Dido waited a moment or two – long enough to raise the fear in Mrs Philips’ mind that she had lost the opportunity of displaying her superior intelligence. And then … ‘I suppose,’ she mused, ‘Mr Portinscale was deterred by Miss Fenn’s being only a governess …’
‘Oh no!’ cried the housekeeper immediately. ‘He was not deterred at all!’
‘Oh? You believe he made an offer?’
‘Well …’ lowering her voice as if she feared the hens might overhear. ‘I’ve never mentioned this to anyone before – on account of her disappearing so soon afterwards – but I believe he did.’
Dido said nothing, only raised her brows a little.
‘It is all in the sitting of a gentleman’s hat, is it not, Miss Kent?’
‘The sitting of his hat?’
‘Oh yes, a gentleman wears his hat in a very particular way when he is in love. On the very back of his head – with a sort of a tilt to it.’
‘Perhaps you are right. I confess I have never observed it myself.’
‘Well, I have, miss. And when I saw Mr Portinscale walking to the door that afternoon, I looked at his hat and I said to myself, “It is coming to a crisis. He’ll speak today for sure.”’
‘And do you know what the outcome was?’
Mrs Philips looked suspiciously once more at the spying hens and whispered, ‘I’m sure he spoke that afternoon – the afternoon before she went away. Oh yes, he spoke – and was refused. I know, for I was watching and I saw him leave the house.’
‘And his hat?’
‘Pulled right down over his eyes. And a look like thunder on his face. She’d certainly refused him.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘And refused him in a way he did not like at all!’
Chapter Fifteen
As Dido approached the front of the great house, Anne Harman-Foote was just setting off through the shrubbery with her basket to instruct the poor and the sick of Madderstone village into a state of plenty and well-being.
Mrs Harman-Foote was most particularly glad of the meeting, for she wished to hear everything that Dido had discovered about Miss Fenn’s death; but, since the poverty of the villagers was rather urgent this morning, she could not very well afford the time to turn back. So it was somehow decided that Dido must accompany her a little way and, before they had gone many yards, it had also been decided that she must carry the basket.
They started down a damp gravel path between some fine rhododendron bushes which old Mr Harman had planted and which had mercifully escaped the attentions of Mr Coulson. ‘I am taking broth and baby linen to the family at Woodman’s Hollow,’ Anne explained with a sigh of long-suffering, ‘though I doubt they deserve it, for I am quite sure the boys have been allowed to go poaching again. And it is a principle of mine to give only to the deserving; but Mr Harman-Foote is so very lenient …’ She paused to remind Dido to be careful with the basket.
‘It is quite shocking,’ she said, hurrying on, ‘the way the poor allow their children to act without restraint, do you not think? If I could only spare the time, I should establish a school in which proper behaviour might be instilled.’
Trailing in her wake with the heavy basket, avoiding as best she could the broad leaves of the shrubs which dripped water at the slightest touch, Dido was taken with a notion of the village children all exhibiting the restraint and proper behaviour of young Georgie. To distract herself from the horrible idea she began upon a succinct account of her discoveries.
‘It seems to me,’ she said, ‘that there are three arguments against your friend’s having taken her own life …’ And she explained rather breathlessly the significance of the coins, the position of the remains in the water and the housekeeper’s belief that Miss Fenn had recovered from her melancholy before her death.
‘That is excellent,’ said Anne when she had finished. She paused a moment, beckoning Dido to hurry and then turned into a broader walk. ‘I shall tell Mr Portinscale all about it as soon as I have an opportunity. And I shall tell him that the grave must be moved.’
‘I doubt he will agree to it yet. He seemed very determined upon denying her the church’s blessing when last I spoke to him.’ Dido took a few quick steps along the gravel in order to look into her companion’s eyes. ‘Do you know of any particular reason why he should be her enemy?’
‘No.’ Anne paused as they reached a little side gate which led from the park into the village lane. There was just a flash of doubt upon the assured face – enough to raise the suspicion that she had known of the clergyman’s rejection. ‘No,’ she said, pushing open the iron gate. ‘I know of no particular reason. But he is a very stubborn man and I think you had better continue with your enquiries in case we should need more evidence to persuade him.’
Since Dido had every intention of continuing with her enquiries, but did not like being ordered to do so, she was rather at a loss for a reply. And, as she searched for words which might combine independence with acquiescence, Anne turned busily to another topic.
‘Now, I must talk to you about Mr William Lomax,’ she said.
‘Mr Lomax?’ cried Dido, struggling through the narrow gateway with the basket.
‘Yes. He is to pay a visit to your brother, I understand,’ she said, but stopped, distracted from the subject for a moment by the sight of her village.
And Dido must wait, full of half-formed apprehensions, as Anne looked busily to right and left. There were thatched cottages and a newer little row of brick almshouses – all looking trim with smoke from their chimneys hanging low in the damp air. There was a green with a well and stocks, geese and sleeping curs. A woman who was beating a rag rug against her garden wall stopped and curtsied. All seemed to be as it should – but for two small boys who had climbed onto the stocks and were balancing there with waving arms for as long as they might.
Anne hurried forward with a reprimand immediately. The boys both started, fell and struggled to their feet, attempting to rub their bruised shins, pull off their caps and apologise at the same time.
‘Now,’ said Anne turning briskly back to Dido, ‘of what were we talking? Oh yes! Mr Lomax. He is a very gentlemanlike man, and I have been wanting to get him a wife for some time.’ Dido’s apprehensions began to take on a very unpleasant form. ‘It is almost six years since his wife died,’ continued Anne as they skirted the green ‘and that is long enough for a man to repine, is it not?’
‘Is he repining?’ asked Dido – from the corner of her eye, she could see the two boys putting out their tongues at Anne’s back.
‘Well, I suppose he must be repining. For I am sure he was devoted to her.’
‘Oh.’ Dido was uncomfortable, but she had never heard anything of Mrs Lomax and could not help asking, ‘what kind of a woman was she?’
‘A charming woman! Very quiet and proper …’ Anne paused and cast a rather anxious, assessing look at her friend. ‘And always very smartly dressed.’
Dido set the basket down and endeavoured to catch her breath. But Anne’s look made her suddenly aware not only of her hot red face, but also the mud on the hem of her petticoat and one or two white feathers which were clinging to her dark pelisse.
‘Exactly what age are you, Dido?’
‘Oh! I am old enough to wish not to answer the question!’
‘Lucy Crockford supposes you to be forty.’
‘Then Lucy Crockford is wrong!’ she cried immediately. ‘I only turned six and thirty in August.’
‘Yes,’ said Anne with satisfaction, ‘that is just about as I thought. It is not so very old. I think, after all, I may make a match of it – if I put my mind to it. Though I would, as a friend, counsel you to take a little more care of your appearance when he comes – and perhaps try to be a little less … odd and argumentative.’ She turned and hurried on along the lane.