I immediately regretted the cynical tone I had adopted, for I saw now that her face was drawn, with dark rings around the eyes that betokened long hours of sleeplessness. Her manner had less of the frigidity of our first encounter, although I remained wary of the way her eyes slowly but constantly scrutinized my person with judicial intensity, like a prosecuting counsel interrogating a hostile witness. But the burden of her grief was now apparent. She was human, after all; and what could have prepared her for this, the senseless slaughter of her father? It was not in her nature to speak her misery I saw that clearly; but the over-fraught heart2 must somehow find expression.

She picked up the torn pieces of music I had placed on the piano-stool.

'A favourite piece of my father's,' she said, though offering no explanation as to why the sheets had been spoiled in this way. 'Are you an admirer of Chopin, Mr Glapthorn?'

'In general I prefer the music of earlier times the elder Bach, for instance, but I attended Monsieur Chopin's concert at Lord Falmouth's in when would it have been?'

'Six years ago,' she said. 'July forty-eight. I was there, too.'

This happy coincidence for such it was produced a distinct change in her. Her look softened somewhat, and as we talked about our separate recollections of the evening, a faint smile would occasionally moderate the severity of her expression.

'Miss Carteret,' I said softly, as I was taking my leave, 'I beg you to see me as a friend, for I truly wish to be so. You have told me you neither want nor need my sympathy, but I'm afraid I must presume to give it to you, whether you will or no. Please will you let me?'

She said nothing, but at least she did not rebuff me, as formerly; and so, emboldened, I pressed on.

'I have dispatched my report to Mr Tredgold, and so shall return to Stamford this evening, and take train to London tomorrow. But, if I may, I hope you will allow me to return for your father's funeral. I shall not, of course, presume on your hospitality . . .'

'Of course you may return, Mr Glapthorn,' she interrupted, 'and I shall not hear of your staying anywhere but here. You will forgive me, I hope, for being so cold with you before. It is my nature, I fear, to let very few people into my confidence. To my disadvantage, I have nothing of my father's outgoing nature.'

I thanked her for her generosity, and then we spoke a little further of the arrangements that had been put in hand. The inquest was to take place on the following Monday in Easton, the nearest town to Evenwood, under Mr Rickman G.o.dlee, coroner for the district; the interment, at St Michael's and All Angels, would be tomorrow week.

'By the way, Mr Glapthorn,' she said, 'I am required to speak with some police-officers from Peterborough this afternoon. I have already indicated to the authorities that you will be happy to put yourself at their disposal. I trust you do not object?'

I replied that, naturally, as the representative of Tredgold, Tredgold & Orr, and perhaps as the last person to have seen her father alive, I would do everything possible to a.s.sist those responsible for identifying Mr Carteret's a.s.sailants.

She expressed her grat.i.tude, and informed me that the officers would be arriving in an hour, if that would be convenient for me. As this would still give me an hour before I was due at the Rectory, I said I would return at the appointed time and turned to go.

'I hope, Miss Carteret,' I said at the door, 'that you have friends hereabouts and that you will not be too much alone in the coming days?'

'Friends? Of course. But I do not mind being alone. I grew up more or less on my own after my poor sister died. Solitude holds no terrors for me, I can a.s.sure you.'

'And you are fortunate to have good neighbours too, I think?'

'You are referring to Dr and Mrs Daunt, perhaps?'

I briefly recounted my meeting with the Rector, and my decidedly favourable impressions of that gentleman.

'Dr Daunt is certainly a good neighbour,' she said. 'I could wish for no better.'

'And Mr Phoebus Daunt must be a welcome addition to any society,' I continued, as disingenuously as I could, for I was determined that my liking for Miss Carteret would not deflect me from learning as much as I could about my enemy.

'Are you acquainted with Mr Phoebus Daunt?'

Her mouth perceptibly tightened, and I noticed that she pa.s.sed her hand over her forehead as she spoke, though her eyes held me fast in their gaze.

'His literary reputation precedes him,' I replied. 'Who has not read and admired Ithaca?'

'Do you mock my distinguished neighbour, Mr Glapthorn?' I sought, but could not quite find, something in her face that would confirm that her literary estimation of P. Rainsford Daunt coincided with my own.

