Material for a turban was discovered, as were feathers. Lady Clarydon insisted upon buying a pair of gloves for each of her friends—elegant white kid for Laura to do justice to her attire at the Assembly, and sky blue for Elspeth, to match her eyes. Elspeth discovered her all-important lace.
Leaving the haberdasher to wrap up their purchases, they set of for Swan’s, where Elspeth hoped to find the latest novels arrived.
“I must discover if Mr. Swan has Mrs. Debell’s new book,” said Elspeth. “I hear it is to be full of horrors.”
They soon discovered the precious volume, being unwrapped at the very moment they entered the library. Already Mr. Swan had a list of ladies awaiting the thrilling tome, but the countess preceded them, as a matter of course.
“I’m terrified already!” she said, as they went into the street.
They paused for a moment near the sea wall, where the stiff breeze caught at their bonnets and blew their skirts about. Lady Clarydon held her hat with one hand and fumbled with her disobedient skirt, squealing with laughter.
“Is this not the greatest fun, my dears?” she said.
Laura turned away and looked across the pallid and choppy harbour. In the distance, she made out a fisherman standing on the lower level, coiling up the thick rope that lay there still. Suddenly it spun out through the air, until it splashed, with a small spray of foam, near a fishing boat.
“What interests you, dear Laura?” said Elspeth.
“Just a rope, snaking through the air.”
“You have the most peculiar taste, my love,” said Elspeth. “I must say this wind is frightful!”
“The seaside is nothing when there is no wind!” declared Laura.
“Such fun!” said Lady Clarydon. “What a trio of frights we must look, all blown about.”
Just then, a young officer in the blue uniform of the Royal Artillery appeared, striding towards the lane that led along the side of the Assembly Rooms and onto the path around the bay. His eyes registered first an admiration of Elspeth, then widened in a startled homage to the beauty of the countess. His glance almost slid past Laura, but he caught her eye and paused. She wondered for a moment who he could be, then remembered her introduction to him at the Assembly on her last visit to Lyme.
“Why, Mr …. Reece!” She quickly took in his rank. “Lieutenant Reece, good morning.”
“Good morning, Miss Morrison. I hope you are well?”
The other ladies looked at Laura’s acquaintance with interest. A little below Laura’s height, he had an excellent figure, well displayed in his regimentals. His hazel eyes shone with health and with warm interest as he exchanged pleasantries with Laura. Glancing at the countess, Laura surmised that she would be happy for an introduction.
“Lady Clarydon, may I present Lieutenant Reece? This is the Countess of Clarydon.” He bowed, gentlemanlike but naturally—with no worldly flourish—as Laura recalled thinking when she met him at the Assembly.
“Let us take a walk to the church,” said the countess. The lieutenant declared this to be exactly what he desired. Laura made way for the other ladies to each take an arm of the young officer, and followed them. The lieutenant spoke of his meeting with Miss Morrison, half-turning to say, “You owe me a dance still, madam, and I shall by no means release you. Pray stand on notice of it, next time we meet in a ballroom.”
Over her shoulder, Elspeth gave her sister a glance of pretended disapproval. “I hope you have not been cruel to this gentleman, Laura.”
“Oh, she is not to be blamed,” said Mr. Reece. “The lady who accompanied her was taken ill so Miss Morrison had no choice but to desert us.”
He stopped walking and faced her, the others turning too so that they stood in a group. “How thoughtless of me, Miss Morrison,” he said. “I did not enquire after your friend. I hope she is well?”
“Mrs. Gurdon? No, I am afraid … I am sorry to say that Mrs. Gurdon has died.”
He saw at once that she felt pained by the reminder. He gently extricated his right arm and extended his hand to her. “Pray accept my condolences, madam. I see that the lady was a valued friend.”
“Thank you, sir. Mrs. Gurdon was my aunt’s neighbour. They were the best of friends.”
Elspeth gave a half-sob. “Our aunt is stricken with grief. The loss of such a friend can almost rival the death of a sister.”
