A Place of Confinement: The Investigations of Miss Dido Kent (Dido Kent Mysteries)

by Dean, Anna

  ‘Do you mean to refuse Lancelot?’ asked Mrs Manners at last – and it was spoken in much the same way as she might have asked whether Dido intended to cease breathing, or place her hand into the fire.

  The stark question threw Dido’s mind into turmoil. She swallowed back the instinctive ‘yes’ which had risen to her lips. She thought of the damning letter now in Mr Lancelot’s possession; the relentless reasoning which had brought her to the conclusion that she must accept Mr Fenstanton’s offer; the call of a higher, more compelling duty which her aunt could not even suspect. ‘I do not know,’ she stammered. ‘I have not yet reached my decision.’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Mrs Manners with great satisfaction. ‘I did not think your pretty notions would stand out long against the claims of hard cash. Did I not tell you yesterday that in four and twenty hours you would have changed your mind? Now that my fortune is in your hands, I doubt you are so very anxious to publish an old story which would throw doubt upon my claims!’

  With a great effort of will Dido kept silent. She must be cautious. She looked beyond the table spread with it’s fine linen and glass and broken pies, to the town of Charcombe lying in the great, white-laced curve of the bay; but most particularly she looked to the sandy track which led up from the town to the cliffs. She fixed her eyes upon that road with a longing so intense it might almost manufacture the sight she wished for – the approaching figure of Mr Lomax. Surely, she thought, he must soon come to her. Soon she would know whether he had secured the document which could free her from Lancelot Fenstanton’s claim upon her future …

  And these thoughts brought Dido abruptly back to all her doubts over her solution of the mystery; and she was able to turn from feeling to reason.

  She looked at her aunt’s gloating face. ‘Before I can say yes or no to Mr Fenstanton’s offer,’ she said, ‘I feel I must know a little more about his character. In particular I would like to know whether he has taken any part in Mr George Fenstanton’s scheme to get money from you?’

  ‘No!’ cried Mrs Manners indignantly. ‘Of course he has not taken any part in it! He knows of it. I have told him myself. But he would never be a party to such an outrage. Why do you ask such a ridiculous question?’

  ‘Because, Aunt, I believe I have made a mistake. When I spoke to you in the east wing, I said that Mr George and Mr Lancelot had been overheard in discussion by Miss Verney. But I realise now that that cannot have been the case.’ She explained her reasons for believing that Mr George Fenstanton could not have detected Miss Verney in the library, that it must have been Mr Lancelot himself who had been so discomposed by her presence as to write the threatening note to Miss Gibbs.

  Mrs Manners flicked open her fan with a frown of disdain. ‘This is nonsense,’ she exclaimed when the account was finished. ‘Complete nonsense.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Oh, but it is! You think yourself so clever, Miss Dido, but a child could see the weakness in your argument! If George was gone away to take his dip in the sea, then Lancelot was alone in the hall. He could not have been talking to anyone, so there was nothing for Letitia to overhear.’

  ‘I cannot quite make it out,’ conceded Dido. ‘But I am sure something must have occurred while he was alone in the hall and Miss Verney was making her way back through the library … And,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘there can have been no meeting – no confrontation – for he did not know that it was her; he thought it was Miss Gibbs.’ She shook her head, determined to puzzle it out. ‘It must have been an overhearing. I can think of no other explanation.’

  ‘Nonsense! I have told you, there was nothing to hear! Gentlemen do not talk to themselves.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Dido in great excitement. The words had called forth a memory. A memory of her first day at Charcombe, the arrival of the messenger with Tom Lomax’s letter. She remembered sitting in the darkness of the hall and watching Mr Lancelot on the sunny step talking to himself. ‘This gentleman does,’ she said through lips rendered almost immovable by shock. ‘Under one particular circumstance, Mr Lancelot Fenstanton does talk when he thinks no one is listening.’

  Her companion continued to look disdainful.

  ‘Mr Lancelot reads aloud,’ Dido explained. ‘He reads his letters aloud, even when he believes himself alone.’ Her mind was racing now, all manner of ideas sliding into place – and forming a very alarming picture indeed.