'Not at all. It is a very great thing to be a poet, and to be able to write so much poetry at a time is surely enviable.'

'Now I know you are being unkind.'

She looked me straight in the eye, and then she laughed a clear spontaneous laugh, which instantly produced a similar response in me. The action briefly transformed her face into something even more wonderful, and for a moment or two she had stood swaying from side to side in a most charming childlike manner. Then she sought to check herself, looking away slightly and affecting to tidy up some flower petals that had fallen from a display on a nearby table-top.

'I must tell you, Mr Glapthorn, what perhaps you already know, that I grew up with Phoebus Daunt, and that it is very cruel of you to deride the literary efforts of my childhood companion.'

'Oh, I do not deride them, Miss Carteret,' says I. 'I do not pay them any heed at all.'

By now she appeared to have collected herself and turned from the table to hold out her hand.

'Well, Mr Glapthorn,' she said, 'perhaps we shall be friends after all. I do not know how you have made me laugh at such a time as this, but I am glad you have done so, though I must caution you not to underestimate Phoebus. He is exceptional in many ways and not a little like you.'

'Like me? How so?'

'For one thing, he is determined to make his mark on the world as I believe, from our brief acquaintance, that you also are. For another, I think he would make a dangerous enemy.'

'Well, then,' I replied, 'I must be sure to keep my opinions concerning his literary productions to myself. It would never do to antagonize so dangerous a man.'

I could not help delivering these words in a swaggering manner, which I immediately regretted when I saw the smile fade from Miss Carteret's face.

'Well,' she said, 'I have warned you. I know him well, as well as anyone, I think, and I say again that he is not a man to be crossed. But perhaps you already know the gentleman as well as his works?'

Of course I lied and said that I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting him in person, but that I hoped to rectify this as soon as possible.

She moved towards the window to raise up the blind. 'It is such a beautiful morning,' she said. 'Shall we take a turn round the garden?'

And so round we went, several times, at first in silence but then, in answer to my questions, she began to speak of her childhood at Evenwood and of how she once became lost in the great house and thought she would never be found; then, at my gentle prompting, she told me something of the terrible day her sister died, which she recalled even now in all its heart-breaking detail, though she had only been five years old when they brought the bedraggled little body back to the Dower House. She fell silent again, the painful memory of that loss no doubt compounding the grief she felt at the brutal slaying of her father. So, to change the subject, I asked her about her time abroad and how she had liked Paris, and because she said she adored the French language I suggested we should converse in that tongue, which we proceeded to do until, somewhat overawed by her fluency, I stumbled over a word and she laughed at my embarra.s.sment.

'I see you are not used to being laughed at, Mr Glapthorn,' she said. 'I suspect few people get the better of you, and when they do, you take it hard. Is it not so?'

I admitted that she was right in general, but that, with regard to my spoken French, I humbly deferred to her superior proficiency and which was true was happy to be laughed at. At length, after we had taken several turns of the garden, we sat down to rest on a little stone bench, where we remained, saying nothing, for some minutes.

The sun was warm on our faces, and when I turned to speak to her I saw that her eyes were closed. How exquisitely beautiful she was! She had left her spectacles in the house, and her pale skin, framed and intensified by the stark black of her hair, was bathed in the full clear light of the November sun, bestowing on it a strangely numinous, unearthly quality. She sat perfectly still, her head tilted upwards, her lips slightly parted. It was the most enchanting composition, and I wished so much to have my camera to capture the fleeing moment, and fix it forever. Then she opened her eyes and looked straight at me.

'Your business with my father,' she said, 'are you at liberty to say what it concerned?'

'I'm afraid that must remain confidential.'

'Do you not trust me?' she asked.

There was a hard look in her eye that matched her tone of voice. I struggled to find a suitable answer, but could only prevaricate.

'Miss Carteret, it is not a question of trust between you and I, but between my employer and myself.'

She thought for a moment and then stood up, blocking out the sun.

'Well, then,' she said, 'there is nothing more to be said. I had begun to hope that we might perhaps become friends, but without trust - '

'I a.s.sure you, Miss Carteret,' I began, but she held up her hand to stop me from speaking further.

