“What do you there, Laura?” said Elspeth. “Can you not bear to let … the gentlemen … out of your sight?”
“I thought of something I wished to say to … my brother.”
Elspeth tittered. “I imagine your friend will come back this time.” Softly she muttered to her friend, “Though I know not what attracts him!”
The sound of the door opening had all three look up eagerly, as Sir Richard entered the room.
“Richard, what is happening?” said Laura.
“The magistrate is as puzzled as us all. He is determined to track the hands through which the letter passed—he thinks it almost certainly written by a woman of some education.”
“Surely it is the work of a criminal,” said Elspeth.
“It is hard to conceive of a lady writing such a document. The magistrate is of the opinion that no half-taught woman could produce that hand.”
“A good point, I think,” said Laura. She stood by the window still, and Sir Richard took a chair close to Mrs. Bell.
Elspeth frowned. “Perhaps some foolish woman thought she had a chance of securing Mr. Templeton, if only Laura could be got out of the way.”
“The magistrate believes the matter to be more sinister,” said Sir Richard. “Remember Tom’s beating.”
“Is he not an insolent lad, often in trouble?” said the countess.
“Yes, he is,” said Sir Richard. “But the magistrate is suspicious that Tom was ordered to deny there ever was any gentleman with Laura in Broad Street that day.”
Elspeth shuddered. “This is too distasteful, Sir Richard!”
There was the sound of a shout from the street. Laura opened the window. From higher up the street, a man was running as hard as he could, with the constable after him, shouting, “Seize him!”
“It’s the ostler from the Lion,” Laura said. “He’s trying to get away.” Even Elspeth rushed over to the window to see the happenings below. Two burly fishermen had run up from the beach. They seized the man, holding him while the constable secured him.
“’Tis Creeley, for sure,” said Sir Richard.
The magistrate was hurrying down in their wake. “Take him in charge,” he shouted to the constable. “I will follow you shortly.”
Laura watched as the constable began to drag the miscreant along the street. He peered at the upper windows of the inn, found the lady he had maligned and stared up at her in abject fear.
“What will happen to him, Sir Richard?” said Elspeth. “Perhaps he will be hanged.” She adjusted her lace collar and floated back towards the sofa, followed by Lady Clarydon, who sank into her armchair next to her friend.
“I imagine he is a minor party,” said Sir Richard. He remained at the window with Laura and Mrs. Bell, watching as a small crowd gathered below, chatting about the excitement.
“What do you at the window still?” asked Elspeth.
“Won’t you ring for some tea, my dear Mrs. Bell,” said the countess.
Mrs. Bell obliged, and Sir Richard turned vaguely, trailing her for several steps across the room.
“Sir Richard!” The baronet flinched and gave Elspeth a sidelong look like a guilty schoolboy. Elspeth smiled sweetly. “I cannot reach my fan,” she said.
He looked uncomprehending; then realised where his duty lay. He went to her little table, all of eight inches away from her, and handed her the item.
“Come away from the window, Laura,” said Elspeth. Laura did not even turn. She watched as Mr. Templeton appeared. He glanced up, noticed Laura and smiled.
CHAPTER 41
EDWARD RETURNED WITH MR. TEMPLETON, and the party gathered around to hear about the brief interview between the magistrate and Creeley, who had made his dash for freedom before revealing any information.
Edward turned to Mrs. Bell. “Have you had any further inspiration, madam?”
“I cannot understand so unladylike …” Her voice trailed off.
“There is far more that I do not know,” said Laura. “Oh, yes! Mr. Templeton, I have a question.”
“You have only to ask.”
“Well then, I must have misheard you that last day I saw you in September. Where did you go, since I thought you intended to visit old Mr. Whichale?”
“Why should you think I went elsewhere?”
The silence was palpable; all the Morrison family stared at him in silence.
Puzzled, Mr. Templeton added, “The storm was coming on, so I rode my own horse, rather hard, back to Charmouth, where I hired a chaise to drive to Longpan.”
