forgotten to bring with me. Unfortunately I must return home to fetch it – I shall not be able to accompany you.’ He bowed, but then hesitated and stood, hat in hand, staring down at his feet.
‘You seem troubled, Mr Paynter.’
‘I am thinking of Miss Fenn. It is a sobering thought,’ he said, ‘but perhaps if my uncle had attended the lady during those last days … In short, it may have been the lack of his usual cordials and restoratives which drove her to the terrible act.’
‘Yes,’ said Dido thoughtfully. ‘It may have been.’ She paused – thought a moment. ‘However,’ she added, ‘it may be that her not calling upon your uncle’s services in those last weeks argues instead for her feeling better and being in no need of his cordials.’
‘Yes,’ he said doubtingly. ‘Perhaps it may.’
‘In point of fact,’ she said, ‘your uncle’s journal does not prove that Miss Fenn was suffering from melancholy when she died; but only that she had suffered such a complaint twenty-six days earlier .’
Chapter Eight
Dido walked on slowly to Madderstone Abbey, her mind full of Mr Paynter’s tribute of roses – and those six and twenty days during which Miss Fenn had, quite contrary to her habit, sought no help from her physician.
In order to establish whether or not this was a case of self-murder, it would be necessary to discover how the lady had appeared during those six and twenty days. Was she happier than usual – or sadder? Was it possible that, after fifteen years, anyone would be able to remember such a detail?
She passed through the park gate and came into the spoilt gardens. The sun was sinking low, casting long shadows from the fallen trees and turning the many puddles a deep, bloody red. The path from the gate ran above the bank of the old pool – and was particularly difficult to negotiate for a woman determined upon keeping her petticoat clean. But at the end of it there were four stone steps which led down to the pool, and it had been Dido’s intention to descend these steps to look at the place from which Miss Fenn’s body had been taken.
However, when she was only halfway along the path – and balancing precariously on a stone beside a deep patch of mud – she heard footsteps and the booming voice ofMr Harman-Foote down by the pool. ‘Well it must be put to rights at once, d’you understand?’ he was saying in a tone of grave displeasure.
She paused, swaying dangerously on her stone. Another, quieter voice was murmuring an apology. She looked down the bank and saw Mr Coulson, the landscape gardener, scratching anxiously at his head as he spoke.
‘Well, well,’ cried Mr Harman-Foote, a little mollified, ‘I daresay you meant no harm; but you’ve caused a great deal of trouble. You should not have …’
Unfortunately he never finished his speech, for just as he reached this most interesting point, Dido overbalanced and gave a little cry as she trod deep into the mud. Mr Harman-Foote stopped speaking immediately; both gentlemen turned in the direction of the sound and bowed when they saw her. She was obliged to call a greeting and hurry on – doomed never to hear what it was that Mr Coulson should not have done.
Which was very provoking, for she was almost sure he was about to be upbraided for draining the pool. At least, that is what she thought at first. But, by the time she reached the ruined cloister, she had begun to revise her opinion. For, she reasoned, the draining of the pool could not have taken the owner of the grounds by surprise. He must have seen that it was to happen when plans for the improvements were first drawn up; and if he had not wanted it done, he would certainly have vetoed it immediately …
She was shaken from this engrossing reverie by the sight of other dinner guests. Ahead of her on the gravel sweep, Silas Crockford was handing Lucy out of his chaise. And just rounding the corner of the cloister wasMr Portinscale, walking up from his
‘You seem troubled, Mr Paynter.’
‘I am thinking of Miss Fenn. It is a sobering thought,’ he said, ‘but perhaps if my uncle had attended the lady during those last days … In short, it may have been the lack of his usual cordials and restoratives which drove her to the terrible act.’
‘Yes,’ said Dido thoughtfully. ‘It may have been.’ She paused – thought a moment. ‘However,’ she added, ‘it may be that her not calling upon your uncle’s services in those last weeks argues instead for her feeling better and being in no need of his cordials.’
‘Yes,’ he said doubtingly. ‘Perhaps it may.’
‘In point of fact,’ she said, ‘your uncle’s journal does not prove that Miss Fenn was suffering from melancholy when she died; but only that she had suffered such a complaint twenty-six days earlier .’
Chapter Eight
Dido walked on slowly to Madderstone Abbey, her mind full of Mr Paynter’s tribute of roses – and those six and twenty days during which Miss Fenn had, quite contrary to her habit, sought no help from her physician.
In order to establish whether or not this was a case of self-murder, it would be necessary to discover how the lady had appeared during those six and twenty days. Was she happier than usual – or sadder? Was it possible that, after fifteen years, anyone would be able to remember such a detail?
She passed through the park gate and came into the spoilt gardens. The sun was sinking low, casting long shadows from the fallen trees and turning the many puddles a deep, bloody red. The path from the gate ran above the bank of the old pool – and was particularly difficult to negotiate for a woman determined upon keeping her petticoat clean. But at the end of it there were four stone steps which led down to the pool, and it had been Dido’s intention to descend these steps to look at the place from which Miss Fenn’s body had been taken.
However, when she was only halfway along the path – and balancing precariously on a stone beside a deep patch of mud – she heard footsteps and the booming voice ofMr Harman-Foote down by the pool. ‘Well it must be put to rights at once, d’you understand?’ he was saying in a tone of grave displeasure.
She paused, swaying dangerously on her stone. Another, quieter voice was murmuring an apology. She looked down the bank and saw Mr Coulson, the landscape gardener, scratching anxiously at his head as he spoke.
‘Well, well,’ cried Mr Harman-Foote, a little mollified, ‘I daresay you meant no harm; but you’ve caused a great deal of trouble. You should not have …’
Unfortunately he never finished his speech, for just as he reached this most interesting point, Dido overbalanced and gave a little cry as she trod deep into the mud. Mr Harman-Foote stopped speaking immediately; both gentlemen turned in the direction of the sound and bowed when they saw her. She was obliged to call a greeting and hurry on – doomed never to hear what it was that Mr Coulson should not have done.
Which was very provoking, for she was almost sure he was about to be upbraided for draining the pool. At least, that is what she thought at first. But, by the time she reached the ruined cloister, she had begun to revise her opinion. For, she reasoned, the draining of the pool could not have taken the owner of the grounds by surprise. He must have seen that it was to happen when plans for the improvements were first drawn up; and if he had not wanted it done, he would certainly have vetoed it immediately …
She was shaken from this engrossing reverie by the sight of other dinner guests. Ahead of her on the gravel sweep, Silas Crockford was handing Lucy out of his chaise. And just rounding the corner of the cloister wasMr Portinscale, walking up from his
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