by May Burnett
“Ruth was to sing us a ballad,” Mrs. Harris announced, looking around for her absent daughter. “Where can she be?”
“I could take her place until she returns,” Vanessa Langley offered, but before her hostess could accept, Ruth swept back into the room with unseemly speed, her face stern and serious. Everyone looked at her as she strode to Lady Milldale and handed her a thin sheaf of pale blue writing paper.
“Lady Milldale, is this the same paper that the supposed Italian letter was written upon?” she asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Lady Milldale paled. “It looks similar,” she admitted.
“I have the original here, for a comparison.” Vanessa Langley drew the incriminating letter out of her reticule and held it side by side with the blank page. “Both come from the same batch, I have no doubt.”
“So it would seem,” Lady Milldale said slowly. She raised her head and fixed Ruth Harris. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Betty wrote the letter and hid it in Miss Bellairs’ notes, to ruin her,” Ruth said in a hard voice.”
“Ruth!” Mrs. Harris exclaimed in horror, looking from one daughter to the other. “How can you say such a thing about your own sister?”
“Surely you would want justice and truth to prevail, Mrs. Harris,” the Vicar said gruffly.
“That seemed the likeliest explanation all along,” Vanessa Langley stated with satisfaction. “We have all had ample occasion to observe how much Betty detests Miss Bellairs. Is jealous of her, I mean to say.”
“Jealous?” Christopher Dorringley repeated in horror. “Do you mean to say that she did this over me?” He measured the stricken Betty with scorn and bitter dislike. “You are not fit to wipe Margaret’s shoes! What an utterly vile thing to do!”
“It ill becomes you to rail at my daughter,” Mr. Harris said heatedly. “Had you not so callously abandoned your courtship of her, she would not have been tempted to do any such ill-judged thing!”
“Ill-judged!” Lady Milldale repeated. “That is rather understating the matter! Good heavens, I was completely taken in! How could I have imagined that an acquaintance of such long standing would do something so deceitful?”
“Yet you were quick enough to think ill of Miss Bellairs,” the Vicar pointed out. “Nobody who believed in the story comes out looking very good, I am afraid.”
“It cannot be true!” Mrs. Harris said desperately. “Betty, tell me you did not you write that awful letter and hide it at Milldale Manor?”
Betty raised her chin defiantly. “Think what you like.”
“Do you recognize the writing paper, Mrs. Harris?” Sir Reginald asked.
“Yes, we bought a batch like that the last time we were in Liverpool.”
“Then the matter is clear,” Lady Milldale said. “You were in the house when Miss Bellairs mentioned that she had left her music on our piano, Miss Harris.”
“And she left the room by herself,” Terence reminded his aunt. “Motive, opportunity, and the incriminating possession of this particular paper all lead to the same inescapable conclusion.”
Everyone was looking at Betty, whose colour was rising fast. Red heads and blonde hair did not go well together, Terence reflected dispassionately. Redheads, now …
“Miss Bellairs will never forgive this insult,” Lady Milldale said despondently. “Her mother is a dear forgiving creature, but Margaret is proud.”
“She is leaving soon,” her husband consoled her. “We can forget the entire muddle within days or weeks. I suppose we shall have to send an apology first.”
“You not only owe the Bellairs ladies an apology, be sure to write to anyone who you have told of your false suspicions, and tell them it was all a malicious prank,” the Vicar said. “As for the rest, I cannot imagine that Miss Bellairs or her immediate family have the slightest desire to maintain friendships that proved so brittle when it truly mattered – for the second time in four years. In their place, I certainly would not.”
“You are very strict towards your parishioners,” Sir Reginald protested.
“As to that, I am thinking of retiring soon. After thirty-five years I have been unable to teach justice and elementary charity. It is somewhat disheartening.”
“You cannot mean it,” Lady Milldale cried, truly upset now.
“It is not entirely decided yet, but I shall make up my mind within the next week. Maybe another Vicar in my place will have better success.”
Terence looked at Miss Langley in alarm. She looked as surprised as the rest of the group.
“And on that note, I believe I shall take my leave,” Mr. Langley said, gesturing to his daughter. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Harris - the evening has certainly proved enlightening.”
“We had better go as well,” Lady Milldale said coldly, with a look of revulsion at Betty. “I have letters to write that cannot wait.”
Mr. Harris looked at the Dorringleys. “Your son, Mrs. Dorringley, was the cause of everything. I do believe it would be best if you also took your leave.”
“Gladly.” Mrs. Dorringley rose, looking down her nose at the smaller man. “I see now that a match between your daughter and my son would never have done. He is well out of that entanglement.”
“Mother, I don’t think this is the time,” Christopher Dorringley muttered. He turned his dark eyes towards Terence. “Is it true what you said earlier, that Margaret is to be married?”
“She is actually engaged at this moment, to Mr. Trey. I believe they will be happy. He is steady, reliable, and devoted to her.” Unlike you, he could have added, but that would have been rubbing salt in an open wound.
“I see.” The physician’s expression was bleak indeed. “It is my own fault. I have been a fool.”
“Christopher!” Betty wailed. “I only did it for you! I love you!”
