A Woman of Consequence (17 page)

Harriet shook her head. ‘No … At least I thought not. I thought that Nanny was sitting with her …’

They were on the landing … At the door … Dido pushed it open …

The only light in the room came from the fire, burning low upon glowing embers with a small flame or two flickering unsteadily, sending fingers of light and shadow across the ceiling and the bed-hangings. There was no attendant – only Penelope sitting up on her bed, her face terrified. She turned to the door as Dido and Harriet hurried in.

‘Oh! She was here!’ she cried. ‘I saw her! The Grey Nun was here at the foot of the bed!’

‘It was a dream,’ said Harriet soothingly. ‘Nothing more.’ She went to the bed and tried to persuade her charge to lie down.

But Penelope resisted feverishly. ‘No, no! I was awake. I was quite awake! And she was just there, you know,’ she insisted, pointing a shaking finger. ‘I had just fallen asleep and then I woke up. And there was a figure in a very ugly grey gown like nuns wear. And there was a light. And a great big hood so her face was quite covered up.’

‘No, no …’

‘Yes!’ Penelope’s poor eyes seemed to be starting out of her head. ‘She spoke to me in an odd sort of voice – such as I suppose they call
hollow tones
in a book. And I thought I should die of fright …’

Harriet shook her head, and continued to talk quietly and calmly about dreams and tricks of the firelight and the injury from which Penelope was not yet quite recovered …

Meanwhile Dido had followed the direction of the pointing finger and was looking closely at the spot by
the bed’s foot where the ghost was supposed to have appeared. She stooped down and touched the bedpost lightly, raised her finger and studied its tip …

Just then the door was opened by poor Nanny, full of tearful apologies for having ‘only just gone down to the kitchen with the tray. And she had only been away a minute or two. And she was right sure her old legs
couldn’t
have taken her there and back any quicker than they did. And Miss Harriet knew full well that she never had been one for wasting time gossiping in the kitchen …’

Harriet left the bedside to confer with her and send her off with a reassuring message for the company below. Dido went to Penelope. ‘The Grey Nun spoke to you?’ she whispered eagerly.

‘Yes.’ Penelope seized her with hot little hands, very anxious to be believed.

‘What did she say?’

‘She said …’

‘Now now,’ said Harriet turning back towards them, ‘it will not do at all to dwell upon it. It was nothing but a nightmare. Least said soonest mended.’

But Penelope clung on, her eyes wide and pleading. ‘She
did
speak. I am quite, quite sure it was not a dream. You believe me, do you not?’

‘Yes …’ Dido looked down thoughtfully at her own fingers, rubbed them together a little. ‘Yes, I think perhaps I do believe you.’ There was a protest from Harriet, but she continued. ‘Can you tell us what the Grey Nun said to you?’

‘Oh! She said that I am in great danger. She said that I must get away from here as soon as ever I can.’

Dido left the bedroom immediately and hurried out onto the landing, eagerly looking to right and left. There was no one in sight. Down in the hall the company was yielding to Nanny’s message and Mrs Harman-Foote’s entreaties. Everyone was returning to the drawing room. She could hear their voices fading away. She started down the stairs. The drawing room door was just closing; Nanny was hurrying off to the kitchen; there was only one person left in the hall – it was Mr Lomax.

And he was watching her with a very troubled expression – as if he were suspecting her motives for hurrying away so promptly to Penelope’s room; and yet he seemed reluctant to leave her and return to the drawing room …

‘Did you see anybody?’ she asked a little breathlessly as she reached the hall. ‘Did you see anybody come down the stairs just now – after Harriet and I went up?’

‘The old nurse came down to assure us all was well.’

‘Nobody else?’

‘No.’ He looked at her with concern. ‘You seem distressed.’

She had no time to reply to that. She was too occupied with suspicion and calculation to give much thought to
anything else. ‘Who exactly was in the drawing room just now?’ she said distractedly. ‘Can you remember? When we heard the cry, was there anyone who was not with us?’

He raised his brows, started another question, but then, upon seeing her look of impatience, stopped. He hesitated a moment – reluctant to encourage whatever investigations now occupied her. But then he gave a sigh. ‘Well,’ he said, considering carefully. ‘Mr and Mrs Harman-Foote, your brother and I were all at the card table. Mr and Miss Crockford and your sister were beside the fire. Miss Lucy Crockford was on the sofa by the pianoforte … and,’ he added, suddenly averting his eyes from hers, ‘Captain Laurence was there too and, I believe, talking
very
entertainingly to
you
.’

‘Yes,’ she said, only half-listening as she struggled to remember the position of everybody as exactly as she could. ‘Yes, you are quite right.’

He frowned and fell into a thoughtful silence.

‘So, who was missing?’ she said, busily checking everyone off on her fingers.

‘That young fellow who talked so much at tea about felling trees,’ he said, rousing from his reverie. ‘I do not believe he was in the drawing room.’

‘Mr Coulson? No, I think you are right.’ She looked thoughtfully about the quiet, empty expanse of marble-floored hall. Fine mahogany doors led to library, drawing room, dining room and billiard room and, all but hidden under the shadow of the great staircase, another smaller door led away to the offices. ‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘where that gentleman is now.’

