A Moment Of Silence Part 3

'Logs?' I said.

'Yes, logs,' he said. 'Gad! My basket is always empty, don't you know, and I believe it's that young rascal's duty to fill it.'

'Oh, I see,' I said.

And then he made another ill-judged bow and wandered off. But, Eliza, I noticed that he was not walking towards the house. And I do not believe that it was Jack he had been searching for at all. His manner of peering around and into the bushes suggested a search for something that had been deliberately hidden.

Unless, of course, young Jack has taken to playing hide-and-seek with his master's guests...

Chapter Five.

Catherine was not in the morning room when Dido went there. Miss Harris was there with her paints and her drawing board and some hothouse fruits arranged upon a table a and Mr Tom Lomax was at her side, trying very hard to be gallant. As Dido entered he was entreating the lady to paint his likeness and obligingly turning his, undoubtedly handsome, face from side to side so that she might judge for herself from which angle he might be best portrayed.

'I have told you, Mr Lomax,' she said, pr.i.m.m.i.n.g her lips over her slightly prominent teeth, 'that I do not take likenesses. I know nothing of the art. It is landscape and still life which are my pa.s.sion.'

'But I will be still,' he said. 'I will be as still as these oranges and pineapples and you know it does not matter to me one bit whether the likeness is good or bad, for I only care that you will have to look at me a long while. And I really do not see why this pineapple should be honoured with your attention when it has done nothing but sit upon its dish while I have been labouring this last half hour to entertain you.'

Miss Amelia shook her head helplessly.

'Come now,' said Tom, stretching his long body in the chair. 'Could you not paint a picture of me?' He picked up a cus.h.i.+on, balanced it upon the back of his chair and threw his head back on it.

Dido studied his pose for several minutes a then crept away unseen.

'I think,' she said when she had found Catherine in the drawing room, 'that Mr Tom Lomax is being very attentive to Miss Harris.'

'Oh, as to that,' said Catherine carelessly, 'I am sure he would happily catch her and her twenty thousand a or her sister for that matter. Indeed, Tom Lomax probably wishes he was a Mohammedan so he could have both girls and all forty thousand pounds. But he is wasting his time, for there is not the least chance of their papa agreeing.'

'You do not think so?' said Dido cautiously. 'You do not think that...well, it might be important to him to keep secret from Mr Harris anything that might be to his disadvantage. Twenty thousand pounds is a great deal of money. A man might go to some lengths to secure it...' she mused. 'He might, I mean, go to some lengths to silence anyone who could speak against him and to...well, to appear respectable.'

'My dear aunt, I have no idea what you are talking about. But I a.s.sure you that under no circ.u.mstances would Mr Harris consider Tom as a husband for one of his daughters. Tom is penniless, you know. It is well known that he is over his ears in gaming debts, which his father has refused to pay.'

'Mmm, but he is a good-looking fellow.'

'Is he? Yes, I suppose he is. And what do you mean by saying that so earnestly?'

'Just that it is not unknown for a young lady to marry without her papa's consent. Mr Harris had perhaps better take a little care. And Colonel Walborough too, if, as one must suspect, he has an interest in the matter. A man of forty a and that, I think, is being kind to the colonel a had better take a little care if he finds himself opposed to a handsome fellow of five and twenty.'

'No, I am sure you need not worry on his account, Aunt. The Harris girls may not be very clever, but neither of them would be so foolish as to give up the colonel and his four thousand a year for Tom Lomax. The colonel may take his pick; he only needs to decide which inflames his pa.s.sions most: paintings of pineapples, or indifferent concertos.' She cast a meaningful look in the direction of the piano stool, which was occupied by Miss Sophia Harris: a short, fussy-looking girl who wore her hair looped about her ears in a way that put Dido in mind of a spaniel.

'Do not be ungrateful,' said Dido. 'The music may not be quite polished, but it has the recommendation of allowing us to talk unheard.' And she looked beyond the instrument to the other end of the long room where a fire was burning and working candles had been lit against the darkness of the day. There, in the circle of warm light, sat the other three ladies, working a nominally at least a upon their embroidery. In fact, Mrs Harris was chiefly employed in relating a long narrative of her own affairs, while Margaret yawned and Lady Montague played with the rings on her fingers with a look of such extreme ennui upon her face that not even the dreadful music and the tedium of Mrs Harris's conversation could account for.

Dido was arrested by the lady's look and began to study her with interest. The profile thrown back wearily against the brocade of the sofa was remarkably beautiful. But her expression, her pose, her whole air seemed to suggest that the morning a the day a or perhaps even the whole life a was a blank.

