“How cruel, Edward,” said Elspeth.
“We save our tender feelings for private reflection on those we love at home; on board ship our friendships must be more robust.”
Laura said, “Yet the colonel admires you.”
“For what I was in the past, perhaps. When I spoke to him this morning, I feared he would object, but he did not—I believe Evalina was there before me. I hope you are happy with my choice?”
“You have not known her long—what can you know of her character?”
His eyes lit up with a private pleasure. “From the first moment, there passed an understanding between us.”
“How romantic!” said Elspeth.
“Love at first sight!” said Sir Richard. He began to laugh. “What did you tell me on the very night before you met Miss Evalina?”
“I really don’t recall,” said Edward, with a flush on his cheeks.
“You said that there can be no such thing as love at first sight.”
“Did I? What a piece of arrogance on my part.”
Laura wondered if it were in relation to her that Edward had made that dismissive remark. And what a business Elspeth had made of how little she could understand Mr. Templeton’s character.
“Such objections do not apply to my brother,” said Elspeth.
She opened her fan and, over it, looked at them, each in turn. “I so want to see you all happy, my dears!”
“Do not forget yourself, in the promotion of marital bliss, Elspeth,” replied Laura.
“Myself?” cried Elspeth, as though referring to a person of whom she had never had a thought in her life.
“I shall be married in six weeks,” said Edward.
“So soon?”
“Some relations of Evalina’s set off for India in December, and Mrs. Woodruff is eager to bring the wedding forward.”
“India! What an adventure!” She shuddered. “Where will you live, Edward?” she asked.
“Evalina is much taken with the cottage.”
“Wintern Cottage?” asked Laura. It was Edward’s house, of course. Always she had known he may live there some day—had welcomed the thought.
“Yes, I believe you showed her a sketch of it.”
Had she been looking at the drawing as her possible new home even then, Laura wondered. Now she will be mistress there, not I—the dependent spinster.
“The principal rooms are very small,” said Elspeth. “How will you manage?”
“I have lived in quarters very much smaller, but Evalina must be properly accommodated, of course. I will add to the building—throw out a wing on the west side and lay out the grounds anew.”
“It will not be so much a cottage when you have finished with it, Edward,” said Laura, endeavouring to conceal a certain sadness.
“No, indeed.” He looked at Laura keenly. “You do not regret the loss of it, Laura? Since Aunt Morrison passed away, you have no use for it, I think.”
“No, indeed I would not.” Laura needed no reminder that, as an unmarried lady, she couldn’t reside anywhere respectably with only servants for company. Her eighteen-year-old sister-in-law would be considered an adequate chaperone—due to no more than marriage.
“Of course, you will be often with us.”
“Thank you.”
“Evalina has asked me particularly to tell you that there will be no changes to your own room without consultation.”
“Please thank her for her thoughtfulness.” Laura tried to fix a smile to her face. Already Evalina assumed the right to be generous about Laura’s own room, in which every article of decoration had been chosen for Laura’s own pleasure and purchased with her own money. All could be swept away, in a few words from Evalina.
Edward sensed that Laura tried to assume a look of unalloyed pleasure and suffered a pang of guilt. Overcome by passion, he had seized at happiness, with barely a thought for the future, let alone his sister’s predicament. What man would not—seeing that delectable creature saying, without words, I am yours.
Realising that she seemed to care only for herself, Laura gave Edward a look of wry affection. She knew something of the pain he had suffered; had wept over his fevered ravings, understood that he was not yet accepting of his disablement. To lose his affianced bride must be painful for any man, but to lose her in the way Edward did—cast aside as repulsive—was a blow from which he could scarcely be expected to recover. For how else could one see it? No one deserved happiness more than he. It was small wonder he seized at the chance when a lovely young girl fell in love with him.
Sir Richard was giving orders for a bottle of the best champagne to be brought up from the cellar. There must be jollity before Laura could creep away to her room.
The candle cast a small circle of light upon the page, upon Laura’s hand and the pen. Beyond it, her bedroom was all shadows, pressing in around her.
Saturday 27th September, 12 p.m.
How blind I was when Evalina prattled constantly about Edward when she sat for me. I thought her more engaged with the idea of his doings than with the man he is. She has scarce met him above five or six times. Does she even begin to comprehend his nature? Yet why should either of them care? Matrimony is a game of chance and they begin with joy.
Laura laid down the pen and thought for a moment, before beginning again.
I watch Richard now, even when I am hardly aware of it. Less and less do I see his defects as more and more I appreciate his strengths. How kind he is to Elspeth. He overlooks her shallow deceptions, while her cruelties slide off him, leaving only a momentary hurt. In the past I have joked privately that it is his tortoise-shell of foolishness that makes him so immune to her little darts. How superior I have been!
Through the window, Laura saw that there was no moon and the night lay upon the forest with impenetrable sombreness.
Perhaps I can be quietly content as Richard’s wife. He would remain much engrossed in the management of the estate, in fishing and attending to his parish duties.
What a feast awaits me in the library! And I might have any new book that I fancy. How rarely do I know the delight of cutting the pages myself and being the first to enjoy the fragrance of a new book!
