‘I do not know.’ Lydia cocked her head, considering the matter. ‘I have never been in love before. How can one tell
if one is in love?’
‘One just
knows,’
Aunt Camilla said with simple faith in
the mysterious powers of the human heart.
‘Well I do not.’
‘Then you are
not
in love.’
‘Very well, then.’ Lydia was not dismayed at this revela
tion. ‘I am not. I must go and write to papa.’
She left her aunt with a look of complete bewilderment
upon her pretty face. For herself, Lydia was not certain
what she thought about ‘being in love’, as expounded by her
aunt and so many others. It seemed an ephemeral condi
tion at best, which scarcely survived a year of marriage.
How many miserable love matches had she heard her
mother speak of to her friends. In choosing a mate, it
seemed to Lydia that the head had at least as much right
to contribute to the decision as the heart. A little more
common sense and a little less emotion was called for.
* * * *
It took more than an hour for her to compose a letter to her
father which managed to convey something of what had
taken place, without alarming him unnecessarily. She
reflected that it could not but be difficult for a daughter to announce that she intended to marry a young man she had
known for only a few short weeks. Indeed, perhaps she
was
in love, for the most lovestruck young lady could hardly
behave more idiotically.
Yet, in truth, she had not meant to consider marriage so soon. It had been, so to speak, thrust upon both of them:
herself as much as John. Yet now that she thought about it,
it had definitely been in the back of her mind. She really
had meant to marry John someday, so why should it not be
sooner rather than later?
She felt no common enjoyment of his company, and their
thoughts often seemed to jog along remarkably well
together. Except for his occasional lapse in kissing her without due caution (to which she had not the least objec
tion), John had behaved just as a gentleman should do. She
had better mention that to papa, she thought, writing
swiftly: not the part about the kisses, of course, but only that Mr John Savidge was a most unexceptionable young
man.
Should she exaggerate his fortune? No. Better not. It was
more than respectable, in any case. Suddenly she began to
laugh, for here she was writing of her expected marriage.
She, who had come to Diddlington with no such thought in
her head! It was so droll. What would Louisa say? And
mama!
She went into such a fit of laughter that she collapsed on
her bed, helpless and exhausted. Luckily, Aunt Camilla had
heard nothing, so she was undisturbed. At length, she fell
into a deep sleep from which she awoke the next morning completely refreshed.
Before Lydia could post her letter the following morning,
she received one herself. This was her father’s latest
installment in the story of Louisa’s London season.
‘Another letter, my dear?’ Aunt Camilla was concerned.
This will cost a fortune, I fear. Your allowance will never
stand it.’
‘Papa has got a friend to frank it, Aunt,’ Lydia reassured
her.
‘What news?’ the other lady could not refrain from
enquiring.
‘Another
debacle!’
Lydia’s head was bent over the page,
the better to decipher her father’s minuscule handwriting.
He had clearly reduced the size of his script to save paper. ‘Oh dear! I knew Louisa would make a cake of herself in
that dreadful pink dress. With cherry-red ribbons too!’
She then went on to explain the famous argument over
Louisa’s attire. Camilla shook her head in wonder and
disapproval, declaring at last that poor Louisa had even
less sense than her sister. Lydia took no offence at this,
knowing that almost every word and action on her part
went against her aunt’s strict notions of propriety.
Lydia read parts of papa’s letter aloud to her aunt:
enough to inform her that Louisa’s appearance at an
assembly in town had been greeted by universal derision.
Even her hen-witted sister could not fail to notice the
giggles hastily hidden by fans, nor the withdrawal of
several ladies from her presence. She had, it seemed, gone
home and treated her parents to a display of strong
hysterics in which she blamed everyone for her disgrace:
mama, Lydia - even poor papa, who had always main
tained a safe distance from the proceedings connected with
his daughter’s come-out.
‘It will be a miracle if she receives a respectable offer,’ Camilla pronounced fatalistically.