'How do you like your new mother-in-law?' she asked Catherine after a moment or two.

Catherine shrugged. 'Well enough,' she said calmly. Then a dimple flashed in her cheek. 'But then you know, Aunt, I am quite liberal in my notions.'

'Oh? And what does that mean?' asked Dido. She knew that dimple well; it meant mischief.

'I had better not tell you, Aunt. You would find it too shocking.'

'I shall do my best to bear it philosophically, my dear. Please tell me.'

'Well,' whispered Catherine leaning close, even though Miss Sophia's music was now making up in volume what it lacked in fluency, 'they say that her ladys.h.i.+p has a lover.'

'Oh yes? Who says it?'

'People in the village, you know. I understand it is very generally believed among the tradesmen and shopkeepers.'

'I daresay,' said Dido sharply, 'that there are a great many things believed by the tradesmen of Belston, which you and I would do well to give no heed to.'

'Ah,' whispered Catherine. 'But I have my own grounds for suspecting her. In fact, if you were not being so ill-tempered, I could tell you who the gentleman might be!'

'I have no need to improve my temper, my dear,' said Dido calmly, 'because I know that you are quite incapable of not telling me what you suspect.'

'And I daresay you will give me no peace until I do explain. So I shall tell you: I think it is Mr William Lomax.'

'What nonsense!' cried Dido indignantly. Unluckily there was a slight pause in the music just then and her exclamation made everyone turn in her direction.

Catherine giggled.

'And what grounds do you have for making such a preposterous claim?' whispered Dido when Miss Sophia had resumed her playing.

'Well, twice since I have been staying here, she has driven away in his carriage. She says that it is to deal with business.'

'But you do not believe that it is business she goes about?'

'My dear aunt, what business has a married woman to deal with? And besides, even if she had, my lady is the last woman in the world to be conscientious about it.'

'Mmm,' mused Dido. 'I wonder.' She studied the elegant, fas.h.i.+onably dressed figure and the pale face against the dark green brocade. The features were as small and delicate as a girl's and the lines about the mouth and eyes had more of discontent than age in them. She must have married a and borne her son a very young, for she could not now be very much past forty, and she was perhaps twenty years her husband's junior.

And Mr Lomax, though he might have a slightly grave air and what Catherine would, no doubt, call a 'business look', was a fine figure of a man and had, moreover, a kindly manner and a pleasing consideration of other people's feelings that must be preferred by any woman of taste to Sir Edgar's excessive self-importance and that devotion to ancestry which made him seem as much a part of history as the dark old portraits that hung upon his walls...

Oh dear, thought Dido when her musings had reached this point, that is the very worst of gossip: it has a way of being more believable than discretion.

She was going to pursue the subject, but just then the music began to falter a little. 'Catherine,' she continued hurriedly, 'before Miss Sophia exhausts her repertoire, there are other things I need to ask you.'

'Then ask, my dear aunt. I am quite at your service.'

'Well, first of all: who exactly was in that shooting party the day before yesterday?'

'All the men from the house. Sir Edgar, Mr Harris, Colonel Walborough, Tom Lomax and his father. Though I do not believe Mr William Lomax was shooting that day. He rarely does; but he walked out with the others and remained out with them all morning.'

'And at what time did they return?'

'At about one o'clock.'

'I see.' Dido considered in silence for some moments.

'Excuse me,' said Catherine abruptly, 'I will go and order the carriage.' She got to her feet and hurried away before Dido could stop her. And the reason for her hasty departure was plain: Margaret had detached herself from the group by the fire and was sailing down the room towards them.

Dido would just then have dearly loved to have an hour to herself in which to think over all that she had seen and heard. But instead of being left to the luxury of solitary reflection, she found herself instead condemned to a tete-a-tete with her least favourite sister-in-law, a situation which she knew was not likely to promote amiable feelings on either side.

'Well?' demanded Margaret, lowering herself into the chair Catherine had vacated a and setting it creaking under her. 'What do you think now of this strange affair of Catherine's? Can you find out whether she has heard from the young man, or when she expects him to come back?'

'I suppose,' said Dido guardedly, 'that only Sir Edgar can tell us when his son will have completed his business and be at liberty to return.'

'Oh, don't you give me those excuses! Anyone can see that there has been a falling out and that Sir Edgar, like the gentleman that he is, is covering up for them.'

'Really, Margaret, since you understand it all so well yourself, I wonder that you need to ask my opinion.'

