A Place of Confinement: The Investigations of Miss Dido Kent (Dido Kent Mysteries) Read online

  ‘A very wise practice, I don’t doubt. But, unfortunately, no use in our case. For the maid is gone with the mistress. She – the maid – seems to have engaged a chaise from the Bull at Old Charcombe.’

  ‘And Miss Verney went away in that chaise?’

  Mr Lancelot rubbed unhappily at his brow. ‘Why, I think she must. For the postillion reports taking up a lady not far from our gates at some time about five o’clock.’

  ‘Only a lady? There was no gentleman with her?’

  ‘No, only a lady and her maid. Which is damned odd, ain’t it? I suppose she meant to meet with her gallant again upon the road, but it’s a very strange way of carrying on.’ He studied his companion a moment as she sat thoughtfully brushing her pen across her cheek. ‘It’s a puzzle, ain’t it?’ he said. ‘And I’ll tell you what – I fancy you are rather partial to a puzzle, Miss Kent!’

  Dido blushed; he was certainly too keen an observer for comfort.

  ‘Now, now, there is no need to look so bashful. For I do not mind your being interested at all. Why,’ he cried, throwing wide his arms, ‘I hereby authorise you to be as impertinently curious as you wish. Ask what questions you will! Pry into anything you choose!’

  ‘Thank you. You are very kind, sir.’

  ‘I only condition for your finding out in the end what has become of Miss Verney.’

  ‘I wish I might. But I doubt I can succeed where others have failed.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Fenstanton tapped a finger meditatively upon the table and considered his companion very closely. Her little round face was, as the saying goes, ‘past its first youth’, and the plain white cap ought to signify sedate spinsterhood. But there was something about the way in which Miss Kent wore her cap – something in the way the bright brown curls could not be contained within it, but spilt out onto cheek and brow – which was not sedate at all. And, though the fine green eyes were at present demurely downcast, there was in them a mixture of lively calculation, inquisitiveness and downright deviousness which is by no means usual in ageing maidens …

  Perhaps Mr Fenstanton was tempted to hope that she might succeed in the task. He leant closer across the table. ‘I should be very glad of your assistance, Miss Kent. And I understand that we are to have the pleasure of your company some weeks. Mrs Manners has promised me that she will stay at least until the end of the month—’

  Dido’s dismay must have been writ clear on her face, for he stopped short. ‘Ha! But I think you are wanting to return home.’

  ‘Oh no!’ She turned away in confusion – dreadfully aware of his keen gaze – and, between the fear of seeming ungrateful for his hospitality and all the painful remembrances which the word ‘home’ called forth, she did not know how to look or what to say. For, in point of fact, Dido was a true exile: wretched in her state of wandering, yet knowing that there was no safety in returning. Life as her aunt’s companion might be dull and humiliating; but at home, back in Badleigh, a far worse fate awaited her …

  ‘I am very happy here, Mr Fenstanton,’ she assured him. ‘And you are quite correct in thinking that mysteries interest me. I confess that Miss Verney’s absence had already begun to exercise my mind.’

  ‘That’s good! Now,’ he said with a confiding air, ‘I shall tell you the strangest part of the story.’ He looked down at the letter in his hand. ‘You see, all my previous ideas have been stood upon their head. I have just now received the oddest message.’

  ‘And is the message from Miss Verney?’

  ‘No. It is from the young man.’

  ‘Is it indeed? And where is he? What does he say?’

  ‘He is still here in Charcombe. And he says he don’t know where the young lady is any more than we do.’

  ‘But that is not possible! Miss Verney walked out with him and has not been seen again. What does he say became of her? Did she leave him to go away in the chaise?’

  Mr Lancelot shook his head. ‘He says he knows nothing about a chaise. He says they returned together to the house at five o’clock – or just a few minutes after. He says he stood beside the gate and watched her walk along the carriage drive and in through the front door.’

  ‘How very odd!’

  They had both turned now to the door and were gazing out at the sunny gravel drive which was no more than a hundred yards long and had not so much as a bush to obscure it.