“Indeed.” Distracted by the memory, Laura began to walk ahead, without further comment, momentarily forgetting the countess’s right of precedence.
Elspeth looked affronted and called, in a loud whisper, “Laura!” Her sister, several paces ahead, did not hear her but the countess did.
“Do not fret, my dear Mrs. Evans,” she said. “Your sister is thinking of her old friend. Let her have a few moments away from my nonsense.”
“You are very good.”
“I very much like to be thought so.”
The lieutenant bowed and the two beauties each took an arm again, as they walked on some way behind Laura. The party stopped to admire St Michael’s church, which Elspeth could barely refrain from disparaging; the congregation here held no fears for her now.
They turned back, the countess and Mrs. Evans quite enraptured with their new companion, and Laura was free to indulge her own thoughts. Mr. Reece’s reminder of their introduction had brought Mrs. Gurdon back to mind, and details of the ball returned. She tried to remember what Mrs. Gurdon said of young Mr. Reece. She recalled he had created a buzz of interest when he entered the Assembly Room. Oh, yes!
“I was surprised to see you appear before us in regimentals, sir!” she said.
“Why? I have always had a yearning for the military life. I join my regiment shortly and have only time to stay one night with my uncle and aunt.”
“You are to be praised for your devotion to them.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Whichale love me as their own son, I would say.”
It came back to Laura. It is as they said, she thought. I must indeed have heard the name of Mr. Whichale at the Assembly. Everyone was talking about Mr. Reece. I forgot because—well, I just forgot.
“My Aunt Whichale has an affectionate nature,” said Mr. Reece. “Her two daughters are both well-married and far off. Mrs. Whichale misses them sorely, as does their father, and I must do to fill the breach.”
“I imagine you serve that purpose very well indeed,” said the countess.
The young man bowed, his face expressing that gratification that the countess’s smiles always produced.
“Are there grandchildren? Does Mr. Whichale perhaps have a little grandson?” asked Elspeth.
“Yes. He is immensely proud of the little fellow, though he sees him little. I imagine the lad will inherit Longpan one day.”
Elspeth pulled a little face; she would not quite say aloud what a pity it was.
“I do not repine,” said Mr. Reece. “Since his inheritance of my great-uncle’s estate, my Uncle Whichale has been kindness itself—he has been so generous as to purchase my excellent commission,” he said.
“What an exemplary uncle!” said Elspeth.
Laura too was surprised. She had asked Edward no questions about the details of Mr. Whichale’s establishment. His estate must be much greater than I imagined, she thought. For a gentleman with grandchildren of his own to buy a nephew an expensive commission presumed a generous income indeed. Unless, of course, there had been provision in the will of the old man; that was a likely explanation.
“I tell you nothing you will not hear in the town,” Mr. Reece said. “It is common knowledge hereabouts that there was a quarrel between the old gentleman and my grandmother, his sister, long before he died. My branch of the family expected nothing from him but my uncle says I must not suffer for that old quarrel.”
Suddenly the picture came to Laura’s mind of Mrs. Gurdon, seated in a corner of the ballroom with two or three elderly chaperones. Laura could even bring to mind the old lady’s humorous tone of voice as she said of Mr. Reece: �
��He has a dreadful, rich old uncle, my dear, who, these ladies say, must surely alter his will in favour of this wondrous youth.” Her whimsical look had made Laura laugh and Mrs. Gurdon had said, “I don’t know that old gentlemen place the same value upon a young man’s shining eyes and courtly attentions as old ladies do. The uncle is quite the hermit, they say, so I know not what is the source for that story—I imagine it is all imagination.” Half an hour later, all thought of this trivial piece of gossip had been driven from Laura’s head when Mrs. Gurdon was suddenly taken ill. Laura had sat with her friend for some time during the next day or two, and had the satisfaction of seeing her much improved. After a few days, they had taken that walk together—the last the old lady ever took in her life.
