“Will you come inside? Some brandy?”
The answering smile was a little downcast. “Thank you, but no.”
She sat down beside him and took one of his hands. “Goodness, but you are cold! Will you not come inside to warm yourself?” He merely shook his head. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Oh… I cannot say. What hour is it? I left the house at… noon, I suppose. Or about that.”
“Good God, Laurence, the wind is too chilly to sit out for so long.”
The smile warmed, and he clasped her hand in both of his. “I have alarmed you, and for that I apologise, but the sun was full on this seat at first and I have been perfectly comfortable, believe me, in body if not in mind. I took your advice, you see. I read Catherine’s diaries.”
“Oh!” That was not at all what she had expected. “Yet you were so set against it.”
“It was Viola who persuaded me, astonishingly. She produced her own diaries to find some information about Miss Labett, and it was all the trivial doings of her days, where she went, who she saw, the minutiae of her life. I assumed that Catherine’s would be the same, for surely she could have had no secrets? She was so transparent, or so I misguidedly thought. So I began to read and at first it was just like Viola’s — balls, gowns, walks here and there, outings, visitors. But then there was Bath and… oh, Louisa! She loved Malcolm! From the first moment, she was in love with him… called him the handsomest man she had ever met… never noticed me at all. I was just ‘the brother’. It was ‘Malcolm did this… Malcolm said such-and-such… Malcolm is so wonderful…’ and then ‘the brother took me for a drive… I stood up for the cotillion with the brother…’.
“That is horrid,” Louisa said. “But still, she married you, so—”
“Only because her mother told her to do so! ‘I am to marry the brother… it is all arranged.’ That is what she wrote. And then ‘Mr Gage proposed to me, and I accepted. Mama is pleased.’ That is all. No expression of pleasure, or anticipation of a happy future, just ‘Mr Gage proposed. I accepted.’ I closed the book at that point. I had not the heart to read on.”
“I can imagine,” Louisa said, stroking his hand gently, as she tried to tamp down her anger. To write of her future husband in such a manner! How she wished she could say what she truly thought of Catherine Haywood.
“This makes me feel such a fool,” he said. “She never showed the least outward sign of such feelings, indeed it always seemed to me that she was such a calm and composed person that violent emotion was not in her nature. If only I had known! I would willingly have stood aside if there had been the least indication.”
“Then you would have been wrong to do so,” she said crisply. “You knew that Mrs Haywood approved your suit, but there is no guarantee that she would have approved of your brother just as readily. Indeed, she would have been negligent in her duty if she had done so. It is not my place to say so, but his behaviour was not at all proper. As your brother, he owed you his absolute loyalty, and his assistance in securing the future of the estate. To be meeting the lady in secret and attempting to attach her himself is entirely reprehensible. Forgive me if my words offend you,” she added, seeing the surprise on his face. “I feel we know each other well enough for me to express my honest opinion.”
“And I value it greatly, although it astonishes me to hear you say so. Do you truly believe he was wrong?”
“Absolutely wrong, and surely anyone would say as much,” she said firmly.
“My sisters did not,” he said ruefully. “They all sided with Malcolm. He was young and in love, and it was natural to follow his heart in such a matter. That was their opinion, and they thought I should have stood aside for him. I was the heir and would have no trouble securing another connection, they said, but such a match would have been wonderful for Malcolm. He could have been independent. Oh, they were happy for me, but they hated the rift between us and blamed me for the whole of it.”
“Again, it is not gentlemanly behaviour to storm away in a huff — and stay away for years!” she cried. “Do your sisters ever see him? Or receive letters from him?”
“Only the occasional letter to let us know that he is still alive. They write to him, but he rarely responds. He severed virtually all connection with the family.”
“How childish!” she said sharply. “But as for standing aside for him to marry Catherine, you must always remember that she chose you. It was you she wanted.”
“She wanted the estate, I suppose, and the combined power of two good incomes. That was certainly what her mother wanted. There was no question of marrying for love.”
“Such matters are not necessarily so simple,” Louisa said. “The decision to marry is a combination of many factors, and money is only one among many. One must have enough to live upon, naturally, but money is not enough to sustain a lifetime together. Nor is love, very often. Irrational emotion is a poor foundation for such an important choice. Character is of far greater import, to my mind. Catherine and her mother would have looked carefully at the two of you, and seen that one of you was restrained, gentlemanly, very correct, and the other was more volatile, perhaps, and not at all correct.”
“I was dull and boring, in other words.” But his eyes crinkled as he smiled, the first sign of amusement she had seen in him.
“You are neither dull nor boring, far from it,” she said crisply. “You are steady, that is all, and believe me, steadiness is a quality much valued in a prospective husband.”
“Good heavens, if you truly think that way, then we should get married at once. Can there be another woman in the world who values my plodding dullness?”
She burst out laughing. “You see? Never boring! Now stop being silly, Laurence. To answer your question — your real question — yes, there is, or was, another woman who did not think you boring, and you married her. Did she ever give you the least indication of dissatisfaction with her situation? Was she in the slightest discontented?”
“No, she did not appear to be,” he said slowly. “She never complained about anything, and we never quarrelled. She was a very serene person, who never raised her voice, never contradicted anyone, never put herself forward.”
