Lydia Trent (9 page)

They
insisted on him taking the seat nearest the fire, for the early
spring days were still cold, and plied him with good things from the
tea-table, and valiantly set to work to draw him out. They made
polite enquiries about his health, his opinions of the village, about
his life in the Navy and his ship, and made but little headway.
However, it was evident that this reserve was the result of
diffidence, not of ill-nature, and eventually Adeline struck upon the
happy chance of playing for the gentlemen. Adeline was that rarity
among young ladies – she played for the love of music, not for the
love of display, and though many young women were superior musicians,
there was something about the girl's sweet, untrained voice and light
touch upon the keys which went straight to the heart of the
listeners. She tried one or two of those fashionable exercises in the
mathematics of harmony, which were politely applauded, and then lit
by chance on some sweet old song of her father's time. To the
surprise of all, at the second verse the Captain moved to the piano
and began to sing the second part, in a fine, clear, alto voice. The
voice cracked by the end of the song, but the ice was broken, and now
they could all talk of music, and the Captain spoke of fine concerts
he had heard in foreign ports, and was led on by degrees to forget he
was amongst strangers.

How
surprised they all were to hear the hall clock strike, and realise
that two hours had slipped by! The captain was now issued with the
same open invitation as Alfred enjoyed, and retired to his lodgings
feeling in better spirits than he had for many a weary month. The
girls, too, felt their troubles a little lightened from being forgot
for a while, and were anxious to renew the aquaintance.

Whilst
the young ladies have been making a new friend, the patient and
perspicacious 'Detective Dick' Dodds has not been idle.

On
leaving his interview with the two girls, he repaired to the public
bar of the Crown, having learned, by long experience in his trade,
that the presence of beer and rum have a tendency to make men wax
loquacious. The worthy detective had a useful talent in this line, of
being able to unobtrusively nurse his own single glass of
brandy-and-water an entire evening, thus keeping a clear head and a
steady tongue whilst all around him heads grew fuddled and tongues
grew looser.

In
the bar, he found it advantageous to assume the character of a man
who has just made a very good bargain, and thus inclined to be
sociable and hospitable. In this guise, he struck up and acquaintance
with a group of venerable elderly villagers, who were not averse to
being bought a bowl of punch. These gentlemen, by name George Handy,
Abel Metcalf, and Stephen Carter, I shall not go to the trouble of
describing, as their like can be seen in any public bar. Look for the
three aged rustics, usually sitting in the snuggest corner by the
fire, nursing their pints of ale or glasses of rum-and-hot-water,
eyes scanning the assembled company, on the alert for any passing
acquaintance who might be persuaded to stand them a drink, ears on
the alert for any scrap of gossip, which meat they strip from the
bone and chew over far more exhaustively than their elderly wives do
at their genteel little tea-drinkings.

It
was this last propensity which made Mr Dodds heartily inclined to buy
these gentlemen, in whatever public house, in whatever corner of the
British Isles, a drink. For the modest outlay of half a bottle of
rum, hot water, lemons and sugar in proportion, he was sure to
receive a great deal of information. Much of it would be dross, to be
sure, but he was prepared to listen to a goodly amount of spoil in
order to get at the one golden nugget of useful information.

The
other consideration of course, was that striking up and acquaintance
was the simplest thing in the world – a bowl of punch and an
expansive manner were as good to these old fellows as a letter of
introduction from a duke. These ceremonies of introduction having
duly been completed, Dick Dodds made himself comfortable, and after a
suitable lapse, in which the strong punch began to make its effects
known, began skilfully to lead the conversation toward the subject
closest to his heart.

“
Tell
me, I saw a pleasantish kind of box out on the East road into the
village. Just the sort of place I've a mind to buy myself one of
these days. Who owns it? Do you think they'd be of a mind to sell?”

“
You
must m-mean the Grove. Grey stone house, fronts onto the r-road,
biggish garden at the b-back?” (the unfortunate Abel having
developed something of a stammer)

“
Nay,
Abel, the Grove is out North of here, not East. He's talking of the
Trent place, I'll be bound.”

“
It
was built of a yellowish stone, I believe, and had a few fine old
trees round it.”

“
Aye,
that's the Trent place sure enough. As to selling, well, they've had
a heap of trouble there of late, the old gent died at Christmas after
a long illness. The widder might be inclined, if you approach her
canny, but I'd wager she'd get the best of the bargain.” and old
Stephen chuckled, displaying a couple of brown and lonely teeth and a
good deal of red gum.

“
Aye,
she's a sharp one, though she certainly has no friends
hereabout
.”

“
Why,
whatever do you mean?”

“
Well
I don't like to talk ill of folks,” (this was as arrant a lie as
ever crossed the lips of man, by the by – the disreputable old soul
loved nothing better) “but there's been dark muttering abroad as to
how exackly the old gent met his end, so to say. The doctors all said
there weren't nothing really wrong with him, as they could find, and
yet he faded away and faded away and finally died.”

“
Aye,
and young Sam, the carriers boy, swears as he w-was coming home one
night last autumn, for he lives out Abbey Farm way, he seed her –
the widder, that is – a w-walking and a-talking with some low
feller in the woods. And what business a dacent woman has w-walking
with that manner of man, let alone by moonlight and not a creature
by, I don't know.”

“
How
very odd. Was he a local man?”

“
Nay,
that's the mystery of it. It seems nobody ever seen him before or
seen him again.”

“
Now
then, that aint strictly true,” chipped in George, who had hitherto
held his tongue. “Some say as how it must have been that feller as
made all the ruckus with Miss Adeline, as used this very inn once or
twice.”

