They watched the poultry a little while longer. A very fat hen shuffled herself luxuriously in a dirt bath and a frantic line of chicks peeped and scuttled out of her way. Dido was considering risking a very particular question – and decided at last that it must be hazarded.
‘Was Miss Fenn at all acquainted with James Laurence?’ she said, her eyes still fixed upon the hens.
The housekeeper looked surprised. ‘Why, yes, of course. All the Laurence boys knew her, for they used to come often on visits – their mother being Mr Harman’s sister, you know.’ She stopped, smiled fondly. ‘The truth is – and I wouldn’t mention this to anyone else – but young Mr James was rather struck with Miss Fenn that last summer. We all used to laugh about it a bit. Nothing improper of course – just following her about and leaving flowers by her place at dinner.’
Dido ceased to study the hens. ‘He was in love with her?’ she cried.
‘Oh no! I would not call it love. Not in a boy of sixteen for a woman of nine and twenty.’
‘Well, you and I may call it what we wish, Mrs Philips,’ said Dido meditatively, ‘but to a boy of sixteen I think it might seem very much like love.’
‘Perhaps you’re right, miss. But it wasn’t to be wondered at, you know. She was such a very handsome woman and she had such a way with her. And if young Mr James
‘Oh?’
Mrs Philips continued with her plucking.
‘Who was this other admirer?’ Dido prompted.
‘Well – quite between ourselves …’
‘Of course.’
‘Mr Portinscale.’
‘Indeed? You believe Mr Portinscale was … paying attentions to Miss Fenn?’
‘Oh yes, there can be no doubt about it! All that last summer she was here, he’d call regular at four o’clock – just when he knew she was at liberty. And they’d walk out across the lawns and down to the pool nearly every fine day. “Mark my words,” I used to say, “we’ll see her settled in the parsonage before Christmas.” But then … Well, there’s no accounting, is there, miss?’
‘No accounting for what, Mrs Philips?’
‘Why! The way it all went off.’
‘Mr Portinscale never made an offer?’
‘Ah well!’ cried Mrs Philips. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’ But she folded her arms and began to look about at her chickens with the air of a woman who knows a great deal.
Dido waited a moment or two – long enough to raise the fear in Mrs Philips’ mind that she had lost the opportunity of displaying her superior intelligence. And then … ‘I suppose,’ she mused, ‘Mr Portinscale was deterred by Miss Fenn’s being only a governess …’
‘Oh no!’ cried the housekeeper immediately. ‘He was not deterred at all!’
‘Oh? You believe he made an offer?’
‘Well …’ lowering her voice as if she feared the hens might overhear. ‘I’ve never mentioned this to anyone before – on account of her disappearing so soon afterwards – but I believe he did.’
Dido said nothing, only raised her brows a little.
‘It is all in the sitting of a gentleman’s hat, is it not, Miss Kent?’
‘The sitting of his hat?’
‘Oh yes, a gentleman wears his hat in a very particular way when he is in love. On the very back of his head – with a sort of a tilt to it.’
‘Perhaps you are right. I confess I have never observed it myself.’
‘Well, I have, miss. And when I saw Mr Portinscale walking to the door that afternoon, I looked at his hat and I said to myself, “It is coming to a crisis. He’ll speak today for sure.”’
‘And do you know what the outcome was?’
Mrs Philips looked suspiciously once more at the spying hens and whispered, ‘I’m sure he spoke that afternoon – the afternoon before she went away. Oh yes, he spoke – and was refused. I know, for I was watching and I saw him leave the house.’
‘And his hat?’
‘Pulled right down over his eyes. And a look like thunder on his face. She’d certainly refused him.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘And refused him in a way he did not like at all!’
As Dido approached the front of the great house, Anne Harman-Foote was just setting off through the shrubbery with her basket to instruct the poor and the sick of Madderstone village into a state of plenty and well- being.
Mrs Harman-Foote was most particularly glad of the meeting, for she wished to hear everything that Dido had discovered about Miss Fenn’s death; but, since the poverty of the villagers was rather urgent this morning, she could not very well afford the time to turn back. So it was somehow decided that Dido must accompany her a little way and, before they had gone many yards, it had also been decided that she must carry the basket.
They started down a damp gravel path between some fine rhododendron bushes which old Mr Harman had planted and which had mercifully escaped the attentions of Mr Coulson. ‘I am taking broth and baby linen to the family at Woodman’s Hollow,’ Anne explained with a sigh of long-suffering, ‘though I doubt they deserve it, for I am quite
‘It is quite shocking,’ she said, hurrying on, ‘the way the poor allow their children to act without restraint, do you not think? If I could only spare the time, I should establish a school in which proper behaviour might be instilled.’
Trailing in her wake with the heavy basket, avoiding as best she could the broad leaves of the shrubs which dripped water at the slightest touch, Dido was taken with a notion of the village children all exhibiting the restraint and proper behaviour of young Georgie. To distract herself from the horrible idea she began upon a succinct account of her discoveries.
‘It seems to me,’ she said, ‘that there are three arguments against your friend’s having taken her own life …’ And she explained rather breathlessly the significance of the coins, the position of the remains in the water and the housekeeper’s belief that Miss Fenn had recovered from her melancholy before her death.
‘That is excellent,’ said Anne when she had finished. She paused a moment, beckoning Dido to hurry and then turned into a broader walk. ‘I shall tell Mr Portinscale all about it as soon as I have an opportunity. And I shall tell him that the grave
‘I doubt he will agree to it yet. He seemed very determined upon denying her the church’s blessing when last I spoke to him.’ Dido took a few quick steps along the gravel in order to look into her companion’s eyes. ‘Do you know of any particular reason why he should be her enemy?’
‘No.’ Anne paused as they reached a little side gate which led from the park into the village lane. There was just a flash of doubt upon the assured face – enough to raise the suspicion that she had known of the clergyman’s rejection. ‘No,’ she said, pushing open the iron gate. ‘I know of no particular reason. But he is a very stubborn man and I think you had better continue with your enquiries in case we should need more evidence to persuade him.’
Since Dido had every intention of continuing with her enquiries, but did not like being ordered to do so, she was rather at a loss for a reply. And, as she searched for words which might combine independence with acquiescence, Anne turned busily to another topic.
‘Now, I must talk to you about Mr William Lomax,’ she said.
‘Mr Lomax?’ cried Dido, struggling through the narrow gateway with the basket.
‘Yes. He is to pay a visit to your brother, I understand,’ she said, but stopped, distracted from the subject for
