“How you terrify me!” said Elspeth.
Laura smiled at the way her sister’s terror took on an appearance of wide-eyed curiosity and excitement. She continued. “Imagine that on his deathbed the old man writes a new will, perhaps cutting out nephew Whichale altogether. The only witness is a man who is a stranger to the district. Mr. Whichale intends to destroy the new will but his plans are endangered when he discovers that someone else knows that Mr. Templeton came to his house the night his uncle died.”
“You!” said Mrs. Bell. “If he merely keeps you apart from Mr. Templeton, you may still tell others the truth. He must discredit you.”
“A dreadful theory! Yet it has a ring of truth!” said Elspeth.
“Mr. Whichale suspects that Mr. Templeton is in love with you,” said the countess. “He racks his brain for a way to keep you apart, with no communication ever again.”
“The letter!” A cry of agony interrupted them and the ladies all turned to Elspeth. “Laura!” she said. “You thought that I wrote the letter. How could you?”
Laura looked at her coolly. “We had no notion of a forged letter until the other day. However, I confess that your secret letter-writing made me wonder if you had also written to Mr. Templeton in order to put him off.”
“I would never drive off an eligible suitor, Laura.”
“I thank you for that kindness,” said Laura, too happy to be cross any longer.
She caught sight of a rider approaching from the direction the carriage had taken. As he drew near, she saw the horseman to be the constable. He slowed to turn in at the gate. “He has lost them,” she said.
In a moment or two, the constable appeared again, riding this time in the direction of the main road.
Mr. Templeton emerged from the gate and strode up to the carriage, before realising it was empty. The ladies observed him from the grassy verge. The countess giggled, as did Elspeth. Laura held her breath so as not to laugh. He turned and discovered them.
“Countess, ladies, we are almost done here.”
“Was anyone shot, sir?” asked the countess.
“The shot was a signal pre-arranged by Mr. Whichale, to tell his wife to flee without him. He became fearful of discovery when the captain and Sir Richard came enquiring after me, and set up his plan then. When he heard that both Miss Morrison and I were returned to Lyme, he was ready.” He looked quickly, with warm intensity, at Laura.
“Yet still he did not give up his ill-gotten gains,” said Laura.
“You have solved the puzzle, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “He destroyed a will that cut him out?”
“I believe he planned to fortuitously find the new will, but only if all hope of keeping the estate was gone. He left it too late.”
“The document you witnessed left all to Mr. Reece?” said Laura.
“The bulk of the fortune, yes. The constable has gone to Axminster to bring a conveyance and guards to take the criminal to prison.”
“May God forgive him,” said Mrs. Bell.
“Will he hang, sir?” said Elspeth.
“Were he not a ‘gentleman’, if one may so call him, then he would almost certainly face death. Clemency is rarely extended in cases for involving forgery, I believe. Much depends upon young Reece’s testimony. Mr. Grahame says the best Whichale can hope for is transportation to Botany Bay.”
“The Antipodes!” cried Elspeth. “The society there would not be to my taste.”
“Did he comprehend the risks before setting out to cheat his young relation of his rightful fortune?” asked Mrs. Bell.
“Greed overrode caution and every Christian principle. Yet Mr. Whichale seems convinced of his own moral right to the property. We heard him rail about young Reece’s cunning and avarice!”
“He attributes his own evil tendencies to his relation,” said Elspeth, with a saintly sigh.
Mr. Templeton agreed; then caught a glimpse of laughter in Laura’s eyes. In a second an image flashed into his mind of all the coming pleasure, the joy of learning to know her. He put the feeling aside, as he must, and turned to the countess.
“Would you be happy to return to Lyme, your ladyship?”
“Only if you promise me that I do not miss any more thrilling dramas,” said Lady Clarydon.
“The magistrate wishes only to finish writing an account of the events, after which we will depart.”
“I am quite done in,” said the countess. “The solving of mysteries is so very tiring.”
