“That is true,” he said. “I enjoyed a long and fascinating conversation with your sister on the day that Mrs. Gurdon introduced us to one another.”
“Yet the inn servants knew nothing of you,” said Elspeth.
Laura said, “Do you forget the noisy party of young men in the public rooms who occupied all of the servants’ attention.”
“That’s correct,” said Mr. Templeton. “I recall that Mrs. Gurdon had to send her own maid down to the kitchen to fetch our refreshments.”
“So,” said Edward. “We are left with only the ostler behaving in a knowing fashion towards my sister.”
Edward seized up the letter and turned it over. On the back the original direction had been blotted out clumsily, and “Charmouth Inn” written below.
“Mr. Templeton, was the letter delivered by a young man, perhaps an ostler?”
“No, he was a boy of eleven or so, a fisher-lad from the smell of him.”
Laura and Edward said together, “Tom!”
“I did not ask his name. I gave him a penny and he ran off a few paces, before turning to call out an impudent remark.”
“It is Tom, certainly,” said Laura.
“The poor little fellow who was injured?” said Elspeth.
“He was injured? How?” asked Mr. Templeton.
Laura felt a sick anxiety that twisted in her stomach and her cheeks paled.
The captain answered, “The boy Tom was badly beaten on the cliff path when returning from Charmouth.”
“By whom?”
“The surgeon informed me that he set the parish constable on the trail of the assailants when he saw the condition of the child. The constable found no trace of them and concluded they had fled the district.”
“When did you receive the letter, sir?”
“On the Wednesday—after I returned to Charmouth.”
“The tenth of September,” said Laura, her voice dull. She could not bear the notion that Tom’s beating had something to do with her after all. She bit her lip.
Mr. Templeton rose and stood before Laura’s chair. “Miss Morrison,” he said, gentle and serious in his manner.
“Yes?”
“You are not in any way to blame for what has happened to this child,” he said.
“No one would think Laura is to blame!” said Edward briskly. “I would like to speak to this boy Tom. Who will come with me?”
“I will, Edward,” said Laura. Sir Richard and Mr. Templeton had both risen and turned to her in surprise.
“No, my dear,” said Edward. “I meant who of the gentlemen.”
“But Edward …”
“Laura, I confess that at first, I did not pay you the respect of trusting your judgement.”
“That is done with,” said Laura.
“You have suffered unpleasantness, to which my sister ought never be exposed,” said Edward.
“I am determined to come.”
“Laura, remember who you are,” said Elspeth.
“Forgive me, Elspeth, if I do not consult your opinion just now.” Elspeth sniffed but Laura was long immune. She said, “I have the keenest concern for the boy’s safety. He knows me and may be less alarmed in the presence of a lady.”
“I feel it unseemly.”
“I shall come, Edward, for this whole mystery has involved me in acute misery.”
Mr. Templeton smiled as the two faced each other, their assertive bearing identical, their striking green eyes reflecting determination.
He said, “Miss Morrison is so peculiarly concerned in the affair; and has the protection of three gentlemen. I feel she has a right to accompany us.”
“We must bow to the views of a man of the cloth,” said Elspeth, sarcastically.
“Well …” said Edward.
“Come, Cousin!” said Sir Richard. “’Tis a waste of Laura’s good brain to leave her behind.”
“Very well, then.”
“Ought we consult the mayor, Captain, or the magistrate?” said Mr. Templeton.
“Let us see if we can find out who gave the letter to Tom, without unfolding the story to others.”
Laura led them directly to Tom’s dwelling in Fish Lane. Through the crack in the doorway, they faced the same dirty creature whom Laura had described. In a flash, the woman tried to slam the door, but the captain had wedged his foot in the way. She leered at them, and pulled at her ragged cap, thrusting her greasy locks beneath it.
“Good mornin’ to you, sirs,” she said. “And madam!” Sir Richard took Laura’s arm and drew her behind her brother, whence she watched over his shoulder.
