Chapter Thirty
The party left for Bath two days later, the travellers gathering at the abbey for breakfast before sunrise. And Dido was very glad to be one of the company. She entered the hall of the great house that morning rich and happy; secure in the prospect of five days’ freedom and with spirits to enjoy all the anticipation and bustle of an approaching journey: the shuffling in the gravel of the horses as the carriage was drawn up outside; the shouts of the coachman echoing in the grey dawn; the carrying-down of trunks and those odd, muttered arguments which always break out among footmen who never can agree upon the best way of stowing boxes.
The smell of chops and toast and coffee issuing from the dining room was very welcome indeed and she was hurrying towards it when a loud voice called out her name. Mr Harman-Foote was standing at the door of his library, holding a candle against the gloom.
‘Miss Kent, may I speak with you a moment?’
She followed him into the library where he set the candle down among the papers on a table and begged her to take a seat. But he remained standing himself, his red face frowning, his large hand tapping restlessly among the papers – uppermost of which was the new plan of his grounds. The library fire was but recently lit and the chimney drawing badly: a smell of wood-smoke filled the air and thin grey wisps could be seen twisting about in the candle’s pool of light.
‘Wanted to ask you something,’ he barked at last, so very abruptly that anyone less familiar with his ways would have been offended. Dido only smiled and waited. ‘Those letters …’ he began, and stopped.
‘Letters?’
‘Yes. The letters you saw in Miss Fenn’s room – or rather you didn’t see ’em. For I understand they were gone when you came there.’
‘Yes.’ She studied his face carefully but could not guess what he was about. His colour was habitually so high that his emotions were very difficult to judge.
‘Well—’ His fingers drummed upon the plan. ‘Point is, I’ve been wondering. Have you found ’em? Have you got any idea what became of ’em?’
‘No, I am afraid not.’
‘Ah!’ He sat down beside the table, knees spread wide, his hands planted upon them. ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. It’s a bad business: a very bad business indeed. A lady’s correspondence is a private thing, you know. Should be treated with respect. Don’t like to think of it falling into the wrong hands. Don’t like it at all.’
His disappointment seemed real. There was, overall, such an air of honesty – and of delicacy too, despite the clumsy manner, that she was tempted to trust him … She hesitated; but the sounds of preparation from the hall were becoming louder and more rapid now – they had not long to talk …
‘I agree entirely, sir,’ she said quietly, meeting his eyes. ‘In point of fact, I had rather wondered whether you might have removed the letters yourself – in order to prevent their falling into the wrong hands.’
He started at her words and she discovered that it was, after all, possible for his face to become a little redder. ‘By God!’ he bellowed good-humouredly. ‘William Lomax is right about you, my dear! You’re a damned clever young lady!’
‘I thank you for the double compliment, sir. I am almost as pleased to be thought young as clever!’
He laughed heartily and insisted upon the accuracy of both words – with a gallantry of intent if not of manner. ‘But, you see,’ he continued, ‘the point is, you are quite right. I did mean to take the letters away …’
‘And you went to the room just before Anne and I?’ cried Dido, thinking of that little trace of tobacco smoke.
‘You are quite right! I did. I left Portinscale and young Crockford in the billiard room and slipped away upstairs pretty soon after dinner.’
‘But …’
‘But,’ he said leaning forward, his hands still clamped upon his knees, ‘I was like Old Mother Hubbard. The cupboard was bare.’
‘The letters were already gone from the desk?’
He nodded. ‘Not a single one left!’
‘I see.’ She was forced to consider this for several minutes, her eyes fixed meditatively upon the blue-grey skeins of smoke drifting about the candle-flame. ‘And do you know,’ she asked at last, ‘whether any other member of the company went to Miss Fenn’s chamber that night? Did you see anyone else on your way there?’
He shook his head. ‘Saw no one, I’m certain of it. Only the surgeon.’
‘Mr Paynter?’
‘Just coming away from poor Miss Lambe’s room. Last visit of the day, he said. And, to do that fellow justice, he’s been very good. Three times every day he’s been here. More than a bump on the head merits, in my opinion – but then, every man knows his own business best.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Dido a little absently – for she was now watching her companion very closely and wondering how much he might know about the woman his mother had recommended as governess …
‘Those letters, Miss Kent, they must be found, you know. Found and destroyed.’
‘Destroyed?’ She raised a questioning brow.
‘Well, you know …’ he looked down, slapped his plump hands upon his legs. ‘The poor lady is dead. No need to rake up old secrets. No need at all.’
‘Secrets?’ began Dido eagerly. ‘You believe …’
But the gentleman had now returned to his old refrain. ‘Why, it’s a bad business,’ he declared, sitting back in his chair. ‘A bad business all round! I tell you honestly, Miss Kent, I wish the poor lady could have been left in peace where she was. I wish young Henry’d never taken it into his head to drain that pool. It was a foolish trick!’
‘A trick!’ She leant forward across the papers on the table. ‘Mr Harman-Foote, am I to understand that Mr Coulson did not have your permission to breach the dam?’
‘No, he did not! I never gave my permission for it. Would never have given my permission. Told him so as soon as ever I saw what was going on!’
Dido stared.
‘Why,’ said he, ‘if you do not believe it, look here upon our plan. There, do you see?’ She followed the thick pointing finger and saw, drawn quite clearly in the neat black lines of the draughtsman, the shape of the little lake in exactly the same place it had always been. She looked more closely and saw there, among the grand new vistas and terraces, the outline of the watercourse – completely unchanged.
She had been entirely mistaken! It would seem that the question to ask was not: why had the damn been rebuilt? But: why had it ever been broken down?
‘Mr Coulson chose to drain the pool?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Said Mr Harman-Foote. ‘But it seems it was James Laurence that persuaded him into it. It was some foolish notion of his.’
Chapter Thirty-One
… Well, here I am, Eliza, in this scene of pleasure and dissipation, Bath: and settled at the White Hart, in a comfortable and spacious dining room with a very fine view of the Pump Room’s entrance. As usual, whenever I find myself in this town, I am wishing that I had the superiority of mind to be properly disgusted with it. But shops, society and amusements do have their charms even when one is six and thirty and I am not altogether sorry that I have come, though I am by no means certain that I shall succeed in gathering the information I require.
I have met Mrs Nolan.
She is mistress of a small, but well-respected school in Gay Street, who sometimes keeps on girls as ‘parlour boarders’ when they have no settled home; but unfortunately Penelope is the only young lady occupying that position in her household at present – so there is no close companion to whom I can apply for information.