‘Two rooms instead of one, how provoking!’ cried Lady Denby. ‘Rowland must be moved, though I’d hate to send him back to that hussy he’s married.’
‘Why not put Mrs Lawrence in her sister’s room?’ suggested Elinor.
‘What? The room where she died?’
‘She was already dead when she was taken back to her room – besides, lots of people sleep in rooms where their relatives died,’ said Elinor. ‘It can’t stay empty forever and it’s one of the best bedrooms in the house. There’s the Tapestry Room, of course….’
‘The Tapestry Room? Oh no, not there – it’s not at all comfortable. I suppose she could go in Louisa’s room and her son in Rowland’s but then, where do we put Rowland?’
‘The Blue Room?’
‘No, he might as well stay where he is and Mr Lawrence can have the Blue Room. It’s very small but young men aren’t usually all that fussy, especially if they’ve been away to school.’
That being settled, Mrs Thorpe’s room and the Blue Room were prepared for the expected guests. We used the breakfast room for all our meals as the dining room was otherwise occupied and this proved perfectly adequate as our numbers were so much reduced. Sir Ralph, who had been hoping to come downstairs, decided to stay where he was so that he could avoid the visitors. He had decided they were ‘not his sort.’ He did, however, promise to attend the funeral at the parish church.
There was some debate as to whether Louisa’s dead husband’s family should be invited but as Mr Thorpe had been thirty years older than his wife they were few and elderly and lived a hundred miles away. Lady Denby decided it was enough to write and inform them of Louisa’s death. In any case the dead woman had not liked any of her in-laws, who strongly disapproved of Mr Thorpe’s marriage. Louisa had deeply resented the fact that he had left them all his fortune. I wondered if there was a particular reason for this; perhaps he was aware of a certain tendency to disregard her marriage vows.
‘If only Frank would return!’ exclaimed Lady Denby. ‘He was like a son to her. But we have no means of finding him in time. He said he was going away for a few days and then coming back. Suppose he returns on the day of the funeral? Poor boy – what a shock!’
No more apparitions were seen, though two of the maids reported mysterious footsteps being heard, creaking floorboards and the like. The cook complained of petty pilfering from the larder, but that happened occasionally and with so many people traipsing through the house there were bound to be irregularities.
Lady Denby had arrayed herself in deepest black, which I thought excessive as she was not related to the deceased, but her reaction to all the events of her life was nothing if not dramatic.
‘All got up like the Tragic Muse,’ said Elinor unsympathetically.
The local vicar, the Revd Amos Phillips, did not get on with the Denbys. At least, he would probably have got on well enough with Sir Ralph, but her ladyship was in charge of the household’s religious welfare. I am not sure what her beliefs were but I am sure they were not conventional. Though she and her family attended the parish church fairly regularly, ‘to set a good example’, I fancy her taste ran to mysterious monks, renegade priests, walled-up nuns and sinister abbots rather than dull English vicars and curates.
Mr Phillips was elderly, scholarly, shy and retiring, as well as being extremely deaf. Rather than be bullied and hectored by Lady Denby he kept out of her way.
On this occasion, however, he felt obliged to visit the priory and offer his condolences to the family, at the same time discussing arrangements for the forthcoming funeral. Lady Denby asked me to be present during the interview.
‘Do help me to talk to Mr Phillips, dear. He is so very hard of hearing and I find it so tedious to repeat things. We must make sure he has understood all the important details – the small talk doesn’t matter.’
I thought he must be profoundly deaf indeed if her ladyship’s booming voice did not penetrate his ears.
‘I understand the unfortunate Mrs Thorpe was a friend of many years’ standing,’ he began gently.
‘She was my friend from schooldays. Sir Ralph and the others didn’t really know her.’
‘Perhaps you can give me some idea of the arrangements required for the funeral,’ he continued, ‘though perhaps I ought to see Sir Ralph as he will be the chief mourner.’