He looked down at her coldly. “You do not know anything about love. You are a spoilt, vicious little girl. I don’t want to see you ever again.”
Betty gasped in shock, and turned pale.
Her father turned on the physician, fists clenched. “Get out of my house, you cad.”
“Gladly.” The Dorringley party left in icy silence. As he ushered out his uncle and aunt, Terence gave thanks that he was not a permanent resident of Bankington. The events at this dinner would be taking a heavy toll on local society for years to come.
Chapter 27
William was determined to finish the repairs to the Manor as quickly as practicable. It rather surprised him that the ladies were not yet packing, and planning to decamp. Instead Margaret was teaching herself the flute, “more difficult than I expected,” she had confessed after her initial practice session, and writing to her friends and family to announce their engagement.
“Since I am of age, there is nobody you need to ask for permission,” she said complacently when she had handed the batch of letters to Tom for posting.
“Your own permission is the only one I care about, and it has nothing to do with your age.”
Before he could answer her smile with the kiss it invited, Manning approached them at a quick walk. “Do you know a fellow named Jock Petersbone, Miss Bellairs? He has been working on the roof crew earlier, and then on the stables.”
“There is a family of that name among Sir Reginald’s tenants,” she said after a moment’s thought. “What about him?”
“I had pegged him as a steady, quiet fellow. Today he tried to pick a fight with me by objecting to every order, daring me to dismiss him. It is quite out of character.”
“Could it be he who tried to burgle the place and stole my mother’s necklace?” Margaret wondered. “But surely he would be better advised to keep his head down and finish the job here, without calling attention to himself.”
“Such a sudden change in attitude certainly warrants further investigation,” William decided. “In a gentleman it might just be a touch of the megrims and a bad mood, but working men cannot afford such vagaries.”<
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“No,” Margaret agreed. “You did not dismiss him despite his insolence, Mr. Manning? In that case he may sneak off by himself.”
“It would lead the other men to question what he was up to. Right now he is plastering the stable wall with three others.”
“We’ll let him go, and follow him,” William said. “But as a stranger to the area, and taller than average, I am not best placed to catch him out.”
“Someone local would be best,” Margaret agreed. “Tom has two younger brothers whom he has rescued from the workhouse on the strength of his wages here. They are living in one of our empty tenant cottages. The boys could follow him from a distance, and come to call us as soon as there is anything to report.”
“We cannot place children in possible jeopardy,” William objected.
“They would not have to approach him at all. And who suspects a playing child? They could certainly do with the reward I plan to pay whoever apprehends our burglar, and restores Mother’s necklace.”
“You and I could follow at a greater distance, and make sure nothing happens to the boys,” Manning suggested. William reluctantly agreed. Tom and his brothers, when their role was explained to them, enthusiastically agreed to undertake this service for their benefactress, contemptuous of any warning of possible danger. They knew where Petersbone lived, so would not easily lose his trace.
“Good luck,” Margaret said when the men and boys prepared to set their quarry loose and follow him. “The man may be entirely innocent, of course. Don’t knock him down unless you are sure of his guilt.”
“We shall see. We certainly won’t catch the burglar if we wait upon Sir Reginald, he seems to have completely given up on the case. If the guilty man turns out to be one of his own tenants, he will not be happy.”
“Good.” Margaret had not forgiven her neighbour for his treatment of her, despite the written apology she had received by messenger. “I am looking forward to living in London again. In town one can more easily ignore unpleasant people, and associate only with those you truly like and respect.”
“Well, mostly. I must be off – take care of yourself, darling.” He kissed her and tore himself away with an effort. Since they had become engaged he could hardly sleep at night, from wishing she were already there with him, and imagining all the things he wanted to do with Margaret’s fair body. It was only marginally better in the daytime.
He forced himself to put dalliance aside. He had a burglar to catch. William wanted to bring this chase to a successful conclusion for his beloved.
***
Margaret returned indoors, Berry on her heels. Perhaps sensing the perturbation of her mistress, the dog had taken to following her from room to room unless prevented. William encouraged the animal in this behaviour, claiming he wanted a guard around her when he was absent, at least until they left Bankington.
This morning Margaret did not sketch the dog. Instead she drew a sailing ship, drawing on her memories of sea travel, and imagining that it would carry her and William away from Bankington, away from all troubles, on a journey of adventure and discovery.
She was adding billowing sails to her imaginary vessel when Vanessa Langley arrived in company with Lord Laxeley, hand in hand. One glance told the tale – these two were in love, bursting with happiness.
Margaret put down her pencil. “Your faces tell me that you bear good news.”
“Indeed we are, Margaret.” Vanessa was glowing rosily all over. “You are not the only one who has become engaged this week! Terence and I are to be married in six months’ time. He asked me this morning.”
Margaret said all that was proper on such a momentous occasion. “I began to suspect when you insisted on the duet practice, although the musicale had been cancelled,” she concluded.
“We shall play together regularly, when we are married,” Lord Laxeley said. “Harmony in that sphere will spill over into all others. By the bye, did you receive my aunt and uncle’s apology, Miss Bellairs? They feel truly contrite and also rather embarrassed.”