“We wish to speak to you,” said Edward.
“I’m a respectable widder.” Her insinuating tone produced a look of near revulsion on the captain’s face.
“We can speak in the street, if you wish, but I suggest that you oblige us with a conversation with your son.”
“He ain’t here.”
The production of Edward’s purse was sufficient to purchase a degree of cooperation.
“What do you fear?” he said. “Your son will be in no further danger by telling us what he knows. I am the lady’s brother.”
“You’ll go away in your fine carriage and leave us poor folk to take our punishment.”
“So Tom’s beating was in relation to the letter he delivered to Charmouth?”
“’Tis you who ordered it—you or her.” She darted a snarling look over his shoulder.
“Why should I commit such an evil act?” he said.
“You didna want it known your sister was writing to the gen’leman—and ’im a parson too!—so my poor boy was a’beat up.”
“Did the ruffians make some reference to the letter?”
“Aye, they did. They said Tom must say there never were no gen’leman.”
The four looked at her, dumbfounded.
Laura stepped out from behind her brother. “Do you say, madam, that Tom was instructed to spread the story that the gentleman did not exist?”
The woman tried again to close the door.
“I niver said it!”
“I am the man to whom he gave the letter!” said Mr. Templeton. “I feel responsible for ensuring your son’s safety.”
Her fear was obviously mounting.
“Pray don’t fear us. We can offer you protection,” said Sir Richard.
“Let us help you—and your boy,” said Mr. Templeton. “I have satisfied myself that the letter was not written by Miss Morrison.”
“Don’t tell such stories.”
“It is true,” said Edward. “The letter is a forgery, and it seems your son was cruelly beaten to force him to deny what he knew.”
“He won’t go to prison?”
“Of course he will not. He has committed no crime.”
She gazed up at him wordlessly, her fear palpable.
Sir Richard said gently, “I see now that you have judged rightly in fearing further danger to the boy.”
She began to weep, silently and pitifully. “He be all I got!” She stepped back from the door and they entered.
A pace behind her, propped upon his crutches, was Tom. The leg must have still been weak but the splints were gone. Gone, too, was his impudent grin and eyes sparkling with mischief; fear seemed to have diminished his rebellion.
“Will they come for me, sirs?” he asked.
Sir Richard answered him. “I think it unlikely.” He turned to the mother. “But have you some place of refuge to which you might flee?”
“Where can we go—the likes of us?” said his mother.
“I can provide transport for you both, and a safe haven in Devonshire, until the criminals are brought to justice.”
“Devonshire! I ain’t never been so far off.”
“You can depend upon Sir Richard’s protection,” said Laura.
The fisherwoman scratched her head; then rubbed her nose, and at last, agreed that she could not stay where she was.
“Thank’ee, sir. I will go,�
� she said.
Mr. Templeton turned to Tom. “Your part is to tell us all that you know of the letter. Who gave it to you?”
“’Twas Silas Creeley—ostler at the Lion.”
“I knew it,” said Laura. “He was bound to be involved.”
“Shall I fetch a cart and driver?” said Mr. Templeton.
“Yes,” said Edward. “If you will make the necessary arrangements, I will stay here—this poor woman is frightened out of her wits.”
“I shall write at once to my steward, giving him instructions to find them a snug corner in a barn for a few days,” Sir Richard said.
Under the captain’s protection, the mother and son packed up their possessions into two bundles. Laura returned with Sir Richard to the inn, where he would write his letter and instruct a servant to accompany the pair. Meanwhile Mr. Templeton procured a cart.
The two men watched as the cart drove away up the street, with Tom and his mother crouching down in a pile of straw.
“I hope we are overly cautious,” said Mr. Templeton.
“I could not answer to my sister if the boy received further harm at the hands of these ill-doers,” said Edward.
