The Lovegrove Hermit

by Rosemary Craddock

  ‘All her heroes have flashing eyes,’ I said, ‘and they are all intolerably noble. It’s no use trying to bring a little reality into her inventions. She’ll go her own way in the end and I’m sure her readers would be very disappointed if her bandit hero was short and coarse and smelt of garlic.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. She retained a third sketchbook which belonged to a friend of mine who was killed in the Pyrenees. He was very good at drawing people: peasants, guerrillas, pretty dancers, ragged urchins, muleteers – anyone at all picturesque, so she may be able to make use of that.’

  ‘Meanwhile, before I tie up the parcel for you, could I see your sketches?’

  ‘Of course, but they are mainly dull pictures of fortifications and terrain.’

  We sat on the sofa and went through his sketchbooks together. He did not launch into descriptions of campaigns but added a detail here and there:

  ‘Talavera – the battlefield; very flat and dull! Salamanca ditto; nothing exciting could happen in such a place.’

  His work was careful and meticulous but, as he admitted, competent rather than talented.

  ‘Badajos,’ he said quietly, shuffling through some of the loose papers. ‘That’s the walls before the siege – this other one is very rough and shows one of the breaches after we captured the city.’

  ‘Is that where Harry O’Neill died?’

  He nodded. ‘And he’s buried nearby with other officers. I’m sorry – does that distress you?’

  I shook my head. ‘“Old unhappy far-off things and battles long ago?” It doesn’t cause pain any more, only sadness.’

  We sat companionably talking for the next half-hour until we were interrupted by Lady Denby, who came charging in from her study.

  ‘What, are you still here, Colonel Hartley? I thought you were going on to Ashdale.’

  ‘So I am, but there is no hurry. My conversation with Miss Tyler here is more amusing and interesting than anything Ashdale has to offer.’

  ‘I see.’ She regarded me narrowly. ‘It’s nearly time for luncheon, will you stay?’

  He declined the invitation and said he would go up to see Sir Ralph for ten minutes and then ride on to Ashdale where he could transact his business in the afternoon after getting a bite to eat at the Unicorn. He smiled at me and took his leave.

  ‘Well,’ said Amelia Denby, ‘you seem to know how to engage the interest of the military.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I have some knowledge of the life.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked interested but I told her no more.

  A few minutes later, after her ladyship had gone back to her study, it occurred to me that I had not told Colonel Hartley about the ‘apparition’ supposedly seen in the park. I went out into the entrance hall just as he was coming downstairs. He hailed me cheerfully and informed me that Sir Ralph seemed much better and was complaining about his food.

  ‘That’s always a good sign,’ he said. ‘I told him not to start eating beefsteaks but to stick to lighter meals for a little longer. I don’t see why he can’t have fish or eggs but I suppose the doctor will have the last word. He told me about Rowland but I already knew – in fact I’ve suspected some time that there was a woman in the case – I’ve seen him lurking around Ashdale looking furtive on more than one occasion.’

  ‘You are very observant. There was something I forgot to tell you – I don’t suppose it’s of any great importance but I think you ought to know.’

  When I told him about the phantom hermit his reaction surprised me as he seemed to take it seriously.

  ‘Surely you don’t think it was a ghost?’

  ‘No, of course not but if it wasn’t a figment of the girl’s imagination then it may well be of significance.’

  At that moment Mrs Thorpe came into the hall. ‘Ah, there you are, Colonel Hartley!’ she cried. ‘And Miss Tyler – I hope I haven’t interrupted a tête-à-tête.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, ‘I was just telling the Colonel about the maid thinking she saw Brother Caspar’s ghost.’

  ‘Silly creature! They are all superstitious. Colonel, may I have a word? Excuse me dear,’ she smirked.

