A Woman of Consequence (24 page)

Dido hurried down Gay Street, her mind busy with the notion of Mr Harman-Foote being Penelope’s father. Very carefully, tentatively, she tried to fit this new piece into her map …

It explained a great deal: that reluctance to have Penelope stay at Madderstone which she had detected in her first conversation with Mr Harman-Foote after the accident; his determination to prevent his wife discovering the truth about the death in the lake; his persuading his mother to recommend Miss Fenn as governess.

She was very reluctant to think the genial master of Madderstone a murderer – but this latest information pointed to a powerful motive. Had he drowned his former mistress in order to silence her passionate demands which, had they become public, would certainly have prevented his very advantageous marriage? Maybe Captain Laurence had come to suspect the liaison and his investigations into the matter were a preliminary to exacting money in exchange for silence – that was a stratagem she believed the captain to be quite capable of …

But no. She shook her head, deeply dissatisfied. There were yet pieces which did not fit into the map at all: the handwriting which argued against Mr Harman-Foote
being Miss Fenn’s lover; and Laurence’s distasteful conferences with Lord Congreve; and there was still the strange appearance of the ghost to be accounted for.

And then there was one point which troubled her more than any other: one small, but very disturbing fact. It would seem that Mrs Nolan had never met Elinor Fenn …

The town was becoming busier now: the chairmen were much occupied with getting people to the hot baths and the sweet smell of fresh bread and pastry was drifting from half a dozen little bakeries – turning Dido’s thoughts inevitably towards breakfast. And, despite the urgent demands of her mysteries, she was becoming rather occupied with chocolate and hot buns as she once more crossed the quiet Pump Yard and came to the front of the White Hart.

But there she encountered a sight which rapidly returned her thoughts to business. A post-chaise was drawn up outside the inn door and a groom was just stowing aboard a box and greatcoat which she recognised immediately as belonging to Captain Laurence.

‘Is Captain Laurence going to Portsmouth to join his ship?’ she enquired of the groom.

‘Oh no, miss, he’s going back to his family in the country first.’

‘To Madderstone Abbey?’

‘Aye.’

Now that, she thought, coming to a standstill beside the inn door, was odd: very odd indeed. She had been quite sure that, after the failure of his scheme against Lucy and Penelope, Laurence would simply take himself
off to sea. Why was he returning to Madderstone? She did not like it at all. If he was still scheming – if he had still an interest at Madderstone, then matters might be more complicated – and dangerous – than she had supposed …

She stepped hurriedly into the inn’s public parlour in the hope of snatching a word with him alone, but was instantly disappointed.

Just inside the door there was a high oak screen which formed a kind of dark, ale-scented passageway with a dirty, stone-flagged floor, from which stairs led to the upper chambers. And, as she stepped into the passageway, Dido heard Laurence’s voice talking in the parlour on the other side of the screen. He had company.

‘… I promise I will do it …’ he was saying hurriedly. She turned away. She was upon the point of continuing up the stairs (or so she assured herself afterwards).

‘… If those letters are there to be found,’ said Laurence, ‘I promise I will find them.’

Such an invitation to eavesdropping! Resistance would have required the ethic of a saint – and Dido had never pretended to sainthood. She stopped.

‘Why, you’re a good fellow, Laurence,’ drawled a lazy voice. ‘A damned good fellow and you won’t find me ungrateful.’

She puzzled over the voice a moment – knowing she had heard it before, but uncertain where, until the scene in the theatre lobby recurred. Her dropped fan, the insolent oath. The second man was certainly Lord Congreve.

‘Yes, get the letters and burn them,’ he was saying now. ‘All I want is to have the whole business covered up. I had
hoped I’d get what I need out of this …’ He stopped; there was a sound as of a hand striking a table. ‘But the infernal woman didn’t … Well, no matter, it seems she did not rob me after all. All I want now is for it to be covered up. I’ve no interest in the little miss. Just get the letters and destroy them.’

Chairs scraped across the stone floor as he spoke, footsteps approached the screen. Dido turned to hurry away; but as she went she caught the captain’s repeated assurance that there was nothing for His Lordship to worry about – that everything would be settled safely.