I wondered for a moment if Lady Denby would insist on attending the funeral herself in defiance of custom but she did not go that far. Throwing flower petals and making orations at the hermit’s interment were not the same as a proper funeral in church.
‘Well, I’m not at all sure about that;’ said Lady Denby. ‘We are not related after all. He will certainly attend if he is well enough, with my son and perhaps Colonel Hartley, but I am awaiting the arrival of Mrs Thorpe’s sister and her son – I’m not sure which one but the eldest, who was very close to his aunt, is in London and we are unable to contact him. I should point out—’ She broke off abruptly.
‘What’s that?’ she said, startled.
‘What’s what?’ enquired Mr Phillips.
I had heard it too – a sharp crack like a shot from outside – then another.
Lady Denby rose and went to the window. ‘How strange – two men are running towards the priory ruins. I think one of them is Colonel Hartley – yes, and the other is that manservant of his – the one who was in the army with him!’
‘Sam Bates? Then he must have returned!’ I exclaimed, rising to join her.
‘Returned from where? No, I can’t see any more.’
‘I’ll find out what’s going on,’ I offered, glad of a chance to escape.
‘No Miss Tyler, there’s no need – I’m sure we’ll hear about it soon enough. It may be dangerous….’
But I excused myself and left the room. I went through the vestibule to the side door and stood looking in the direction of the priory ruins but I could see nothing, though I heard a few shouts. Presently I ventured out and almost collided with Sam Bates, who was running towards the house. He was red-faced and somewhat out of breath.
‘Get back inside, miss! The Colonel would be very concerned if he knew you were here.’
‘Why? What’s happened? Where is he?’
‘Let’s get you indoors first, miss, and then I’ll tell you.’ He escorted me back into the vestibule.
‘We heard something that sounded like shots,’ I said, ‘two shots – and saw Colonel Hartley and you running towards the ruins.’
‘That’s right, miss. Somebody took a shot at us from the old priory. It carried off the Colonel’s hat and the second one missed him. We ran back before he had time to reload.’
‘And suppose he had other firearms ready loaded?’
‘We had to take that risk. We’re used to being fired at but you don’t expect it in an English park.’
‘Thank God neither of you was hurt. But where is he?’
‘We had a good look round but couldn’t see anyone. Whoever fired the shots had vamoosed, as we used to say in Spain. The Colonel went back to find his hat.’
At that moment he came through the door, bareheaded with his hair even more tousled than usual and his face flushed, which showed up the scar more vividly. Yet his eyes were sparkling and his expression animated.
‘You here!’ he exclaimed. ‘I hope you didn’t venture out.’
‘Not very far,’ I admitted.
‘Oh, you foolish girl, you could have been shot.’
‘He’d already fired at you so I didn’t think I was in much danger – and you were running about, trying to find him. Who was it? Have you any idea at all?’
‘Someone who thinks I know too much. See here!’ he held up his grey hat and showed me two bullet holes. ‘Straight through, and too close for comfort. I can do without an arm but I’m not sure I could manage without a brain.’
If Bates had not been there I think I would have been tempted to throw my arms round his neck, so relieved was I at his escape and so anx
ious for his safety.
‘Sam here found the gunsmith who sold a pair of officer’s pistols to someone from this house. He had a record of the date, the cost and a brief description of the firearms in question. He also recognized the purchaser from one of your sketches. So this, and the letter from Mrs Thorpe, must have the villain worried. He’s aware that I probably have enough evidence to have him arrested but not, I fear, to hang him.’
‘But who?’
‘Presently. All shall be revealed in the best traditions of drama. I think now, Bates, it might be safe enough to fetch our horses and see them stabled here for a while. I was coming to have a word with Sir Ralph and give an account of the latest developments,’ he explained.
When Sam Bates had gone he held open the inner door for me, rather awkwardly as he was still holding his hat and was obliged to perch it on his head for a moment while he turned the handle. These occasional small stratagems and signs of clumsiness touched me to the heart, but seeing my expression he thought I was concerned for his hat.