'Hmph!' said Margaret sourly. 'I hope, Dido, that you are not encouraging Catherine in anything foolish. You must see that she is not likely to get another offer as good as this.'

'I would never encourage Catherine in anything that was likely to injure her happiness.'

Margaret was driven to be more explicit. 'You must know that it is very important to me that this marriage takes place. For the boys' sake.'

'Oh?' said Dido with mock innocence. 'The boys? What boys?' She knew the answer, of course, but she could not help but be irritated when Margaret spoke of her little sons as if they were the only boys in the world.

Margaret coloured and retaliated sharply. 'You know what I mean, Dido. Girls who are too choosy over getting a husband have a way of turning into old maids. And I would not have Catherine being a burden on her brothers.'

Dido winced.

'Aunt Dido, you look out of sorts,' said Catherine as the carriage started off up the drive. 'Have you been quarrelling with Mama again?'

'No, she has been quarrelling with me.'

'That is what you always say.'

Dido chose not to answer that. 'My dear,' she said instead, 'would you be so kind as to ask the coachman to stop at the gatehouse? I would like to just put a question or two to the gatekeeper.'

'Annie Holmes? But you will get no sense from her. She is a very stupid woman.'

'Nevertheless, I should like to speak to her.'

Stepping down from the carriage a few moments later, Dido was pleased to find that Catherine was not following her, for she was not sure that she wanted her niece to know the direction that her enquiries were taking.

She stood under the stone arch, where the air was chill with the scent of moss and damp, and waited as the carriage was let through the gates. The gatekeeper herself was rather a surprise to Dido, for she was neither the injured soldier nor the favoured pensioner of the family for whom such a post is usually reserved, but a rather pretty young widow who drew the bolts and swung open the gates with neat, economical movements that were particularly pleasing to watch. On the step of the little lodge house stood a solemn-faced child with large brown eyes. She was perhaps four years old and she was holding a rather fine china doll by its neck.

Dido smiled kindly at the girl and made a polite enquiry about the name of the doll, but the attention threw her into a fit of shyness and she fled to hide behind her mother's skirts.

'I'm sorry, miss,' said Mrs Holmes with a bob. 'She's usually got enough to say for herself!' Then, as the carriage rolled through the gates, she raised her voice above the echoing noise of it. 'Is there anything I can do for you?'

Dido, conscious that Catherine was waiting for her, lost no time in making her enquiry about Mr Montague: had he returned to Belsfield during the last three days? As she spoke she thought that there was a fleeting look of anxiety on the pretty face. There was certainly a flush of colour. Mrs Holmes put a hand to a dimple in her chin, then tucked up a bright brown curl that had escaped from her cap.

'Why no, miss, I haven't seen Mr Montague since he left on the morning after the ball.'

'I see. And at what time did he leave?'

'About nine o'clock, miss.'

'In his curricle?'

'No, miss. On horseback.'

'And could he have returned without your knowing about it?'

She frowned. 'On foot he could, miss. He could have come in by the side gate over there.' And she pointed in the direction of the chapel in its cl.u.s.ter of yews. 'But if he came on horseback, or in a carriage, he would have to come by this gate and I'd have been sure to see him.'

'Thank you.' Dido began to follow the carriage through the gate, but slowly, with a feeling that there was more to discover here, if she only knew the right questions to ask. Why did she suspect that the woman knew more about Mr Montague's departure than she was telling? She stole another look at her: despite her blushes there was a kind of a.s.surance about her. It was not quite insolence, no, you could not call it that, but there was a calm fearlessness in her address which sat strangely upon a servant.

Dido was level with the high red wheels of the carriage now and was about to mount the step when a different thought came to her. She spun round on the gravel.

'Mrs Holmes,' she called. 'May I ask one more question?'

Annie Holmes turned back. There was no mistaking the reluctance on her face now. Her lips were pressed tight together. 'Yes, miss?'

'On the night of the ball, you opened the gates to all the guests, did you not?'

'Yes, I did.'

'Do you remember a man who came here that night? A tall, soberly dressed man with red hair.'

There was relief on the gatekeeper's face now; she half smiled. 'Would that be the gentleman who came very late, miss?'

'Yes, I think perhaps he did arrive late. Do you remember what kind of a carriage he came in?'

'Oh yes, miss, I remember.' Mrs Holmes smiled comfortably and reached down to take her daughter's hand. 'It was a hack chaise. The old hack chaise from the Feathers.'

'I see. And the Feathers is the inn here in Belston village, is it?'

'Oh no, miss. The Feathers is over at Hopton Cresswell.'

Chapter Six.