“Oh! Yes,” said Evalina. Then, after a pause, she added, “Sometimes my father loses patience with him.”
Laura nodded pleasantly and studied her work.
“You are not to think that Papa orders him from the house, by general rule.”
Laura looked into her eyes and saw her confusion and fear. “Of course he would not—I never thought so.”
Edward took Evalina’s hand. “Don’t fret, my love. Jeremy must come to manhood in the best way he can. If he were away at sea, he would do so with no need to challenge his father’s rule.”
“One cannot challenge my father; that way never succeeds.”
He laughed. “You have found the way, but Jeremy must work with the nature God gave him.”
Evalina fetched her workbasket from a table, and resumed her place by Edward. She was making little roses from pink satin ribbon.
A servant entered and set up the tea table next to Miss Evalina, who began to pour the tea, saying, “I am such a novice.”
After another fifteen minutes, Jane joined them.
“My mother sends her apologies. She is not well and will not take tea with us today,” she said.
“I am so sorry,” said Laura.
“My father, too, is indisposed by some worrying piece of business. It has ruffled his mind. He knew not that you were in the house and sends his apologies.”
“Not at all,” said Laura, and the captain bowed.
“I see you have brought your sewing, Miss Morrison.” She looked at Edward. “How will you occupy yourself, Captain, while we ladies busy ourselves with our finery?”
“Edward must read to us,” said Evalina. “We have been reading The Romance of the Forest.”
“Have you?” said Laura, near to laughter, half in humour, half with relief. “It used not to be a favourite with Edward.”
“Do you mind if we listen to Cowper instead?” said Jane.
Pouting, Evalina fetched The Olney Hymns from the bookshelf, and handed it to Edward. He gave her a little wink and she sat down, content.
“Let me choose for you, Jane,” said Edward. He held the book against the arm of the chair, while flicking through the pages with his fingers. As soon as he began, Laura recognised it as “Peace After a Storm”.
When darkness long has veil’d my mind,
And smiling day once more appears;
Laura saw how Edward’s eyes briefly met Evalina’s—saw how he smiled, and how she looked back at him with a sweet seriousness, an inner stillness that Laura had scarcely supposed her to possess.
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.
As he read, Jane’s voice joined with his.
Straight I upbraid my wand’ring heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part;
Or harbour one hard thought of Thee!
She stopped. Edward read the remaining verses alone. There was a small silence.
“How fortunate we all are!” said Jane.
Brother and sister returned to Oakmont and Laura went upstairs to dress for dinner. Edward discovered his cousin alone in the library, reading in an armchair.
“Edward, you are returned! Had you an enjoyable visit?”
“Well, yes, I suppose.” Edward pulled up a chair next to his cousin’s. “What are you reading?”
Sir Richard turned the spine of the volume towards the captain, who noted the title, A Complete Survey of the Coats of Arms of Middle England, Volume 3.
“I thought you had mastered that subject,” said Edward.
“There is always something new to learn.”
“I suppose there is.” He adopted a brisker tone. “We need not stand upon ceremony, Richard.”
Warmth was replaced at once by wariness in the baronet’s eyes.
“I wish to speak of your engagement to my sister.”
“Nothing has changed.”
“I do not like this delay over signing the marriage settlements.”
“I am ready to sign as soon as Laura is—but I cannot be party to … insistence.”
That old stubbornness appeared, as the baronet’s jaw tightened and he raised his head high.
“I will not sign those papers until Laura comes to me of her own free will, and says to me, ‘Richard, I now wish to sign the contracts.’” He looked steadily at Edward. “I will know if she is forced.”
“Laura will not be easy until all is settled, and a date set for the marriage.”
“I have not forgot how Elspeth pressed her to accept that … slimy fellow who asked for her hand a year or two back.”
“This is quite different. There can be no exception to you as a husband.”
“Aunt Morrison tried to make Laura marry me all those years ago—how dreadful I felt! Like a monster!”
“You are her knight and she knows it.”
“It will not do for others to declare it. Laura must feel it so, else I am her jailer.”
As soon as she entered her room, Laura noticed a scent in the air. On the night-table, someone had placed a dried bouquet of flowers with an aroma strong enough to smell from the door. It had been perfumed with fragrant oil—in all likelihood by her sister. She put it on a table in the corridor.
There was time for Laura to quickly record her visit in her journal. She had already decided on discretion: she would not write of the mystifying quarrel among the Woodruff family. She turned the key of the desk, lowered the lid and reached towards the drawer before she noticed. Her outstretched arm froze and a numb sensation filled her head.
In the pigeon hole, empty since the drawing disappeared, it lay returned. Slowly she stretched out her hand and pulled out the screwed-up paper. Her hands shook as she slowly opened it out, then she dropped it, gasping.
It was not the sketch of the Hollow, but the picture she drew of Mr. Templeton, blurred here and there where the charcoal was rubbed by the crumpling of the paper. She looked down to where it lay by her feet. He stared up at her, from the past, from what seemed very long ago. The intensity of his gaze frightened her, seeming to accuse her.