“So you did go to Mr. Whichale’s house?” said Laura.
“Why, I dined there and stayed the night!” He looked at their faces, all expressive of astonishment.
“What!” said Edward, at last.
“It was raining heavily and I could not in any case have reached Charmouth before dark, so I accepted the invitation to stay the night.”
“The rogue!” said Sir Richard.
“A gentleman has lied to me!” exclaimed Edward.
He rose and stood before Laura. “I have taken the word of a stranger over that of my own sister, who has never lied to me in her life. How can you forgive me, Laura?”
“The facts seemed to be against me, Edward.”
“You see, you went to the wrong house, Brother,” said Elspeth.
“Excuse me, but I must disagree,” he said. “There is only one such house, and there we made our enquiries.”
“Enquiries?” asked Mr. Templeton.
“Yes, Sir Richard wished to investigate your disappearance, against my own judgement, I must confess.”
“Ah!” said Sir Richard, then fell silent when all looked his way. They waited as he bit his lip in concentration. At last he said, “There is a link between the ostler from the Lion, and the letter, you know. The lad Jem is known to the ostler—and Jem knew something of the letter.”
“And this Jem is …?” Lady Clarydon asked.
“Of course, you know nothing of this strange tale,” said Elspeth, with a shaky adherence to the truth. “Jem is a lad who told a young maidservant in Honiton about the letter, imagining that Miss Morrison had written it.”
Mr. Templeton returned to the previous point. “You went to Mr. Whichale’s house, Captain?”
“Indeed, we did. When was that, now?”
Laura answered. “The eighteenth of September,” she said. “A Thursday.”
Edward raised an eyebrow at his sister’s precision, and continued, “We had no idea then of any conspiracy to pretend you did not even exist!”
Mr. Templeton reached out, almost touching Laura’s hand. “What you must have suffered on account of this strange episode!” he said.
“I cannot tell you the half of it.”
Mr. Templeton nodded, then turned to Edward. “What happened, Captain Morrison, when you arrived at Mr. Whichale’s house?”
Edward recounted their visit, and Mr. Templeton nodded agreement at the details: the neglected state of the house, the smug and genial host, even the sign on the gate had still been in existence Mr. Templeton had defied it to enter.
All along, in the back of Laura’s mind, she felt convinced that Mrs. Bell had been right. Even while she listened to each person’s story, she was half-conscious of weighing every fact for the possibility that she, unknowingly, might have been the only person privy to that information. Now came this one trivial point—that Mr. Templeton entered Longpan House.
“Is that what I knew?” said Laura, meditatively. They all turned to her. “Was I the only person who knew that Mr. Templeton went to that house the night old Mr. Whichale died?”
“Possibly—but it’s not likely Whichale would know this,” said Edward.
“Ah—but he did. I told him myself,” said Mr. Templeton. “To explain my delay, I said that I had ridden first to Lyme to make my apologies to Mrs. Evans, for failing to fulfil an obligation to her.”
“You did not mention Laura’s name, I hope,” said Elspeth, de
sirous of finding him at fault.
“I did not name Miss Morrison. Mr. Whichale insisted upon sending a note of apology to you on my behalf.”
“He certainly did not do so!” said Elspeth.
“The devious rogue!” said Edward.
“He could discover everything he wanted to know in a moment,” said Lady Clarydon. “One so easily forgets the sharp eyes of the lower orders.”
“How true!” said Elspeth. “His servants would have heard something of Mr. Templeton being seen with my sister.”
“One understands the old gentleman to have been impious,” said the countess. “Why did he ask for a clergyman to attend him?”
“I am quite sure he did not!” said Mr. Templeton. “When I entered the bedchamber, for all his debility, the patient expressed great annoyance at their calling in a parson.” He imitated the quavering fury of the old gentleman.
“So it was not a case of the old sinner burdened by his lifetime of sins?” said Lady Clarydon.
“No. I believe he had asked for his attorney.”
