A Woman of Consequence

in pupils before you came to Badleigh!’

‘I have certainly not forgotten it,’ he said feelingly. ‘Though I do not see why …’

But she was not listening. ‘“You have been in my situation. You know how difficult it can be!” That is what Mr Portinscale said when he came to visit you last week!’

‘Dido!’ cried Francis raising a finger. ‘I do believe you are still in the habit of listening at keyholes! I thought you had grown out of it years ago. I remember Grandmother Kent saying …’

‘I was not listening at a keyhole,’ said Dido with dignity. ‘I was quite across the other side of the hall. Mr Portinscale just happened to be talking very loudly – and you had left the door open.’

Francis smiled.

‘But my point is,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that you and Mr Portinscale have both taught little boys their Latin. That is the situation you have shared.’ Several ideas were coming together in her head now as she remembered the rest of the conversation. ‘Francis,’ she demanded, ‘why did Mr Portinscale come to see you that day? Why did he wish you to intercede with Mr Harman-Foote?’

‘Ahem. Well, I do not think …’ Francis avoided her eyes and began to open the largest tome on his desk. ‘It was not a matter he would want … Now, if you will excuse me, please, I am rather busy. There is a reference I wish to find for Sunday’s sermon …’ He put on his spectacles and turned a page.

But Dido was not about to allow a mere brother to evade her questions. She had had many years practice at teasing brothers. She leant across the desk and laid both hands upon the page of his book. ‘I shall not leave your library,’ she said, ‘I shall not cease talking to you until you tell me.’

‘Really, this is too bad! You cannot—’

‘Did he confess something to you?’ she said, smiling up at him and still holding her hands upon his page. ‘He did, did he not? He confessed that he had lost his temper with young Georgie. He had struck him, had he not? I know that he had. I saw the bruise!’

Francis gave a long sigh. ‘I wonder that you need to trouble me with questions when you know so much without …’

‘You mean, of course, that I am right!’ she cried, tapping her hands delightedly on the book. ‘And when you said he should confess all because “he is master at Madderstone”, you were not referring to Mr Harman-Foote at all, you were referring to Georgie himself.’

‘Yes,’ said Francis with a resigned sigh. ‘I was. You are quite right. Now will you give me some peace?’

But Dido was thinking – without lifting her hands. ‘And so you did not intercede for him?’

‘No, I did not,’ said Francis, with a defeated sigh. ‘It would have done no good. That young imp truly is master at the abbey. If he told his mother what had occurred, poor Portinscale would lose the favour of the great house and my interceding would only turn Mrs Harman-Foote against me as well, and then Margaret would …’ He tried to inch his book out of the sisterly grasp.

‘And now,’ said Dido, ‘the young imp rules Mr Portinscale as well. The unfortunate man is reduced to buying the child’s silence – with cake.’

Well satisfied with herself, she released the book, picked up her money and hurried away at last to the damp, but blissful solitude of the moss hut.

Here was one small mystery solved, she thought happily as she settled upon the bench … No, when she considered carefully, she saw that there were two mysteries solved. For a little reflection upon Margaret’s dull account of her visit to the great house revealed also a solution to Mr Paynter’s secret correspondence with Mrs Harman-Foote!

Why, this was turning into a remarkably successful day!

She checked herself abruptly, shocked at her own hard-heartedness. How could these thoughts occupy her so entirely after the affecting interview with Mr Lomax? Within the last hour a man had told her that he loved her – and here was she thinking only about Latin lessons and cake!

How very shameful. Was it possible that her own ideas were of more importance to her than a man’s regard? Perhaps, she thought guiltily, she was constitutionally unsuited to love, and Mr Lomax was destined to become no more than a memory, like Mr Clarke … and the other men she had danced and flirted with as a girl.

No. She shook her head immediately with an affectionate smile and watched the black branches of the damson trees drip yellow leaves and water drops into the long grass. No matter what the outcome of their ‘experiment’, he would always be dear to her. His virtues – and his faults – would always form her very ideal of what a man ought to be.

Mr Lomax’s rights revived, but the high spirits of successful mystery solving brightened the prospect. Now she was inclined to be sanguine. The bow and the smile had certainly been favourable …

Chapter Thirty

The party left for Bath two days later, the travellers gathering at the abbey for breakfast before sunrise. And Dido was very glad to be one of the company. She entered the hall of the great house that morning rich and happy; secure in the prospect of five days’ freedom and with spirits to enjoy all the anticipation and bustle of an approaching journey: the shuffling in the gravel of the horses as the carriage was drawn up outside; the shouts of the coachman echoing in the grey dawn; the carrying-down of trunks and those odd, muttered arguments which always break out among footmen who never can agree upon the best way of stowing boxes.

The smell of chops and toast and coffee issuing from the dining room was very welcome indeed and she was hurrying towards it when a loud voice called out her name. Mr Harman-Foote was standing at the door of his library, holding a candle against the gloom.

‘Miss Kent, may I speak with you a moment?’

She followed him into the library where he set the candle down among the papers on a table and begged her to take a seat. But he remained standing himself, his red face frowning, his large hand tapping restlessly among the papers – uppermost of which was the new plan of his grounds. The library fire was but recently lit and the chimney drawing badly: a smell of wood-smoke filled the air and thin grey wisps could be seen twisting about in the candle’s pool of light.

‘Wanted to ask you something,’ he barked at last, so very abruptly that anyone less familiar with his ways would have been offended. Dido only smiled and waited. ‘Those letters …’ he began, and stopped.

‘Letters?’

‘Yes. The letters you saw in Miss Fenn’s room – or rather you didn’t see ’em. For I understand they were gone when you came there.’

‘Yes.’ She studied his face carefully but could not guess what he was about. His colour was habitually so high that his emotions were very difficult to judge.

‘Well—’ His fingers drummed upon the plan. ‘Point is, I’ve been wondering. Have you found ’em? Have you got any idea what became of ’em?’

‘No, I am afraid not.’

‘Ah!’ He sat down beside the table, knees spread wide, his hands planted upon them. ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. It’s a bad business: a very bad business indeed. A lady’s correspondence is a private thing, you know. Should be treated with respect. Don’t like to think of it falling into the wrong hands. Don’t like it at all.’

His disappointment seemed real. There was, overall, such an air of honesty – and of delicacy too, despite the clumsy manner, that she was tempted to trust him … She hesitated; but the sounds of preparation from the hall were becoming louder and more rapid now – they had not long to talk …

‘I agree entirely, sir,’ she said quietly, meeting his eyes. ‘In point of fact, I had rather wondered whether you might have removed the letters yourself – in order to prevent their falling into the wrong hands.’

He started at her words and she discovered that it was, after all, possible for his face to become a little redder. ‘By God!’ he bellowed good-humouredly. ‘William Lomax is right about you, my dear! You’re a damned clever young lady!’

‘I thank you for the double compliment, sir. I am almost as pleased to be thought young as clever!’

He laughed heartily and insisted upon the accuracy of both words – with a gallantry of intent if not of manner.