Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [76]
She said the name as if she’d bitten into something bad-tasting.
‘Mr Brighton?’
‘Didn’t you see him? Oh, I forgot, you didn’t come down with the children.’
She made a face, pushed out her lips and pretended to smear something on them with her little finger. It was exactly the gesture of fashion plate with his lip balm.
‘So the fat one is Lord Kilkeel,’ I said.
‘Yes. Isn’t he the most hideous person you’ve ever seen? He’s a great friend of my stepfather’s, though.’
I was on the point of telling her how essential it was that Kilkeel should not see me, but before I could get the words out, she was demanding my help as usual.
‘Tell me, Elizabeth, you’re clever, how do I get away without them noticing?’
‘If there are a hundred and twenty people coming here for a ball, will anybody notice an elopement?’ I said.
‘But that means waiting until next weekend – a whole week.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘A lot of things may happen in a week. But I’ll think about it.’ She stood up, rather shakily. ‘Philip says I must write to him at Ascot poste restante. I’ll decide tomorrow, so you must take the letter on Monday morning.’
I thought, Must I? but didn’t argue because I knew I’d go to the stables in any case to send my copies of the lists to Mr Blackstone. Celia was on her way to the door.
‘If anybody sees me and asks what I was doing here, say I brought you a message from my grandmother. I think she approves of you. She keeps asking me questions about you.’
‘What sort of questions?’
But as before, she went without answering.
I finished copying the list and, in the last of the daylight, took the note from Mr Blackstone out from under the blotter and read it.
My dear Miss Lock,
You have done well. Please do your best to communicate with me every day. In particular, be alert for the arrival of a person calling himself Mr Brighton and let me know at once.
On Sunday afternoon I wrote my reply.
Dear Mr Blackstone,
Mr Brighton arrived Saturday, in the company of Lord Kilkeel. He will be staying at least until the dinner and ball next weekend. They were in the family pew in church this morning, but I did not have a clear sight of him because I was sitting in the back pew so as not to be seen by him. I enclose lists of the guests at the dinner and ball, and also of the house guests. I hope you will consider that I have earned the right to ask why you wish to know about Mr Brighton and how it concerns my father’s death. What is Lord Kilkeel’s part in it?
I wrapped it up with the lists and addressed it, wondering why I had not admitted to Blackstone that I had already been considerably closer to Mr Brighton than the length of a church away. One reason was that I distrusted the man and did not see why I should give him more than our bargain. The other and deeper one was that the memory of Mr Brighton’s hands on me in the loosebox made me feel so dirtied that I could not face writing it down for another man to read.
On Sunday afternoon Celia came into the flower garden when Betty and I were there with the children. She’d brought scissors and a trug with her, to cut some sweet peas for her dressing table. When Betty wasn’t looking, she slid a letter out of the trug and into my hands.
‘I’ve taken your advice. I’m telling him to come for me on Saturday.’
When she’d gone, I watched the children and worried. It was wrong that Celia should depend on me for advice in something so important. Until then, the matter of the elopement had been useful to me, but now I felt guilty. Her position at Mandeville Hall might have its disadvantages, but at least she was provided with a permanent roof over her head, a life that connected one day with the next and the company of a mother and a brother who cared for her. Missing all of those, I valued them more than she did and wondered if this Philip were worth the loss and whether she really knew her own mind. I supposed I should have to speak seriously to her but did not look forward to it with any pleasure. Betty said she was happy to look after