Laura looked at the young officer as he chatted happily with his new acquaintances. He felt her glance, which conveyed a sudden uncertainty and he smiled with a candid sympathy in his expression so that Laura knew at once that he had heard something of her story.
The countess invited their new friend to join them for refreshments.
“Your ladyship did not eat a proper breakfast!” said Elspeth.
“Never mind that! Will you come, sir, or do you dare shun us?”
“Indeed I do not dare, your ladyship.”
They discovered Mrs. Bell occupying a chair by the window, where she worked at her tapestry. On the table lay a sketch of how Mrs. Evans might put together the embroidery she wanted.
“How clever you are, Mrs. Bell,” said Elspeth. “I shall be eternally grateful.”
“Mrs. Bell is prodigiously accomplished,” said the countess.
“She works now on a banner with Morrison crest—as a favour to my cousin, Sir Richard,” said Elspeth.
“I made Sir Richard’s acquaintance some time ago at my uncle’s house,” said the lieutenant. “He interested himself in my uncle’s project of restoring the old house.”
“My cousin is famous for his attention to these matters,” said Elspeth.
“Your family name is of some renown,” said the lieutenant. “I saw the announcement of Captain Morrison’s marriage in the newspaper yesterday. The landlord at the Lion read it aloud to those at breakfast in the public dining room.”
“We are very proud of our brother, sir. Are we not, Laura?”
“Indeed.”
“What can you tell us about your regiment? Have you met many of your brother officers, yet?” asked the countess.
Mr. Reece obliged them with an entertaining story of his first encounter with some excellent men, seemingly his firm friends already.
What a charmed life he leads, thought Laura.
They could not detain the young man as long as they may have liked, for he made his excuses on the grounds of the duty he owed to his aunt. He bowed and left them.
The door cut off their view of the young officer, and Elspeth collapsed upon the sofa with a cross little sigh. The countess leant back in her armchair and wordlessly stretched out her hand for her novel, which Mrs. Bell jumped up to fetch. It was plain that good humour had disappeared with their charming guest.
CHAPTER 37
AT LAST THE BARONET RETURNED, opening the door slowly, and edging his long frame into the room.
“Sir Richard, we have been waiting for you this age,” said Elspeth.
“I am very sorry,” he said.
“You might ring the bell, cousin,” said Elspeth. “I am desperate for a cup of tea.”
“Most gratified to be of assistance,” Sir Richard said, bowing twice.
Lady Clarydon ordered refreshments from the servant, while Sir Richard inched his way across the room to Laura.
“What an interesting drawing, Cousin. Is it the little beach here?”
Elspeth curled her lip. “It is not Grosvenor Square.”
They took tea in a frozen representation of civility, with Lady Clarydon not inclined to counterbalance Elspeth’s ill-humour.
For the next hour, the baronet sat with the newspaper unread before his eyes. Elspeth’s needle stabbed in and out of her embroidery. The countess yawned over her novel, while Mrs. Bell bent her nose close to her tapestry. Laura turned her chair so that her back was to them all, and occupied herself with her more wholesome task of representing nature. The minutes crawled by until it was time to dress for dinner.
Sarah had prepared a gown that had been laid aside these last weeks, white muslin, apricot-coloured embroidery down the front of the skirt, and on the sleeves. In her mistress’s hair, Sarah wound a cord of twisted gold and orange silks.
“Oh, Miss Laura, you are so beautiful tonight.”
“You have armoured me splendidly for battle.”
Sarah giggled. “You are yourself again, madam.”
“Indeed I am!”
In her finery, Laura entered the parlour, only to be brought up short by the distinct air of stilted manners in the room. The three ladies were ranged stiffly on a semi-circle of chairs in front of the sofa. Mrs. Evans brought to mind a bird of prey, with her erect posture and concentrated stare. The countess wore a mask of fashionable hauteur, through which shone a freezing glimmer from her eyes. Mrs. Bell’s shoulders drooped; her entire body seemed to be collapsing, as though held upright only by her corset. Her eyes, too, were bent upon the gentleman, but in a mute plea. Before them, Sir Richard sprawled like a broken marionette upon the sofa.
