Mrs. Bell favoured them with a short quotation from Ulysses, in Greek, followed by a translation, to the admiration of her hearers.
“My father was a serious scholar,” she said. “His studies of the Greeks were formidable.”
“Did he name you for one of the Greeks?” asked Laura.
“Until my marriage, he called me Miss Delta—our family name was Dawkins, you see.”
“My father called me ‘you great lout’,” said Sir Richard.
Laura said, “So he did, but he was heard at times to give you your proper appellation.”
“Only when I was in great favour,” he replied.
Mrs. Bell peeped up at him, from under her bonnet. “He cannot have meant to be so unkind, Sir Richard!”
“He is not to be blamed that I was not the type of son he wished for.”
“How did your father address you once you were married, Mrs. Bell?”
“Oh, as Mrs. Beta, of course, and Mr. Bell followed suit. They were always of one accord.”
Laura glanced at Sir Richard as he stared into the distance. She could well imagine what path his thoughts might take—so well did she know him. Sir Richard was awed by the thought of the great arrears of affection and respect owing to this noble lady who had been so neglected, yet had lost neither faith nor goodness. Before he could quell the idea, an image arose of himself as the gentleman so honoured … He shook off the thought. Why, he was scarce out of his engagement to his cousin and she was here with him as he indulged in these thoughts!
“Have you seen the guest book at Number 54 yet, Mrs. Bell?”
“I am sure it would be very interesting,” she said.
“You both go,” Laura said. “I will attend to the countess’s errand and meet you shortly.”
The baronet and Mrs. Bell mounted the steps, alone together on an excursion for the very first time. They were both overcome with self-consciousness, and the lady’s hand trembled a little on the gentleman’s arm. As they entered the house, the gregarious host greeted them, recalling the baronet from a previous visit to his little town.
Another gentleman was perusing the guest book so they took the time to listen to an oft-repeated account of the manifold attractions of Lyme. Long habit of observation caused Mrs. Bell to glance over to the stranger who monopolised the volume. He appeared to be reading the list of names, his eyes running down the pages, not stopping to read the comments of the visitors.
She turned back, nodding as their host enumerated the charms of the Pinney, his large hands sketching in the air the fragile cliff face. Her eye caught by a movement, Mrs. Bell saw that the stranger took a folded piece of paper from his pocket book, looking from that to the guest book. He then took a hasty leave of his host and left the house.
“Now—if you will do me the honour, Sir Richard …” Their host turned to the guest book, noticed it was turned to a previous page and found the correct place.
He handed the pen to Mrs. Bell, who signed the book. The baronet placed his finger next to the space below her name and prepared to sign. Only then did he notice the name written above his companion’s.
“Good Lord!” he cried.
Laura accepted the small parcel from the haberdasher, gave way to his eager offer to show her some new scarves, and at last turned to the door. She stepped into the street.
The shock was like a thump against her bosom. She could scarcely take breath. Before her, not two yards away, frozen in mid-step—it was he! There, on the footpath, in front of her.
She stared at him, confused. “It cannot be,” she murmured, shaking her head.
On the first instant, his brown eyes lit up with pleasure, but he saw how she frowned, and his hand froze, halfway to his hat.
“Mr. Templeton?” she gasped, at last.
He raised his hat and bowed. “Miss Morrison.”
The sound of that deep voice resonated in her memory. She nodded her head slightly.
He offered her his hand, in an uncertain way. Instead of taking it, she put her hand on his forearm, feeling it real and warm beneath her fingers, before taking her hand away.
“You … you took me by surprise, sir.”
“I am very sorry—I was just walking by, when …” His eyes moved over her face, as he tried to interpret her expression. “How can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” she said, thinking that she sounded like a fool.
“For disappearing without farewell, for neglecting all that I owed to you.”
“I have still to convince myself that you are here,” she said.
He smiled—perhaps he thought her to be joking.
“Will you walk with me to the shores?” he said.
He offered her his arm, and she took it as they walked down towards the sea. Awareness of the touch between them, of its warmth, dominated her sensations. The reality of his arm beneath her hand, his coat brushing against hers, was very real—too real—after the weeks of wondering about his very existence.
In silence, they walked to the bottom of Broad Street, by the Assembly Rooms, where the ground fell away to the beach.
“Have you been in Lyme all this time?” he said.
“No, I have been at my cousin’s house in Devonshire. We returned on Wednesday.”
“I have just arrived this morning, after coming here in all haste.”
She knew not how to break the silence that fell again between them; both stared out at the sea.
Then he said, “Will you think me impertinent if I ask you to look at a letter in my possession?”
“A letter!”
“I want to know if you recognise the hand.”
She looked up at him, her amazement answer enough. He withdrew his pocket book from an inner recess of his coat, and opened it, while she watched every movement. He took out a letter and held it to her, folded to reveal the beginning.
