‘No, no,’ said Dido, ‘I did not mean that. I meant to say that something strange is carrying on here. Something is wrong. Very wrong indeed.’
‘Oh. Is it?’ Flora considered a moment. ‘It certainly is strange that Mrs Midgely’s card should be in the drawing room.’
‘Yes, it would seem that there is, after all, an acquaintance of some kind between the two families. Is it, I wonder, the cause of Mrs M’s vehemence against Mr Lansdale? And, besides the card, there are the other evidences of visitors – of powdered gentlemen and a lady who played upon the pianoforte – on the very evening before Mrs Lansdale died. Altogether it would seem that Mrs Lansdale was much better acquainted with her neighbours than we have been led to suppose.’
‘But Mr Lansdale said that she did not receive calls – that there had been no visitors for many days.’
‘Yes. Precisely so,’ said Dido, pacing along the gravel. ‘And the great question must be – was he lying when he said…?’
‘No!’ cried Flora, hurrying after her, in a flutter of muslin and anxiety. ‘No, no, you must not say such things! You have seen him, Dido. How can you suppose such a man capable of a falsehood? There is truth in all his looks!’
‘Well, well,’ said Dido, unconvinced by this powerful argument, but reluctant to press the point. ‘Maybe he knew nothing about the visitors. After all he was absent on the fateful evening. And it may be that his aunt was quite in the habit of receiving secret calls.’
‘Yes,’ said Flora firmly, ‘it may.’
Dido judged it best to say no more of Mr Lansdale. ‘However,’ she pointed out, ‘one thing is certain: Miss Neville must have known about the visitors. She was at home all evening.’
‘Miss Neville may be lying,’ suggested Flora.
‘She may indeed, for she has not a handsome face to prevent her telling falsehoods.’ Dido threw her cousin a sidelong look as she spoke.
But Flora was thinking and twisting her finger in her bonnet’s ribbon. The result of her musing was: ‘I do not like Clara Neville. She has a nasty, unhappy look.’
‘You are quite right; the woman is certainly guilty of unhappiness – and a very grave crime it is. But I think there may be something else besides. A greater guilt. Did you see how she started and ran her needle into her finger when that last evening was spoken of?’
‘No, I did not. Do you suppose…’ Flora stopped. They were come now to the cedar tree at the end of the sweep and she was disconcerted to find that her cousin was once more staring thoughtfully at the grave. ‘You are thinking about the dog again?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Why are you so very interested in it? It was only a dog – and rather a horrid dog too.’
Dido’s mind was full to overflowing upon this subject. She was thinking of the mystery of the creature being killed at the very same time that its mistress died. She was thinking of the character it had been given by Miss Neville – a noisy little thing which had bitten anyone who came near it. She was thinking that it would have sounded the alarm if anyone had tried to harm Mrs Lansdale: thinking that it was just the kind of animal which a murderer might wish to destroy.
She looked at Flora’s little white face tipped questioningly to one side: blue eyes wide as a child’s, one shining curl slipping prettily across her smooth cheek.
‘The death of the dog,’ said Dido cautiously, ‘does rather suggest that there was something…strange…suspicious about the lady’s death…’
‘Dido!’ Tears sprang immediately to the wide blue eyes, hung upon the lashes. ‘You are not saying…?’
‘No, no. I am not accusing Mr Lansdale. Did you not hear me tell him that I believe the evidence to be in his favour? For, if someone did kill the dog in order to harm its mistress undetected, I do not think it was Mr Lansdale.’
‘Oh…’ Flora hesitated, looked puzzled. ‘Why do you say so?’
‘Because he told us that he regularly fed the dog. And I think you will agree that, however ill-tempered a dog may be in general, it will usually tolerate the presence of the person from whom it receives food. I cannot see that he would have had any cause to kill the dog – even if he intended harm to his aunt.’
‘Yes. Quite. I see.’ Flora blinked away her tears. ‘Then that is all right then?’ she said uncertainly.
‘Well, perhaps not. For, if a murder should come to light, then I fear Mr Lansdale will certainly be the one accused. He has, after all, gained a great deal from his aunt’s death. And the rumour which Mrs Midgely is spreading…’ She stopped, shivering a little in spite of the warmth of the day. ‘Flora,’ she said firmly, ‘we must put a stop to these rumours.’
‘Of course we must. That is just what I have been telling you.’
‘And we must find out exactly what has been carrying on here.’
Flora looked less certain about that. But Dido was now walking on, deep in thought. At the end of the sweep she stopped.
From here they could clearly see the windows of the houses opposite and in one of them was visible a white cap which Dido recognised as belonging to Miss Prentice – Mrs Midgely’s little boarder. She paused for a moment, looking at the window, then turned and looked back up the sweep to the sombre lawns and the red-brick front of Knaresborough House.
‘Flora,’ she said suddenly. ‘What do you say to paying Miss Prentice a morning call?’
‘Well,’ came the puzzled reply, ‘I daresay I owe her the attention. I have not set foot in that house once since our coming down from town. But, why should you wish to call upon her? She is such a very dull woman!’
‘On the contrary,’ said Dido cheerfully, taking Flora’s arm and steering her towards the house, ‘I think she may prove very interesting indeed. For she has a remarkably interesting view from her window – and she spends a great deal of time looking at it. In fact, I do believe that if anyone can tell us who has been visiting Mrs Lansdale, it is Miss Prentice.’
They crossed the road and followed the path which led along the side of the house. The front parlour window was open and there was music drifting out among the severely clipped hedges of box and yew. Mary Bevan was playing upon the pianoforte and singing so beautifully that both women could not help but stop for a moment to listen…
‘What’s this dull town to me
Robin’s not near
What was’t I wish’ d to see
What wish’ d to hear
Where all the joy and mirth
Made this town heaven on earth
Oh, they’re all fled with thee
Robin Adair…’
Flora merely smiled appreciatively; but Dido raised an interested eyebrow as they walked on to the front door.
The visit did not begin well.
Miss Prentice was not alone when they were shown into the back parlour; Mrs Midgely was sitting with her and, at first, Dido despaired of being able to ask any of the questions which were filling her head. There was no breaking in upon the torrent of Mrs Midgely’s tedious prosing. At first there was nothing to be done but to take their seats upon hard, narrow chairs and to listen.
Attending with only half an ear, Dido looked about her. The room certainly had an excellent view of Knaresborough House; but that was the only thing to be said in its praise. It was not a pleasant room. It was very small and, facing backwards, it received no sunlight even now in the middle of a day in June. And into it there seemed to be gathered all the oldest and shabbiest articles of furniture that might be found in any moderately sized house. The only handsome piece was a gentleman’s broad mahogany desk – very fine, but with its drawers badly scratched and scarred – pushed into one corner, occupying a great deal of space and offering in return little convenience for the room’s present mistress. And there was also an air of incongruous masculinity in the stains upon the wallpaper which had, almost certainly, been made by tobacco smoke…