Dido fled up the dark stairs. Suspicions were turning into certainties, new fears presenting themselves, and plans forming so very rapidly that her map was almost made up by the time she arrived at the door of the private dining parlour.

Lord Congreve was at the root of it all! It explained so much.

She pushed open the door – and saw Mr Lomax just rising from the window seat to make his bow.

‘Miss Kent, I am sorry to call upon you so early,’ he began quickly, taking a step towards her, his face anxious. ‘But I have been uneasy since our conversation in the theatre last night – your interest in Lord Congreve. I have been blaming myself ever since for not warning you sufficiently …’ He hesitated, aware perhaps that she was as agitated as he was himself. ‘I was concerned about your … investigations,’ he said, eyeing her more closely. ‘I wished to warn you to take no interest in that wretched fellow’s affairs. They are not …’

‘They are not the kind of thing a lady ought to concern herself with,’ she finished for him, closing the door and stepping into the room. ‘Yes, I am aware of that – though I am very grateful to you for taking the trouble to warn me of the danger.’

He watched her uneasily as she crossed to the window and looked down into the street where the chaise was just drawing away. ‘However,’ she said, ‘I am also aware that Captain Laurence is, at this moment, setting off for Madderstone – upon business for “that wretched fellow”. And,’ she added distractedly, ‘he
must
be prevented from completing that business. The safety of a friend of mine depends upon his being prevented.’

She put a hand to her brow, almost overwhelmed by the thoughts rushing in upon her. Mr Lomax stepped back to the window seat. ‘You had better sit down and tell me all about it,’ he said quietly.

She hesitated. He would not like many of the things which she had to say: he would be shocked – disgusted, perhaps, to hear them from her lips. But the words were on the point of spilling out of her. It would be agony to hold them back. She
had
to speak.

And, perhaps this was the moment at which all their theories must be tested. For, if he could bear to hear her now without objection, then that miraculous union might yet stand within the compass of belief.

She sank down gratefully on the window seat and drew in a long breath. Behind her she could still hear the agonising sound of chaise wheels speeding towards Madderstone Abbey, and around her the inn was coming to life: footsteps echoed on the stairs as the maids carried
up hot water, voices were calling out below in the public rooms and the smells of coal smoke, hot bread and coffee filled the air. The day was advancing; soon she must return to Madderstone and face the difficulties and dangers which awaited her there.

But, for now, she could indulge herself in the exquisite relief of talking – of sharing her ideas with a mind she knew could meet hers in understanding.

She folded her hands in her lap, as demure as a child preparing to recite a lesson, turned her face into the sun’s warmth and began to ‘tell all about it’ – starting with the information she had gained upon her recent visit to Mrs Nolan, and the conversation between Captain Laurence and his friend which she ‘happened to have heard as she passed through the parlour just now.’

By the time she reached this point he was watching her with interest: the tips of his fingers were coming together … ‘And so, you believe that Mr Harman-Foote is Miss Lambe’s father?’ he said as she paused.

‘No.’ She continued resolutely, without apologising for the indelicacy of the subject – for it had to be said; but she turned away her face to the window so that she was watching the smoke of the town’s breakfast fires roll across the sunny roofs as she said, ‘No, I do not believe that he is Penelope’s father at all.’

‘You think the schoolmistress is lying?’

‘No, no, I am sure her information is correct – so far as it goes. I believe Mr Harman-Foote has indeed supported Penelope these last fifteen years. But, it does not necessarily follow that he has been prompted by either duty or guilt. I think his only motive has been benevolence.’

‘That,’ he acknowledged, consideringly, ‘would accord well with his character. I have a great regard for the man and I would be very happy to believe him innocent. But what is your proof?’ He stopped, smiled. ‘You see, Miss Kent, I have such confidence in your reasoning that I am sure you
have
proof.’

‘And your confidence is not misplaced. My proof lies in the behaviour of Captain Laurence. You see,’ she said, ‘I believe the captain knew that Miss Fenn had gone to the pool on the day of her death – and suspected that she had died there. But, for fifteen years he said nothing of his suspicions – and then, about two months ago, he began making enquiries. He followed the same trail as I did, through the information of servants, to Great Farleigh – and Penelope. And he also persuaded Mr Coulson to drain the lower pool.’