  I particularly disliked being addressed as ‘dear’ by a patronizing woman whose alliance with an ugly old man apparently entitled her to look down on me. She drew the Colonel to one side and spent some time murmuring in his ear. I saw his face change, then she attempted to squeeze his arm, encountered an empty sleeve and hastily snatched her hand away; then she recovered and patted him on the shoulder in a familiar fashion.

  ‘What did she want?’ I enquired when she had gone.

  ‘You don’t like her, I know.’

  ‘Who does? My brother George has changed from admiration to loathing but won’t tell me why. I’m greatly relieved and I’ve no doubt I’ll get it out of him eventually – he won’t be able to keep it to himself indefinitely.’

  ‘She told me that she possibly had something of great importance to tell me but privacy was essential and she hoped to see me later when we can be alone.’

  ‘Take care,’ I said. ‘Having lost George she may set her cap at you.’

  ‘I’ll be on my guard. I’ve dealt with surprise attacks before. But I really must go now. I’m glad you’ll be here a little longer.’

  I hastily picked up the parcel of books and papers which he had left on the hall table and preceded him through the front door. Then I insisted on putting them in his saddle-bag for him.

  He smiled and thanked me. ‘You think of everything. I’m beginning to wonder what I’d do without you. Goodbye, my dear.’

  He rode off up the drive towards the gate. His final words with the last affectionate expression had taken me by surprise. They were little more than courtesy – quite slight and trivial yet they set my heart pounding.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The night was thundery again. I lay in bed a long time, unable to sleep, seeing the room illuminated by sudden flashes of lightning and counting the seconds to the next rumble of thunder, which came nearer and nearer. There were other noises too; creaking floorboards, footsteps, low voices and the opening and closing of doors, as though the whole house was restless and all its occupants on the move.

  The storm broke with great ferocity but gradually ran its course and finally rolled away, leaving behind heavy, drumming rain. I slept at last, shallowly and fitfully, only to be woken by another sound. At first I thought the storm had returned but the noise that woke me was not like thunder – more like a soft, heavy thudding within the house. I heard doors opening, voices calling and then a shrill scream.

  Hastily I jumped out of bed, snatched up my dressing gown and ran to the door. I found Sophie standing in the passage outside.

  ‘What was it, Aunt Charlotte? There was the strangest sound, like something heavy tumbling – as though someone had thrown a sack of potatoes downstairs.’ She was closer to the truth than either of us imagined.

  The main staircase at Lovegrove was of oak, well polished and uncarpeted. The hall below was paved with ancient flagstones. Most of the house’s occupants had been raised from their sleep and we gathered on landing and stairs in a variety of dressing gowns and shawls. Those who had lighted candles lent the flames to those who had not and a sinister, flickering glow illuminated the scene.

  At the foot of the stairs, lying on the flagstones in a curiously twisted position was a body in a white nightgown. For a few seconds I could scarcely think who it might be. Then I saw the mane of dark hair, the small bare feet, the plump arms with dimpled elbows. It was Louisa Thorpe. Lady Denby was leaning over her, trying to rouse her.

  ‘Louisa – wake up, dear. Speak to me. Bring water, someone, and sal volatile. She’s quite unconscious. Brandy too – and hurry!’

  My brother George had gone down to join her and more candles were brought from adjoining rooms. Despite his occasional foolishness he was not lacking in acumen and he had the merit of keeping his head in a crisis.

  ‘She’
s not unconscious, she’s dead,’ he said gravely. ‘There’s a nasty wound on her head and blood on the floor. She must have hit the stone with some force.’ He bent and felt her pulse. ‘It could be she broke her neck in the fall,’ he added. ‘You’d better send for your doctor to certify the cause of death.’

  ‘She can’t be dead!’ cried Lady Denby. ‘She can’t be! I’m sure she’ll revive if we apply a few appropriate remedies. And Louisa, don’t lie there like that. What were you doing, wandering about in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I expect she was disturbed by the storm,’ said George. ‘Perhaps she thought she heard a strange noise and came to the top of the stairs to see and missed her footing on the half-landing.’