‘She never would listen to reason,’ Lydia said, for the
first time experiencing something like sympathy for her
foolish and headstrong sister.
‘I see,’ Aunt Camilla nodded toward the sealed missive
beside her niece, ‘that you have your own news to dispatch.
We had best go and do so at once.’
After a few minutes of bustle and confusion, they
emerged from the cottage and made their way toward the
center of town. On the high street they were apprehended
by the Misses Digweed, who clearly had been acquainted
with all the pertinent (and impertinent) facts surrounding
her engagement to Mr Savidge.
‘Such wonderful news!’ cried the elder.
‘You know what they say about “marrying in haste”,’ the latter remarked.
‘A nine-days’ wonder!’
‘Been expecting it this age.’
‘So well-favored.’
‘Plump in the pocket too.’
‘Oh, Dorothea!’
It was some time before they were able to disentangle themselves from the verbal web of this enterprising duo. When they did so, Lydia was surprised to find her aunt hailing a complete stranger.
* * * *
‘Kate!’ Miss Denton called out to a short, plump young woman who had just stepped up onto the pavement perhaps three yards ahead of them. ‘It is Kate, is it not?’
‘Yes, Miss Denton,’ the young woman replied, dropping a slight curtsy to them both.
‘It has been a long time since we have seen each other. Just before Easter, I believe?’
‘Yes ma’am.’
Aunt Camilla introduced Lydia to the young girl, adding that she was a servant at Bellefleur.
‘How does Sir Hector get on?’ Camilla added, with real concern. ‘Such a fine old gentleman!’
‘He’s been very poorly these past weeks,’ Kate responded, shaking her head sadly. ‘Not at all himself.’
‘Has he seen Doctor Humbleby?’
Kate replied that he had not.
‘Really, Mrs Chalfont should have insisted upon it.’
‘Mrs Chalfont?’ Lydia asked curiously.
‘Sir Hector’s housekeeper that is, miss,’ Kate enlightened the other girl.
‘Is Sir Hector as ill as that?’ Lydia began to probe gently, dangling her question in the hope of catching something worthy of her efforts.
‘I’ve never known ‘im to be so low, and that’s a fact.’
‘Perhaps,’ Lydia suggested, ‘all the trouble in Wickham Wood has overset his nerves.’
‘Could be, miss.’ Kate considered this explanation, which apparently found favor. ‘Now that you mention it, this spell come on just around the time that man was found dead in the woods.’
‘I think I should pay a visit to Bellefleur,’ Aunt Camilla said, as if she had read her niece’s mind. ‘I shall bring along some brandy and a receipt for a tonic which is said to do wonders for persons of advanced age.’
‘A splendid idea, Aunt.’ Lydia’s mind was returning to the problem with which she had been so consumed before her unexpected betrothal. ‘I would love to meet Sir Hector. Perhaps he needs the company of a young person to lift his spirits.’
‘Not likely you’ll be allowed to see him,’ Kate said sourly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Even Camilla was startled at this piece of news.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ Kate answered, looking somewhat shamefaced. ‘It’s just that Mrs Chalfont and Mr Tweedy—’
‘Mr Tweedy?’ Lydia asked, more mystified than ever.
‘That’s Sir Hector’s valet, miss.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sir Hector,’ Kate continued, ‘won’t allow nobody but Mr Tweedy and Mrs Chalfont to see him. I think he’s gone barmy, meself.’
‘Oh, do not say so!’ Camilla’s distress was genuine. ‘Such a dear, kind, Christian man.’
‘It’s as true as the Gospel, ma’am,’ the young maid insisted. ‘He just ain’t ‘imself.’
‘I think we must see for ourselves, dear aunt,’ Lydia insisted. ‘We will call at Bellefleur tomorrow, and see what we can learn.’
‘But if we are not permitted to see—’
‘Perhaps he will be better by then,’ Lydia said, refusing to be put off. Then she added to the servant, ‘There is no need to mention this to anyone, Kate. We will surprise Sir Hector. Who knows but what he may be persuaded to see us after all?’