“
A
ruckus with a lady? that sounds very particular. And was the man
actually staying here? I am shocked!”

“
Miss
Adeline is the widder's daughter – there's 2 girls up at the Trent
place, and a sad life they've had of it this last year. Some ruffian
tried to drag her from out of a carriage – last June or so, if I
recall. And about that time there was a stranger seen about the place
once or twice, but he weren't staying hereabouts – at least not in
the village. He just used the coffee room to write a letter or two,
the barman sez, and nobody could say for sartin if it were him, so he
were let alone. He never come back after about November, to my
knowledge at least.”

Dick
Dodds expressed an appropriate amount of concern and surprise at
this, and the conversation passed on to less interesting (to him)
subjects. After another half hour or so of unedifying gossip, the
detective passed out into the moonlight, to clear his head of the fug
of brandy-fumes and tobacco-smoke, and arrange his thoughts.

So,
this M Wade had been seen several times in the village, which seemed
to suggest that for at least some time between June and November last
he had been staying somewhere close enough to Allenham to make
regular visits. Richard Dodd decided that his next move would to be
to ask around the surrounding farms and villages, in the hopes that
Mr Wade had taken lodging in that locality. With this determination,
he returned to the inn, this time using the saloon bar entrance to
avoid his three aged informants, and so to bed.

He
arose early on the following morning, and made an indifferent
breakfast of overcooked ham and undercooked eggs. He also made
enquiry of his landlady as to the names and locations of the farms
that surrounded the village, as he had an interest in agriculture and
wished to explore the local habits and customs in that earthy
science. His landlady was happy to furnish him with a long list,
adding a running commentary concerning the habits, peccadilloes,
feuds and relationships of the inhabitants. Looking alarmed at the
sheer number of agricultural enterprises in the locale of Allenham,
he begged to enquire where he could hire a horse, and was given the
choice of the inn's stables.

A
meagre choice it was, and the detective rode forth a half hour later
on a skinny, jaded mare, who seemed inclined to make up for the
deficiencies of the stable diet by stooping and cropping dandelions
at every opportunity. And this was the best mount the inn had to
offer!

It
was late that evening when the detective returned to the inn,
thoroughly disgusted with his recalcitrant steed, and ordered his
chop and pint of porter. He had obtained little useful information at
the farms immediately surrounding the village, having wound around
and about the muddy lanes at the mare's sweet will. He was fairly
confident, however, that he had visited all the farms within an hours
ride of Allenham, and he determined to spread his net wider tomorrow.

After
his solitary dinner, who should happen to drop in on him in the hope
of news, but Alfred. The elder man was happier than he showed at the
prospect of a little intelligent society, and though his countenance
and manner were schooled to calm indifference, he moved with some
alacrity to mix two hospitable glasses of brandy-and-water, hot,
opened his cigar-case invitingly, and pulled the two easiest chairs
in the room up to the fire.

“
So,
sir, how have your researches fared thus far?” opened Alfred, once
the two men had made themselves comfortable.

“
Well,
I have pretty much established in my own mind that the gentleman we
are in search of was staying hereabouts between June and November
last. As to where he was lodging, or what became of him, I am as yet
no wiser. Such a lot of bucolic ignorance and stupidity I have never
encountered. The farms hereabouts either do not keep lodgers; or they
don't know if they do or they don't; or they do but take no heed of
their names, appearances or habits; or else they do but don't have
the records to hand, or I need to speak to some dairymaid who is
'gone to market, sir, and not due back til early tomorrow morning'.

“
the
upshot being, therefore, that I have had a day's uncomfortable ride
for nothing. But I am not yet at a loss, Mr Denham, and plan to
repeat the process in the neighbouring villages tomorrow.”

“
Well,
that is a disappointment,” said Alfred, “but no doubt some clue
to the man must surface sooner or later. I have every confidence in
you.”

A
pause succeeded this, during which Alfred smoked a cigar, and Mr
Dodds sipped his brandy-and-water, with his feet propped on the
fender, for he had walked through more than one muddy puddle today,
and the day was cold, for all that it was April.

“
By
the by,” said Mr Dodds, as Alfred rose to take his leave, “I am
almost ashamed to ask it, but is it at all possible you could mount
me? I do believe another day on one of the beasts this place can
provide would be the death of me – most likely of apoplexy.”

Alfred,
with a laugh, declared himself ready to oblige, and it was arranged
that he would have his hack saddled and sent round to the inn door by
nine the next day.

The
horse was returned by the inn servant a few days later, and very
little was heard of the detective for two or three weeks.

His
silence was broken by a scrawled note, asking leave to call upon
Alfred and the young ladies to discuss the case. Accordingly, they
arranged to meet, as if by accident, in the woods near the house –
Lydia having become more and more suspicious of her mother-in-law and
deeming such discussion in the house to be unsafe.

It
was a fine morning in late April, and the weather was very pleasant
for walking. The trees were bright with new leaves and fragrant with
blossom, and nesting birds filled the little copse with song. It was
a pity and a waste, really, that the young ladies, Adeline in
particular, had neither eyes nor ears for nature's beauty that day.
To Adeline, the most welcome sight of all the sweet prospects to be
seen in that little patch of woodland just then springing into life,
was a dilapidated gentleman in a greasy waistcoat.

“
Oh,
Mr Dodds, you have found him?” cried Adeline breathlessly, for to
wish is to hope, and to hope is to expect, in such ardent natures.