  ‘It is more than odd,’ said Mr Fenstanton, ‘it is impossible. For at five o’clock the whole company was gathered here in the hall. This room was not empty from four o’clock until the dinner bell rang at half after five. And Miss Verney did not walk in through that door. The fellow is lying.’

  ‘But how strange that he should tell such a very poor sort of lie. Why has he not invented a more believable tale to hide his villainy?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Kent,’ said Mr Fenstanton, gazing out at the gravel and the gates. ‘But he is lying. Young ladies cannot simply vanish while walking along a carriage drive and through a door.’

  Chapter Two

  … Young ladies cannot simply vanish, can they, Eliza? Mr Fenstanton is in the right there. If a lady disappears from one side of a door she must appear upon the other side of it. We live in a rational age and cannot tolerate anything which goes against nature.

  But why does the young fellow tell such an unbelievable story? And why is he still in Charcombe? Has the world come to such a pass? Are young men grown so very indolent that young ladies must now abduct themselves?

  I do not like this business at all. It must be put to rights.

  But I rather wonder how this latest news will be received by my fellow guests. Will it surprise them as much as it surprises me? Or is there someone here within the manor house who knows more than they are telling about Miss Verney’s disappearance?

  I rather think that there is. Such a sudden, mysterious removal argues for an accomplice …

  * * *

  Dido stopped writing and watched Mr Lancelot Fenstanton as he hurried down the steps to share the news with Mrs Bailey and Miss Gibbs, who were still walking together on the upper lawn.

  She had her eye fixed upon Miss Gibbs, for as the ‘intimate friend’ she must be the one most suspected of complicity. How would she look when the letter was shown to her?

  The girl looked up anxiously as Mr Fenstanton approached and moved towards him – as if wishing to escape her companion. But Mrs Bailey caught at her arm and the gentleman addressed them both with his news.

  Mrs Bailey began to remonstrate before he could even finish talking. She was shaking her head, clutching the red shawl dramatically to her bosom. Mr Fenstanton handed the paper to her – as if to prove he had been telling the truth. But all the while Miss Gibbs stood unmoving, one hand still tethering the wayward bonnet as its long ribbons flapped about her face, her eyes fixed intently upon the stout figure of Mrs Bailey. She seemed to be interested only in her companion’s behaviour. There was no sign of shock upon her own account.

  In fact Dido could not escape the impression that the contents of the letter had been no surprise at all to Miss Martha Gibbs …

  But no sooner had she reached this very interesting conclusion than she was distracted by the approach of a third lady.

  In a dainty flutter of white muslin, Miss Emma Fenstanton – Mr Lancelot’s young cousin – came running along that part of the carriage drive which led away to the stables at the back of the house. She moved with such energy and elegance that she seemed almost to dance across the lawn. She had a parasol in one hand and a book beneath her arm. She immediately drew the master of the house away from the others and the two fell into a lively conference.

  Perhaps he was telling her about the letter. They were walking away together; they had almost gained the terrace before the house and Dido was in hopes of hearing their conversation – Miss Emma seemed distressed. She was clinging now to her cousin’s arm. And she seemed to be pleading with him.

  In her eagerness to hear what was passin
g, Dido leant towards the door, but the light, girlish voice was lost in the breeze. And when Mr Lancelot replied he spoke quietly. The genial look was gone from his face: he looked stern.

  What, Dido wondered, was little Miss Fenstanton asking that displeased him so much? Was she making some plea on behalf of the vanished Miss Verney? She was shaking back her short black curls; there was a look of entreaty upon her pale face as it turned up gracefully.

  But the gentleman was immune to her charm. He spoke briefly with every appearance of firmness, and walked away, leaving Emma gazing after him, her arms crossed about her book. She stamped a small foot in irritation. Then stood for several minutes, lost in thought.

  At last she seemed to take some decision and began to walk purposefully towards the house.