  I thought it was odd she hadn’t put on a dressing gown or at least thrown a shawl round her shoulders but it was a warm night and perhaps she had amorous intentions. I could imagine her slipping through George’s door: ‘Oh, Mr Tyler, I am so frightened – I have always been terrified of thunderstorms.’ But there were two things wrong with this theory: there would be no need for her to go downstairs and the storm was over when she fell.

  Lady Denby insisted on Louisa being carried to her room and placed on her bed. The room was near the top of the stairs and next but one to mine. The door stood open and I went in and found the chamber candlestick unlit by her bed so I used my own candle to light it. A tinderbox lay beside it – why hadn’t she used it? Perhaps there had been no time, but it was hardly surprising she had slipped in the darkness.

  Another thing I noticed: Louisa Thorpe had been sleeping in a double bed with two pillows and a bolster. One of the pillows was covered by a linen case with a heavy lace border; the other pillowcase was missing.

  It seemed obvious to me from the lolling head of the dead woman that she had indeed broken her neck, though there was also a patch of bloody, matted hair on her head that showed the site of a violent blow. Oddly enough I was not nearly so upset by Louisa Thorpe’s demise as I had been by the death of the hermit. Perhaps it was because I was surrounded by other people and my brother’s calmness was reassuring: also – I had to admit it – because I disliked the woman so much.

  Lady Denby despatched a manservant to fetch Dr Stringer and proceeded to try all the usual methods of reviving an unconscious person. I fetched Mrs Thorpe’s mirror from her dressing table and held it to her nose and mouth.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘it’s quite clear.’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Lady Denby, holding it so close that it was immediately clouded by her own breath.

  ‘Nonsense – she’s still alive!’

  There followed a series of ridiculous attempts to restore Louisa Thorpe to life. Much as I had disliked the woman I did not like to see her subjected to these futile efforts; far better to cover her with a sheet and await the doctor. But Lady Denby had to have her way. She snatched a feather from one of Louisa’s bonnets and set fire to it, hoping the fumes wafted past her friend’s nose might rouse her. She chafed her hands, bathed her brow with cold water, tried to force brandy between her lips, called for mustard poultices which were not forthcoming and finally, exhausted by her efforts and with hopes at last extinguished, she collapsed sobbing at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Did anyone suffer so many tragedies in so short a space?’ she wailed. ‘First the hermit, then Sir Ralph, then Rowland, now Louisa – all gone!’

  ‘I’m not gone,’ said a voice from the doorway.

  ‘Oh, Ralphy, I’m so desolate!’ she cried, rushing to enfold him in a smothering embrace.

  ‘Poor Melly, you’ve had a terrible time,’ he said, patting her soothingly.

  She recovered a little and at once took charge of his welfare. ‘You ought not to be out of bed, Ralphy – go back to it at once.’

  ‘I’m all right, just a little weak and shaky and that’s due to being bled and not having enough to eat. I take it Louisa fell downstairs. What was she doing in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Just what we were all wondering,’ said George. ‘Where was she going? What had she heard?’

  Sir Ralph was persuaded to return to bed but the rest of us found it impossible despite the fact that it was after three in the morning. I suggested to Sophie that she really ought to go and lie down but she declared she could not rest.

  ‘I’m wide awake now. I can’t possibly sleep again, there’s too much going on.’

  Elinor disappeared, however. She had not said a word.

  Dr Stringer arrived at last looking decidedly weary and ill-tempered. He confirmed what we already knew – that Mrs Thorpe had broken her neck and had a severe contusion on the side of her head.

  ‘Probably some more broken bones, I shouldn’t wonder, but I can’t say more until I have a proper look in daylight. You’d better get Colonel Hartley over here tomorrow and he’ll inform the coroner.’