How surprised you must be, sir, to receive a communication from one who has no claim upon you …
“I do not recognise this hand.”
“It is not yours?”
“Certainly not! Nor do I recognise it.”
Not Elspeth’s hand, either, she thought.
She handed it back. He turned the letter over and showed her the farewell.
Your obliged and grateful friend,
L. Morrison
“Someone has written to you, in my name!”
“Will you read it? I believe it may purchase some pardon for my silence.”
Laura only nodded and unfolded the letter, holding it firmly in the breeze that blew up from the sea.
How surprised you must be, sir, to receive a communication from one who has no claim upon you. I pray you, read on, and I believe you will make allowances for me. What I write now, I could not have told you before because we were not on such terms as to make this seemly.
When I was but nineteen, I entered an engagement with a naval officer, who had still to build a fortune before we could marry.
“I did no such thing!” Laura said.
His ship was captured and all aboard taken prisoner. At last messages came to their loved ones from other officers belonging to his ship, but not from the one whose fate was to be linked with my own. All we heard of him was that his rebellious spirit in captivity led him to be separated from his fellow officers, who finally gave him up for dead.
“This is all lies!” said Laura.
Unexpectedly, after an absence of ten years, he has returned to England, having been released from captivity. I found him at my sister’s rooms after our last meeting. He has come to claim me as his bride. He made no communication with my family after his release, wishing to give me the opportunity to see him before I renewed my promise. He does not hold me to it, but I find I cannot desert him. He has suffered too much, is grievously crippled, being lame and having lost an arm. I have not the heart to abandon him.
You may think me presumptuous to imagine that our brief friendship is any impediment. I can only beg you not t
o reply, not to come to me again, for I must give up all thought of our friendship in these new conditions. Pray believe that I cannot bear up under such a meeting.
If I am mistaken in the direction our friendship might have taken, I know you are too noble to expose my vanity. If I am not mistaken, I humbly beg your forgiveness.
Your obliged and grateful friend,
L. Morrison
“I never imagined such a letter as this!” she said.
“You knew of it?”
“I first heard a story that I had supposedly written a letter to a gentleman, only on Wednesday. I knew not what to make of it.”
“Does this dispel the mystery?”
“I understand now why you left without communicating with me but not why someone wrote it.” Laura looked at him at last. “You believed the letter, when you received it?”
“Why should I not? Yet, I could not make up my mind to accept it at first. On the one hand, gallantry demanded that I accede to your request, yet on the other I wanted to be sure that you knew my intentions were serious.”
She laughed involuntarily. He blushed. “This is but our fourth meeting.”
“I do not laugh at you.”
“I wrote you a letter, intending to find some way to get it to you, without showing myself. I began to walk along the cliff path …”
“It was you!”
“Yes, indeed it was. I saw you in the distance, helping a crippled man to rise.”
“My brother!”
“I know that now. At the time I could not bear to meet you, but turned tail and quickly hid in the high gorse near the path. In less than a minute, I was out of sight.”
“You cannot know how Edward teased me.”
“I cursed myself for a fool when I saw the announcement of his marriage in the Times on Tuesday. You had even told me that you had a brother wounded at Trafalgar.”
Laura began to laugh, and he with her.
“And I thought you a clever man!” she said, with a teasing frown.
“At the time of your brother’s return to England, I must have read something of his story. Yet Lord Nelson’s death dominated the news, among other tales of heroism.”
“My brother’s relations sometimes forget that he was not alone at Trafalgar.”
Mr. Templeton laughed. “On Tuesday, I saw the announcement of Captain Morrison’s marriage, and the name seemed to leap from the page. I asked a friend who always recalls these things, and he told me how your brother lost his arm. At once I thought of the man whom I saw upon the cliff. Two such naval officers in your life seemed an unlikely coincidence, even without the sharing of the family name.”
There was a squeal of children’s laughter, and they both turned to see a party of ladies and gentlemen, with several offspring approaching. Mr. Templeton indicated the path along the bay, and they walked in that direction.
“What thought you of the letter then?” said Laura, once they were alone.
“It was beyond belief that you would invent such a tale and take the risk of writing to me—just to be rid of me. It would be far better simply to refuse me. Incredible as it had seemed in September, I began to wonder if the letter was a forgery.”
Laura looked away at the sea, sparkling in the sun. She wondered if Elspeth had a part in this. No—she would not sink to forgery.
Mr. Templeton took her hand and briefly held it. “I came back to this place to seek an example of your handwriting.”
He drew her arm through his and they walked slowly along the path, both turning over the same question in their minds.
“Who of your acqu—”
“Why would anyone—”
They laughed. “Pray continue, Miss Morrison.”
“I cannot understand why anyone would want so much to part us. Who even knew of our friendship?” she said.
“For two days I have been speculating on the writer’s motive for preventing us from ever communicating again,” he said.
