by Anna Dean
Tom appeared in the doorway.
‘Miss Sophia!’ He hesitated as he noticed Dido and Amelia. ‘Miss Harris, Miss Kent.’ He made a small bow in their direction before returning his attention to Sophia with a little smirk which was, no doubt, intended to suggest the extreme tenderness of his regard. ‘Will you not come into the drawing room and play for us, Miss Sophia?’
‘No.’ Sophia’s voice was badly distorted, and for one anxious moment Dido thought it would fail her completely, but she made a valiant effort to control it and continued in a tolerable imitation of her usual manner. ‘Thank you, Mr Lomax. You are very, very kind. But I do not intend to play today.’
He crossed the room and took the seat beside her. Dido thought of an enemy force moving into the trap which has been laid for it.
‘You are very cruel,’ he declared dramatically. ‘I do believe that my evening will be a blank unless I hear you play, Miss Sophia.’ The light shone into his face, revealing that the last few days had done nothing to improve his dark, ragged side-whiskers. He stretched his long legs across the rug and placed one arm along the back of the sofa so that his thick fingers almost touched the pretty ruching on her short white sleeve. ‘Come, will you not relent?’
Sophia looked down at her hands and shook her curls. ‘I am so sorry, Mr Lomax, but really I fear that to play anything would be quite beyond my powers this evening.’
‘I hope you are not unwell,’ he cried with exaggerated alarm and formed his bristling cheeks into an expression of doleful concern.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sinking her voice. ‘I am just a little tired. That is all.’
‘Her hands are tired.’ This rather surprising remark came from Amelia and Tom had to turn about in his seat to look at her – which rather spoilt the nonchalant pose that he had struck.
‘I beg your pardon, Miss Harris?’
‘Her hands are tired on account of the letters, Mr Lomax.’
Tom looked confused – as well he might. Dido had hoped for confusion at this point.
‘My sister and I have been very busy, you see,’ said Sophia. He turned back to her. ‘We have been writing letters all morning. Why, we have written seven each, you know! That is a great many letters, is it not?’
‘It is quite remarkable!’
Hardly knowing what she was doing, Dido lowered her book into her lap. Now, she thought, keep him confused. Keep him off his guard.
‘You must,’ Tom continued gaily, ‘be enjoying your stay at Belsfield very much if you wish to tell so many of your friends about it.’
Dido saw the sisters exchange meaningful looks – the army was signalling that the moment had come to close in for the attack.
Sophia raised her eyes to his and gave a shy smile. ‘Oh yes,’ she simpered. ‘We like Belsfield very much, very much indeed.’
Encouraged by the smile, Tom leant closer and, like a good chaperone, Dido watched and listened carefully. ‘I hope,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I hope, Miss Sophia, that I may have played some small part in making your stay enjoyable.’
Sophia looked down at her hands and, though she did not quite blush, she contrived to look so very, very conscious that one might almost have believed that she did. Dido would have been surprised that a gently reared young lady could give a performance that must rival anything achieved by Drury Lane’s most hardened actress – if she had not known that this particular young lady had been playing a part for many years. Her character was certainly more than enough to deceive Tom, predisposed as he was to believe in his own charms.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered, ‘please tell me, or I shall be miserable. Did I figure just a little bit in any of those letters? Did you mention my name to your friends?’
Sophia did not raise her eyes, but the curls about her ears trembled in a modest little nod. Oh, it was an excellent performance!
The workings of Tom’s face betrayed strong emotion – as well they might, for at that moment, twenty thousand pounds and an easy life seemed to be within his grasp.
‘And what did you say about me?’ he whispered.
‘I said…’ Sophia continued to avoid his eye. ‘I said that you had been very…attentive. And that you seemed to value my society very highly.’
‘And you were quite right to say it.’
‘I said, in fact, that you enjoyed my society so much you were prepared to go to quite remarkable lengths to secure it.’
‘I am sorry.’ He was still leaning over her, in the attitude of a lover, but his face was troubled. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sophia, I am not sure I quite understand you.’
‘Do you not?’ She raised her eyes at last. Her voice lost all its silliness; her manner became businesslike. ‘But it is quite simple, Mr Lomax. I referred of course to the remarkable conversation that took place between you and Papa.’ She met his eyes fearlessly.
Tom started back from her. For the moment he was beyond speech, but the look that he threw in Dido’s direction suggested that he was not beyond calculating who was to blame for this sudden turn of events.
Amelia left her seat and went to stand behind him. ‘It is in all the letters,’ she said quietly.
‘All fourteen of them,’ said Sophia.
‘All about your agreement with Papa,’ said Amelia.
‘And the horrible threat that you have made.’
‘We have told all our friends about it.’
‘All our unmarried friends.’
‘All our unmarried, wealthy friends.’
‘And if you attempt to expose Mama,’ Sophia continued gravely, ‘we shall take those letters to the post office.’
Tom’s face was burning red. He looked from one to the other of them in confusion. ‘You mean you would broadcast the matter yourselves?’ he said in bewilderment.
‘What would we have to lose?’ said Amelia.