‘Ruined!’ he said ruefully. ‘And nearly new. If the holes were a bit lower I might have had them hidden by a wider ribbon. No consideration at all, our assailant.’
‘You could have been killed.’
‘Not for the first time in my life. Cheer up, my dear – but it was foolish of you to venture out of doors after you’d heard shots. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again.’
‘I hope the occasion won’t arise. You must admit it doesn’t happen very often.’
‘And we’ll keep quiet about this particular incident. We can make up some story to satisfy Lady Denby – I don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily and I don’t want to put the would-be assassin on his guard.’
‘But you are the one in danger.’
‘Which is something I’m well used to – as is Sam Bates. There’s no need to involve anyone else at present – which is why I’d rather not tell you everything I know at this stage.’
As we entered the main entrance hall we heard a babble of voices and discovered two visitors had just arrived. Lady Denby was there with the vicar beside her and she was greeting a short, stout lady with a high complexion and dark hair streaked with grey. She was dressed in mourning and her face wore a dour expression. Despite being rather plain there was enough of a family resemblance for me to recognize Mrs Thorpe’s sister. A young man stood beside her, obviously the son whom she had informed us would escort her and represent his parents at the funeral.
‘We are so sorry Frank isn’t here but I wondered if you knew where he might be contacted,’ Lady Denby was saying.
‘Frank?’ Mrs Lawrence looked bewildered. ‘Who is Frank?’
‘Oh, of course, I believe you don’t call him that. I know Frank likes his friends to use that name but his family probably don’t. His real name is Frederick, I seem to recall.’
‘I don’t know who you are talking about.’
‘Your son – your eldest son. I understood he was christened Frederick but liked to be called Frank. He was staying here with his Aunt Louisa but he left for London before she had that dreadful accident.’
‘I still don’t know what you mean. This is my eldest son Frederick.’ She indicated the young man beside her. ‘The person you are talking about must be an imposter.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
All was astonishment and consternation. Only Colonel Hartley seemed not at all surprised.
‘But who is this Frank?’ demanded Lady Denby. ‘And why was this deception practised on us?’
‘I think you know,’ I whispered to the Colonel.
‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘but I’m not going to blurt it out in front of this crowd. They’ll get it half right, I’m sure.’
‘I had a letter from Louisa,’ said Mrs Lawrence, ‘and in it she gave the impression that she was staying at Lovegrove on her own. My sister’s morals were her own business but she knew I strongly disapproved of her liaisons. I can only conclude that this so-called Frank Lawrence, who stole our name in order to deceive you, was her latest lover.’
‘But he must have been at least a dozen years younger,’ protested Lady Denby.
‘That made no difference to Louisa,’ sniffed Mrs Lawrence. ‘That’s why we didn’t get on – the more I criticized her behaviour the worse she became so in the end we had little to do with each other.’
‘I feel really hurt by her duplicity,’ complained her ladyship. ‘I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but really – I feel betrayed! And as for that saucy, hypocritical young man – words fail me!’
‘Not for long,’ whispered Colonel Hartley.
The guests were ushered into the library while their luggage was taken upstairs. Mr Phillips was included in the party as the funeral was still under discussion. That left the two of us standing at the side of the entrance hall, apparently unnoticed by either the newcomers or their hostess.
‘Can we find somewhere to talk?’ asked the Colonel.
I led him into a little dark parlour, not much used, where we were unlikely to be interrupted.
‘I think I had better tell you all I know,’ he said, when we were comfortably settled. ‘I have suspected for some time that Frank Lawrence was not all he pretended to be. His real name is Fortescue Rushworth.’
‘Fortescue?’ I burst out laughing.
‘Yes, a silly name but commonplace in his family.’
‘But Rushworth – that was the hermit’s real name.’