Edward stopped his pacing, picking up this interesting point.
Mr. Templeton continued, “Mr. Whichale told me that he had hoped his uncle would repent at the last, so had called me in instead.”
“What did the dying man want?”
“A witness to his signature on a document.”
“A deathbed confession!” exclaimed the countess, in delight.
Laura jumped up. She said, “Was Mr. Benjamin Reece present at the house?”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a great-nephew of old Mr. Whichale’s.”
“I encountered only Mr. Whichale and his lady.”
“A woman of very nervous temperament?” asked the captain.
“I would not have called her nervous. Quiet, perhaps, but perfectly calm.”
Laura looked thoughtfully at Mr. Templeton. Why did he assess Mrs. Whichale so differently from the other men, she wondered.
“You agreed with my brother that she seemed fearful, Sir Richard?” she said.
Her cousin tutted. “She was very timorous. I feared her husband was a bully in private, for she displayed a fear of the male sex, I thought.”
“Yet she was not afraid of Mr. Templeton,” said Elspeth.
“Mrs. Whichale had no reason to fear him!” cried Laura. They all turned to her. “She had done nothing wrong when she made Mr. Templeton’s acquaintance.” She was almost laughing at the obvious. “She had not then written the letter!”
The whole party was silent for a moment, taking in Laura’s assertion, when a servant announced that the magistrate was awaiting the gentlemen downstairs. The three men hastily took their leave of the ladies and joined the magistrate in the same room as the day before.
The magistrate hurried into his explanation. “After questioning Creeley, I believe the fellow’s role did not go beyond delivering the letter, and starting the rumour that the young lady was pursuing a gentleman.”
“So he has no clue as to the identity of the letter writer?”
“No persuasion could produce otherwise. He understood the letter to have been directed on by Mr. Whichale, who sent it to Creeley with his servant, Jem.”
“Why did Creeley spread such a mischievous rumour about my sister?” asked Edward.
“Mr. Whichale instructed Jem to plant that idea, claiming it would save the lady’s reputation.”
“An unsatisfactory explanation! Did you ask how the letter arrived at Mr. Whichale’s house?”
“Jem would probably not have seen the delivery, for he lives in the stables, coming into the kitchen for his meals. The letter was apparently delivered by a messenger, who rode off at once.”
“It may have been written in Mr. Whichale’s house!” said the captain.
“Just as Miss Morrison suggested,” said Mr. Templeton.
“Perfectly possible,” said the magistrate, eyes lighting up. “A clever lady! A smudged crossing out would be enough to suggest a redirection.”
The gentleman passed on their news of Tom and his mother to the magistrate.
“This is bad indeed,” said he.
“I witnessed the signing of a document at the old Mr. Whichale’s deathbed, the night he died,” said Mr. Templeton.
The magistrate leapt up. “What! I will away to Longpan at once. There may be no time to lose,” he said.
“Suspicions may have been aroused there already,” said Edward.
“Creeley was seen riding that way yesterday—he persuaded his master to let him borrow an old nag, so he could visit a dying uncle!”
“There seems to be many such uncles about,” said Mr. Templeton, drily.
“May I accompany you?” said Edward.
“I see no reason why not. You three gentlemen are my witnesses to the events in September.”
“We shall prepare at once.”
“Excellent! Can you meet me in a quarter of an hour, at the top of Broad Street? I will bring the constable.”
CHAPTER 42
WHEN TOLD THE GENTLEMEN WERE to accompany the magistrate to Longpan, Laura felt greatly cheated of the adventure. She watched through the window, as the men cantered up the street to their rendezvous.
“It is my mystery as much as anyone’s. How I wish I could go with them!”
“So you shall, my dear,” said the countess.
Laura turned in surprise, and Elspeth cried, “Impossible, your ladyship!”
“A young lady cannot gallop about the countryside, a pistol at the ready, but she might take a gentle excursion, by carriage, in a similar direction.”
