A Woman of Consequence

They were not an illicit declaration to a lover; they were the age-old cry of the devoted mother to her son!

Now, at last, everything which had seemed contradictory in the character of this extraordinary woman was explained. How strange it was that everything she had uncovered had led her finally back to the general opinion of the neighbourhood. Madderstone’s governess had been as upright and pious as she had seemed.

Then she recalled the exact words of the reply to Miss Fenn’s letter … And here was a subject which must keep her sitting on the bed even after Margaret had begun to call out impatiently from the landing below.

Of course her mistake had been to assume that the reply was written by the person to whom the letter was sent. And that assumption had been ill-founded: the writer had not used the personal pronoun, but had written instead of ‘one whom you profess to love’. The reply had, in fact, been sent by the person into whose care Miss Fenn had given her son.

And this realisation opened a new vista, the existence of which Dido had suspected before – but had hoped would prove illusory.

The guardian of the boy had been unwilling to relinquish him – had, in fact, been absolutely determined against giving up the child – even though the poor woman had resolved upon reclaiming him.

For some reason, this person had wanted to keep the boy as desperately as the mother wished to take him back. That had been the cause of her death. It was the boy’s guardian she had gone to meet beside the pool. And he had killed her in order to prevent her reclaiming the child …

But who had that guardian been …? And who was Harry Fenn?

Chapter Forty-Three

The ballroom at Madderstone Abbey was the finest apartment in the neighbourhood. It was furnished with two great chandeliers and mirrors in which ‘Goliath might have seen his giant bulk’; there was a wide marble chimney piece at either end of the room; fat cherubs done in plaster clung to the ceiling, and there was such a delicious expanse of floor as must make the feet positively itch to dance.

Into this wonderful room, on every All Hallows Eve, all the gentry and half-gentry of Madderstone and Badleigh were invited, and many a young miss looked forward to the evening as the pinnacle of her winter engagements. But Dido had deeper causes of anticipation as she entered the room that evening and made her curtsey to her hostess. Tonight she was determined that all her questions must be settled: the last mysteries of Madderstone solved – and its unquiet spirits finally laid to rest.

A very fitting undertaking for All Hallows Eve!

Her first business upon joining the gathering circle of guests beside one of the hearths was to look about for Mr Lomax. He was there, standing on the opposite side of the hearth with his hands behind his back and his head courteously inclined towards Lucy Crockford, who was talking to him very earnestly. He was unable to do more than bow a greeting – which was entirely unsatisfactory, for it was beyond even Dido’s hopeful penetration to detect complete forgiveness in a bow …

She sighed a little and allowed her eye to wander on about the little crowd of her friends and neighbours, all dressed in their finest clothes, and she fell to wondering … who among them was Harry Fenn?

One of these young men in their best breeches and dancing pumps and frothing cravats was the son that Elinor Fenn had taken such pains to hide. But which one …? She thought of a young man, apparently orphaned … adopted and raised upon someone’s charity.

And her gaze came to rest upon Henry Coulson.

He was lounging against one end of the mantelpiece with such a sour countenance as made her quite sure that Harriet had already spoken to him about the mysterious boxes which were finding their way to Great Farleigh. His was the largest, most elaborate cravat in the room, got up with so many twists and so much starch that he seemed scarcely able to turn his head. And he had got himself from somewhere a very foolish-looking single eyeglass which depended on a chain from his waistcoat.

Harriet – looking remarkably well in a blue-trimmed gown and braided headdress – was standing a little way from him and occasionally throwing him a cold look as she talked to Harris Paynter. Next to her was Lucy, talking to Mr Lomax, but breaking off from time to time to swing her fan irritably and cast a resentful glance in the direction of Captain Laurence.

Laurence had taken up a position at some distance from the hearth – almost in the centre of the room. With his right arm swinging about as if it held a sword, he was talking with great animation to a little bevy of enthralled young ladies. He was too far away for Dido to catch his words, but she detected in the shaping of his lips ‘navy’, ‘French privateers’ and – more than once – ‘very grave danger’.

Close beside her stood Silas, who seemed to be attempting to explain ‘Mr C … Coleridge’s beautiful, moving b … ballad about an old sailor and a d … d … dead albatross,’ to Mr Harman-Foote – who was looking frankly perplexed.

And Mr Portinscale, she now saw, was just approaching their circle, making an exaggerated obeisance to his hostess and congratulating her upon ‘that exceptional elegance and propriety of all the arrangements which never fails to make the All Hallows ball the most delightful of occasions …’

He then lowered his voice and continued to talk very quietly to the lady. Dido was almost sure she caught the words ‘churchyard’ and ‘reconsidered’; but unfortunately Laurence’s narrative was becoming louder as it reached its crisis: he had progressed from ‘grave danger’, through ‘overwhelming odds’, to ‘mortal peril’. He and his men were now ‘fighting for our lives’. His voice was positively echoing about the room – and two of the enthralled young ladies were giving refined little screams and looking as if they might faint away at any moment.

The end of Mr Portinscale’s speech was sunk in the naval skirmish. But a moment later Anne came to Dido with such expressions of delight and gratitude as confirmed its import – and caused more than one head to turn in their direction.

‘I knew that you could persuade Mr Portinscale into removing the grave,’ she declared joyfully. ‘I was sure from the very beginning that you were the right person to do it. And I am never wrong about these things you know.’

Dido smiled graciously, but there was no time to talk further, for the dancing was soon to begin and Anne was very busy about finding partners for everyone. She hurried off, instructing Dido over her shoulder to ‘come to me tomorrow so that we may talk it all over.’

No sooner had she gone than Mr Lomax appeared, released at last from Lucy’s conversation, and congratulated Dido rather stiffly upon her success. ‘I am sure Mrs Harman-Foote will be much more at ease once her friend rests within the churchyard,’ he said. ‘This at least was well done.’ He stood for several minutes, hands clasped behind him, frowning as if he knew not what to say. The memory of their last interview in Bath was enough to silence them both.

‘It is gratifying to know that you approve some portion of my conduct,’ she said – and stopped, distracted from his looks of displeasure by an awareness that news of the grave’s removal had now spread through the circle by the fire – and turned everyone’s attention towards her. Over in the room’s centre Laurence talked on unabated, but here beside the fire, conversation had stopped for a moment …

It was not an opportunity to miss. ‘I am sure,’ she said, addressing herself to Mr Lomax, but making no attempt to lower her voice, ‘I am very glad to have been of service to Mrs Harman-Foote. And I have in fact discovered another comfort for her.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes. When the thief took Miss Fenn’s letters – there was one overlooked. Not all her correspondence was lost. There is still one letter in the back of her bible.’ Dido stopped. Captain Laurence continued to declaim, but she was sure that she could detect a kind of attentive quietness behind her. She was sure that one person at least in the circle round the fire was listening with particular interest … But who was that person?

She was on the point of turning to look when she became aware that Mr Lomax was addressing her hastily – upon an entirely different matter: that he was, in fact, soliciting her hand for the first two dances.

She was distracted: her attention powerfully torn. The company behind her resumed its conversations. The moment for discovery was lost.

‘You do not wish to dance with me?’ he asked, misinterpreting her confusion and looking grave and