A gentleman of fortune

his brow clouded with an intensity of thought which she longed to understand. For she had decided that everything was to depend upon how he conducted himself now. She was almost sure that he was an honourable man: too good a man to be delivered up to the chances of the law, if she could save him. But she was not absolutely certain. Now was the moment in which he must prove himself worthy of her assistance.

She walked slowly about the sofa and sat herself down where she might still have an uninterrupted view of his face. ‘It is to be hoped,’ she began very quietly, ‘that the magistrates – when all the facts are laid before them – will be lenient: that they will believe a mistake only took place and that no malice was intended – by either of you.’

There was no reply. Flora was staring at nothing in particular and wringing her hands in her lap. Miss Neville was holding a shaking handkerchief to her eyes. Henry Lansdale was still deep in thought: his brow contracted into a deep frown.

Dido began to doubt him.

‘I fear, Mr Lansdale, that the jurymen will be more likely to blame you,’ she said a little more loudly, ‘because you have gained so much from your aunt’s death. But perhaps Miss Neville’s confession of the part she played may do something to excuse you.’

His response to that was immediate.

He was on his feet in a moment and striding to Miss Neville’s side. With one hand upon the back of her chair, he turned to face Dido, pale now, not only with shock but also with anger. ‘Miss Kent, do you suppose for one moment, that I would permit a lady to stand before a public court, for no other reason than to excuse me?’ He fought for control of his emotions and then continued in a calmer voice. ‘It is, of course, all nonsense. Everything which we have been talking about this last half-hour is quite wrong and had better be forgotten. For the fact of the matter is that it was no hand but mine which put opium into my aunt’s drink. I must have been mistaken in the measuring – no doubt my hand shook as I poured – I was unaccustomed to dispensing it. That is how it happened and I will swear it before any judge in the land.’

Dido was satisfied. He was deserving of her help. ‘Mr Lansdale,’ she said quietly, ‘I hope that it may yet prove unnecessary for you to face any judge.’

She had the attention of the entire room. For it seemed that even the moth upon the window was still and listening. The fading light of the summer evening showed three faces turned towards her: Miss Neville’s red with tears, and Flora’s pale with hope – and Mr Lansdale’s frowning and thoughtful – as if he feared she might suggest some other stratagem which his honour could not countenance.

‘Although there can be no denying that your actions – and those of Miss Neville – played a part in the death of your aunt,’ she continued, ‘I cannot believe that we have uncovered the whole story. You see, Mr Lansdale, I believe that there were other events carrying on in your house that night – events about which you knew nothing. If only we could discover what those events were then we might prove that it was not your actions alone which determined poor Mrs Lansdale’s fate.’

‘I do not understand,’ he said. ‘What do you believe happened?’

Dido could only shake her head and admit, with very great reluctance, that she had, as yet, no clear idea of what might have occurred. It was still all a muddle to her of a dog that had had to be silenced, and gentlemen with hair powder; some music upon the stand of a pianoforte and red-shaded candles. ‘But,’ she continued, with determination, ‘I will do my utmost to discover what happened. There are yet four days left before the trial and in that time I will do all that I can to come at the truth, no matter…’ she hesitated, but finished firmly, ‘no matter who tells me to give it up.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

…I have but four days, Eliza, and a great deal to accomplish. I do not doubt that Mr Lomax would disapprove most heartily of the decision I have taken; but I must act while I can. Justice and humanity – as well as curiosity – revolt against inaction in this matter. Mr Lomax would say that I should leave all to the appointed authorities. But I cannot. I cannot believe that magistrates will concern themselves so much with hair powder and dead dogs and all the rest of it as to uncover the truth about what happened that evening in Knaresborough House.

For, you see, in the light of my recent discoveries, the possibility of Mr Henderson – or Mr Hewit – or anyone else – paying a visit after Mr Lansdale and Miss Neville left the house, has taken on a new significance. Eliza, if there were visitors – who received them? Do you see how important this question is?

If it was Mrs Lansdale – if she was alive and awake to entertain guests at eight o’clock – then she cannot have drunk all the chocolate, and her nephew and her companion must be innocent of her death.

This is the consideration which has made me determined to proceed, and I am to go shortly to Knaresborough House.  Mr Lansdale has left now to stay with Mr Morgan in town and Miss Neville is gone back to her mother. The house will soon be shut up, but the servants have been told that I am to be allowed to go where I wish – and I hope that they may also be persuaded to answer a question or two. I shall leave my letter open until I return so that I may tell you about anything I discover.

I had meant to go out as soon as we had breakfasted, but the morning is dark and threatening and I think I had better wait until the rain has fallen or else passed over. And, while I wait, I shall set down everything that I know – or suspect – about the events of that evening and hope that, by doing so, I shall begin to see it all a little more clearly.

First of all there is the dog which was alive at half after seven when Mr Lansdale left the house, but which met its death soon after. It is impossible to be certain of the reason for its death – but I would surmise that it was either killed so that its mistress might be attacked in safety, or so that it might not rouse her while some other misdemeanour was carrying on.

Secondly, there is Miss Prentice’s information that a man – probably Mr Henderson – approached the house.

Thirdly, there are the marks I found in the drawing room which suggest that two elderly and unfashionable men had been there.

Fourthly, there are the red-shaded lights. And I have new information upon those: when I mentioned them to Mr Lansdale yesterday he said that he had not seen them until after his aunt’s death. He says that he asked Fraser about them and Fraser said that he had had the housemaid put them on in accordance with Mrs Lansdale’s instructions.

And, fifthly, there is the open pianoforte and sheet music in a household which was, professedly, unmusical.

Then, added to all these circumstances and relating to them I know not how, is the strange business of the burglary. A burglary in which everything seems to have happened backwards and quite contrary to the way it should: the window being broken from within rather than without; valuable silver not being taken, and jewels appearing in the house rather than disappearing from it.

Do you not find all these little facts intriguing, Eliza? I certainly do. But I cannot believe that a magistrate who has a whole parish to manage with all its overseers and its vagrants and its disputes – I cannot believe that such a one will find them interesting at all. It does seem most regrettable, does it not, that a woman – who is unqualified to make public such details – should be, by her leisure and habitual attention to trivial matters, best placed to observe them?

Having got so far, Dido laid down her pen and looked out of her bedchamber window at the streets of Richmond and the distant meadows, above which dark grey and purple clouds were gathering. She was now quite sure that she ought to continue with her enquiries; however, she could not help but wonder what Mr Lomax would think of her decision – and hope that he might never know about it. If she could retain his regard only by changing her character entirely and ceasing to care about justice, then she must forfeit it – or else deceive him and appear to be what she was not.

This thought made her so dissatisfied and restless, and yet so very anxious to complete her business that,