At last they all reassembled in their dining parlour in the Three Cups. Rested after the ardours of the day, the countess presided happily over an excellent dinner.
“I was very nearly right,” Laura said. “Mr. Whichale did rely upon his own household to provide the forger.”
“You ought not to take pride in deciphering the mind of a criminal!” said Elspeth.
“I should have delighted to have been his nemesis, after the devastation he wreaked upon my life,” Laura said.
“You were very clever, Laura,” said Sir Richard. “You did not wish to take the women in charge?”
“A citizen’s arrest? I had not the heart for it,” said Laura. “Mrs. Whichale is punished enough, as it is. She keenly felt her husband’s disgrace.”
“You are so kind-hearted, Laura,” said Elspeth.
“I believe I am.”
“What awaits the maid Perkins, if she is captured, Captain?” asked the countess.
“Whichale says he forced her to write the letter under threat of violence. However, he is confident he has the women well hidden. It may be that already they are on board some ship heading beyond the reach of the law.”
“He has a certain honour, then.”
“He protects his own family and servants, even though it may endanger his own life. He similarly exonerates his butler; it seems he told Moreley that his sick wife would die in the gutter if he did not keep silent.”
The countess turned to Mr. Templeton. “Would you say Mr. Whichale has some elements of goodness?” she said.
“I believe that all but the most hardened criminals have not closed their ears to their conscience altogether,” he said. “He saw the new will as the theft of his rights by young Reece. So I imagine he embarked upon his career of deception on an impulse when enraged.”
“He is certainly a man easily fired up,” said Sir Richard. “He saw no way out once he had begun.”
“He did not pretend to discover the new will?” asked Mrs. Bell.
“It seems that he did not destroy it thinking that he could fall back upon ignorance—after all, he was not in the room when it was signed.”
“But a taste of his ill-gotten gains and he could not give them up,” said Elspeth, with a dramatic toss of her head. There was a brief silence.
“Laura, I was startled out of my wits when you said that Mrs. Whichale had written the letter,” Sir Richard said. “What made you think so?”
“You did, Richard,” she said, enjoying his surprise. “You are always so careful of others’ feelings and took note of the lady’s fear. Yet Mr. Templeton portrayed Mrs. Whichale as serene before the strange events began to unfold.”
“I see your meaning,” said the countess. “Mrs. Whichale was perfectly tranquil before she knew of her husband’s wicked plans.”
“Her conscience made her fearful only when my brother and cousin arrived to investigate.”
The countess looked sidelong at the baronet, an arch smile lurking about her mouth. “Let us not forget that Sir Richard commonly reduces ladies to a state of trembles.”
“How often have I wished it was so!” said Sir Richard, laughing so happily at the joke, although it was at his expense, that everyone joined in. As the chuckles died down, all were startled by an attack of giggles from none other than Mrs. Bell. They turned to her, surprise writ large on every face. Laura saw the embarrassment in Mrs. Bell’s eyes, her horror at drawing attention to herself in this unseemly way. It was clear that she
tried to stop her laughter and failed.
“Pray excuse me,” she said, rising.
With her handkerchief to her face, she ran out of the room. Every face turned to the baronet, who sat humming dreamily to himself until he perceived their interest and blushed.
“What an extraordinary exhibition!” said Elspeth.
Laura felt she understood. Had Mrs. Bell’s feelings, suppressed in meekness all these years, welled up at last? It charmed Laura that they should do so in an unstoppable fountain of hilarity.
She quickly filled the silence. “It now seems impossible that I believed myself deluded about Mr. Templeton’s very existence.”
“Until you heard of the mysterious letter,” said Mr. Templeton.
“My encounter with that girl was merest chance, yet it turned all my thinking around.”
“We would still have been re-united, without that chance meeting,” said Mr. Templeton. “From the moment I realised that the man on the cliff was your brother, I questioned everything. I hurried to Lyme to search for proof that the letter was not in your hand.”