  She stopped a moment in the darkness of the porch, and looked about with the quick little movements of a hunted animal. It appeared that she might have private business to conduct in the house which she did not wish to be overlooked. Perhaps, thought Dido, that private business related to the vanished lady …

  Miss Emma was running into the hall now. She crossed to the library door, unaware of the silent observer in the shadows. But then, with her hand upon the lock of the library door, she looked about – and saw the inquisitive figure sitting with her writing desk at the hall table. ‘Miss Kent!’ she cried. ‘Why, I thought everybody was in the garden!’ She moved away from the door – as if she did not wish to be suspected of having any interest in it.

  ‘But why, why, why do you sit inside on such a delightful day? Whatever are you up to?’ Emma skipped across the hall and laid her parasol and her book on the table. (The book, Dido noted with some surprise, was the dry and worthy Dr Gregory’s Advice to his Daughters.)

  Dido pleaded her aunt’s indisposition as her reason for not joining the company in the garden, and Miss Fenstanton sat down beside her with a look of sympathy on her merry little face. ‘Ah dear,’ she said, ‘how delightful it must be, to be as rich as Mrs Manners and able to torment all one’s relations! I hope that I may be as rich one day – and then I shall be horribly tyrannical.’ She gave a little laugh – in any other girl it might have been a giggle, but in Emma it was a laugh, musical and gentle on the ear. ‘I shall make a dozen different wills and threaten everybody with not leaving them a penny! It will be such fun!’

  Miss Fenstanton did not mean to be unkind. Such flights of fancy were common with her. But Dido blushed; any reminder of her own situation – her enforced attendance upon her aunt and the mercenary motives which must be imputed to it – was painful. She said nothing, and studied her companion so that she might provide a description for Eliza.

  Though she was but sixteen, there was a look of good health and high spirits about Miss Emma; an air of blooming womanhood. And so it was a shock to look close and find that there was little actual beauty in face or figure. Her complexion was good, but her nose was insignificant and her eyes, though bright, were rather small. But, pleased with herself and with the world, Emma Fenstanton had never considered the possibility that she was not pretty. And, possessed of such certainty within herself, she carried her point with all observers. She passed everywhere for a beauty.

  At the moment there was one decided flaw in her looks which appeared as she drew off her gloves and laid them beside the book on the table.

  ‘Your hand is scratched,’ remarked Dido solicitously.

  ‘Oh!’ Emma laughed again and looked down at her hand. An angry red mark ran across the white skin, beaded with blood which was but recently dried. ‘I scratched myself on a rose bush while I was gathering flowers this morning.’ She indicated a large vase which stood near the hearth.

  Dido made a civil remark upon the prettiness of the flowers’ arrangement; but all Emma’s attention was now fixed upon the open door, beyond which could be seen the small plump figure of her father, Mr George Fenstanton.

  He was hurrying purposefully across the lawn towards the house.

  Emma jumped up, took her parasol and book from the table and ran out onto the steps – as if she did not wish to be discovered within doors.

  ‘Now then, miss!’ boomed Mr George as he all but ran against his daughter on the front steps. ‘I’ll thank you to stop a moment and listen to me.’

  He took her arm and paused a moment, struggling for breath after his brisk walk across the lawn.

  He was a short, round, oddly smooth-looking man in a tight green coat. His pink scalp showed through the sparse white hair of his head and his busyness and self-consequence showed through every movement that he made, every word that he spoke. And when Mr George was feeling particularly self-important, some odd arrangement of his teeth made a whistle of his breath.

  ‘What are you about?’ he demanded, still holding his daughter’s arm.

  ‘Nothing, Papa.’

  He snatched the book from under her arm, read its cover and handed it back to her without a comment. ‘Now, I don’t like the way things are carrying on,’ he said, whistling loudly. ‘Did I see you just now quarrelling with your cousin Lancelot?’

  ‘No, Papa. We were not quarrelling, merely talking.’

  ‘Well, miss. I’ll thank you to remember your duty. This is a fine opportunity for you to catch Lancelot – while the Verney heiress is out of the way. And I expect to see you smiling at him – not quarrelling.’

  ‘Yes, Papa. I shall smile.’ Miss Emma turned up her face and displayed a dazzling – but mischievous – smile that was all made up of dimples and white teeth and sparkling black eyes.