‘But this is no proof of your case!’ he cried. ‘Laurence’s most probable motive was to expose Harman-Foote’s guilt and subject him to blackmail.’

‘No, no,’ she said eagerly. ‘I do not think so. If his intention was to get money from Mr Harman-Foote, why did he not approach him with his discoveries? Why did he come here to Bath – and tell Lord Congreve?’

‘Congreve?’ The gathering interest in Lomax’s face was all swallowed up in alarm. The very name seemed to make him uneasy.

‘What would you say,’ continued Dido eagerly, ‘if I told you that His Lordship is Penelope’s father?’

‘Ah!’ he frowned and hastened to supply an explanation himself; in order, no doubt, to save her ‘concerning herself’ with unsuitable information. ‘You believe that
Congreve … forced his attentions upon this woman Elinor Fenn – when she was maid to old Mrs Foote. That he got her with child. And that, out of compassion, Mr Harman-Foote persuaded his mother to recommend her as a governess.’

‘Do you not think it possible?’ she asked.

‘No!’ he protested warmly. ‘No I certainly do not!’

She tilted her head and looked up at him questioningly. ‘And what, pray, is the weakness in my reasoning?’

‘I regret to say there are so many weaknesses I scarcely know where to begin.’ His face was frowning severely in the sunshine, criss-crossed by the shadows of the window-leads. ‘A disgraced maid become a governess! It was most unsuitable. And yet you believe that two such respectable people as Mrs Foote and Mr Harman were complicit in the deception?’

‘I believe that they must have both known the truth of the young governess’s history. Otherwise the plan could not have been carried out.’

‘No!’ he cried. ‘This is very poor reasoning. I knew Mrs Foote. She was a very proper lady. She would not have taken part in such a business.’

‘So, I cannot convince you that this story is true?’

‘I am afraid you cannot. It is nonsense … That is,’ he added, recollecting himself, and bowing slightly awkwardly in the confined space of the window seat. ‘I would not contradict a lady …’

‘No, no Mr Lomax,’ she cried immediately, ‘you are forgetting that there is to be open and honest discussion between you and I. Please contradict me as much as you wish. You must be as free to mention my errors as I am to mention other people’s crimes.’

‘Must I?’ He looked at her in surprise – then laughed, set his elbow on the edge of the window and leant towards her, shaking his head. ‘Then I
shall
contradict you. My dear Miss Kent,’ he said in gentle challenge, ‘I would suggest that you are talking nonsense.’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling serenely up into his eyes. ‘I know that I am.’

‘You know?’

‘Yes, of course this tale is arrant nonsense! And yet,’ she added, ‘you failed to mention the one most startling piece of evidence against it – the very comfortable bedchamber which was allotted to Miss Fenn at Madderstone.’

‘The bedchamber?’ he repeated, rather confused by this sudden turn of events. ‘Why should that be significant?’

She hesitated over answering the question. A part of her would have liked to jump up at this point and walk about the room – for there were a great many ideas and suspicions crowding in upon her now and her mind was always clearer when her body was in motion. But she did not wish to move away from him. Honest and open discussion was, she found, rather pleasantly conducted at rest together upon the sun-warmed window seat, where his long fingers played restlessly within inches of her face and she could see the tiny dark flecks which the sunlight revealed in the grey of his eyes.

‘In the theatre,’ she said, striking out into another branch of reasoning, ‘I suggested to you that the key to all our mysteries might lie in the face of Lord Congreve’s present mistress.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Well, afterwards – in the lobby – I contrived to
look more closely at that young lady’s face.’

‘And what did her face reveal?’

‘It revealed a great deal of grease and powder; but not quite enough – not enough to hide a blackened eye, a bruised cheek and a split lip.’

‘Congreve!’ he cried in a voice of controlled fury. The restless fingers formed an involuntary fist. He smote the ancient frame of the window and set the panes rattling.

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I believe him to have been the source of the injuries – for I remember Harriet telling me once that it was his unkind treatment of his wife which ended his marriage.’