“The occasion may prove ill fit for the presence of ladies,” said Elspeth.
“I do hope so! My position will afford your sister immunity from talk, my dear.”
Laura’s eyes glowed. “I shall be very happy to accompany you.”
“I would not miss this for all the world!” cried the countess. “Ah, do I hear the carriage?”
“It is ordered? I shall be in agonies of fear every moment,” said Elspeth.
“You must stay behind, poor love.” Lady Clarydon patted her friend’s cheek. “Mrs. Bell, come or we shall be short of a widow. Ladies, let us don our coats and bonnets.”
“Why am I singled out as unfit for the journey?” sniffed Elspeth. “I am every bit as courageous as my sister!”
“Then I deem you worthy,” said the countess, laughing. “Make haste, for I do not like to be so far behind the gentlemen.”
Shortly, the ladies entered the blue barouche, and a maid hurried out with a picnic basket, placing it under Mrs. Bell’s seat. In a matter of minutes, the horses were struggling up the hill to the Axminster road.
“Was there ever such a frightening adventure?” said the countess. “I am quite diverted.”
“We will, of course, keep a ladylike distance?” said Elspeth.
“Are you not as consumed with curiosity as I?”
“Naturally, my dear. We are all delighted to partake of these thrills, as ladies do—watching the gentlemen from a distance.”
“Like perching on a hillside to watch the hunt?” said Laura.
The countess was vastly amused. “We might each put on an elegant habit, mount a great hunter and urge him on, to overtake the gentlemen,” said Lady Clarydon.
“It would be wonderful, I suppose, for the more hardy of our sex,” said Elspeth, “but unlikely to add to our allure in society.”
“Like the Melmont sisters,” the countess said, with a peal of laughter. “I recall watching them thunder into the field, and Lady Eliza had the boldness to pass all the gentlemen in the hunt!”
Elspeth put her hand to her heart in horror.
“The silly girl,” said the countess. “How I cheered her on!”
“The sisters are unmarried still, for all their excellent connections,” said Elspeth.
“We will have our little adventure and remain in favour with the gentlemen,” replied her friend, always on
e to have the best of everything. “Now, Miss Laura, pray tell us why the goodwife, Mrs. Whichale, may have written that abominable epistle.”
“Some person wished to separate Mr. Templeton from me. We do not know the reason. This person went further, seeking to discredit me, and to drive both of us from the district.”
“Perhaps a jealous rival!” said the countess, with a certain relish.
“Mrs. Whichale is hardly that!” said Elspeth.
“Let us say there is a jealous rival,” said Laura. “How do we then explain Mr. Whichale’s lies to my brother and Sir Richard, when they asked if Mr. Templeton came to the house?”
“Well …” said Elspeth.
“I doubt they cared anything for Mr. Templeton or for me,” said Laura. “We must take a new perspective to see the motive for keeping us apart.”
“You mean that we have been concentrating on the disruption of the friendship itself, as the motive?” said Mrs. Bell. “Instead, the underlying reason might be wholly unconnected with Mr. Templeton or you?”
“You clever little person!” said the countess. “Have you penetrated Miss Morrison’s thoughts?”
“No—indeed not,” said Mrs. Bell.
Laura looked sidelong at her, surmising that the lady had come to a conclusion similar to her own.
“I shall save my little theory, for the present, lest I defame the innocent,” said Laura.
“I call that very unfair,” said the countess.
“It seems so obvious!” said Laura.
“Not to me,” said Lady Clarydon. She opened the picnic hamper. “Won’t you have a piece of cake, Miss Morrison?”
Laura took the slice of fruit cake, and turned to look out at the passing fields as she ate it. She knew not to which parts of her journal the countess was privy; she now enjoyed tormenting her with a secret.
The gentlemen, accompanied by the constable, had stopped to refresh themselves at the Crossroads Inn near Longpan. The landlady informed them that she had some of her famous pies in the oven, but they could not wait for them, and contented themselves with cold meats from the previous day’s dinner.
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