No, she thought. It was a sketch of the Hollow. I am sure.
She picked up her sketch book and turned the pages hastily, sometimes turning two at a time, before finding she could not turn the next for the numbness of her fingers. At last she satisfied herself. The picture had been torn from her sketchbook.
Certainly I saw it there yesterday—or was it longer ago?
She picked up the sketch; looked at it closely, peering into Mr. Templeton’s eyes, as though he might be able to answer her.
She tried to recall—when was the drawing last in its place?
She groaned and rubbed her forehead.
I remember Evalina saw it—how long ago was that? Have I seen it since?
Laura got into bed, and stretched rigidly on top of the covers. She stared at the bed canopy, which gleamed faintly about her. She remembered rushing out of the house in the morning.
Had she left her sketchbook in the drawing room?
She tried to retrace the steps she had taken but recalled mainly the agonising slowness of the passage of time in the drawing room, and her sister signing with an invisible pen. The next thing Laura remembered was her view of the moon shrouded in mist. She had fled to escape Elspeth. Of course—Elspeth!
Laura went to see her sister in her room. She was seated before the looking glass, watching as her maid dressed her hair.
Trying to keep suspicion from her voice, Laura said, “I left my sketchbook in the drawing room today.”
Elspeth looked a little vague for a moment.
“So you did! I thought it very unlike you, Laura.”
Elspeth turned to her maid. “Leave us,” she said. The waiting woman went into the dressing room and closed the door.
Laura said, “Edward was in a hurry to go out, so I ran upstairs forgetting about the book.”
Elspeth smiled.
“You are quite forgiven. Heavens, I leave my work about constantly!”
“Who put it in my room?” said Laura.
“Put what? Oh, you mean the book. I sent it up with a servant. Is it damaged?”
Laura looked at Elspeth narrowly. “Someone has torn a page from it.”
Elspeth’s blue eyes widened. “Are you quite sure?”
“Why would I say so, if I were not?”
Elspeth’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Do you suspect the servants, my dear?”
Laura could not tell if her sister was acting a part.
“I cannot imagine what motive the servants might have.”
“Theft?”
“No. Someone has put it into my desk in the same place whence the other sketch disappeared.”
Elspeth raised her pretty hands. There was an unpleasant, insinuating tone in her voice. “You say another sketch has been taken already?”
Laura felt trapped. “I did not say anything about that because … I removed it from the book myself.”
Elspeth turned around, meeting her sister’s eyes. “You removed it yourself.”
“What of it? I was not satisfied with it. When it disappeared, I thought little of it because I … did not like it.”
Her sister was looking at her in alarm—feigned or not? Laura could no longer tell.
“There is no need to adopt that expression, Elspeth,” she said.
“I am very confused about your indecision over the first … disappearance … of a sketch, that is.”
Laura was angry enough to want to slap her.
“Why did you put those flowers in my room?”
“I thought you would like them.”
“You know I cannot abide dried flowers.”
Elspeth pouted. “You were very insensitive in placing them in the passage, where I might see them.”
Laura looked at her keenly. “You have been in my room. Did you do it, Elspeth? Did you tear out that sketch and put it in my desk?”
Elspeth smiled sweetly. “How, Laura? How could I have done it, through all your locks?”
There was a pause. Then Laura said, “I do not know.”
Elspeth shook her head. “Poor, poor Laura,” she said.
CHAPTER 29
MRS. EVANS CALLED ON THE assistance of Mrs. Bell and Laura to write out the invitations to the ball. Sir Richard sent them out—some by post, some with a servant, others delivered by his own hand. The acceptances came back promptly; only one or two families declined on the grounds of ill-health. One such refusal threw the baronet into dark suspicion.
He rode into the village and knocked at the door of the lodgings occupied by his old friends the Miss Charmans and their orphaned niece, seventeen-year-old Fanny. He ducked his head to enter the cramped room, which held such pieces of furniture as they had salvaged from former days, when they had lived in more comfort. He found the two older ladies alone, sitting by the fire. On the mantelpiece, the invitation, marked with the coat of arms of Oakmont, stood in proud prominence.
“Sir Richard, what delight you give us,” said Miss Annabel Charman. “You were too kind, you know, in sending us such a large piece of pork the other day.”
“No, no—we cannot have waste at Oakmont!” he cried, as usual. It mattered not what the gift had been—from a load of firewood to a great jug of soup—his excuse was the same.
Despite her swollen knuckles, Miss Charman poured the tea from a pot with a large handle. After accepting his cup, the baronet hummed and hawed a little.
“I do not like to bring up such a matter,” he said. “But—you have received your payment as usual this month?”
“Yes, indeed, I thank you,” said Miss Charman. “The proprietor of the gallery has sent a kind letter. A customer asks that Annabel paint a series of miniatures in the picturesque style—rocks, waterfalls and so forth—not that the buyer will know the artist’s identity, of course. I would not have you think that.”