  George Fenstanton seemed blind to the danger of the smile. Looking pleased with himself for having resolved this little matter, he linked his arm firmly through his daughter’s, and steered her back to the company on the lawn.

  Left alone in the hall, Dido indulged herself with some rather suspicious thoughts about the lively Miss Emma. Why had she come into the house? And why had the discovery that she was not alone prevented her from completing her purpose?

  And it was very doubtful that Emma had been telling the truth about the scratch on her hand. The vase by the hearth contained lilacs, and lilies aplenty – but there was not a single rose. In fact, as well as Dido could recall, there were as yet no roses blooming in Charcombe Manor’s garden. Miss Fenstanton would have had little reason to approach a rose bush …

  Chapter Three

  … Well, perhaps Miss Emma Fenstanton has some knowledge of Miss Verney’s plans and is pleading her cause with Mr Lancelot … Or perhaps Mr George Fenstanton has quietly disposed of Miss Verney in order that his daughter may have a better chance of marrying Mr Lancelot.

  By the by, Eliza, the existence of this Mr George burst upon me when we arrived at Charcombe Manor. He is the brother of our Aunt Manners and also of Mr Lancelot’s late father. I had no notion of her possessing a surviving brother, for I have never heard one word of him from her lips – unlike ‘my dear nephew, Lancelot,’ about whom we have all been hearing for ever.

  And I notice that she has little more to say to Mr George than she has of him, scarcely ever addressing him unless she has the opportunity of contradicting him.

  I confess that I can feel little regard for the man myself. He is a pompous, prosing fellow – and I have noticed that he is very much attached to Charcombe Manor in a jealous, younger brother sort of way. I do not doubt that it would suit him very well indeed to see his child married to the present owner (though I do not believe the child herself has much enthusiasm for the scheme) … Perhaps he has taken extreme measures to bring about a match! Perhaps Mr George is at the heart of Miss Verney’s odd ‘elopement’ which appears to be no elopement at all.

  I declare, when one comes to consider the matter there are all manner of interesting possibilities!

  I watched very closely this evening to see the effect of this latest news – the young man’s claim to have escorted the lady safely home. All the older members of the company – Mr Lancelot, Mr George Fenstanton, Mrs Bailey and my
aunt – are united in a disbelief of the young man’s account. He is a thorough-going villain in their eyes.

  As one might expect, the two young ladies are less inclined to condemn, youth being always predisposed to trust and excuse.

  Martha Gibbs and Emma Fenstanton, I should say, have such a friendship as two young ladies thrown together in a country house – without possessing a thought or feeling in common – may be supposed to have. They are confederates in working a chair cover and sit over it every evening, conversing very comfortably; in no danger of ever understanding one another on any subject beyond the choice of threads and patterns.

  Merry little Miss Fenstanton considers it ‘a great lark’ that the young man knows not where Letitia Verney is. And she doubts not he is ‘as foolish as other men – even though they do say he has a handsome face’.

  To which Miss Gibbs solemnly replies, ‘Lord yes! It is just as you say. He has a very handsome face indeed and one cannot believe such a fine man is a liar.’

  I cannot help but wonder about Miss Martha Gibbs – I am sure she was not surprised to hear that the young man denies all knowledge of abduction …

  You will probably find my enthusiasm for this mystery unbecoming, Eliza; but I know you are too kind to begrudge me a little diversion from the duties of a niece. Life as a lady’s ‘companion’ is excessively dull. I may not walk abroad for fear of my aunt being ‘seized suddenly’; if I am detected with a book in my hand, she is immediately taken with the desire of having ‘a comfortable chat’; and I am scarcely allowed to be in company.

  I am writing now in Aunt Manners’ bedchamber; she is unwell and has retired early. I am required to sit with her until she sleeps, to guard against the possibility of her being seized so very suddenly as to make her unable to ring the bell. It is an acute sickness of the ‘enervating’ sort which overcame her at teatime – just after she was disappointed in the forming of a whist table when all the young people vetoed cards and decided that dancing was to form the evening’s entertainment.