Place of Confinement by Anna Dean

great-nephews. In all this tribe I do not rate our chances very high; in short, Eliza, there are a great many other devoted relations who have a stronger claim and are able, I do not doubt, to place cushions and measure medicine with much more grace than I can ever achieve.
    And yet, what am I to do? Insult and neglect my aunt? But then you know, when the will is read and all those dearest to me are left as poor as ever, will I not always wonder how far I am to blame?
    And rudeness is never excusable. And the rich are as deserving of kindness as the poor …
    Oh dear, Eliza! I shall torment myself – and you – no more with this. I shall return instead to the much more agreeable subject of someone else’s poverty, and consider Mr Lancelot’s debts – for debts I am sure he has.
    That he should be embarrassed for money argues for his need of Miss Verney’s fortune. Has he been pressing her too hard for an answer?
    Perhaps the ‘elopement’ is not what it appears at all. Perhaps Miss Verney was reluctant to make the match with Mr Lancelot, had refused – or was upon the point of refusing – and this removal was either an escape, or else a part of some plan to coerce her into acceptance …
    All in all I think escape more likely. I do not feel justified in harbouring such dark thoughts against my host … Though his cousin hints at his cruelty … But I believe that must be some secret jest of Miss Emma’s. Her statements are mostly fantastical …
    No, I cannot believe Lancelot Fenstanton such a thorough-going villain as would shut away a young lady in some distant farmhouse until he can bend her to his will …
    Mr Lancelot has not the look of a character in a horrid novel. And besides, I cannot comprehend how he could have accomplished such villainy … Nor how he could convince Mr Tom Lomax that there had been a return to Charcombe Manor …
    But if it is only an escape on the part of the young lady – one in which Mr Tom might , I suppose, be complicit – why have Mr Fenstanton and Mrs Bailey been so very dilatory over pursuit?
    I cannot hit upon a satisfactory theory; and all in all I can only agree with Margaret – there is suspicious business carrying on here and, for once, I intend to do exactly as she orders: I intend to be very much ‘upon the lookout’.
    And I only wish that I might remain here this morning looking out for the arrival of the mysterious Mr Brodie. I wonder very much what he shall have to say about Miss Verney. And who among the company here he will claim as an acquaintance.
    But I must set off now for Charcombe village to search out brown medicine and discover whether the town’s physician is such a man as my aunt might approve …
    *   *   *
    There was no brown medicine to be had in the village of Old Charcombe – for there was no longer a medical man there to make medicine of any colour.
    ‘Doctor Sutherland has gone away up the hill,’ Dido was told when she made enquiries. And at first she supposed this to be some local method of softening the discussion of death; but at last she was given to understand that the doctor was not deceased but had only moved his business a half mile away, onto the cliff top where the Fenstantons’ new town was building – ‘on account of all the sick people that are to come there.’
    Her informants – two elderly women selling fish from a stone bench in the village square – laughed heartily at her mistake.
    ‘You’re not from these parts, then?’ said one of the women boldly as she chewed on a nasty-looking black pipe.
    ‘No,’ confessed Dido rather distractedly, ‘I am visiting Mr Fenstanton.’ She was not pleased to discover that she must continue her journey. All her thoughts still centred upon the manor house where Mr Brodie might be arriving at this very moment.
    She looked back – beyond the busy little square with its low grey buildings, ancient mounting block, marketing women and gleaming silver fish