Then she stood for a moment, allowing the water to drain away through her fingers and fighting off the last attacks of conscience. The papers were almost certainly letters which the lady wished to destroy. It was not honourable to look. But why had she been so intent upon disposing of them quietly? Was it in any way connected with the shock which had made her faint yesterday? Was it connected with Mrs Midgely’s mysterious visit to the Lansdales – and the rumours which were circulating against Mr Lansdale?
She must look.
She held one dripping fragment up to the dappled sunshine that fell through the willow branches and was very much surprised to see, not handwriting but squarely printed words. It was not letters which Miss Prentice was throwing away, it was the pages of a book!
And a rather boring book too. The words upon her scraps were long and closely printed and rather smudged from the water, but here and there a phrase was discernible. Phrases such as: the inevitable progress of improvement and inalienable privileges of all mankind and justifiable opposition.
Dido turned the pieces over in her hand, quite at a loss as to why they should merit such eager destruction. As she did so, something else caught her eye. On one fragment, there was a little bit of faded handwriting in slightly bluish ink. At first she thought it might be a note or comment that had been written in a margin, but, when she looked closely, she saw that it was the torn end-paper of the book – with Richmond Circulating Library written upon it.
Her surprise increased and she peered upstream through the curtain of branches. Miss Prentice had now regained the path and was hurrying away between willows and hawthorns and trailing pink dog-roses, her narrow brown back bent over in haste. Dido watched her go with a frown and a puzzled shake of the head.
What possible reason could there be for a respectable, middle-aged lady to take a book from a circulating library, tear it up in secret, and cast the pieces into the Thames?
Dido soon caught up with Miss Prentice. She was resting upon the step of a stile where the shade of willows gave way to more open ground and the long grass foamed white with cow-parsley and wild garlic. The path was busier here, with several gentlemen, ladies and parasols strolling by, and an anxious nursemaid urgently forbidding her charges to wander near the river. Beyond the stile a small herd of cows tore rhythmically at the rich June grass and, in another field close by, two men with gypsy tans were tossing hay onto a wagon.
‘I am very glad to see that you are recovered from your illness of yesterday,’ said Dido when the first greetings were over.
‘Oh yes! Thank you. As to that… It was the heat you know,’ replied Miss Prentice with some confusion. ‘Nothing but the heat I assure you. I am quite well today. I am seldom ill – quite blessed with good health, which is so very…’ Her voice trailed away. She stood up and proposed their walking back to the town together.
Dido gladly agreed, and fell into step beside her. Her curiosity was now once more in full play, acting like a kind of half-effective analgesic to blunt the edge of painful disappointment. She looked sidelong at her companion; there was a rapid blinking of the eyes which spoke of some agitation, but a very determined pretence at calm.
It was as fair an opportunity for conversation as she was likely to get, and there were a great many questions which she was longing to ask. But she judged it best not to reveal that she had witnessed the tearing of the book. That mystery would be more likely solved by strategy than questions. And, as for pursuing the business of Mrs Midgely’s acquaintance with the Lansdales – that, she thought, had better not be attempted. A fainting fit in the heart of the countryside would be very inconvenient indeed!
So she settled upon what seemed a safe branch of the interesting subject and began cautiously with: ‘Before you were overcome by the heat yesterday morning, Miss Prentice, you were telling us about Mr Henderson – the gentleman who used to live at Knaresborough House.’
‘Oh yes! Mr Henderson – we were talking of him, were we?’ She seemed relieved.
‘You were telling us,’ Dido continued, assured that she was upon safe ground, ‘that he visited Mrs Lansdale – on the evening before she died. And, I wondered, if you have ever seen him visiting before?’
‘Oh, no. No I do not believe that I have. The Lansdales had very few visitors as a rule. Very few. Which I always thought rather a shame – for such a fine house. It was very different when Mr Henderson lived there himself,’ she continued eagerly. ‘He kept a great deal of company – not dinner company…’ She leant close and whispered – though there was no one to hear but a pair of swans sliding by upon the river. ‘Between ourselves, I rather fancy that money was not very plentiful with Mr Henderson. However, though he gave no dinners, he kept a great deal of evening company… But the Lansdales, they were very quiet…’
There was no mistaking the note of regret in her voice. The Lansdales, it seemed, were unsatisfactory neighbours – they provided too little to watch.
They walked on a little. Dido’s mind was busy with a new idea – the idea of a ‘fine- looking’, but impoverished man visiting in secret an ageing, wealthy widow, and visiting her, furthermore, in a room fitted up with red, flattering lights.
Had he perhaps come in the form of a lover? And had Miss Neville been sworn to secrecy lest the nephew find out?
Dido paused when they came to the next stile. ‘What manner of man is Mr Henderson?’ she asked. ‘Is he a married man? Has he any family?’
‘Oh! He is a widower, my dear. A widower with three unmarried daughters – very pretty girls. At least, I suppose they are pretty. One did not see their faces – close bonnets they had on when they walked out. And very plain gowns… Which was another thing made me think the family were a little distressed for money.’
‘I see.’ Dido mused a moment. ‘But he was a gentleman of some standing I imagine – to have rented such a house, I mean.’
‘Oh yes! He was well connected for sure. The people who came to his evening parties! The Wyat’s carriage was often there.’ Miss Prentice began to check the illustrious names off upon her fingers. ‘And Mr and Mrs Edward Connors – their chaise came very often. And that gentleman who was at Mrs Beaumont’s delightful picnic, Sir Joshua Carrisbrook. Oh yes…’ She considered a moment. ‘Yes, all in all, I think Mr Henderson is of a good family, but that he has been obliged to retrench lately.’
‘I see.’ Dido’s suspicions deepened. And, as they did so, she began to feel more and more uneasy about Mr Lansdale. All this did not bode well for him.
By the time she reached home she had worried herself into a little fever on this subject and she was very much looking forward to a little quiet reflection and an opportunity to write a reply to her sister’s letter. She was not pleased to hear, as she paused in the welcome cool of the hall, the sound of voices coming from the drawing room. She sighed, laid aside her bonnet, and prepared herself unwillingly for company.
And then, upon opening the drawing room door, she saw Mr William Lomax sitting in quiet conversation with Flora…
Chapter Six