‘Why, he has gone back into the drawing room now with the others. He joined us here in the hall a moment or two after you and Miss Crockford went upstairs.’

‘Did he indeed!’ she cried eagerly, eyes brightening, her face alive with rapid thought. ‘But he did not come down the stairs?’

‘No.’

‘Mr Lomax, can you remember
from where he came
?’

‘I hardly know …’ He was becoming more puzzled every moment: more and more at a loss to understand what she was about.

‘Please, try to remember. Is it possible that he came from over there.’ She pointed towards the door that led to the offices.

‘It is possible that he did. I cannot be sure. We were all shocked and there were a number of people in the hall. What does it matter whether he came through that door or another?’

‘Because,’ she said, ‘there must be back stairs in this house like any other.’

‘Miss Kent,’ he cried, unable to hide his exasperation any longer, ‘I am afraid that I do not now have the pleasure of understanding you. I am sure Madderstone Abbey
has
back stairs or its servants would be very seriously inconvenienced. But I am quite at a loss to know why those stairs should concern us now.’

‘Because Mr Coulson could have come down them, of course. He could have left Miss Lambe’s room, slipped out along the landing before Harriet and I reached it and come down the backstairs into the hall.’

He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘But why
should you suspect him of doing so?’

‘Because something – or somebody – appeared to Penelope just now, and I do not believe it was either a ghost, or a nightmare.’

He looked extremely grave and she was very sure that he was going to make some remonstrance concerning unnecessary curiosity, but, to her great surprise, he only said, ‘Why? Why should you suppose such a thing?’

She held out her hand and he looked into it. ‘Candle wax?’ he said.

‘It was upon the bedpost near where this
ghost
had stood. It was still warm and soft when I found it – just spilt from a candle. And I think you will agree, Mr Lomax, that an apparition does not require artificial light – but a man impersonating one does.’

‘It seems a very wild idea,’ he protested. ‘Are you suggesting that the gentleman disguised himself as a ghost on purpose to frighten Miss Lambe? What possible motive could he have for doing something so very strange – and cruel?’

Dido bit thoughtfully at her lip. ‘The motive I cannot explain – yet. But it may be possible to prove my theory.’

‘Indeed?’ Try as he might, he could not keep the interest from his voice. ‘I should be very glad to hear how you might
prove
it.’

She looked from the sweeping staircase to the little door in its shadow. ‘If my surmise is correct,’ she said, ‘then he must have discarded his costume somewhere between the bedchamber and the hall – and he would have had little time in which to conceal it.’

‘His costume?’

‘Oh, Mr Lomax!’ she cried impatiently before she could stop herself. ‘Is it not obvious?’

He again considered leaving her and returning to the drawing room, but found that he could not. ‘No,’ he said as calmly as he could, ‘I am afraid it is not obvious to me at all. I am very sorry to be so dull-witted.’

‘Well, when –
if
– Mr Coulson appeared to Penelope as the ghost, then he had on a grey nun’s habit. But I do not suppose that he was dressed in that fashion when he arrived here in the hall – I think you might have remarked upon it if he had been.’

‘Ah!’ he said, smiling in spite of himself. ‘Yes, I think that even I might have noticed such a detail!’

‘And so,’ she said, ‘I shall see whether I can find it before he has a chance to retrieve it.’

She started up the stairs and, after a moment’s struggle, he followed her. ‘May I accompany you?’ he said. ‘I should be very glad to see your proof.’

‘I am all amazement! I had expected you to advise me against interfering.’

‘And would you heed me if I did?’

‘Ah!’ There was a moment of confusion, but the urgency of her quest overruled everything. ‘I fear that I might not,’ she admitted.

‘Then I shall not make myself ridiculous by offering counsel which I know will be disregarded.’

They reached the top of the stairs and turned into the passageway which led away to the back of the house; it was wide, well carpeted and panelled in fine oak, embellished with the staring heads of long-dead stags. Dido had expected to find a door to the kitchen stairs
leading from it, but they arrived at its end and a large window overlooking an inner court, without encountering any such door.

‘How strange!’ she cried, turning her back to the window and looking along the length of the passage. ‘I was quite certain that there would be a door.’

Lomax picked up a candelabra which stood upon the window sill. ‘There most certainly is a door,’ he said, ‘but it has not been allowed to spoil the beauty of this panelling.’

Holding the light close to the wall, he began to make his way slowly back towards the landing. ‘Here it is!’ He stopped, pushed at the wood and opened a small door.

‘How very clever of you!’

‘Thank you!’ he said, standing back for her to enter. ‘I am glad to be of service.’ Looking up at him as she passed through she saw that he was smiling slightly. She rather suspected that the grave, dignified Mr Lomax was beginning to enjoy this little adventure.

They stepped out of the carpeted passage onto cold stone. The light of the candles showed narrow, unrailed stone stairs twisting downwards between lime-washed walls. From below came echoing sounds as of knives and china being cleaned and an occasional voice raised above the din of work. There was a smell of damp and fried meat, leather and boot-black.