“Will you be angry with me if I say that she is the one who sounds dull?” Louisa said mischievously, and was relieved when he laughed.
“It must appear that way, but I never found her so. Restful, perhaps. She made me feel very protective and solicitous of her, very grateful for my good fortune. And happy… at least I thought I was happy. It was all an illusion, I suppose.”
“You cannot change the past, Laurence,” she said quietly. “You were happy at the time, and knowing more of your wife’s feelings does not change that. Besides, if you read on through the diaries, you may well find that she writes of her happiness with you, the fulfilment of her children and the pleasures of her new life. However she entered matrimony, she may well have developed a genuine affection for you as the years passed. That is not at all uncommon. A girl of eighteen does not have the perspective on the world that she acquires later.”
“Ah, Louisa, you are a kindly woman. You are trying to make me feel better.”
“That is what a friend is for, is it not? But I give you no Spanish coin, Laurence. I speak only the truth. Something of the sort happened to me when I was but fifteen, and just taking my first tentative steps into society, amongst friendly neighbours. One family had a cousin staying with them, a major in some regiment or other, and a more outrageous flirt never walked the earth. Of course, I swallowed his Canterbury tales whole, and imagined myself lost in love for… oh, all of ten days, I believe. Whereupon I realised he was a rogue and a charlatan, and returned promptly to the real world of steady gentlemen. So it is very possible that if you read more of Catherine’s diaries, you will find out that she was just as happy as you were.”
He considered that for a long while, as Louisa bent over Ian, who had rested his head on her lap. Then, just when she thou
ght he had wandered off irretrievably into some private reverie, he said, “Were you happy in your marriage, Louisa?”
She never considered turning the question aside. The friendship between them demanded openness, so she said slowly, “I was not unhappy.”
“Hmm. That is not the same thing.”
“True. I was contented, that is the best way to describe it. I went into it full willing, and I never regretted it, not for a moment, but…” She paused, but he said nothing, watching her quietly as she composed her thoughts. After a moment, she went on, “I think I felt excluded. Ned and his parents had lived together for over fifty years in perfect harmony. They were complete unto themselves, needing no other person, so although they made me very welcome and were never less than perfectly kind and thoughtful towards me, it was as if there was no space there for me to fill. Sometimes, if I entered the house after a visit or a walk in the garden and came upon them unexpectedly, they would look round at me in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten I existed.”
“If there had been a child, perhaps that would have made a difference.”
“Perhaps, but I wondered sometimes if they would have simply absorbed the child into their little circle and I would still have been on the outside.”
He reached one hand to stroke her face, and then took hold of her hand again. “Poor Louisa. Poor me, too, for we have both had marriages that were… less than satisfactory.”
“But yours was perfect at the time,” she protested. “It is only now that you know more about your wife that you see it as less than satisfactory.”
“No,” he said in a low voice. “It is clear now that it was not perfect at all. I could never talk to Catherine as I talk to you, or sit on the floor with her drinking Cognac until the small hours. The dogs were not permitted in most of the rooms. I was not permitted in some of them, and she disliked any open show of affection from me. I could never have sat here like this, holding hands, talking about… well, about anything. It is only since I met you that I have seen how deficient my marriage was.”
Louisa’s breath caught. Jumping to her feet, she cried, “You must not do this, Laurence! It is unfair to your wife to look back and make comparisons. You were happy then — she made you happy, so let the past alone. Do not pick at it like a scab. Whatever is the time? I must go and change for dinner. I have been scuffling about in the attics all day and I am filthy.”
He stood too, his face abject. “You are right… you are always right. I beg your pardon. I shall leave you now, but perhaps I shall see you and Mrs Deerham at our card party tonight?”
“We are looking forward to it.”
His face softened into a smile. “Excellent. Do you have plans for tomorrow? If not, it might be a good time for us to go over to Woollercott and collect those pups. We will go in the carriage, if Mrs Deerham will come with us. If not, it will have to be the phaeton.”
She agreed to it enthusiastically. Her own dogs! How she would enjoy that.
That evening was as pleasant as any she could remember. Esther again provided a good dinner, and there were eighteen at the card party, so there were three whist tables and one of vingt-et-un, where Louisa and Esther found themselves playing a lively game against Laurence, Mr Truman, Mr Winslade and Miss Winslade. Mr Truman flirted in the most delicate way imaginable with Louisa, and Mr Winslade entertained Esther so well that she roared with laughter, and dared to tease him in return. Louisa had forgotten how vivacious Esther used to be, before Dr Deerham came along. As for Laurence, he seemed far more relaxed than he had that afternoon, and made an effort to talk to Miss Winslade.
The morning saw Laurence’s carriage at the door at eleven o’clock sharp. That was the advantage of a man distinguished by steadiness of character — he was utterly reliable. Woollercott was not many miles away, so there was little time to grow bored with the journey, and then there was the joy of choosing two pups to bring home. They were a little older than she had expected, but the breeder explained that he did not like them to leave him until they were mature enough to settle contentedly.
