far and looking about for a way in which to retract.
‘That is a very serious accusation,’ said Dido quietly.
‘But it is a well-founded one.’
She raised her brows – she would not be so discourteous as to say she doubted him, but there was disbelief in every line of her face.
‘I cannot give you my proof, Miss Kent, without disclosing matters … of a personal nature.’
‘I would not wish to make you uncomfortable, Mr Portinscale. But you may rely entirely upon my discretion – and I confess myself to be very surprised by your poor opinion of a woman who is spoken of so very highly by the whole neighbourhood.’
He sighed again. ‘There was a time,’ he said, ‘when I was more disposed to admire her than anyone else.’ He stared down at the thin hands clasped upon his knee. ‘I asked her to be my wife,’ he said quietly. ‘And it was then I discovered …’
‘Yes?’
‘It was then that she confessed to … another attachment.’
‘Miss Fenn was engaged to another man?’
‘No,’ he replied stiffly, ‘she was not. She spoke of an attachment and, when I asked …’ He stopped, cleared his throat, seemed to force himself to go on. ‘When I asked if I should … soon suffer the pain of witnessing her marriage to another man, she told me – with decision – that, no, that would never happen. I should never witness her marriage.’
‘Oh dear …’
‘In short, Miss Kent, it was an improper attachment – one of which she should have been ashamed, against which she should have struggled – but which she preferred over an honourable offer …’ He stopped. His face was now very red and his clasped hands were tapping up and down upon his knees.
Dido watched him with concern – a little ashamed of herself for forcing the confidence. She was wondering how best to soothe him when Rebecca made her appearance with the news that Francis was returned and awaiting his visitor in the library.
The gentleman jumped up immediately, very glad to hurry away – though he very much regretted the necessity, and was greatly obliged to her for the honour she had done him in bestowing her time upon him …
And she was left alone, watching his narrow black back retreating through the fruit trees and wondering very much about his response. The information he had given was not new to her – though she was rather surprised to find that the lady had spoken so …
But the great revelation of the interview was Mr Portinscale’s palpable emotion.
There had been such an air, not only of the resentment which she had expected, but also of very great suffering. He had been so badly hurt by the rejection that there could be no doubt of his having deeply loved Elinor Fenn. And furthermore, he had believed that she returned his affection. He must have done, for he had been sorely disappointed by her refusal. And disappointment had found expression in cruel resentment.
The pale autumn sun warmed the sheltered corner of the orchard, raising a sweet scent from overripe fruit lying in the long grass. But, all of a sudden, there seemed to be something of melancholy in the mellow warmth – and in the singing of a blackbird on the roof of the moss hut.
Dido was deeply affected to discover that Mr Portinscale’s insistence upon the poor woman’s eternal punishment – her casting out from God’s grace – arose not, as she had thought, from narrow, unbending piety, but from thwarted, human love. She pitied him from her heart – she even wondered whether there had perhaps been a more general souring of his character. Perhaps it had been this injury which had turned the handsome young clergyman capable of preaching eloquently upon such a text as ‘husbands love your wives’ into the dry, narrow moralist that he was today …
And yet she could not excuse him. It was wrong: it was monstrous and hypocritical to use religion in inexorable punishment of a personal slight.
Deep in thought, Dido sewed carelessly, putting untidy stitches into the cravat which her fastidious brother would be sure to remark upon later.
The interview with Mr Portinscale troubled her greatly.
She recollected that her original task – the justification for beginning enquiries – was the removal of Miss Fenn’s grave. And that removal lay within the parson’s gift. If she was correct in supposing his resentment and disappointment were the main causes of his consigning the corpse to unhallowed ground, then overcoming that resentment was a matter of first importance.
But how was it to be accomplished? How was he to be worked upon? A man tormented by an old unrequited love was a formidable opponent. He would not easily be won over.
At the opening of their interview there had seemed to be some hope. He had certainly been fearful of offending Mrs Harman-Foote. She could not help but wonder why he was so very anxious for the lady’s good opinion.
Her hands stilled upon her work and she looked through the arching curtain of yellow damson leaves to the bow window of the library, dimly perceiving two figures within. What was Mr Portinscale’s business with her brother? she wondered. Was it perhaps connected with this anxiety over Mrs Harman-Foote?
Now that she considered the matter, she acknowledged that it was rather strange to see Mr Portinscale here at Badleigh Vicarage. For, although they were close neighbours, the two clergymen were, most certainly, not friends: Mr Portinscale being of rather an evangelical turn of mind which did not suit Francis Kent at all.
Suddenly restless, Dido jumped to her feet, picked up her workbasket and started towards the house.
She would not, of course, be so dishonourable as to try to overhear the gentlemen’s conversation … But she might, perhaps, gain a sight of the visitor as he left and be able to judge something of his mood …
As she passed the library window she caught a glimpse of Francis sitting beside his desk – and Mr Portinscale pacing about on the carpet. And then, as she came into the hall from the garden door – and just paused for a moment in the shadow of the stairs – she saw that the library door was standing ajar.
She became suddenly very dissatisfied with the lacing of her boot; she put her basket on the hall table and stooped down to put the lace to rights … And, as she was doing so, Mr Portinscale’s voice rang out very clearly from the library.
‘In God’s name, Kent! You have been in my situation; you know how difficult it is. Will you not put in a good word for me?’
‘It would have no effect,’ came in her brother’s calmer voice. ‘He is the master of Madderstone and will have all his own way. You had much better confess the truth.’
‘Please! I beg you!’ cried Mr Portinscale. Then he seemed to recollect himself and began to speak more quietly.
Dido lifted her face, struggling to catch the words. And, rather unluckily, it was just at this moment that Mr Lomax, rounded the corner of the stairs – and saw her.
Her little round face was tilted and sunlight from the stairs’ window showed cheeks glowing with fresh air, a curl escaping from her cap onto the softness of her neck and wide green eyes which had all the eagerness – though not perhaps the innocence – of a child’s.
‘Miss Kent! Whatever are you about?’ The blunt words were just saved from discourtesy by the unmistakable affection in his voice.
She looked up, blushed and began to stammer out an account of coming in from the garden … and noticing that her bootlace was unfastened and being obliged to stop just here … and put down her workbasket … and …
He raised his brows. His eyes strayed to the library door.
‘I was not …’ she began, but before she could say any more, the door of the parlour opened and Margaret sallied forth, dressed in her outdoor clothes and just pulling her gloves onto her hands.
‘Oh there you are Dido!’ she cried and stopped as she noticed her guest upon the stairs. She acknowledged him with a brief nod, before turning her attention back to her sister-in-law. ‘I have been looking for you this last