“How rapidly you then tracked me down!” said Laura.
“I had determined to find you, if I had to comb the kingdom. To see you appear in front of me, two minutes later, took my breath clean away.”
Laura was caught by a sense of emotion so keenly pitched that she was all but overwhelmed. Again there was an instant’s silence in the room, broken by the footman, who opened the door to announce a visitor.
“Mrs. Morrison.”
Evalina appeared in the doorway, her fresh comeliness seemingly untouched by the fatigue of travel. There was a scrape of chairs as the gentlemen rose. Evalina had removed her bonnet, and her lacy cap sat among her black curls. The footman helped her to remove her travelling coat. Its practical brown wool peeled off and she emerged from its husk, all white muslin and lace. The warmth of the room had sent a flush to her cheeks.
“My dear Evalina, why did you not write? I would have come to escort you,” said Edward, going to her. He raised her hand to his lips.
“And miss your surprise?”
The countess gave the girl an approving look. Her own peerless beauty was unchallenged as ever but the girl’s looks delighted her: marriage, and the knowledge that went with it, had enhanced her attractions.
Laura watched her brother and his wife together, and saw at last how perfect Evalina was for him. Without knowing the cause, she saw that there was some subtle beginning of maturity in Evalina’s feelings for Edward. That degree of imbalance in their abilities would never have suited Laura, but she understood that another kind of union could benefit Edward in ways she herself could not imagine. She saw that, already, her brother’s wife began to know him in ways a sister or friend could not.
CHAPTER 46
THERE WAS A LIGHT BREEZE blowing up the street from the sea the next morning, when six people emerged from the inn to take a stroll before breakfast.
It seemed difficult to hit upon a destination that pleased all the ladies. Laura wanted to walk on the Cobb; Mrs. Bell wished to quietly enjoy the view of the harbour; whereas Mrs. Morrison declared she had been desperate to view the Pinney ever since seeing Laura’s sketches of it. The gentlemen had no choice but to offer their protection each to one lady.
The captain and his bride quickly disappeared from view, arm in arm, perfectly in step with one another. Evalina had learnt already to avoid tangling her skirts with Edward’s cane.
The baronet stood with Mrs. Bell near the Assembly Rooms, not far from the steps that led to the beach.
“Do you wish to go down upon the sands?” He gestured towards the beach.
Mrs. Bell seemed on the point of speech, but remained silent.
“Let us stroll along here,” he said. “In truth … I care not where we walk.”
“Nor I,” said Mrs. Bell.
They took two or three turns up and down, and Sir Richard drew her hand into his arm, leaving his hand upon hers. They descended the steps, Sir Richard giving her the most careful support. They walked along the damp sand and shingles not far from the water, and stopped. He looked back, noting the tiny imprints left by her boots, alongside his boat-like dents in the sand. He was moved to the core. He bent down to peer beneath her bonnet. She raised her head ever so slightly.
“Oh, Mrs. Bell!” he burst out. “What will you think if I say that I love you—with all my heart? What will you think when I beg you to be my wife!”
She tried to speak, could be seen to struggle for the words.
“Such condescension on your part would be unparalleled …” he said.
“Sir Richard,” she said faintly.
He faced her squarely but, in the struggle between hope and despair, she could see that desperation was already extinguishing his ambition.
“Dear Sir Richard …”
His face appeared to swim downwards through her tears.
“I accept, with gratitude and … and affection!”
“You love me?”
“How did you not know it? The countess has been laughing at me … this age.”
“For how long?”
The lady thought to tell all, but even a woman of her limited experience in the realm of love had sufficient grasp of policy to withhold from him the whole truth. Eventually he might learn that she had loved him since the moment he first permitted her to commence the sweet labour on the banners. However, she would only impart this information after she discovered that his own passion was of at least equal antiquity.