  ‘You believe he received a letter?’

  ‘But of course he did! I remember now that Mr Tom told us the letters were coming from the post as he set off upon his walk with Miss Verney.’ Dido jumped to her feet. ‘I believe I know who that letter was from,’ she cried as she began to pace about. ‘And I know why its contents made Miss Verney run away!’

  Chapter Forty-One

  Dido was on her feet because she could sit still no longer. She must move. With her, exercise of the body and of the brain were all but the same thing. She walked away from her aunt to the edge of the cliff, where bushes of gorse and juniper grew so thickly as to form a hedge, and a steep narrow set of steps led down to a rocky little beach. She stood here for several minutes watching the green glass walls of the waves shatter into shards of foam on the rocks below; and she thought about Lancelot Fenstanton. She considered everything that had passed between them since her first coming to Charcombe. Then she turned back and looked again with longing towards the town.

  She felt quite unequal to continuing without Mr Lomax. The whole business had taken such a turn as made her doubt she should proceed alone. She kept her eyes upon the track and willed him to appear. He must come soon. It was almost a prayer in her head …

  But she had judged ill in leaving the protection of a companion. For now the whole party was putting aside its plates and glasses and turning its mind to the next great business of the day – the admiration of fine prospects. And Mr Lancelot had taken advantage of the general movement to seek her out.

  ‘I fear,’ he said, approaching her so quietly that she started and almost fell into a bush of juniper, ‘that I must press you for an answer to my proposal, Miss Kent. Our aunt is eager to have the business settled. And besides, I am sure I need not remind you that the assize judges arrive in Exeter today.’

  She looked up at him hastily – then back to the sandy track. Still there was no movement upon it.

  ‘I … I need to consider,’ she said. He was standing too close again; and now she found it most decidedly unpleasant. She wished he would go away. And she wished too that she had been a little wiser herself. A little less easily flattered. Too late she suspected that her recent behaviour towards him might have been interpreted as encouraging.

  She began to walk away, but he pursued her and drew from his pocket a tattered paper which she immediately recognised for Mr Bailey’s letter. She stopped.

  He looked from the letter to her with an air of innocent puzzlement. ‘Now, what shall I do with this? Shall I deliver it directly?’ The breeze blew the loose black hair into his face and he blinked like a little boy. ‘You would not wish me to do that, would you, Miss Kent?’

  The pretence of innocence was more than she could bear; all at once, anger had the better of her. ‘You are mistaken,’ she cried, ‘if you think such ungentlemanly behaviour can prevail upon me.’

  He laughed. ‘Now, take care what you say, my dear. Remember everything that is at stake.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I understand exactly what is at stake. And that is why…’ She fought for control – but it was control of her voice, not her temper. She could feel caution blowing away on the warm sea breeze. Her eyes had ceased to search the track for the approach of assistance. She could not help but act for herself – and speak what she thought. She knew that she might regret it in a moment, but the words would not be held back. ‘I thank you for your offer, sir, but I cannot marry you,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘I cannot marry you because I have reason – good reason – to doubt your character.’

  ‘My charac
ter?’

  The air of surprise was a further provocation. Her anger was rising with every moment. His very expectation of compliance was an insult – and a shameful reminder of how weak and foolish her own behaviour had been. ‘Yes, sir,’ she cried, the words almost bursting from her lips. ‘I could never marry a man who is so lacking in consideration for the feelings of others, and who has no respect for the rights or possessions of his fellows! Nor,’ she added after a moment’s thought, ‘could I accept a man who is so remarkably irreligious.’

  Fenstanton took a step back, almost as if her words were blows. ‘Ha! Now, I think you had better explain yourself. A fellow can’t have such accusations thrown at him without wanting to hear an explanation, you know.’

  ‘You shall, by all means have my explanation,’ she said, but was forced to stop and collect her powers.

  It required all her strength to form rational, comprehensible words when she only wished to scream and rail against him. They had come now to a place where a small but rapid and noisy stream ran down between banks crowded with curls of young bracken and pale-pink cuckoo flowers. She stood for a moment watching the clear water swirl and chatter around the stones, then drew a long breath and raised her head.