‘If you had already spoken out against her, it would do our mother no more harm. And you see, Mr Lomax, we would not wish any of our friends to be deceived by your attentions – deceived into thinking you a gentleman.’
He stared at her – too dull-witted to comprehend that a woman could be threatening him.
‘And there is something else which I ought to mention,’ Sophia said, calmly rising from her seat. ‘Each one of our letters contains a request that the reader send seven similar letters to her friends – particularly her wealthy friends – with a request that each of those friends send another seven to her friends. And so on. I am no mathematician, Mr Lomax, but I am sure you would agree with me that within a very short time indeed there would be a great many letters circulating and I doubt very much whether you would find an unmarried lady of fortune in the country who had not heard of your deception – and was disgusted by it.’
Dido smiled her approval. They had carried out her plan to perfection. And there was certainly no doubting that, if they were sent, those letters would be copied and sent out again and again. There was hardly a young lady born who would not delight in being part of such a scheme. From the look on his face she judged that Tom certainly did not doubt it.
Sophia and Amelia linked arms and walked to the door – just as the sound of tea processing across the hall to the drawing room began to be heard. At the door they turned.
‘Remember, Mr Lomax,’ said Sophia, ‘if you breathe one ill-natured word about Mama, it is most unlikely that you will ever be able to make your fortune by marriage.’
Chapter Nineteen
It was almost four and twenty hours since Dido’s triumph over Tom Lomax and the glow of success had faded sufficiently from her mind to allow her to recall that her real purpose at Belsfield was still not accomplished – nor, indeed, very near to being accomplished.
She still had no proper answers to give Catherine about Mr Montague’s behaviour, nor any explanations of the murder which might satisfy herself. Failure seemed to stare her in the face wherever she looked. And still she was haunted by the feeling that there was something which she was not se
eing, something which perhaps she was not wanting to see because it would somehow involve her in very painful considerations…
So it was in a rather desponding state of mind that she set out across the park, an hour or two before the usual dinner time, to try yet again what air and exercise might do for the stimulation of her brain. It was a pleasant, mild evening with a red sky and a smell of burning leaves from the gardeners’ bonfire. Skeins of geese honked across the sky and, far out in the park, sheep bleated occasionally to one another.
She walked again towards the chapel, for it was a pleasant direction to take…and, though she would not of course eavesdrop, it would be very interesting to just know whether Mr Lomax had gone to pray again this evening. She would perhaps just look around the chapel door… She would certainly not be so dishonourable as to listen…
The little church presented the same tranquil appearance; a dove was roosting on a ledge above the porch, adding its soothing, bubbling song to the air of calm and retirement. The door was again standing slightly open.
She peered in; but the afternoon was brighter than the one before and by contrast the darkness in the chapel was impenetrable. She took a few cautious steps into the building.
‘Good evening, Miss Kent. You are walking late.’ It was the voice of William Lomax.
Dido gasped, stepped back and squinted into the gloom. She could just make out his figure – standing close beside her.
‘Yes,’ she stammered, feeling very foolish. ‘It is a beautiful evening and…and I have not visited the chapel before.’
‘I am sorry that I startled you,’ he said. ‘But please come in and look around. The place is well worth looking at.’ His manner was as smooth and well bred as usual – or perhaps a little more so, as if he was trying just a little too hard to act in his accustomed way.
‘Yes, it is pretty, is it not,’ she said, trying valiantly to match his calmness. She took a few steps along the aisle and, as her eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, began to make out the family monuments upon the walls with their blackly written eulogies.
‘The chapel is Elizabethan,’ Mr Lomax continued smoothly, coming to stand beside her. ‘About the same age as the house.’ She took a sidelong look at him and now she was able to distinguish his features – and to see that there was a gleam of damp upon his brow. And there was something else that disquieted her. If it had not been indelicate to notice such things, Dido might have thought that there was a smell of fear about him – as if he was rather heated in spite of the chapel’s coldness.
But she made an effort to appear as if she had noticed nothing unusual and did her best to meet him in conversation. ‘I had not known that the house was so old,’ she said.
‘Ah, that is because of the new façade that was built after the Great Storm. I daresay, Miss Kent, you have heard of the storm that did so much damage here in 1780. The park lost many of its finest trees and several chimneys were blown down from the house. Sir Edgar had the front of the house rebuilt. The style is Palladian – as I am sure you know…’ And he talked on very pleasantly, until, fearing that she was becoming chilled with standing still for so long, he offered her his arm back to the house.
Dido was flattered by his attention and, as usual, enjoyed his discourse very much, for the conversation of a sensible, well-informed man was a pleasure she tasted but rarely. Yet she could still not quite forget what she had seen and heard yesterday, nor cease to wonder. Why had he come here today? To pray again for a deliverance from evil and temptation?
As they left the chapel, he seemed to become more at ease. ‘It is a great pleasure for me to have such an attentive audience, Miss Kent. I hope I have not wearied you with my little lecture.’
‘Certainly not. You know a great deal about the family history; I think you must have been acquainted with the Montagues for a long time.’
‘I grew up here on the estate. My grandfather managed the affairs of Sir Edgar’s father. It seems sometimes as if the family is a part of me – or I am a part – a small, humble part – of it. Perhaps it would be more proper to put it that way.’