“What could anyone have stood to gain?”
“Indeed I know not.”
They turned and strolled back towards the inn, where Laura spotted her cousin standing with Mrs. Bell, both looking around for her in some anxiety.
Mrs. Bell saw them first.
“Sir Richard, there she is, with the gentleman whom we saw just now!”
“They are coming this way. Let us hurry inside,” he said.
“Who is that gentleman?”
“Hush!” he said, putting his finger to his lips, and waggling his eyebrows. She looked up at him, curiosity mingled with delight at the intimacy of his gesture.
“It is a long story,” he said. He ushered the puzzled lady through the door and up the stairs. He put his hand over hers, keeping it on his arm for one moment longer.
“Let us keep a secret, Mrs. Bell. It will be for only a moment.”
She looked up at him, and he smiled into her eyes in a manner that set her cheeks aflame.
They entered the sitting room to see a discontented Mrs. Evans sitting very upright, while the captain stood near her. From their rigid stance, it appeared that they had not made up their quarrel. The countess was calmly at work upon her embroidery.
“Where is my sister, Sir Richard?” demanded Elspeth. “I particularly wished you to attend to her safety.”
“She will be with us directly, I believe.”
Elspeth went to the window and looked down into the street, seeing her sister on the arm of a gentleman. All that she could see of him was the top of his hat. “Who is that man with her? At least he seems real enough.”
Sir Richard merely nodded, suppressing a smile. Footsteps were heard upon the stairs, Elspeth’s hands flew to her hair to adjust her cap. The door opened and Laura entered, accompanied by the gentleman her sister had seen with her.
“Countess,” said Laura. “May I present Mr. Templeton?”
CHAPTER 39
THERE WAS A MOMENT OF bewildered silence. Laura watched her sister as she said the name, and noted the incredulity on Elspeth’s face. She had turned to Edward, lips parted, and her eyes widened with an expression too amazed to be feigned on the instant. The captain looked first astonished, then wondering—his keen mind thrown into questioning at once. Even the self-possessed Lady Clarydon was put out of countenance; she took a moment to put her embroidery aside, before greeting the gentleman.
After the first business of introductions was over, Elspeth had to acknowledge to herself that Mr. Templeton was very much the gentleman and that he seemed to regard her sister with considerable respect and friendliness. He was just like Laura’s description of him, matching all the particulars of height, colouring and pleasantness of countenance. The only aspect that Elspeth found difficult to forgive was the fact that he was no figment of her sister’s imagination and that she, Elspeth, had spent some weeks in the wrong.
“I owe you an explanation, Mrs. Evans, for my failure to attend upon you in September,” said Mr. Templeton.
“You are here now, sir. What more can be required?”
“I humbly beg your pardon. I would have presented myself to you had I not been misled as to the welcome I might expect.”
“How could that be?” said Elspeth.
Mr. Templeton turned to Laura, a question in his eyes, and she answered.
“Elspeth, that letter, over which we have puzzled, is real. While it is full of falsehoods, it has procured Mr. Templeton’s pardon in my eyes.”
“May I see it or do I intrude?” said Edward.
The letter was read aloud and passed from hand to hand. All were agreed that someone, perhaps unknown to them, had some benefit to gain from keeping Laura and Mr. Templeton apart. However, they were at a loss to understand what that benefit might be.
Elspeth said, “Until the person who wrote this letter comes forward to enlighten us, I suggest that we put this distasteful business from our minds.”
“No, indeed!” said Laura. “I have turned over this mystery in my mind these
two months! You cannot know what strange fancies have occurred to me, Mr. Templeton.”
“Am I to hear them?” he asked, smiling.
She laughed, looking rueful.
“The first was that you had been waylaid by robbers,” she said. “It seems foolish now but I could not explain why the ostler here would deny you took a horse from the stables to ride to Charmouth. I thought he had been in league with the rogues.”
“It was my own horse, which I rode from Charmouth and back again—but I handed him over into the care of the fellow in charge here while I went in search of you.”
“So he did lie to me.”
“He was an insolent fellow,” said Edward.
“He has a sly look,” said Sir Richard.
“When did you see him, Richard?” asked Laura.
“The stableman, here at the Three Cups, sent for him to get his opinion on Betsy’s leg.”
“There was no excuse for him to behave as insolently as he did!” said Laura. “I have never understood how he could have known about Mr. Templeton, let alone formed an opinion about him.”
“You forget the very great interest that the lower orders take in the lives of their betters,” said the countess. “I doubt not that every servant in the inn knew that the young lady staying with them had made an interesting acquaintance.”
“How very right you always are, my dear!” cried Elspeth. “Yet it was the oddest thing, for Laura spent all of two hours in Mrs. Gurdon’s rooms, talking to her and Mr. Templeton.” She looked at the gentleman with the slightest hint of inquiry.
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