  When she spoke her voice was tolerably calm but it had still the edge and tremor of extreme emotion. ‘You have shown how very indifferent you can be to the sufferings of others by your cruel treatment of Miss Verney. You had pursued your interest with her, led her to believe in a “growing understanding”, but did not hesitate to give her up when a more favourable alliance fell in your way.’

  ‘I daresay she will not be too badly hurt by it.’

  ‘Oh no, Mr Fenstanton, she has been very badly hurt. It was your defection which made the poor girl quit Charcombe Manor. I had not understood that until today … I have been foolishly blind and thought it was your uncle’s crimes which frightened her away. But now I understand the truth. Miss Verney was in the library on Thursday last when you read aloud a letter in the hall.’

  ‘Ha!’ he cried as her words struck home. ‘Now what are you at? What are you saying?’

  ‘Miss Verney disappeared the day before my aunt and I arrived at Charcombe. And it was on the day before our arrival that you received my aunt’s letter giving notice of our visit.’ She began to walk slowly along the stream bank, trailing her hand across the bracken fronds. She did not wish to look at him. ‘That was the letter you received when you were alone in the hall – the letter you read aloud, as your habit is.’

  ‘And what if I did?’

  ‘The letter also contained an explanation of the “arrangement” my aunt wished to make with you, did it not? In point of fact, you knew how valuable I was to you before I came here. That is why you were willing to let Miss Verney run to Scotland if she pleased.’

  He pursued her and caught her arm, his face flushed red at first, then bleached white with a cold, settled anger. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘I don’t like the way this is going, madam.’

  ‘Neither, sir, do I. I find it extremely distasteful. But these are facts which cannot be ignored. For after you had read the message – and, I don’t doubt, betrayed by your very manner of reading your enthusiasm for the scheme – you suspected yourself overheard and made a threat against poor Miss Gibbs whom you believed to be the eavesdropper. A cruel, horrible threat! But you were mistaken. It was Miss Verney herself who had heard that you meant to throw her over for a more advantageous match.’

  ‘Letitia heard?’ He was shocked now. She watched him struggle for comprehension of everything that would follow from this one fact. ‘No,’ he insisted at last. ‘She cannot have heard. Letitia had walked out with young Lomax.’

  ‘As it happens, she had not. Miss Gibbs had accompanied the young man; it was Miss Verney herself who had returned to the house – just in time to hear you exulting over my aunt’s letter. The effect of your treachery upon that very spirited young lady was to determine her upon discomposing you by disappearing. A trick which she knew she could accomplish very effectively because of a particular arrangement which had been made between her and her friend.’

  ‘I am not certain that I quite understand … How can you know that Miss Verney heard any such proof of what you term my “treachery”?’

  ‘Because she was determined to punish not only you, but also the guardian who had so assiduously promoted her marriage to you. Miss Verney clearly felt that Mrs Bailey had betrayed her too. After she left the house she took a very cunning revenge upon that lady. She sent an old theatrical acquaintance here to cause her embarrassment.’

  Fenstanton kicked at the pebbles by the stream as he considered, stirring the clear water to muddy brown with the toe of his boot. ‘And so Miss Gibbs knew nothing of the matter?’ he asked at last.

  ‘No. She knew nothing at all,’ said Dido quietly, her eyes fixed upon his brooding face. ‘You need not have pushed down the stones upon her.’

  She waited, hardly daring to breathe. The sunlight threw shimmering reflections up from the water onto his face. They glimmered across his tanned cheeks and the little fans of lines at the corners of his eyes. Dido remembered how she had once thought all the creases of his face caused by good humour. She had been deceived. Selfishness might very effectively inoculate a man against trouble; by always getting his own way and never concerning himself with the pain of others, a man might keep his countenance open and unravaged.

  ‘Now what,’ he said at last, ‘makes you suppose that I pushed the rocks onto Miss Gibbs? Did you see me perform the act?’

  ‘No, for you took great care to keep at a distance which made recognition impossible. I saw only a horseman in a green coat.’

  ‘Ha! But I don’t possess a green coat.’

