Your ever loving
Elinor Fenn.
Dido stared, read the letter again to be sure she had not mistaken its contents, then let it drop into her lap.
The little noises of the forest flowed about her: the song of the stream, the rapid, broken stutter of a woodpecker, the furtive rustling of a mouse or a blackbird in the dead leaves. But in her head she heard only the echo of those passionate words in the letter. Words which showed Miss Elinor Fenn to have been a very different creature from the quiet, religious woman her neighbours had taken her for.
Chapter Eighteen
… You are, I know, Eliza, too generous to glory in your better judgement; but I must confess that you may have been right to advise against the enquiries I have lately been making. For I am now got to such a point I do not know where to turn.
The finding of these letters has taken me into very dangerous territory indeed. I know not what I ought to do next. And indecision is, I believe, of all states of mind, the most painful.
I find now that I am in possession of information about Miss Fenn which her friend would find almost as distressing as an incontrovertible proof of self-murder. For it would seem that the lady did, indeed, have a lover and, since secrecy was imperative to him, one cannot escape the conclusion that it was a guilty, clandestine attachment.
I am all amazement. I cannot make out how such a business could have carried on at Madderstone without any of her neighbours suspecting it. How were meetings contrived? How were friends deceived? For it is certain – from the way in which the neighbourhood talks about Miss Fenn – no shadow was ever cast upon her reputation.
Eliza, I certainly do not feel equal to revealing this attachment to Mrs Harman-Foote, and there would seem to be no reason for destroying her esteem of her governess.
Except that this lover would have had a powerful motive for murder.
The passionate nature which her letter betrays must have put him in a perpetual fear of disclosure. Here was she – just a few days before she met her death – declaring that she ‘could no longer endure’ their separation, insisting that they ‘must be together’. Did she intend some desperate action which would expose him? Did he act to prevent that exposure?
I cannot help but suspect that it was this lover with whom she had an appointment on the day of her disappearance. Nor can I forget that purse full of money and the last weeks of life, during which, by the housekeeper’s account, Miss Fenn had seemed recovered from her lowness of spirits.
These arguments against suicide, combined with the motive – and opportunity – for murder, make me fear that a terrible injustice has been done: that not only is a woman cast out needlessly from the church’s mercy, but also that a murderer is walking freely among us …
And I do fear that he may be walking among us.
The fifteen years which have passed since the lady’s death might have produced the hope that the guilty man was already gone beyond the reach of human law to face a much surer and more terrible judgement. But the removal of the other letters – those in the writing desk – robs me of that comfort. Someone is acting now to obscure the truth. The disappearance of Miss Fenn’s ring must put that beyond doubt. Someone wishes to remove every remembrance of this woman: every clue to her secrets. And I cannot escape the conviction that that person was among the company collected at the dinner table when Anne promised to take me to Miss Fenn’s room.
Under these circumstances, can I, in all conscience, stand by and do nothing? Every principle of humanity and morality cries out against it …
And yet it will be impossible – or, at least, exceedingly difficult – to proceed with my enquiries without revealing the things I have learnt to Anne Harman-Foote. And that I cannot face, for I would be forced not only to reveal the improper behaviour of her friend, I would also have to cast the shadow of suspicion upon her own husband.
For you see, Eliza, I am sure that Mr Harman-Foote is the guilty man … No, no, I am not sure at all. But the evidences against him are very strong.
That hint of tobacco smoke suggests that it was he who took the letters from the desk – that is the first, and most powerful, argument against him. He would also have had the opportunity of taking away the ring. (Which ring, by the by, Anne informs me was not found in her search.) Mr Harman-Foote, you will remember, has been from the very beginning quite determined that his wife should make no enquiries into her friend’s death. And he seems to have ordered the refilling of the pool – as if he wishes the matter to be forgotten as quickly as possible … And then there are the details which, while not exactly proving his guilt, certainly make it plausible. We know that he was staying at Madderstone when Miss Fenn met her death; and their both originating in Shropshire makes possible a connection between them before her coming into this country.
Eliza, what am I to do? My mind is in turmoil. For when I am not doubting the husband I find that my suspicions fall upon the father, who, for some reason, installed a governess in luxury. Though Mr Harman’s being dead does, I confess, rather excuse him from being the thief of the letters and the ring. I certainly do not wish to start the possibility of there being another ghost haunting Madderstone …
But then there are strong evidences against the cousin, Captain Laurence, too. I am certain he knew of the existence of the body before it was discovered. We know that he was also staying in the house at the time of Miss Fenn’s disappearance. And, by the housekeeper’s account, he was quite in the habit of following the governess. Well, supposing he followed her upon that fateful evening, and saw something – perhaps her meeting with a lover – something which turned his boyish love to jealousy and anger …
Of course, there is the possibility that Mr Portinscale is the guilty man! Now there is a better thought, Eliza! It would certainly be a great deal more agreeable to suspect a man unconnected with the family. Might he have been so enraged by Miss Fenn’s rejecting his offer that he persuaded her to walk to the pool with him one more time and there exacted a terrible revenge?
Well, I grant that it does seem rather extreme. Revenge for such an affront usually amounts to no more than a little coldness and formality in future meetings, and, at the very worst, a hasty marriage to someone else. Murder is not a common sequel to a rejected proposal. But perhaps there was something which made her refusal particularly objectionable … Mrs Philips spoke of him being very discomposed when he left the house – ‘A face like thunder.’ That is what she said.
Oh dear! Forgive my rambling, Eliza. I am writing down my thoughts as they arise and I doubt you will be able to make any sense of them.
I do not know what I should do next and I have come to such a pass that I am almost glad that Margaret makes it impossible for me to carry my enquiries any further just now. The expectation of our visitor has thrown her into a paroxysm of housekeeping and, what with washing glasses, overseeing the polishing of silver, and rehanging curtains, I am quite unable to leave the house.
And, within a few hours, Mr Lomax will be here …
In a corner of the orchard at Badleigh Vicarage there was a moss hut. Made by a previous incumbent with a taste for rustic simplicity, it had stood for the most part unregarded by the present family – except when the little boys were home from school and had a mind to turn it into a ship or a robbers’ stronghold – until Dido discovered it.
So sheltered as to be habitable on a fine day even in October and so conveniently overrun by spiders as to deter any visit from Margaret, it formed an excellent hiding place. If she provided herself with a basket of plain sewing, Dido had found she could often sit there a whole hour undisturbed.
And she retreated to it on the morning after Mr Lomax’s arrival – meaning to sew and to think. Her plan had been to think about Miss Elinor Fenn, but, as she drew a cravat of Francis’s from her basket and held her needle to the light to thread it, it was rather more immediate matters which concerned her …
The meeting yesterday with Mr Lomax – the first meeting since that extraordinary interview in the lime walk