* * * *
That evening John called to see them. Aunt Camilla, after expressing her best wishes to him, diplomatically withdrew. It was quite the thing for engaged couples to be permitted time alone together, and this particular couple could be most fatiguing. It was better for her nerves if she knew as little as possible of what transpired between them.
‘Have you written to your papa?’ John questioned Lydia as soon as her aunt left the room.
‘Yes indeed. But John, you have not heard the latest news!’
‘Are you engaged to someone else?’ He smiled a little crookedly at her.
‘Do not be a goose.’
She then related to him all that Kate had told them earlier in the day. He listened intently, but apparently did not reach the same conclusion.
‘I suspect,’ she declaimed, ‘that the old man is consumed by guilt. He murdered Mr Cole....’
John laughed, which Lydia found extremely irritating.
‘How did he do that?’ he asked her.
‘He overpowered him....’
John laughed even more loudly.
‘What do you find so amusing?’
‘The image of a man of ninety-five years or more “overpowering” a healthy fellow almost half his age!’
‘It is possible,’ Lydia said with great dignity.
‘But highly unlikely,’ he replied, unconvinced.
‘Very well!’ she cried, thoroughly offended now, ‘if you refuse to listen to me, you can go back to your inn, John Savidge. Good-night.’
With that, she swept from the room in a fine display of dudgeon. She was fortunate that she had been standing with her back to the door and was able to make a swift exit along the passage and up the stairs. Although she heard John calling her name as she ascended, she refused to heed him but went up to her room and left him to find his own way out.
How dare he laugh at her! His own fiancée! Well, she would show him. She would solve the riddle of Mr Cole’s murder and bring Sir Hector (whom she had already cast as his murderer) to justice. Then he would acknowledge her superiority of mind and be forced to apologize for his unpardonable behavior.
The weather had grown considerably warmer, and the walk of four miles to the gates of Bellefleur was an unexpectedly pleasant excursion. For the most part they went at a brisk pace, only pausing now and then for the elder of the two women to rest momentarily. There had been no rain for several days, so there was no fear of mud and they had left their pattens at home. The lanes were not so dusty yet as they would be at the height of summer.
They crossed a pretty little stone bridge with a low wall which spanned a narrow brook running along the edge of the extensive property, and it was not long before the great stone pile rose magically before them as they ascended a sloping stretch of grassy ground.
‘Here we are!’ Lydia sang out gaily.
‘Not quite,’ Aunt Camilla said a little breathlessly. ‘I am getting too old for such jaunts!’
‘Do not be silly.’ Lydia linked her arm with her aunt’s and they began walking up the drive to the front door. ‘You have enjoyed this every bit as much as I have.’
‘I do not know that I would go that far.’ Camilla looked at the young girl with a degree of speculation. ‘I do not know why you must needs visit Sir Hector, but since you are so determined I thought it best not to wait.’
‘If the man is as ill as Kate described,’ Lydia observed as they approached the front steps, ‘there may not be much time left for me to meet him.’
To this Camilla made no reply. They knocked loudly at the door, which was soon opened by an elderly retainer who looked to be scarcely in better condition than his master.
‘Good morning, Mattucks,’ Camilla greeted him pleasantly. ‘My niece, Miss Bramwell, and I have come to pay our respects to Sir Hector. I would have brought her sooner, but understood that his health is not the best.’
‘A very good morning to you, ma’am,’ Mattucks wheezed at her before turning ever so slowly to bestow the same courtesy upon Lydia. ‘I’m afraid the master still ain’t up to seeing visitors. I’d best ask Mrs Chalfont.’
He directed them to a large open chamber which appeared to be more of a reception hall than a drawing room. Bellefleur was a Jacobean building, large and incommodious, with protruding wings on either end recalling the style of the homes in the reign of Elizabeth I.