  ‘But that would be no obstacle to you, Mr Fenstanton! For that, you know, is my second cause for disapproving your character. You have no respect for the rights of property. I do not doubt that you appropriated your uncle’s coat to deceive me.’

  ‘And so I am a thief too, by your calculation!’ He stood solid and angry before her. His face was pale and his voice loud. But the walk upstream had gained Dido a little height and, beyond his broad shoulder, she could once more see the road from town – and there were the solid forms of Mr Parry and his two constables hurrying up the hill. But outstripping them by many yards was Mr Lomax – he was already nearing the summit.

  ‘Yes, I believe you might be described so.’ She folded her pelisse about her, driving her fingers into her arms in an effort to prevent herself trembling with emotion.

  His head was thrown back, a powerful hand clenching and unclenching continually as if there was also passion in him which only the proximity of others prevented his acting upon.

  ‘His coat was not the only thing you took from Mr George Fenstanton.’ She could not keep the tremor from her voice now. A part of her brain was wondering that she dared speak this at all – but indignation drove her on. ‘You also appropriated his horse.’

  ‘No!’ He took a step towards her. ‘Damn you!’ She began to walk back towards the picnic party. But he pursued her and caught her arm in a bruising grip. ‘You will explain yourself, madam! What is all this?’

  Across the meadow she could see Mr Lomax. He had gained the top of the hill and was beginning to run past the table towards her, quite disregarding the consternation of the picnickers. Mrs Bailey was staring; Mrs Manners had risen from her seat and raised her stick in protest; Mr George Fenstanton was beginning to trot after him. His faint protest of ‘Now then, now then…’ reached Dido on the breeze.

  She raised her eyes to Mr Lancelot’s furious countenance. ‘This,’ she said quietly, ‘is my answer to your proposal. I thank you very much for the compliment. I am keenly aware of the honour you do me in asking, but I cannot marry you, sir, because you are a murderer.’

  ‘Ha!’ His grip tightened for a moment, and then he released her. ‘This is madness, no one will believe you. You have imagined it all.’
/>
  ‘Oh no. My weakness has not been imagination, but rather slowness of comprehension. I was foolish enough to assume that Mr Brodie’s killer had ridden his own horse to the crime. But I should have known better. The stable boy had told me something very different – if only I had listened to him. In talking to the mare he said “some great lump has ridden you”. The horse had been injured by someone other than her usual rider; someone who was too heavy for his mount.’

  ‘No!’ He raised a hand and let it fall again, uncertain what to do.

  ‘Miss Kent!’ The cry had come from Mr Lomax who was hastening forward with a look of extreme anxiety on his face. ‘You must come with me immediately.’

  ‘Oh yes, Mr Fenstanton,’ she said hurriedly as Lomax approached. ‘I understand it all now. It was you. There was no one in Charcombe Manor with better cause to wish dead the man who could prove my aunt has no rights in my uncle’s fortune. For you are the one who meant to gain the whole. You understood very clearly Mr Brodie’s threats – despite your seeming innocence. You went to meet him at the inn on Sunday night, and, when you could not persuade, you killed him.’

  * * *

  As Mr Lomax reached her and seized her arm, Dido turned to find a scene of chaos and consternation. Mr Parry and his constables were now arrived and were hurrying across the spread rugs with a look of determined business about them. Mrs Bailey had succumbed to hysterics and the two young ladies were attending her. Mrs Manners continued to brandish her stick. In the confusion, a cloth had been dragged from the table and a pair of gulls were already squabbling over a shattered pie, while an upturned red jelly wobbled in a gorse bush.

  Mr Lomax was half leading, half carrying her away towards the edge of the cliff, she leant gratefully upon him, for a moment quite beyond thought or action. But then her head cleared a little. ‘Oh, but you do not understand,’ she gasped. ‘I was wrong. It was not Mr George…’

  ‘I know,’ he said calmly and continued to walk. ‘I know that Mr Lancelot Fenstanton is the killer. That is why I am removing you from him. My mission at the inn was more successful than we hoped. The old marriage certificate was indeed in the chimney piece. But it was not the only document which Brodie had concealed there.’