‘Well,’ said Mr Lomax, looking about him. ‘I see neither a nun’s habit, nor any place in which one might be concealed.’

‘No,’ admitted Dido. ‘Nor do I.’

They started down the stairs, the sound of their feet echoing harshly against the stark walls. About
halfway down there was a shuttered window. Dido stopped, pulled open the shutter and looked behind it. There was nothing hidden there.

The stairs ended in a narrow lobby from which doors led away to kitchen, scullery and laundry. On the bare white wall hung the usual row of labelled bells by which servants were summoned to the front of the house, and at one end of the lobby was the door which led into the main hall. At the other end, hard by the stairs, was a kind of wooden screen beside an outer door – through which an icy draught was blowing.

Mr Lomax shivered and shook his head. ‘I think, perhaps, you have failed in your proof.’ He sounded almost disappointed.

Dido turned restlessly from one door to another. ‘It must be here … There was no time in which to take it anywhere else.’ She stared about her. Inspiration struck. ‘Ah!’ she cried and stepped behind the screen. ‘Did you never play “Hunt the Thimble” when you were young, Mr Lomax?’

‘Not with any great success,’ he admitted as he held up the light and followed her into the cold gloomy space by the back door, where there was a great assortment of old muddy boots and pattens – and pegs upon which the servants’ outer garments were hung.

‘The trick,’ she said as she began to take cloaks from the wall, ‘is always to put the thimble somewhere where it does not look out of place – among small ornaments, or jewellery, that kind of thing …’ As she spoke she had been hurriedly handing articles of clothing to him and by now he was holding two old woollen pelisses, a fustian jacket and a sackcloth apron. ‘And of course, if
one wished to hide a garment … Ah!’

She turned in triumph, holding, in one hand, a loose grey hooded habit, and, in the other, the belt of rope which had secured it.

For a moment they stood in that wretched, cold little porch smiling delightedly at one another like a pair of high-spirited children. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone. He began to laugh. ‘You are remarkable, Miss Kent!’

Without seeming to know what he was about he took a step towards her – or maybe she moved towards him. When she considered it afterwards, Dido could not be quite sure which it was …

But she recollected herself, blushed, turned away, replaced the habit on its peg and began to cover it with the other things.

He took a step back, held the candle a little higher so that she could see more clearly. ‘So … you do not wish Mr Coulson to know that you have found him out?’

‘No,’ she mumbled as he handed back the last of the housemaids’ pelisses, ‘I would rather he did not. I need to think matters over …’

They stepped out into the lobby and paused a little awkwardly. The sounds of the kitchen echoed about the bare walls: the rattle of wooden pails on stone flags, the scrubbing of a table and the raking of coals. She wished he would not look at her so very intently.

‘Miss Kent,’ he began cautiously, ‘do you suspect that this strange occurrence – this “haunting” – is connected with Miss Lambe’s fall; or with other late events – I mean the discovery of the body … In short, is this a part of your
investigation
?’

She avoided his eye and stared at the long, unsteady shadows which the candlelight was stretching from their feet, listened to someone whistling a hornpipe somewhere in the kitchens. A score of evasions ran through her mind, but she put them aside. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said quietly.

‘And what conclusions do you draw from this discovery?’ He nodded in the direction of the screen and the habit.

‘I conclude …’ She stopped herself and shook her head. ‘Mr Lomax, I think you are forgetting our last conversation upon this subject. I do not believe it is a matter we can discuss without falling into argument.’

The light of the candles flickered across his face showing powerfully conflicting emotions which puzzled her. There was a struggle carrying on; and it ended with: ‘I believe I may have spoken a little too … strongly when we discussed the matter before. I am sorry if I offended you.’

The words were said so very stiffly she could not immediately take in their meaning. But when she was quite sure that he had indeed made an apology, she stared. Whatever could have brought about this change of heart? She was quite at a loss to explain it.

‘If,’ he continued, ‘you were to do me the honour of confiding in me again, I should … endeavour to listen more calmly.’

She smiled: vastly pleased, though still very puzzled. ‘It is very good of you to offer it,’ she said demurely. ‘I appreciate your kindness – indeed I appreciate it far too well to put it to the test.’

‘You do not choose to share your ideas with me?’

‘I think it had better not be attempted. For even if you succeeded in … listening calmly. Even if you said
nothing at all, I should
know
that you disapproved.’

He considered this for a moment. ‘But it would seem,’ he pointed out with his usual impeccable logic, ‘that you already
know
all about my disapproval. You have pre-empted me and are already suffering my imagined strictures. So what is to be gained from reserve? Might you not as well confide in me? The exercise might prove useful to you. Speaking thoughts aloud is frequently a means to understanding them better.’

‘Yes. Talking – to the right person – can, sometimes be a great help …’ She put her hand to her head. There was something about his solid, reassuring presence and kindly grey eyes that made her long to share her thoughts with him. But his eagerness to help, his valiant attempts to avoid censuring her, were inexplicable! She was too puzzled and confused to trust his sudden change of heart. ‘Come,’ she said abruptly, ‘we had better return to the drawing room.’