“What does time matter!” she said, allowing romance to do the work of candour.
“It matters not one whit!” He held the little hand nestled on his arm for a few moments, until the sight of children rushing by alerted them to the fact that they were not quite alone.
They wandered back up the street and into the delightful byways of Lyme, where they might hope to meet no one of their acquaintance. There they began the long procedure whereby every past look, every word, must be milked of its significance. Both wondered how soon that ceremony might take place that would transform the poor curate’s widow into Lady Morrison, of Oakmont Manor.
From away on the Cobb, Laura looked across the little bay at the distant figure of her cousin. Something in the baronet’s posture spoke of supplication and she laughed. Mr. Templeton’s eyes followed hers and he said, “The baronet is not wasting his opportunity, think you?”
“What know you of the matter, sir?”
“It takes no great penetration to discover their secret,” he said.
“Even without the ‘extraordinary exhibition’ noted by my sister!”
Mr. Templeton held up his hands like paws, and adopted the expression of puppy-like devotion he had seen upon Sir Richard’s face when he looked upon the lady of his heart’s choice. Laura burst into a parody of Mrs. Bell’s giggles, only to be caught up in laughter of her own, a wave of delight at her release from every dark mood and doubt that had plagued her for two long months. Joy was shot through with wonder at how close she had come to losing all. They laughed, for a moment only, before seriousness began to overtake them.
“You know that I love you,” he said.
Laura made a brief sound, between a gasp and laughter. She did not answer.
“You know not how well,” he said.
“Do not speak so here!” she said, teasing.
He understood her at once, but said, “Not on the Cobb? It is a little risky, certainly, where we need to take care of our footing.”
“I listened to you once by the sea at Lyme, sir, and you did not keep your promise.”
“What will it take to convince you that I am no phantasm?” he said.
Mr. Templeton took her gloved hand and held it pressed against his heart. She acutely felt the touch, their nearness.
“You are real, certainly. Just come to me in another place altogether, then I will believe you.”
“Ah, another place? I prefer to secure you before
we go there. I fear you may like me less away from the seaside.”
“Now you tease me,” she said, smiling.
“I offer you the whole of our lives to punish me for it.”
“I shall take advantage of the opportunity for vengeance.”
“So you will marry me?”
She nodded, curtly, her hand still held against him, and she looked away, before saying, “With great happiness.”
Her joy was so keenly pitched, she scarcely trusted him with it, but gazed across the bay, which had reflected so many of her moods. On this day, its sparkling cold waters danced to the call of the gulls, the essence of the air was purified by salt—which tasted oddly sweet on her lips. The touch of his hand enfolding hers tingled along her arm, and filled her with warmth. The sensation of his gaze on the side of her cheek was drawing her to turn to him. She did, and they stood there, together, sure-footed atop the breakwater, which angled precipitously down to the sea.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my wonderful family—my thanks. I cannot enumerate all the ways in which you support and encourage me. To my fine sons, James and Matthew, my appreciation.
For their valuable comments during the writing of this book, I would like to thank Jeanne Sayers, and fellow writers—Irina Lemaire, Alexandra Alt, Stephen Davenport, Mark Owens and Carole Stevenson.
Michelle L. Zafron, at the University of Buffalo, earned my heartfelt gratitude in going beyond the demands of duty in directing my reading on medical theories of the era in which my book is set.
My friends at the Jane Austen Society of Adelaide helped me in many ways with their knowledge and encouragement. Madge Mitton, especially, has been just a call away with answers that I can trust.
At Random House Australia, I thank my publisher, Jeanne Ryckmans, and editors, Sophie Ambrose and Nicola O’Shea, for all their understanding and help.
Helen Halstead was born in Adelaide, South Australia, in 1950, and works as a teacher. In 2004, Helen achieved success when she self-published A Private Performance, a sequel to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. This was published to acclaim by Random House in 2005. The Imaginary Gentleman is her second novel.
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