quite impossible for Mrs Bailey to remember everyone who might wish to claim her as a friend.
But I was unable to observe Mrs B for long, for our aunt was now calling out, ‘Can that girl not even drink tea safely!’ And I was obliged to rescue an overturned teacup. On the sofa beside me, Miss Gibbs was mopping at her gown with her handkerchief, choking upon her cake and anxiously enquiring, ‘Does this man say what it is he knows about Tish? What kind of danger is she got into?’
She was very worried. Perhaps she is worried because she is the one who wishes her association with Mr Brodie to remain secret; but maybe she is simply worried to hear that her friend is in ‘grave danger’.
Aunt Manners has been in an ill mood all evening – the kind of mood in which she insults and contradicts everybody. She has now retired to bed overcome with ‘enervating’ symptoms; I have administered a particularly large dose of the brown medicine and she is sleeping soundly. Though she was restless for a long time – in that strange state between sleeping and waking which brown medicine seems to induce – and her mind ran a great deal upon Letitia. She insists that Miss Verney lies at Manchester tonight – and will be married at Gretna Green in only two days’ time. The continued presence of the bridegroom in Charcombe does not seem any impediment to her.
The house is all abed, the clock down in the hall has just struck one and, at last , I am able to return my thoughts to the mystery of Miss Verney’s disappearance.
I wonder whether Miss Gibbs is correct in believing that Mrs Bailey does not wish her ward to be found. I believe Miss Martha to be very much influenced by her friend’s ideas. There was a great deal of ‘Tish says’ in her account. I do not think Miss Gibbs is much in the habit of forming opinions of her own and suspect that she has rather fallen under the spell of the rich and beautiful Miss Verney.
But I cannot help but agree that Mr Lancelot’s not pursuing Letitia is very strange indeed. Of course (despite our aunt’s assertions) an anvil marriage is not possible while Mr Tom is in Charcombe – but Mr Lancelot did not know that the young man had remained here until he was informed of it yesterday. So why did he not ride after Miss Verney immediately? For, besides the interest he might have as a suitor himself, there is the responsibility laid upon him by the guardian.
I cannot make it out. And I cannot even guess at the information which Mr Brodie will bring tomorrow …
* * *
It was a noise which had stilled Dido’s pen; not a loud noise, but an oddly disquieting one. She held her breath, listening hard.
The candle flame swayed on its wick, throwing light around Mrs Manners’ chamber, lighting, in turn, the high bulk of the great bed, the grey ashes on the hearth, the crewel work curtains drawn close across the window. There was nothing to be heard now beyond the faint creak of a settling floorboard and the snores of the sleeping woman.
And then it came again – a small desolate wail which struck directly at the heart. Surely it was the crying of a baby? And yet Dido had not heard of there being an infant in the house. She rose cautiously, went on her toes to the window, and lifted an edge of the heavy curtain.
Outside, the light of the moon lay across the old-fashioned garden of low clipped box hedges, and trim beds of flowers and herbs.
Charcombe Manor had been built during the reign of Elizabeth and, like many houses of its time, its front had been fashioned in the form of a giant E in compliment to that monarch. From this window in the west wing – at the extreme end of the bottom leg of the E – Dido had a view of the entire house front, looking beyond the shorter central leg, which contained the great hall, to the looming outline and blank, dead windows of the deserted east wing.
At first all seemed still down in the garden – but then there was a movement almost
But I was unable to observe Mrs B for long, for our aunt was now calling out, ‘Can that girl not even drink tea safely!’ And I was obliged to rescue an overturned teacup. On the sofa beside me, Miss Gibbs was mopping at her gown with her handkerchief, choking upon her cake and anxiously enquiring, ‘Does this man say what it is he knows about Tish? What kind of danger is she got into?’
She was very worried. Perhaps she is worried because she is the one who wishes her association with Mr Brodie to remain secret; but maybe she is simply worried to hear that her friend is in ‘grave danger’.
Aunt Manners has been in an ill mood all evening – the kind of mood in which she insults and contradicts everybody. She has now retired to bed overcome with ‘enervating’ symptoms; I have administered a particularly large dose of the brown medicine and she is sleeping soundly. Though she was restless for a long time – in that strange state between sleeping and waking which brown medicine seems to induce – and her mind ran a great deal upon Letitia. She insists that Miss Verney lies at Manchester tonight – and will be married at Gretna Green in only two days’ time. The continued presence of the bridegroom in Charcombe does not seem any impediment to her.
The house is all abed, the clock down in the hall has just struck one and, at last , I am able to return my thoughts to the mystery of Miss Verney’s disappearance.
I wonder whether Miss Gibbs is correct in believing that Mrs Bailey does not wish her ward to be found. I believe Miss Martha to be very much influenced by her friend’s ideas. There was a great deal of ‘Tish says’ in her account. I do not think Miss Gibbs is much in the habit of forming opinions of her own and suspect that she has rather fallen under the spell of the rich and beautiful Miss Verney.
But I cannot help but agree that Mr Lancelot’s not pursuing Letitia is very strange indeed. Of course (despite our aunt’s assertions) an anvil marriage is not possible while Mr Tom is in Charcombe – but Mr Lancelot did not know that the young man had remained here until he was informed of it yesterday. So why did he not ride after Miss Verney immediately? For, besides the interest he might have as a suitor himself, there is the responsibility laid upon him by the guardian.
I cannot make it out. And I cannot even guess at the information which Mr Brodie will bring tomorrow …
* * *
It was a noise which had stilled Dido’s pen; not a loud noise, but an oddly disquieting one. She held her breath, listening hard.
The candle flame swayed on its wick, throwing light around Mrs Manners’ chamber, lighting, in turn, the high bulk of the great bed, the grey ashes on the hearth, the crewel work curtains drawn close across the window. There was nothing to be heard now beyond the faint creak of a settling floorboard and the snores of the sleeping woman.
And then it came again – a small desolate wail which struck directly at the heart. Surely it was the crying of a baby? And yet Dido had not heard of there being an infant in the house. She rose cautiously, went on her toes to the window, and lifted an edge of the heavy curtain.
Outside, the light of the moon lay across the old-fashioned garden of low clipped box hedges, and trim beds of flowers and herbs.
Charcombe Manor had been built during the reign of Elizabeth and, like many houses of its time, its front had been fashioned in the form of a giant E in compliment to that monarch. From this window in the west wing – at the extreme end of the bottom leg of the E – Dido had a view of the entire house front, looking beyond the shorter central leg, which contained the great hall, to the looming outline and blank, dead windows of the deserted east wing.
At first all seemed still down in the garden – but then there was a movement almost
Similar Books