'No a.s.surances, Mr Glapthorn,' she said, with terrible emphasis. 'I do not care for a.s.surances. They are given all too lightly, I find.'

And then she turned and began walking back towards the house, leaving me to follow her. Just as I caught up with her, a tall thin gentleman with a lugubrious expression, and wearing trousers that appeared to belong to a much shorter person, appeared on the path that led from the gate-house through the plantation. He bowed obsequiously on seeing Miss Carteret. At once her demeanour changed.

'Mr Gutteridge,' she whispered, keeping her eyes on the visitor. 'The undertaker. I'm afraid we must continue our conversation another time. Good morning, Mr Glapthorn.'

And with that she left me.

For the next hour or so, I pa.s.sed the time by making an exploration of the Park and considering, as I walked, my last conversation with Miss Carteret.

I naturally regretted having discomposed her during this time of mourning; but her late father had bound Mr Tredgold to strict confidentiality, and I, as Mr Tredgold's agent, was subject to the same obligation. Yet I was forced to acknowledge that duty was even now under threat from desire, and I did not know if I would have the strength to refuse her again. I did not stop to ask why Miss Carteret had been so visibly angered by my insistence on observing the professional proprieties. If I had been myself, I might have further wondered what, other than mere politeness or natural curiosity, could have caused such displeasure as she had shown. But I was not myself. Like a half-conscious somnambulist, I was stumbling towards I knew not what; and, to compound this sudden wilful folly, all my once sincere intentions towards Bella, were being driven from my mind, so blinded was I by Miss Carteret's beauty, and so deaf to the quiet urgings of conscience.

I had taken a branch of the main carriage-road that led towards the Temple of the Winds, the Grecian folly built by Lord Tansor's great-grandfather in 1726. From here, I made my way up through the woods that formed the western boundary of the Park, and then descended again, through silent ranks of oak and ash and fluttering showers of leaves, to emerge before the West Front of the great house.

The sight of the house wrenched me back to the task in hand. If I achieved my purpose, then this wondrous place would be mine by right of succession. I could not let what might only be a temporary, and unreciprocated, infatuation to lure me from the path on which my feet had been set. What though Miss Carteret was beautiful? Bella was beautiful, and kind, and clever, and as affectionate a companion as any man could wish for. I knew nothing of Miss Emily Carteret, except that she was proud and self-possessed, and that her heart might already belong to another. But Bella I knew to be open-hearted, and warm, and devoted to me alone. What had I to do with cold Miss Carteret? Surely I had suffered from some temporary fever of the brain, which fresh September air and brisk walking had now banished. Thinking I had reasoned myself out of my unadmitted pa.s.sion, as a fool in love will sometimes do, I set off back to the Dower House.

Inspector George Gully and an accompanying constable were waiting for me in the drawing-room. I settled myself in an arm-chair and took out a cigar.

The interrogation, though lengthy, was not of the subtlest, and the Inspector seemed satisfied with the perfectly truthful account truthful, that is, as far as it went that I gave him of my meeting with Mr Carteret in Stamford.

'You have been most obliging, Mr Glapthorn,' he said at last, closing his note-book. 'I do not think, you being a stranger hereabouts, that we shall need to trouble you further. But if we do have occasion to speak to you again '

'Of course.' I handed him a card carrying the address of Tredgold, Tredgold & Orr.

'Just the ticket, sir. Thank you. As I said, merely a precaution. We won't be intruding on you further, I'm sure. We'll be on to these rogues soon enough, you mark my words.'

'You believe them to be local, then?'

'Not a doubt of it,' replied the Inspector. 'Not the first such outrage in this vicinity of late, I regret to say, though the first fatality. But we already have our suspicions . . . I shall say no more.'

He gave me a look that seemed to say, 'You see what we are made of in the counties!'

'Well, inspector,' I said, getting to my feet, 'I shall report to my princ.i.p.al that, in my opinion, the investigation could not be in better hands. And if there is anything further I can do to a.s.sist your enquiries, please do not hesitate to inform me. And now, if you will excuse me.'

This oaf would never discover who killed Mr Paul Carteret. His death was bound up with a far greater mystery, which was beyond the ability of Inspector George Gully and his minions to unravel.