I shall have the power to order the carriage and drive off on a whim. The prospect of being left to myself in the daytime has no fears for me—I have passed so much time these past several years in wearisome company.
Tomorrow I will accept Richard’s kind and generous offer and consent to be his wife.
No other path lay open to her; Laura knew herself fortunate in having that degree of choice. Still, she could not prevent a dark dull sorrow from settling in her. She picked up one of the pillows plumped for her comfort and hugged it to her, before throwing it back onto the bed. Outside the window, beyond the light of the candle, she could just make out the pine forest—a vague black murk. She peered up, seeking a star, but saw not a one.
Yet how I have craved the companionship of one who could make me laugh, of one whose own quick parts and delight in the oddity of others would ensure that he understands me and I him—even while we may ourselves be seen by others as oddities. Some wise man said, “What we eagerly wish for, we easily credit.” My craving for understanding and love was sufficient for me to conjure it from the ether. Yes, I conjured Mr. Templeton from the very air and, though I met him but in my imagination, the loss of him has brought me as much grief as if he truly lived.
Laura rose and walked into the shadows around her bed, where the white coverlet gleamed faintly below the looming oak bedhead. Again she drew comfort from the familiar feel of the white embroidered flowers, tracing the stems of its pattern of blooms, invisible in the shadows. Holding the white silk of the bed-curtain against her cheek, she let it slide across her skin. Her head against the twisted oak of the bedpost, she rested her face in the curtain. Pain rose up in her throat, a hard, unyielding tightness, a tearing, so that she opened her mouth in a silent scream. She silently wept, until the curtain was
wet in her hands, until she lacked the strength to stand. She curled up on the bed, hugging her arms around her.
CHAPTER 22
SUNDAY PASSED AND LAURA DID not take the opportunity to tell Sir Richard of her decision. Dull Oakmont was enlivened by a spirit of excitation, which only emphasised her feeling of aloneness. Happier than she had ever seen him, Edward left immediately after church to take breakfast at Lewton Hall. Elspeth expected Lady Clarydon to visit the next day and was in an absurd flutter of anticipation.
Worst of all was Sir Richard’s excitement, apparently brought on by his cousin’s engagement. He asked Elspeth to play a love song, which she did, the pair of them singing a duet—to Laura rather than each other.
“Another, Cousin?” he said.
“One must suffice—remember it is Sunday,” said Elspeth.
In the library, Laura had found a copy of The Minstrelsies of the Scottish Border. Thinking to find relief in Scott’s lyrical words, she tried to lose herself in its pages. The evening passed with agonising slowness, and every time she looked up, Laura found her cousin’s eyes upon her.
It was a relief to escape to bed.
Mrs. Evans was in a constant flutter the next morning, taking trips to the window to gaze out along the road, and checking in the mirror for any deterioration in her looks that may have taken place in the previous fifteen minutes. At about two o’clock, the rumble of coach wheels upon the gravel gave her hope. Her lace-work was thrust aside and she leapt up with all the energy she could be presumed to possess, and called to Laura to abandon her sketching. Sir Richard joined them in the hall and the footman threw open the great oak door, so that they witnessed the arrival of a large peacock-blue carriage, with a gold coronet upon the door.
“A barouche-landau! Nothing but the best for Lady Clarydon,” said Sir Richard.
“It is the very latest design and exquisitely comfortable,” said Elspeth.
Her ladyship’s footmen, well-matched in height, resplendent in livery of the same blue as the carriage, leapt down. One opened the door, the other pulled down the step. Laura then beheld the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, descending from the carriage.
“Everything pertaining to the countess is perfection!” said Elspeth.
Lady Clarydon was of middle height, with an excellent figure, and beautifully attired in a velvet coat trimmed with fur. Black curls escaped her bonnet to frame a face of perfect loveliness. As she glided up the steps, Elspeth glided too, as though drawn by a magnet through the doors to greet her. A most beguiling smile curved her ladyship’s lips as she leant forward to place them upon Elspeth’s cheeks, first one then the other.
“My dearest Countess,” trilled Elspeth.
“My perfect darling Mrs. Evans,” replied the countess. She turned to Sir Richard, who stood gaping in the rear.
Elspeth said, “Dear Countess, may I present my cousin, Sir Richard Morrison? Sir Richard, this is Lady Clarydon, the Countess of Clarydon.”
He bowed and welcomed her to Oakmont.
“How I have longed to know you,” she said, her fine dark eyes glowing. “Dear Mrs. Evans has told me everything about you.”
Sir Richard stammered his way through a long reply.
Next, it was Laura’s turn to accept the salutations of the lady. Her ladyship had that happy knack, possessed by few, of making each person to whom she spoke feel singled out as the most delightful acquaintance in the world. For the moment, Laura was quite as dazzled as Sir Richard.
Just then, the baronet spotted another lady looking from the carriage window, vainly seeking assistance to get down. She began to descend alone.
“Michael! William! What are you about?” The baronet’s menservants rushed to do the duty that the countess’s had neglected, and the lady slowly mounted the steps.