‘Yes – they were related – second cousins once removed. I told you James Rushworth was heir to a considerable estate in Devonshire when his uncle died. The old man, in failing health, tried for months to trace him but died before he could find out where he was. The next heir was our friend Frank, who really did prefer to be called by that name, and who can blame him?
‘I wrote to the uncle after Rushworth’s death, not knowing the old man was no more. The family attorney read my letter and then saw a report of the inquest in The Times. The lawyer came to Ashdale as soon as he could.’
‘That would be the man Rowland saw at the Unicorn, asking questions about Lovegrove and mentioning you by name.’
‘Yes, he came to see me. Of course, there was no proof that Frank Lawrence was really Frank Rushworth but it seemed obvious he had used his affair with Mrs Thorpe to gain admission to Lovegrove as an invited guest and take all the time he needed to kill the heir to the Devonshire estate. He could then go down to Devon and present himself as the next heir. There would be nothing to connect him with Lovegrove. Unfortunately for him he can’t go there until he has destroyed any evidence against him. I could at least question his right to the property and that might instigate a more thorough probing into Rushworth’s death.’
‘But how did he find out who the hermit really was and where he was?’
‘Somehow he managed to trace him to Manchester where he’d worked for several years as a tutor to a mill-owner’s sickly son. He was using a false name, of course, but he had money banked under his real name. I’m not sure of the details yet but the Manchester people knew where he’d gone. Frank Rushworth made enquiries about Lovegrove and – again I don’t know how – met Mrs Thorpe, who was only too eager to accept the advances of a handsome young man.’
‘So it was those two I heard in the closet – I’m quite relieved – I feared it was my brother George.’
‘I’m very glad it wasn’t! Anyway he persuaded her – without much difficulty, I imagine – to bring him here in the guise of her nephew.’
‘Do you think she knew of his plans to murder Brother Caspar?’
‘I don’t think so – at least, not at first. Mrs Thorpe may have been promiscuous but however besotted she was with Frank I’m sure she would have drawn the line at aiding and abetting a murderer. She wrote me a letter—’
‘The one she left in the writing-table?’
‘Yes, she told me of her suspicions; she had seen the pistols in his room and wondered what he was ab
out. He didn’t confide in her but she managed to get some information out of him. She found out the connection with the Rushworths of Devon and guessed much of the rest. For all that, she wanted him to stay with her and when he took off for London she no longer trusted him and I think she warned him she was going to put her suspicions in writing to ensure his return.’
‘Do you think she wanted him to marry her?’
‘Oh yes, I think she was insisting on it once he came into his fortune. Your brother was a second string in case her plan failed.’
‘You think she was murdered?’
‘Probably. Frank certainly has an accomplice in this house and I’m not yet sure who it is.’
At that moment the door opened and my brother entered.
‘Oh, there you are – I thought I heard voices. There seems quite a lot going on. Have you seen Sophie?’
‘She’s with Elinor,’ I replied. ‘They’re in Sir Ralph’s room, reading some comedy to him to amuse him.’
‘They seem quite friendly now, those two. I thought at first they weren’t going to get on.’
‘I think Elinor decided Sophie wasn’t just a silly fribble after all and Sophie decided Elinor was rather more than a bluestocking.’
‘Ah well, I suppose they can amuse each other. What’s going on? I understand Mrs Thorpe’s sister has arrived.’
‘Come and sit down and we’ll tell you,’ I said.
Between us the Colonel and I explained what had happened but nothing was said about Frank’s real identity and character.
‘The unmitigated scoundrel!’ exclaimed George, who looked relieved rather than shocked. ‘Now he’s cleared off before it all came to light. What a rogue! Mind you, it’s not quite as bad as I supposed.’ As George still had no idea of the depths of Frank Rushworth’s villainy he could not be referring to murder and mayhem.
‘George,’ I said, ‘I think the time has come for you to tell us what it was you saw concerning Mrs Thorpe. One day you were flirting quite absurdly and the next you were calling her depraved.’
The Lovegrove Hermit Page 14