  ‘Not another post-mortem and inquest?’ cried Lady Denby. ‘Oh, the shame and horror! It’s more than I can bear! And what about her family? If only Frank hadn’t gone away! Louisa’s parents are dead but I suppose I could contact her eldest sister. The one who married a clergyman. That’s Mrs Lawrence, Frank’s mother. She must be told. I think Louisa had her address written somewhere – she was writing her a letter the other day. What a dreadful shock for the poor woman – not that I know much about her. They were all girls in that family and she was the eldest and Louisa the youngest so they were never really close. But at times like these, blood is thicker than water.’

  ‘You don’t know where the nephew is?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘No, he went up to London. He’ll be very upset – he was very attached to his aunt – more so than to his mother.’

  As it was now nearly four in the morning, Dr Stringer was asked to spend the rest of the night in the house as it was hardly worth his making the journey home. We all repaired to our rooms to await the morning. A servant was despatched before breakfast to inform Colonel Hartley of the night’s tragedy and to ask him to come over as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We were eating breakfast when Colonel Hartley arrived. At least, the Tyler family ate breakfast; our hosts both had trays taken up to their rooms. I at once ran out into the hall to meet our visitor, followed by my brother.

  ‘I’m thinking of renting a room here,’ smiled the Colonel, ‘and you must forgive me for appearing flippant but I have never before encountered such a series of events. If it weren’t so tragic it would be almost comical. But first, I’d like to talk to you and hear what you experienced last night. Then I’ll have a word with Dr Stringer and view the remains. Where did the accident take place?’ Then he added, speaking to me in an undertone, ‘Assuming it was an accident.’

  We showed him exactly where Mrs Thorpe was found. I provided him with a sketch I had made before breakfast showing the position of the body. Lady Denby suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs striking a dramatic attitude with the back of her right hand pressed to her forehead and the left clutching her heart.

  ‘Dear Colonel Hartley, I have supped full of horrors! That you should be called on yet again to investigate the dreadful events at this unhappy house! It is beyond all endurance!’

  ‘If you’d please come down, ma’am, perhaps you can tell me what you witnessed as I understand you were one of the first people on the scene.’

  ‘Indeed, it was I who raised the alarm. I was unable to sleep owing to the violence of the storm so I lit my candles on the little desk in my room and devoted an hour to writing. I was disturbed by the sound of someone falling and I took up a candle and went to see what was happening. I could see my poor friend lying at the foot of these stairs: immobile – shattered – life extinguished!’ Her voice choked and she came gliding downstairs, taking care to hold onto the banisters with one hand.

  Dr Stringer emerged from the library, where he had been sleeping on the sofa, looking bleary-eyed and unshaven.

  ‘Oh, poor Dr Stringer!’ cried Lady Denby. ‘You look in need of
hot water and a razor. I’ll see they are provided. You can use my room now I have risen. Then there’s plenty to eat and drink set out in the breakfast room.’

  The doctor exchanged a few words with Colonel Hartley, who assured him that there was no great need for haste, and he was conducted upstairs by her ladyship, who promised to provide him with one of Sir Ralph’s razors.

  ‘I’d rather take a look first on my own,’ said Colonel Hartley. ‘I don’t find the good doctor altogether helpful. If you’d come with me I’d be grateful for your help.’

  He addressed George and me but my brother, to my relief, excused himself, anxious to return to his breakfast and not too keen to see Louisa again, dead or alive.

  ‘I’m sure Charlotte will be more use to you than I could be,’ he said. ‘She was helping Lady Denby from the first.’

  The Colonel and I went up to Louisa Thorpe’s room together. The corpse was now decently draped in a sheet. I pointed out the oddities I had observed: the fact she had not lit a candle, the missing pillowcase and the fact she had not put on her dressing gown or shawl.

  ‘I did wonder if she was going to make a last attempt on my brother,’ I said, ‘perhaps pretending to be frightened by the storm, but it was over before she had the fall and she was nowhere near his room. No one has any idea what she was doing prowling about the house in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I don’t think it matters much. I think the missing pillowcase could prove more important.’

  ‘Why?’