Place of Confinement (2 page)

*   *   *

… I found myself seated beside Miss Gibbs at dinner yesterday, so I took the opportunity of expressing the – very understandable – hope that we shall meet her friend Miss Verney during our stay at Charcombe.

Oh Lord! But she did not know about that! For there was no knowing was there? And her spoon was dropped into her soup plate and the conversation was lost in a great mopping up of soup with a napkin – which ended in the overturning of a flower vase.

Yes, all in all, I am
almost sure
that it is Miss Verney who is making the company uneasy. Or perhaps I should rather say that it is the
lack
of Miss Verney which is making the company uneasy. For she has not yet appeared, and her whereabouts are
never
mentioned …

I should dearly love to know what has become of her – and why her absence is causing so much anxiety …

*   *   *

Dido’s pen was halted yet again – this time by an urgent drumming of hooves upon the high road.

Out in the garden the shadows were beginning to lengthen and the spring day was growing cool. The company was gathering upon the upper lawn now, preparing for a return to the house.

From her seat in the hall, Dido could look past the lawns, along the length of the carriage drive which rose gently to tall iron gates shaded by beech trees which were just breaking into leaf. The gates stood open and, on the road beyond, she could now see a horse approaching – and turning into the drive at a speed which set the gravel dancing about its hooves.

Everybody on the lawn turned to look, and Lancelot Fenstanton began immediately to run towards the house. He joined the rider as he dismounted at the foot of the steps, and the two men fell into an earnest conference.

Dido would have dearly loved to know their subject, but their voices were pitched inconsiderately low. The rider drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Mr Fenstanton, remounted and started off along the carriage drive.

Mr Fenstanton remained upon the step, broke the seal of the letter with a quick movement and began to read. And he proved to be one of those people who
must
read aloud. Dido could see his lips moving, hear the rhythm of the words. So eager was she to catch the meaning too that, insensibly, she had risen from her chair – taken a step towards the door – when Mr Fenstanton ceased reading and turned about.

She sat down with her heart beating rapidly, earnestly hoping that her impertinence had not been detected. But the gentleman was in the hall now and he looked so very anxious that she felt authorised to cry out, ‘I hope you have received no bad news, Mr Fenstanton.’

‘Ha! Bad enough!’

‘I am very sorry to hear it.’

Lancelot Fenstanton stood a moment beside the door, beating his hat against his leg and gazing out along his carriage drive as if he had never seen it before. Then he crossed the hall in long strides, threw himself down in the chair opposite Dido and tossed his hat onto the table.

He bowed his head with something of the air of a good-natured little boy puzzling over his lesson. He was a well-looking man of about forty and his countenance seemed made for smiling. He was not above average height, but powerfully built; his black hair was only touched with grey at the temples and the lines in his rather tanned face seemed all fashioned by laughter and an outdoor life.

He looked up, caught Dido’s watching eye and smiled broadly. ‘I’ll tell you what, Miss Kent,’ he cried, ‘I think you are suspicious of us all!’

Dido coloured and disclaimed immediately, but he was not to be put off.

‘Yes, yes, I see how it is,’ he said. ‘Dear Mrs Manners may have noticed nothing, but
you,
’ he waved the letter in his hand, ‘I fancy
you
have been taking the measure of things ever since you arrived. I am right, am I not?’

Dido was not used to being understood so very easily. She would have to be a little careful of Mr Fenstanton …

‘I am very sorry if I have seemed impertinent,’ she said, ‘but I confess that I have detected a certain … uneasiness in the house. I hope there is no great trouble.’

‘Ha! Yes, we are uneasy enough, I should think! And, do you know, I said to dear Mrs Bailey yesterday that we might as well tell you all about it. For it’s damned awkward keeping secrets within the house, and I’m sure you won’t breathe a word of it.’

‘No, indeed I shall not,’ said Dido virtuously. ‘Am I to understand that it is a rather delicate matter?’

‘About as delicate as it can be! The long and the short of it is,’ he said, picking up his hat and turning it about in his hands, ‘our Miss Verney has disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘There is no other way of telling it, Miss Kent. Two days ago a young man called upon her here. A gentleman she has known for some time and who was come to stay with friends ten miles away. Mrs Bailey had already hinted to me that she was a little uneasy about the acquaintance. But we did not any of us think there was any
great
danger. However, Miss Verney went out walking with this young man – and she has not been seen since.’

‘You fear that she has—’

‘It seemed plain that they were off to Scotland together and we’ve had men searching for them along the turnpike – making enquiries at the inns. We have traced a carriage to the Bristol road.’

He looked so very dejected that Dido very much wished to help him. She watched him compassionately as he began to tap a finger fretfully upon the table. ‘The young lady’s going must be a very great worry to you,’ she said.

‘It’s the very devil!’ he cried. ‘For poor old Reg Bailey – he’s Miss Verney’s guardian, you know – he asked me particularly to watch over the girl while he’s away settling his affairs in Antigua.’ He sighed extravagantly. ‘But I thought Miss Verney was a sensible girl; high-spirited, certainly, but never foolish. I had no idea of her getting into this kind of scrape. And I’m damned if I know how to get her back.’

Dido smoothed the soft barbs of her pen. ‘Is Miss Gibbs not able to supply any information?’ she suggested. ‘A young lady’s intimate friend is often a party to such a scheme.’

‘No, poor little Martha Gibbs knows nothing at all. She is as shocked as the rest of us.’

Or so she claims,
commented Dido internally. ‘And what of Miss Verney’s maid?’ she asked aloud. ‘For I understand that in cases of elopement the young lady’s maid is generally the first to be enquired of.’

‘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.