The gentlemen returned to the inn, where all were agreed that the discoveries in Fish Alley hardly provided the key to the mystery. Over an excellent dinner ordered by the countess, every aspect of the case was canvassed, without a plausible explanation coming to light.
“The gossip had the effect of driving us from the town,” said Mrs. Evans.
“How very unpleasant,” said Mr. Templeton.
“Did you depart the district when you received the letter, Mr. Templeton?” asked the countess.
“Yes—after seeing, on the cliff top, what I took to be confirmation of the letter, I hurried back to the inn and prepared for departure. I rode away from Charmouth within the half hour.”
“So they drove you from the district too. It seems likely to be the object.”
“Why spread the rumours though? What did this person think that Laura might do?” said Sir Richard.
“Or know,” said Mrs. Bell quietly.
Everyone stared at her and she coloured. “I am so sorry—a private matter.”
“What did you say, Mrs. Bell?” asked Laura.
“I’m excessively stupid.”
“Did you not say ‘or know’? Did you suggest that the deceiver was worried about what I might know, rather than do?”
“You speak nonsense, Mrs. Bell,” said Elspeth, her lip curling. “It is plain that my sister could know nothing of such immoral doings.”
“I say, Cousin,” said the baronet. “That is hardly the tone to take with a lady.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Richard?” Elspeth said icily.
“I … I think you spoke in haste, perhaps, and were unwittingly discourteous to Mrs. Bell.”
Mrs. Bell spoke up. “I am not in the least offended.”
“You see no harm has been done,” said the countess, blowing a kiss to Mrs. Bell.
“You are kind, Countess,” said Laura. “However, Mrs. Bell is too generous. I apologise on my sister’s behalf.”
All of Mrs. Evans’s suppressed fury could not quell Sir Richard’s smile.
Meanwhile, Laura, in particular, puzzled over Mrs. Bell’s suggestion. Could it be that she knew something to endanger the plans of the forger?
CHAPTER 40
SUNDAY OBSERVANCES OBLIGED THE PARTY to suspend their investigations. Laura found her consequence had risen greatly in Lyme, when the countess linked arms with her and they entered the church together.
The tall gentleman, who entered a moment later, was seen to take a place behind the countess’s party, all of whom turned and bowed cordially.
The landlady of the Lion whispered his name to her neighbours. “He is Mr. Templeton, a clergyman and a very respectable man.”
“That is Mr. Templeton!”
“Oh, yes. He is lodging with us. I had it from the vicar that he holds a valuable living, at a place called Westmere.”
“A widower, perhaps?”
“Oh, no! He was a Cambridge Fellow until two or three years back. He has never married.” She smirked. “Yet.”
Her friends laughed quietly. “Did you mark the warmth of his greeting to the tall lady next to Lady Clarydon?”
“That is Miss Morrison.”
“Miss Morrison! I wish I had known she was under the protection of a countess.”
“None of us did, my dear.”
“How intriguing it all is!”
At the end of the service, her ladyship’s party was ushered out of the church with great respect, the vicar bowing low over the countess’s hand. She was in a mood to receive the homage of those who claimed previous acquaintance with her. Mrs. Evans remained by her side, the rest of her party gathered nearby.
Laura and Mr. Templeton laughed quietly over the foolishness of their fellow creatures.
“How my star rises as they fall at her ladyship’s feet!” said Laura.
“That you should suffer so—who deserves respect and homage above all,” he said.
She looked away, with a half-laugh of pleasure. “Who is this Laura Morrison who has earned such praise?” she said. “I do not recognise her!”
He said, “You will come to know her, by and by, if I have my way.” Then he indicated Edward. “Your brother has made a new acquaintance.”
A gentleman, of forty or so, had introduced himself to Edward. As magistrate, Mr. Grahame took it upon himself to thank the captain for the interest he had taken in September, to deal with an injustice that occurred in Lyme. “Unfortunately, the parish constable was not able to take the ruffians in charge,” he said. “However, it was very good of you to bring the matter to our attention.”
