‘Marry? Perhaps she may, though I wonder who would have her. My son had some hopes once in that direction, and my wife – I mean my wife and I, of course – would not have been against the match. But she would not have him; and I fear also that her father was not fond of him. Mr Carteret was not a rich man, you know, and his daughter will now be dependent on Lord Tansor’s generosity. And then she has such decided opinions on matters that really ought not to concern a young lady. I suppose that comes from her time abroad. I myself have never left these shores, and hope I never have to do so. My son, though, has expressed a wish to go to America, of all places. Well, we shall see. And now, Mr Glapthorn, I must bid you a very good evening, and hope we may have the pleasure of seeing each other again very soon.’
As he made to leave, my eyes strayed towards the baronial towers of the South Gates, and something that I had been half conscious of all day suddenly rose to the surface.
‘Dr Daunt, if you don’t mind my asking, why do you suppose Mr Carteret rode home through the woods? Surely the quicker route from Easton to the Dower House is through the village.’
‘Well, yes, now you come to mention it, that would indeed have been the quickest way,’ he replied. ‘The only reason to come into the Park through the Western Gates from the Odstock Road would be if there were a need for Mr Carteret to go up to the great house, which is much closer to that entrance than to this.’
‘And was there such a need, do you know?’
‘I cannot say. Perhaps he had some business with Lord Tansor before he returned home. And so, Mr Glapthorn, I’ll wish you another good-evening.’
With that, we shook hands and I stood watching him as he walked off towards the gate in the wall. As he passed through, he turned and waved. And then he was gone.
I took the path that led into the stable-yard. There I encountered Mary Baker, the kitchen-maid, lantern in hand.
‘Good-evening, Mary,’ I said. ‘I hope you’re feeling a little better than when last I saw you.’
‘Oh, yes, thank you, sir, you’re very kind. I’m sorry you had to see me like that. It took me hard, that’s the truth. The master had been so kind to me – so kind to us all. Such a dear man, as I’m sure you know. And then it brought to mind, in such a terrible way, what happened to my poor sister.’
‘Your sister?’
‘My only sister, sir – Agnes Baker as was. A little older than me, and a mother to me, too, after our own mother died when we were still little. She worked in the kitchen up at the great house, under Mrs Bamford, until that brute came and took her away.’
She hesitated, as if in the grip of some strong emotion.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m sure you don’t wish to hear all this. I’ll say good-evening, sir.’
She turned to go, but I called out to her to stop. Something was stirring in a dark, unvisited corner of my memory.
‘Mary, don’t go, please. Sit down a moment, and tell me about your sister.’
With a little more gentle persuasion, she agreed to postpone the task that she had been engaged upon, and we sat down in the fading light on a roughly made bench constructed around the thick, gnarled trunk of an old apple- tree.
‘You mentioned a brute, Mary. What did you mean?’
‘I meant that murdering villain who took my sister away, and killed her.’
‘Killed her? You don’t say so!’
‘I should say I do! Killed her, in cold blood. Married her, then killed her. As soon as I saw him, I knew he was a bad ’un, but Agnes wouldn’t hear of it. It was the only time we ever argued. But I was right. He was a bad ’un, for all he charmed her.’
‘Go on, Mary.’
‘Well, sir, he called himself a gentleman – dressed like one, I’ll grant you. Even spoke a bit like one. But he weren’t no gentleman. Not him. Why, he weren’t hardly more than a servant when he first came to Evenwood.’
‘And how did your sister meet him?’
‘He’d come up from London, with Mr Daunt.’
‘Mr Daunt?’ I said, incredulously. ‘The Rector?’
‘Oh no, sir, Mr Phoebus Daunt, his son. He’d come up with Mr Phoebus and another gent, for a great dinner, on the occasion of his Lordship’s birthday. I was by the gates when they went past. But he wasn’t invited to the dinner, just Mr Phoebus and the other gentleman. He seemed like he was a serving-man, or some such, for he was driving the carriage that they all came in, and yet he dressed so well, and thought so much of himself, and seemed to be on easy terms with the other two gentlemen. Anyways, that’s when he met Agnes, that evening, in the yard by the ice-house. Oh, he was a sly one. He wheedled and cooed, and she, poor fool, took it all in, and thought he was such a great man, taking notice of such as she. But he was no better than her – no, he was a lot worse. We were decent folk, well brought up. But he’d come from nothing, and made his money, Lord knows how. Why Mr Phoebus took up with him, who could say? He came back a week later, but not with Mr Phoebus, nor to see him neither. And then – what do you think? Agnes comes down the next day and says, “Well, congratulate me, Mary, for I’m to be married, and here’s the proof,” and she holds out her hand to show me the ring he’d given her. After a week! There was nothing anyone could say. She just shut her ears and shook her head. And off she went, poor lamb. And, if you’ll believe me, sir, that was the last I saw of her. My poor dear sister, who’d been my closest and dearest friend in the whole world.’
‘What happened then, Mary?’ I asked, feeling increasingly certain that I knew where her story was leading.
‘Well, sir, I had a letter from her a month later to say he’d been as good as his word and had married her, and that she was set up in fine style in London. And so of course my mind was eased a little, though I still couldn’t see how this was to end in anything but trouble for her, being tied to such as he. I waited and waited, longing to hear