“Yes, I got their note.” It would not have been tactful, and inappropriate in the face of the young couple’s happiness, to tell him how she felt about his relatives. Soon she would leave all Bankington far behind, and good riddance.
“How were they convinced to issue that apology?” she asked instead. “And would you care for tea?”
After sending for refreshments, she listened with interest to their blow-by-blow account of the previous night’s dinner party in the Harris household.
“I owe both of you my thanks, and your father too, Vanessa, ,” she said at last. “And Ruth Harris as well. I wish I had been there. I would have liked to see their faces. Betty confessed in the end, you say?”
Laxeley nodded. “Not until everyone had accepted her guilt. There was not the slightest doubt in anyone’s mind by the end of the evening.”
“Did Mrs. Harris send an apology yet?” Vanessa asked.
“No, and I do not expect one. She probably has convinced herself that it is all my fault – or Christopher Dorringley’s – or even poor Ruth’s, for exposing her sister’s deception.”
“An apology is certainly due, when it was her daughter who caused you such harm,” Lord Laxeley observed. “Her mother seems to habitually indulge Betty’s selfishness, from what I could observe, and is not entirely blameless.”
“But her other daughter was instrumental in clearing Margaret,” Vanessa reminded him. “To her credit, Ruth did not hesitate a moment when I showed her the original letter and she recognised that blue paper. I fear she will not have an easy time of it with her sister, after what Betty will see as a betrayal. Mrs. Harris too was angry at Ruth. I wish there was something we could do for the poor girl.”
Margaret nodded thoughtfully. She would ask Marianne to invite Ruth to Amberley for the forthcoming house party. A temporary separation from that poisonous sister would likely be welcome to her. How strange that one twin had inherited all the looks, and the other what character and principles could be found amongst the Harris family.
“Is your father really thinking of retiring?” she asked Vanessa. “If he is no longer the Vicar here, nothing at all will draw me back to Derbyshire. There are my forebears’ graves, I suppose, but we can pay someone to look after them. I do not want to be buried here myself, when the time comes; it would be most inconvenient for William.”
Vanessa shook her head at that. “Mr. Trey will hardly outlive you, as you are more than a decade younger. But I understand how you feel. All the sad memories of your father’s illness and ruin, and now this – I would also want to shake the dust of the place from my feet. Indeed, I am surprised that you have not yet left.”
“I shall stay until William is done with his work on the house, not much longer now. Then my brother-in-law can do what he wants with the place, I am finished with Bankington.” It felt strangely liberating to put her feelings into words. This part of her life was over. She was eager and impatient to begin the next chapter, with William at her side.
“Father’s announcement that he was thinking of retirement came as a surprise to me,” Vanessa confessed, “and I hope that he will still officiate at our wedding, wherever it takes place. Terence suggests his own home parish. It is in the south, in Devon, and would be easier to reach for most of his numerous relatives.”
“If your future home is in the south, Mr. Langley may want to settle near his only child – and soon, his grandchildren, I expect. My mother almost could not be prised away from Emily’s baby. Nothing in her previous life compared to having such a splendid grandchild, I apprehend.”
“Where is your mother now?” Vanessa asked.
“She went out with Mrs. Carney, I suppose to meet your father – but didn’t they say that the details of the graveyard monument were all settled?” A new suspicion obtruded itself, now that she had leisure to focus on someone besides William and herself. “Can it be – ?”
“I am not in either’s confiden
ce,” Vanessa said, “but Father has acted differently since these daily consultations with your mother began. He is much more cheerful and energetic. And I wonder if he would have spoken quite so trenchantly last night, risking the anger of his most important parishioners, unless there were personal feelings and loyalties involved. But maybe we should not speculate about the affairs of our elders.”
“Humbug. Now the notion is in my head, how can I stop doing so?”
“Maybe your father is interested in Mrs. Carney rather than Mrs. Bellairs, Vanessa,” Lord Laxeley said mischievously. “She is closer to him in age, and a woman of great common sense.”
“No,” Vanessa said, “I like Mrs. Carney, but there are signs if a person is at all interested in romance … she is definitely not. Besides, Father has an eye for a pretty face, and Mrs. Bellairs is very attractive for her age.”
“If you are right, and they are serious about each other,” Margaret said, “that might explain his intention to retire. My mother would not want to live this far from Emily and her grandchild. William and I shall also be living in London.”
“Especially after these last few days, your mother will hardly want to live here again,” Vanessa agreed. “And who could blame her? Father will have to manage without my help when I marry Terence, and I suspect your mother would not like parish work very much. All in all, retirement sounds like an excellent notion. Father will turn sixty next year.”
Lord Laxeley nodded. “Yes, it would be wonderful for our children to have their grandfather close-by. He is an extraordinary man, truly virtuous. We all know how very rare that is.”
Chapter 28
Forewarned by Vanessa – whose perspicacity was clearly greater than her own – Margaret received her mother’s announcement that she would marry Mr. Langley with composure and becoming felicitations, although she was a little distracted because William had not yet returned from his mission.