‘You are too modest, Mr Lomax. I am sure Sir Edgar relies upon you a great deal.’
‘You are very kind.’
They walked on a little while in silence across the park and Dido took the opportunity of studying her companion’s face. The low light of the sun was making him narrow his eyes, rather emphasising the deep lines at their corners. She was suddenly struck by the inconsequential thought that, though lines upon a woman’s face always marred her beauty, they could merely lend interest to the features of an intelligent, handsome man. And yet, for all that, she thought, he looks tired and worried. A great deal more tired and worried than before he went away.
‘You are very quiet, Mr Lomax. Is anything troubling you?’
‘It was impossible!’ The words seemed to burst from him.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He stopped and gazed towards the knoll and the spinney where the lowering sun was glinting through the trees and throwing long shadows from their trunks across the park. ‘It was impossible,’ he said more calmly, but still with great feeling. ‘The murder. I see no way in which it could possibly have taken place.’
His vehemence surprised her. ‘It does indeed seem impossible that any of the gentlemen left…’
‘Ah, but it goes deeper than that,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Does it?’
‘Oh yes. Much deeper. Miss Kent, when I had the pleasure of talking with you the other evening, you very eloquently represented the difficulties that a stranger would have in walking armed with a shotgun into Sir Edgar’s grounds without being observed.’
‘And did I convince you, Mr Lomax?’
‘I believe you did.’
‘I am delighted to find my arguments so persuasive!’
He smiled. ‘Your reasoning is undoubtedly excellent, Miss Kent, but I must confess that on this occasion it was not unaided by my own recollections. You see I was not shooting that day – which, of course, gave me a great deal of opportunity for looking about me. And,’ he said with another nod towards the sunny little hill, ‘from the knoll there is an excellent view of the park. I am certain that I saw no one cross to the shrubbery. Neither the murderer, nor – and this is a point to be considered – the young woman.’
‘I see.’ She said thoughtfully. ‘Then you believe that they both entered through the gardens?’
‘But that, too, is, we know, impossible. For the gardeners are quite certain that they saw no one.’
They had come now to the bench beside the stump of the old walnut tree and, at his suggestion, they sat down. He sighed and gazed out across the park. ‘I like this spot,’ he said. ‘I believe it commands the best view on the estate.’
Dido studied his face and tried to understand his mood. He looked so very troubled. It was true of course that the murder did present a puzzle; but baffled curiosity alone could not explain his agitation. She remembered the great urgency of his prayers in the chapel.
‘Mr Lomax,’ she began cautiously. ‘May I ask? I hope you do not think I presume too much; but why are you so troubled by these questions now?’
He made no reply, but there was no sign of anger or displeasure at her enquiry. She waited. A sheep called and was answered by one of its companions. In the distance she watched a farmer at work with his plough, turning a field of grey stubble into rich, chocolate-brown furrows. A cloud of gulls wheeled about him and, so still was the evening, their cries reached her faintly on the smoke-laden air.
Mr Lomax rested his arm on the back of the bench and leant his head upon his hand. His suffering troubled her.
‘When we last spoke of the murder,’ she said, ‘you seemed only to wish to put my mind at rest and you were kind enough to do all that you could towards that end. Today, if I may say so, it is your own mind which seems to be sadly in need of repose.’
He merely shook his head.
; ‘I should be very glad to return the favour and ease your mind.’
‘You are very kind.’
‘You know – I am sure you know – Mr Lomax, that you may trust me with any confidence.’
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I know that.’
She tried again. ‘I believe something has happened to make the business of this murder more troubling to you.’
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘It is perhaps nothing. But you must understand, Miss Kent, that from the very outset I have been concerned – very concerned – for the embarrassment, the public notoriety, which this unfortunate incident has caused Sir Edgar’s family.’
‘Your loyalty does you great credit, I am sure, Mr Lomax.’
‘But,’ he replied with some vehemence, ‘it would be no credit to me – nor to my employer – if I were to neglect the pursuit of justice in such a cause.’
‘No, it would not.’ She hesitated, half afraid to go on, yet unwilling to give up the interesting subject. ‘Would I be right,’ she ventured at last, ‘to guess that you have lately discovered something which would – if publicly known – increase Sir Edgar’s embarrassment?’
He nodded heavily and then, after a moment’s hesitation, said, ‘The truth is, Miss Kent, that, in the course of my recent business, I have discovered that a Miss Wallis – a young woman in the employ of Sir Edgar – has gone missing from her home.’
Dido started and it flashed through her mind that his business had taken him to Hopton Cresswell. Nor was she insensible to the idea that Miss Wallis had been employed by Sir Edgar. But she found – rather to her surprise – that her chief concern was for the man before her – and his evident suffering.
‘And you think that it was this Miss Wallis who met her death here?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘She left her place of employment on the day of the murder saying that she was travelling to Dorchester to visit her family, and she has not been heard of since. I have made enquiries and I have discovered that she never arrived at her mother’s house, nor has any message been received from her. I think that it is all too likely that it was she who…No, it is saying too much to say it is likely. But it is, at least, possible.’