They all turned to Laura, and the baronet struggled upright.
“Laura! You look very er …” His voice faded.
“She is the belle of the evening!” said Lady Clarydon.
Elspeth looked at her sister, her smile sour and reluctant.
Mrs. Bell made a tiny coughing sound. “Lovely … lovely,” she said.
Sir Richard grinned, as lopsided in his smile as in his body, and belatedly rose to his feet.
“Laura, I cannot account for your blooming so,” said Elspeth.
“There is something in her air that quite delights me,” said the countess.
“Pardon me, Cousin, for not rising at once,” said Sir Richard. “You took my breath quite away.”
“You are perfectly forgiven, sir.” Laura came to the sofa and sat at one end, while the baronet sank down on the other.
“Have you had a pleasant morning, your ladyship?” she asked.
“Thrilling. As you have too, Miss Morrison, unless your looks deceive me.”
Laura noticed Mrs. Bell shrink back into her chair, her mouth drooping, and turned back to the countess.
“I must thank you, your ladyship, for it was your inspiration that brought us here, where the sea and the wind have made me quite my old self again.”
“The elements were not so beneficial to your health when we were last in Lyme,” said Elspeth.
“Nor to yours, my dear sister,” said Laura. “You were sickly as I recall.”
Lady Clarydon laughed. Sir Richard rubbed his forehead, and glanced at Mrs. Bell. For a moment they stared at one another, confused and fearful.
Silence fell again. Sir Richard began to draw his watch from his pocket, but his courage failed him and he put it back. The seconds ticked by.
Suddenly, the door to their apartments was thrown open.
They all turned to see the captain, his cape billowing out as he entered the room. He took off his hat and tossed it onto a chair.
“Everyone is alive and well, I see.”
“Edward!” cried Elspeth, reaching out her arms to him.
Laura went to help him out of his cape.
Edward kissed her cheek and said, “I see you dressed for celebration. Have you named the day?”
Laura leant towards him and said, “Hush! I celebrate my own recovery.”
“How well and happy you look, Edward,” said Elspeth. “I trust you left our darling Evalina in good health.”
“I did, Elspeth.” He crossed to Elspeth’s chair and kissed her. “Mrs. Morrison extends her compliments to you all.” There was a murmur of pleasure from the company.
/> The servant entered to announce that dinner was served.
“You have timed your arrival well, Cousin,” said Sir Richard, with heartfelt sincerity, and they all followed Lady Clarydon into the dining parlour.
Marriage certainly agreed with the captain. To his usual brisk and matter-of-fact air, there was now an element of complacency that helped to dispel the awkwardness of the party. He dominated the conversation, since they all had little to relate, discussing his domestic details with a relish Laura would never have predicted a few months before.
The countess had the discretion to retire early, followed by her companion.
The captain stood by the fire, his sisters and cousin seated around him. “So, Elspeth,” he said. “What is the disaster that brought me here in a haste uncomplimentary to my wife?”
“Laura has had the immodesty, the ingratitude to break off her engagement to Richard.”
He turned to Laura. “Is this so?”
“Richard and I will not marry.”
Elspeth burst in again. “A gentleman would have refused to release her.”
Sir Richard was cut to the quick. “As a gentleman, how could I refuse to release a lady from an engagement?” he said.
Laura said, “Richard is in no way to blame.”
Edward leant against the end of the mantle. “Why have you taken this step, Laura?”
“I was sensible of the honour and advantages Richard offered. I love him dearly, but as a sister does, and know I could not make him happy as a wife.”
Edward looked at Sir Richard, half-expecting to see a look of pain on his face, but Sir Richard nodded in a sympathetic way.
“You too have altered your inclination, Cousin!” he said.
“No! No!” cried Sir Richard. “I have never wavered in my intention.”
“Your intention, only!” said Elspeth. “I would prefer an avowal of your continuing attachment to my sister.”
The Imaginary Gentleman Page 28