“Not at all, sir. I feared only that interference would seem impertinent in a stranger.”
“We are very friendly here, in Lyme, especially when we are honoured by the presence of one of our nation’s heroes.” Mr. Grahame bowed.
Edward demurred but Mr. Grahame would have none of his modesty. Edward then said, “As it happens, I was hoping to consult you as soon as may be.”
“Oh?”
“I am exceedingly puzzled by a strange letter, just come to light, which may bear upon the unpleasantness in September.”
“Then I am intrigued. I will be happy to give you my opinion—unless you prefer to report to the constable?”
“This is a matter of some delicacy.”
“You may rely upon my discretion. I shall wait upon you tomorrow. Is ten o’clock too early?”
Edward laughed. “I have yet to accustom myself to the late rising on land. Ten it is.”
The countess’s party walked back to the inn, with the Morrisons in a very much better mood than after their last attendance at St Michael’s. Breakfast awaited them and they did full honours to toast, eggs, ham and tea.
Wiping his mouth and putting the napkin on the table, Edward leant back in his chair. From his thoughtful expression, it was apparent that some particular thought had come to mind.
He said, “Mrs. Bell, yesterday you suggested that my sister may know some fact that threatens our forger.”
Mrs. Bell hesitantly began, “I have only observed …”
“Come, come, my dear,” said the countess. “You must tell us now!”
Mrs. Bell continued. “Have none of you noticed at times, that one person may make a trifling remark that seems to have significance to someone else?”
Laura was intrigued. So often relegated to the background by a combination of shyness and her inferior position, Mrs. Bell was, of course, an observer. She no doubt must have learnt much of others by watching and listening.
Mr. Templeton said, “Do you mean that this trifling remark can have significance of which the speaker is unaware because they are not privy to the hearer’s thoughts?”
“Yes!” said Mrs. Bell, delighted to be understood.
“Is that all?” said
the countess. “You disappoint me, my dear.”
“I am sorry I cannot provide the key to the mystery.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Laura. “Although I cannot imagine what the trifling piece of knowledge would be.”
They passed their Sunday in the usual occupations—the ladies sewed and yawned, Edward and Sir Richard read the papers and yawned.
Elspeth insisted upon some exercise. She would never have said so, but this was not to be a search for pretty scenes to admire, but an exhibition of their family success and consequence. Along the few principal streets they went, attracting the right sort of attention. Laura thought of it as a parade—an elegant form of thumbing their noses—and only happiness kept her from feeling embarrassed.
The countess and Elspeth walked arm in arm, their enjoyment of the admiration of the gentlemen of Lyme, spiced with their whispered witticisms at the expense of these admirers. Elspeth was enjoying herself too much to look behind her. In the rear, Sir Richard and Mrs. Bell walked arm in arm, occupied in a search for Medieval specimens.
Laura walked with Mr. Templeton and her brother. The other two made an effort to include the captain in their conversation. Yet they had so much to discover about each other, that they did keep forgetting him.
Edward had thoughts of his own to keep him entertained. He almost wished there had been neither letter nor a mystery to untangle, for it kept him from Evalina. He counted the long days that must elapse before he could see her again.
The delay in trying to solve the mystery would have made it the longest day in Laura’s life, were it not for the company of Mr. Templeton.
Quite early on Monday, Mr. Templeton took breakfast with them as arranged. The fugitives were certainly in Devonshire by now, and it was time to take action.
Laura felt cheated, as the gentlemen went without her to meet the magistrate downstairs. The door had no sooner closed upon them, when she recalled a question she wished to put to Mr. Templeton. When the servant entered to remove the breakfast things, she asked if Captain Morrison was available.
“No, miss. The captain went out with Mr. Grahame.”
Running to the window, Laura saw three men emerge in the street. She tapped her fingernails on the glass but they did not hear her. She watched in frustration as they walked away up the street.
The Imaginary Gentleman Page 31