trust. However…’ And, although he had been speaking with great solemnity and feeling, the irrepressible smile was returned now. ‘However, when it comes to the justice of men… Well, I hope I shall not shock you when I say that I have not quite so much faith in our English laws not to suspect that they have sometimes hanged an innocent man – and may do so again.’
‘I sincerely hope… It will be my most fervent prayer that, in this case, they will not.’
‘Thank you. And now, as to my marriage…’
‘Forgive me, but I cannot understand what possible reason there can be for hurrying it on. It had better not take place… Not until after you are released from this dreadful suspicion. For I cannot help but feel that your marriage – the apparent self-interest and heartlessness of such a measure so soon after your aunt’s death – would greatly prejudice a jury against you.’
‘Miss Kent,’ he said, instantly solemn and fixing his eyes upon her face, ‘you may not be aware – there is, of course, no reason why you should be – that a man condemned for murder forfeits his estate.’
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I did not know it.’
‘Consider it now then. Consider that if…if the laws of England should fail me, I will lose not only my own life but also the power to provide for Miss Bevan’s future comfort. I would be able to make no will. I could bequeath nothing to her.’
‘I see.’
‘Consider too her present poverty, her friendless state, and I am sure you will agree that a marriage – which would enable me to settle money upon her – is the best possible course of action. Jem is drawing up the settlement now. We could be married tomorrow and my mind would be at ease. Miss Kent,’ he said, turning pleading eyes upon her, ‘I hope I can face my own fate with fortitude; but to leave her alone and unprovided for is more than I can bear.’
Dido was so affected by this appeal that it was several minutes before she could speak; but when she was able to make a reply she could not do other than to promise her assistance in persuading the lady to an immediate marriage. ‘Though I rather doubt my arguments will have any effect. She is a very…determined young woman.’
‘She is indeed!’ he cried, his lively air immediately restored by her promise. ‘But I will be extremely grateful if you will make the attempt.’
‘And are you sure that a marriage can be accomplished within four days?’
‘Oh yes. It can certainly be accomplished.’
‘But what about the calling of banns?’
‘There need be no banns, Miss Kent.’ He stood up and made his bow. ‘For it just so happens that I have about me a special marriage licence!’
And, before Dido could consider all the meaning of this reply, he had made his final thanks and adieus and was walking away. She almost called him back, but then changed her mind and sat instead watching his retreating figure and thinking very hard indeed. It was one of those rare moments when human thought seems to transcend the limit of words and move with all the rapidity of a higher power.
As she watched him stride across the green – and throw a sixpence to the ragged little boy who was holding horses outside the inn – she was considering this special licence and everything that his possession of it might mean…
By the time he was hurrying past the bright bow-window of the trinket shop, she had come to an understanding of exactly what it meant…
And, before she lost sight of him in the crowd beyond the haberdasher’s, she was very busily reckoning up exactly the part he had played in his aunt’s death.
At last some of the tangled knots of this mystery were beginning to unravel.
‘It is all a matter of Trump Loy, Flora. It is nothing more.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Flora, though she had very little hope of understanding her cousin. When Dido was in such a mood as this, it was advisable not to attempt too much understanding – for it was liable to occasion