Every month, Sir Richard carried away a parcel of Miss Annabel’s miniature landscapes, and Miss Fanny’s embroidery, to be privately sold in Exeter. Miss Charman, the elder, was too crippled with arthritis to contribute. It was well known in the village, but the fact that the ladies were not forced to display their goods themselves for sale, or to take payment face to face, preserved their situation as gentlewomen.
“Well,” he said. “I will come to the point. You will disappoint me greatly if you do not come to the dance. Perhaps Miss Fanny is shy?”
Miss Annabel laughed. “Well, that is hardly the case, is it, sir?” She blushed, despite having prepared for this very explanation. “We all feel that so much is owed to the captain, and this is the celebration of his coming nuptials.”
He looked at her, uncomprehending.
She went on. “His bride will wish to see him in full uniform, and … it makes the occasion a little grand for us.” She saw the dismay in his eyes. “We are so very happy and honoured to have been invited, of course. That means more to us than attending, in a way.”
The ladies saw that their benefactor seemed discomfited and set about entertaining him with the latest news.
“Did you hear, sir, that Mr. Woodruff has left his father’s house?”
“I heard something of it but all will blow over, as such quarrels generally do.”
“The young gentleman stayed at the inn for two days, waiting in vain to hear from his father. He is now gone off in the London coach.”
“Surely not!”
“Yes indeed, for Mrs. Smith told us that Mr. Brumfield wrote to his wife that he travelled with him as far as Exeter and saw him get on the outside of the stage there.”
“The landlord at Lewton Inn has sent his bill to the colonel,” added Miss Annabel Charman.
Sir Richard shook his head. “The young man would have done better to arrange to pay it himself.”
“It seems that Mr. Woodruff wishes to take up the law.”
“It will be many a year before the law will pay for his fine way of life.”
Shaking his head over the impetuous young man, the baronet left them. His attempt to persuade the ladies to come to the dance in their usual evening dress was met with polite resistance.
Sir Richard was convinced that Mrs. Evans had found an indirect route to have her own way. She quickly learnt that he was very displeased, and no amount of flirtation or tears could excuse her, or cold looks frighten him. As had happened once or twice before, Elspeth had gone too far.
Two days later, the Charman ladies wrote to the baronet, explaining that their health had suddenly improved and that they hoped to be able to attend the ball. Sir Richard never enquired how Elspeth had got around the ladies’ pride. In fact, it had cost her very little: a performance of tears and smiles; a tale of the gown that had been her old husband’s favourite (though scarcely worn); of her happiness if she could but see it on another—although she could never wear it again herself without tears. It became an act of charity to accept the gift. And in the box, beneath the ball gown, the ladies discovered a piece of black lace—perfect for covering the faded patch on Miss Charman’s old silk gown.
The last weeks before the wedding were enlivened by several entertainments at Oakmont and at Lewton Hall. At first these were attended by the small circle of gentlefolk that the neighbourhood afforded. Gradually the circle widened as visitors arrived at both houses, and visits took on more the appearance of parties.
Laura was pleased to renew her acquaintance with Edward’s friends Mr. and Mrs. Jenner, who came to stay at Oakmont to attend the ball. How refreshing she found their natural friendliness, which they offered with no expectation of awing others with elegance or charm.
First Lieutenant Mitchell, formerly of the Capricornia, and Edward’s most esteemed officer, also came to stay. Lady Clarydon was quite taken with him, and began to think of what she could do to arrange promotion for him. He had profited from rewards, too, but naturally to a lesser extent than his captain. Her ladyship la
mented that, while the war continued still, the sea battles seemed to be over. She recommended that he capture a French merchant ship—one well-loaded with valuable cargo. He undertook to do all he could to carry out this novel idea.
Laura had watched the countess’s return with more irony than the first time, given her understanding of Mrs. Bell’s circumstances. Yet, it took the great lady only minutes to have Laura questioning herself as cynical, as the same charm wove its spell on them all.
“How does she do it?” thought Laura. “When I am away from her, I feel nothing but suspicion. Yet when I am with her—I am half under her spell.”
The colonel and Mrs. Woodruff went ahead with their plans for a musical evening at Lewton Hall, in the absence of the heir. They received their guests each in their own way. The colonel carried on as though no such person as Jeremy Woodruff ever existed, but his wife whispered their son’s apologies on account of another engagement. It was widely said that the engagement to which Mr. Woodruff was held was that which tied him to a clerk’s desk.
Almost as soon as Laura arrived, Jane broached the subject with her, saying quietly, “You will have heard that my brother has determined to be independent.”
Laura was about to make some innocuous reply, but changed her mind, feeling that Miss Woodruff might prefer her honesty.
“I admit to being surprised that Mr. Woodruff is prepared to throw himself into work which I imagine to be drudgery.”
“His employer offers Jeremy his chance in court in a year or so. A barrister must begin somewhere. My father comforts himself that Jeremy is not clerk to a tradesman.”
“Each of us has pride, over some matter or another.”
“Yes. He was wrong to quarrel with his father, but I am a little proud of him, for standing by his own foolishness.”
The Imaginary Gentleman Page 23