23:.

Materfamilias1 _________________________________________________________________________.

At the appointed time, I presented myself at the Rectory, where Dr Daunt received me in his study. We pa.s.sed a pleasant hour or so perusing his extensive collection of biblical and theological texts. This is not a field in which I have any great expertise, and I was content to let the Rector pick out volumes of particular rarity or importance and expatiate on them at some length, occasionally contributing a comment or two of my own, where I could. Then a first edition of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress (Ponder, 1678) caught my eye.

'Ah, Bunyan!' I cried, seizing on the volume. 'I read him often as a child.'

'Did you, though?' said Dr Daunt, with evident approval. 'I applaud your young taste, Mr Glapthorn. I never could get my son to like the book, though I read it to him often when he was a boy. I fear allegory held no appeal for him.' He sighed. 'But he was an imaginative boy and I suppose he is imaginative still, though now it is in what I may call a professional capacity.'

'I think Mr Carteret mentioned to me that your son was born in the North?' Dr Daunt seem disposed to talk, and I was eager to let him.

'Yes, indeed. I had taken a living in Lancashire on my marriage my first marriage, I mean. I am sorry to say that my dear wife my first wife, you understand was taken from us soon after Phoebus was born.'

He sighed again and turned away, and I saw him glance up at a small portrait in oils that hung in an alcove between the bookshelves. It showed a slight ethereal figure in a pale mauve gown and a neat cap, with misty blue eyes and cl.u.s.ters of airy curls at her neck. It was plain enough that his love for his first wife was still strong. Clearing his throat and brushing down his beard, he was about to speak again when the door opened and a tall figure in rustling black silk swept into the room.

'Oh! Forgive me. Achilles, I was not aware we had a visitor.'

'My dear,' said Dr Daunt, with the air of someone who has been caught in a guilty act, 'may I introduce Mr Edward Glapthorn?'

She gazed at me imperiously and held out her hand. I think she was expecting me to kiss it humbly, like a queen's; but instead I touched the ends of her outstretched fingers in the briefest of gestures and bowed stiffly.

'I am honoured to meet you, Mrs Daunt' I said, and withdrew a few steps.

Well, she was a deuced handsome woman, I'll say that. I could easily see how her good looks, together with a spirited and capable character, would have made it let us not say easy, but perhaps less difficult for Dr Daunt, in his grief at the loss of his first wife, and entombed alive as he had been in Millhead, to succ.u.mb to her charms. She had brought life and hope to that dismal place, and I supposed he'd been glad of it. But he had never loved her; that was plain.

'Mr Glapthorn,' the Rector ventured, 'is staying at the Dower House.'

'Indeed,' came the frosty reply. 'Are you a friend of the Carterets, Mr Glapthorn?'

'I came up from London to see Mr Carteret on a matter of business,' I replied, intending to dispense as little information concerning my visit as possible. She had seated herself next to her husband, placing her hand protectively over his whilst we spoke about the shocking events of recent days and how the placid community of Evenwood had been riven by what had happened to their well-liked neighbour. She possessed the most exquisite grey eyes: large and liquid, and constantly darting from her husband to me as we spoke in turn on the subject of poor Mr Carteret.

'Mr Paul Carteret was my second cousin,' intoned Mrs Daunt, 'and so, naturally, this terrible crime affects me particularly closely - '

'Not, perhaps, as closely as his daughter,' I interjected.

She shot me a look intended no doubt to crush my impudence.

'One must of course suppose that Miss Emily Carteret feels the loss of her father deeply, especially under such dreadful circ.u.mstances. Do you know Miss Emily Carteret?'

'I have that pleasure.'

She smiled and nodded, as if to signify her complete comprehension of the matter.

'And do you work in some professional capacity, Mr Glapthorn?'

'I am a private scholar.'

'A private scholar? How interesting. And is that a line of business?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You said just now that you had come to see Mr Carteret on a matter of business.'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'In a manner of speaking. I see.'

Dr Daunt, looking a little uncomfortable, then broke in.

'Mr Glapthorn has been so kind as to complement me on my bibliographic labours, my dear. It is always pleasant for us poor scholars to receive the approval of a discriminating intellect.'