Louisa chose by the simple expedient of sitting in the straw and allowing the pups, and their mother, to sniff around her. After half an hour, it seemed that two of them had chosen her, one almost all black, and one liver and white.
“I should have liked one in Kenneth’s colours,” she said, stroking the head of the black pup, “but the only one in that colour does not seem to like me. But these two like me very well, and I like them, too. Well, Mr Chapman, are you content to let these splendid fellows come to me?”
“Aye, I am that, mum. Don’t like ’em goin’ to ladies, as a rule, but you’ll do.”
“What will you call them?” Esther said, as they lifted the pups into the carriage.
“I shall follow Ned’s policy of naming them after planets. Mercury and Mars, I think. The black fellow shall be Mercury and the liver and white shall be Mars.”
They drove the short distance back to Great Maeswood in the greatest good humour, in perfect charity with each other and the world. But when they turned into the Dower House drive, there was a carriage drawn up in front of the entrance, and luggage being unloaded.
Esther gave a squeak that might have been either pleasure or alarm. “It is Dr Deerham,” she said. “He has come to stay.”
“Oh,” Louisa said. “What a surprise. And just before Easter, too. How unexpected.”
And how unwelcome. Her heart sank like a stone.
20: Windows Into The Past
Laurence watched the two ladies’ faces with interest. Louisa’s momentary dismay was quickly masked. Mrs Deerham’s expression was more complex — excitement, certainly, but also something else. Was it fear? And perhaps with reason, for Dr Deerham looked a stern sort of man, tall, bewigged and dressed from head to foot in black, with an old-fashioned full-skirted coat and Geneva bands at his throat, every inch the disapproving clergyman.
The introductions were awkward, with the two pups straining at their leashes and yapping excitedly. Dr Deerham’s frown deepened rather.
“I had better get these fellows settled in their new home,” Louisa said.
“Let me take them while you attend to your guest,” Laurence said firmly. “To the side of the stables, I think you said?”
She nodded, then turned to the groom, who was conferring with the Deerhams’ coachman. “Spencer, will you show Mr Gage where the dogs are to go?” Then, with a quick smile to Laurence, she said, “Thank you.”
He sent his own carriage home, then followed the groom round the side of the house to the stable block.
“Lord, what a to-do!” the groom said, pulling a face. “He looks a strange one. I’d keep clear till he’s gone if I were you.”
Laurence only laughed. He spent a little while settling the pups into the loose box that had been prepared for their use, and listening covertly to the chatter between the groom and the Deerhams’ men as the carriage was brought round and the horses unhitched. Dr Deerham did indeed sound like a strange one. He was not much above thirty, he guessed, but with all the haughtiness of a much older man. Not someone who would put himself out to please the ladies, that much was certain, and most likely they would have a miserable time of it.
Spencer left the Deerham men to settle their own horses, and brought some food for the pups. “Bonnie pair, they are,” he said, watching them with a smile. “Be good to have dogs again. I’ll walk ’em later if th’mistress is too busy.”
“Thank you, Spencer,” Laurence said. “How are you settling in here? A bit different from Roseacre.”
“Aye, it is that. It’s well enough here but th’mistress won’t be stopping long.”
There was a chill in Laurence’s stomach. No Louisa? No friend to share his Cognac? No one to talk to? “What makes you say that?”
“This was always s’posed to be temp’ry. Just till she decides where she wants to live. As far as possible from her ladyship, I ’spect! Cornwall, maybe.”
Cornwall! Would even that be far enough away from Lady Mountsea? He doubted it.
When he returned to the Grove, he discovered that Captain Edgerton, Mr Willerton-Forbes and Mr Chandry had commandeered the saloon, which was now covered with trestle tables laden with items of female apparel. The three were bent over one of the tables, examining some object with intense interest.
“Whatever is going on?” Laurence said, more amused than alarmed.
“Ah, Mr Gage,” Willerton-Forbes said. “I must apologise for the disruption to the household, but we needed a great deal of space to work and Miss Gage most kindly permitted us to use this room. I trust the inconvenience will be short-lived.”
“Oh, we hardly ever use this room anyway,” Laurence said easily. “It is far too big and draughty for comfort. On the rare occasions when we plan to entertain half the county, we have fires burning for a week beforehand. But what precisely are you doing?”
“Examining poor Miss Labett’s clothing and other personal items. And we have found something most interesting. Michael, where is the box?”
Captain Edgerton produced a small writing box. “The murderer appears to have gone through Miss Labett’s possessions to remove anything which might identify her, for we found no letters of any sort, and several of her books had the first page torn out, where there might have been an inscription. However, he was in haste for he missed this.” He lifted up an inner flap of the box to reveal a hidden compartment, and nestled within, three letters, all inscribed ‘To whom it may concern’. “References, you see,” he said triumphantly. “Her three previous employers, although she never seems to have stayed long at any of them. Two years… three… only eighteen months at the last one. One does not quite like to draw conclusions about that.”
“That would concern me, too, if I were engaging her,” Laurence said thoughtfully. “It would be a question that one would want to ask her during an interview. Presumably she returned convincing answers, or my mother would not have employed her. What is your opinion?”
Stranger at the Dower House (Strangers Book 1) Page 20