The countess’s fellow traveller was a lady of about five and thirty, dressed in an unfashionable coat, her hair obscured by the large cap she wore beneath her black bonnet. Her plain face wore a tentative expression. The countess let go of Elspeth’s hand, and indicated her friend with an elegant gesture, smiling that wonderful smile.
“This, my friends, is my particular companion, whom I never allow to leave my sight, my dear Mrs. Bell.”
Sir Richard bowed as gallantly to her as to her dazzling employer. Laura greeted her kindly, and Elspeth led the way to the drawing room, giving orders for tea and cake to be served.
Mrs. Bell sank onto an upright chair. As she removed her gloves, Laura noted the mourning ring on her wedding finger, inset with a lock of grey hair. Even as Laura looked at the lady, her complexion seemed to grow paler.
“Mrs. Bell, I fear you are ill,” she said.
“Indeed no … how kind,” the lady replied.
“Naples biscuits—you spoil me, Mrs. Evans!” said Lady Clarydon. She put a biscuit near her delicate nose and inhaled its scent of roses.
Travel seemed not to have exhausted the countess: she flirted, amused, enchanted her audience, until Sir Richard all but begged her to stay as long as she liked.
“I cannot find words to express my regret, Sir Richard,” said Lady Clarydon. “I dare not stay as my relations expect me for dinner.”
“I am most disappointed,” said the baronet.
During the conversation that followed, Laura noticed that Mrs. Bell drank barely half of her tea, and left her cake after attempting only a nibble.
“Had we more time, my poor Mrs. Bell would have enjoyed a tour of the house,” said the countess. “She delights in things Medieval.”
Sir Richard, tearing his eyes from the enchantress, noticed Mrs. Bell’s pallor.
“My dear lady,” he said. “Are you well?”
“Sir Richard is as gallant as dear Mrs. Evans has described him,” said the countess.
“Mrs. Bell, do you wish to lie down?” asked Laura.
A flash of annoyance showed in Elspeth’s eyes at this usurpation of her role. She turned to her friend. “What think you, Countess?”
“My dear friend does not seem able to travel.”
“Mrs. Bell will be welcome to stay with us, Countess,” said Elspeth.
The countess was easily persuaded, and Laura escorted Mrs. Bell to a guest room, sending for Sarah to attend her. The lady was concerned to be the cause of this slight trouble.
“You are very welcome here, Mrs. Bell,” Laura said. “We will nurse you back to health. You must not think of leaving until you are quite well.”
Within an hour, the peacock-blue carriage had whisked its elegant owner away. Sir Richard wandered off with an absent look on his face, while Elspeth sank upon the sofa.
“How can I fill the days until my friend returns?” she asked.
“As you did before you knew her, Elspeth,” said Laura.
“You have no appreciation of fineness, Laura.”
“I own her ladyship to be very pleasing: she is beautiful, beguiling and amusing. It is small surprise that you take pleasure in the friendship.”
“That is all you have to say!”
“It seems a good deal to me,” said Laura. “I have not had the opportunity to plumb the depths that lie beneath the enchanting exterior.”
“The countess is perfect in every way,” said Elspeth, firing up.
“Then she is unusual indeed.”
On enquiring from Sarah, Laura found that Mrs. Bell had fallen asleep, and she went up to the solar to sketch by the window in peace. Before long, Elspeth followed her and began to fidget with her sister’s pencils.
“You are muddling my arrangements,” said Laura.
Elspeth sighed. “It is bliss to be so distinguished by the countess.”
“She was careless of Mrs. Bell when she arrived. Her servants should treat the lady with more respect.”
“You amaze me, Sister! The drab creature has nowhere else to go and the countess is very kind in offering her a home.”
“Mrs. Bell must be a useful guardian of her ladyship’s reputation, jaunting ab
out the country as she does.”
“But so dull! The silly woman married a penniless curate, who carelessly caught cold and died, leaving her without a farthing.”
“Those poor curates should leave marriage to the better equipped.”
“I agree with you absolutely,” said Elspeth. She looked out along the empty drive, letting her shadow fall across Laura’s work.
“Elspeth, pray move …”
“Her ladyship is so delightful in her condescension: one feels quite her equal!”
“When we meet again, I shall treasure the delight of being treated with courtesy by one so far above me.”
“Sarcasm is most unbecoming, Laura.”
“It would pass for a higher form of wit were I only a countess,” said Laura. “You are in my light, Elspeth.”
Edward returned in time to join his relations for coffee in the drawing room. How solemn Oakmont appeared, after the pleasures of Lewton Hall, and the company of his beloved. He was not presented to Mrs. Bell, who kept to her room. Elspeth was suffering the keenest regret on the brevity of the countess’s visit, only comforted by the thought of her friend’s return. Sir Richard was full of ponderous humour, to which Laura seemed incapable of making an answer.
“How dull you all are!” said Edward. “I hope this will cheer you: you are all invited to dine at Lewton Hall tomorrow.”
“Delightful,” said Elspeth. “If only we could have presented the countess.”
“Edward and his future bride must enjoy prominence on the occasion,” said Laura.
“This will be a small family celebration,” said Edward. “On Wednesday I leave you for a few days to attend to business relating to my marriage.”
The Imaginary Gentleman Page 19