A Woman of Consequence

his fingers just touching one another.

‘You see,’ she said, ‘I have given some thought to your suggestion that Mr Harman-Foote stole the letters and the ring in order to protect his wife from pain.’

‘Yes?’

‘And might not Miss Lambe be frightened away for the same reason?’

He rested his chin upon the tips of his fingers. ‘This would suppose that Mr Harman-Foote knows the secret of the young lady’s parentage.’

‘Yes it would,’ she said eagerly, ‘and that would be entirely possible if …’ She stopped for she was in grave danger of stumbling into indelicacy. But in her mind she could not help but see the luxury of that bedchamber – so very ill-suited to a governess. She lowered her eyes. ‘It may be that the man guilty of … indiscretion with Miss Fenn was a friend of Mr Harman-Foote’s – and someone his wife esteems very highly indeed.’

‘Who, precisely, do you have in mind?’

Dido kept her eyes upon the floor. ‘The late Mr Harman – her father,’ she said quietly. ‘If Mr Harman-Foote knew anything to Mr Harman’s disadvantage, he might be very eager to protect his memory – for the sake of his wife’s peace of mind.’

There was a rather long silence in the room. Dido still did not choose to look at her companion; but his eyes rested upon her very steadily. Their expression however was troubled and considering rather than critical.

‘I wish,’ he said at last, ‘that I could deny the possibility of such a confusion of guilt and deception as you are suggesting.’

‘But you cannot?’ She raised her eyes at last. He was standing with his chin resting upon his steepled fingers – which was always a sign with him of deep thought.

‘No,’ he admitted with a heavy sigh. ‘I cannot. I must, at least, concede that you are justified in being suspicious. There is certainly something very strange carrying on at Madderstone. There is guilt of some kind.’

‘And in return for your admitting so much, I will grant that you were right to caution me when we spoke in the wood. Investigation – even truth itself – can be a dangerous and hurtful thing. You did well to put me upon my guard. But – be assured – I mean to proceed with the utmost care. I have not yet spoken one word to Mrs Harman-Foote which might lower her opinion of her governess. Nor shall I – unless the cause of justice absolutely demands it. And I shall be particularly careful to keep from her these suspicions against her father.’

He smiled. ‘I am extremely glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘And I am sure I should have expected no less of you. It was very bad of me to doubt your humanity – or your delicacy of feeling. In future Miss Kent, I shall endeavour to judge you less hastily, and prove myself worthy of your confidence.’

‘And I shall try to listen calmly to any opinions which you offer,’ she said.

His smile broadened. He took a step closer, fixing his eyes upon her and holding out his hand. ‘Then perhaps we may find that it is possible for us to disagree – to even express our disagreement – without injuring our esteem of one another. I should be very glad to think that open and honest discussion were possible between us.’

Dido coloured as she took in all that this proposal might mean – but there was more pleasure than pain in her confusion. ‘Perhaps we shall,’ she said. She rose and, with a great show of solemnity, placed her hand in his, wondering very much whether he hoped such an arrangement might end at last in marriage: a marriage in which this pleasurable kind of dispute was allowed to continue …

Meanwhile he was looking as if he did not quite know what to do with her hand. He held it a moment; perhaps he was on the point of carrying it to his lips. But then, all at once, he let it go, stepped away from her and searched around for another branch of the subject with which to distract himself.

‘It might,’ he began rather abruptly, ‘be useful to know something of Miss Fenn’s life before she came to Madderstone – have you made any enquiries into that subject?’

‘No … at least, I have not been able to discover much.’ Dido looked down at the grate – at the soft grey ash and the last faint red pulse of the embers. ‘Mrs Harman-Foote seems to know nothing except that the Fenns were neighbours of her mother-in-law in Shropshire and …’ She stopped. An idea had occurred. ‘Mr Lomax,’ she said slowly raising her eyes to his. ‘I believe you have an acquaintance in that neighbourhood?’

‘Ah! Yes, I have.’ He held her gaze and smiled – understanding exactly the request which was in her mind without a word of it being spoken. He hesitated; her eyes brightened eagerly in the faint glow of the fire … ‘Very well,’ he conceded, rather against his own judgement, ‘if you wish it, I shall write to my friend and ask what he knows of the family.’

‘Thank you! It is very kind of you.’

‘Well, well …’ He was beginning to think he had better not stay with her any longer; she was too dangerous; she might persuade him into anything. But still he kept his place by the hearth. ‘And in the meantime,’ he said, ‘you will continue your investigations by enquiring into Miss Lambe’s history?’

‘Yes – though I confess I do not yet know how I shall go to work on it.’

‘Might I be permitted to make a suggestion?’

‘Of course you may.’

‘If it is within your power, I would advise you to accept Miss Crockford’s invitation and accompany her and her sister when they convey Miss Lambe to Bath.’

‘Oh?’ she said, much surprised. ‘Why should I go to Bath?’

‘I have two reasons for recommending it. Firstly, I think that it would provide the safest – and most discreet – opportunity for discovering whether your speculations about Miss Lambe’s origins are correct.’

‘You think that I ought to make enquiries of Mrs Nolan?’

‘No,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I do not say, exactly, that you ought to do so. I am your confidant, remember, not your advisor. I only suggest that going to Bath may be a little safer than pursuing your enquiries here.’

‘You believe then that there is danger here? That there is a murderer among us?’

‘I believe that it is possible.’

She considered this for several minutes. The last remains of the fire were beginning now to dull and drop away through the grate. The room was becoming cold and dark: his face only just visible, a black, brooding outline against the red glow. ‘And what,’ she asked at last, ‘is your other motive?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You said that you had two motives for recommending I join the party to Bath. What is the second?’

‘Oh,’ he said with a smile, ‘merely that I must be there myself next week and it would give me particular pleasure to be allowed to accompany you to the theatre.’

He took her hand again, and this time he allowed himself the indulgence of kissing it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

… Is it possible, Eliza? Could a man and woman exist in a state of well-mannered disputation, listening to and expressing contrary ideas without any loss of respect: the views of neither being subsumed within the judgement of the other? And could this form the foundation of marriage?

I know not! It seems very far removed from any marriage which has fallen within my observation. And yet, I cannot help but think that Mr Lomax has conceived of such a miraculous union – and that he is now intent upon proving to me that it can be achieved!

I am sure it is an experiment quite as interesting as any Mr Paynter has undertaken – and one which, were it published, might add a great deal to the sum of human knowledge. But I am beset by doubts. What would happen if there were a very serious disagreement of principle: if one party was adamant in holding fast to an opinion which the other considered utterly wrong? For our opinions inform our decisions and direct our actions. Might the time not come when difference of opinion led to serious disapproval of conduct? And that must lead to a loss of respect and affection …

Well, I suppose this is something which only time – and experimentation – can discover. And, I should certainly be very glad to go to Bath and carry on the experiment there, for I fear the house will feel very dull indeed after Mr Lomax leaves us tomorrow.

But the signs are not good for my being allowed to go. The subject is now under perpetual