‘Ah well, that was when I thought Frank Lawrence was her nephew. I went in the library and found them on the sofa together, kissing and – er – rather more than kissing. They were so absorbed in their activities that they didn’t hear me enter and I got out pretty quickly, I can tell you. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. I thought she was having an affair with her nephew and flirting with me to divert attention from her real interest. It’s still pretty bad – bringing a young lover to stay under the roof of her friend – but it’s not as bad as incest.’
I think Colonel Hartley and I tacitly decided not to tell George the full story at this stage; he knew quite enough to be going on with.
‘He seemed such a pleasant fellow too,’ said George wonderingly. ‘I liked him at first. This Mrs Lawrence must be very upset, especially as she’s got her son with her – the very man who was being impersonated.’
‘I think Mrs Lawrence is capable of dealing with any circumstances and her son seems to be a serious, sober young man,’ I said. ‘I don’t think they’ll be unduly distressed.’
This proved to be the case. Colonel Hartley was invited to stay for dinner and it was a solemn meal. Mrs Lawrence was a dour, sarcastic woman who was not at all impressed by Lady Denby’s histrionics. Her son said little, partly through shyness, I thought, but also on account of a tendency to observe rather than participate. He was obviously intelligent and once or twice I caught a trace of sardonic humour. He seemed rather taken with Elinor and was certainly impressed later in the evening with her skill on the piano.
‘I’m not sure music is appropriate in a house of mourning,’ said Mrs Lawrence, determined not to enjoy anything.
‘It’s very serious music,’ declared Lady Denby.
‘I see nothing wrong,’ said Frederick Lawrence, ‘providing there is no frivolity. Serious music can create a suitably solemn and contemplative atmosphere.’
‘Oh well, if you say so,’ his mother conceded.
It would otherwise have been difficult to entertain the Lawrences as conversation was stilted and awkward. Without Colonel Hartley beside me I would have been extremely bored. Even if we sat in silence it was enough for me.
‘Of course,’ Mrs Lawrence observed, ‘Louisa was ten and away at school when I married. We were never close as I was the eldest and there were three other girls in between. She was never like the rest of us – always wild and wilful, even as a child.’
‘Oh yes, she was often in trouble at school,’ recalled Lady Denby. ‘I remember she was caught dropping notes from the window to a handsome young gardener who was tending the grounds. I’m not at all sure he could read but she was quite unrepentant. It was a harmless, girlish prank after all. She was so full of life.’
Lady Denby dabbed her eyes. ‘I can’t believe I’ll never hear her laugh again. And that she should die under my roof – in such tragic circumstances! A terrible shock to us all!’
‘I’m sure it was,’ said Mrs Lawrence, ‘especially as you recently had a suicide on the premises – or so Louisa stated in her letter.’
‘Ah, that was our hermit – poor man! It wasn’t in the house, of course – he had a cave with an adjoining cell in the grounds near the lake to the rear.’
‘He was rather more than a hermit,’ said Colonel Hartley quietly.
‘Of course,’ Lady Denby conceded, ‘he was your friend, wasn’t he?’
‘Friends with a hermit?’ Mrs Lawrence seemed puzzled. ‘I’ve heard about people keeping hermits but I thought they were old vagrants or something of that sort.’
‘Not this one. He was a gallant officer who wished to retire from the world,’ the Colonel informed her.
‘Really? There is no accounting for tastes.’
‘The trouble is,’ Lady Denby continued, dragging the conversation back to its original subject, ‘we don’t know how Louisa came to meet this Frank person. He seemed quite gentlemanlike in appearance and manner – well educated and good-looking.’
‘He would be!’ Mrs Lawrence said derisively. ‘Louisa moved in different circles from me. She liked to mix with rather rackety people – the sort who gamble and go to horse races and dance all night. Not our sort at all. She could have met him anywhere.’
‘That’s the problem. We thought you would know where he was but he’s turned out to be a complete stranger. Even so, I suppose he ought to know what’s happened.’
‘I don’t see why.’ Mrs Lawrence looked disapproving. ‘He was obviously a rogue and a deceiver. By now he’s probably found some other unfortunate woman to tangle in his wiles.’
I thought it only too likely and remembered how once, in the early days of our acquaintance, I too had been attracted by his charm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next morning the funeral took place. Colonel Hartley suggested that I should escort Sophie and Elinor to Shelbourne where we could stay for luncheon and return to Lovegrove for dinner. I was delighted with the idea and so were the girls, who were relieved to escape from the gloom surrounding Mrs Thorpe’s obsequies.
Lady Denby and Mrs Lawrence, assisted by Louisa’s maid, were to spend the morning packing her belongings.
Sir Ralph, who had been coming downstairs for a few hours every day, said he felt well enough to attend the church. Frederick Lawrence, Rowland and George accompanied him. My brother was rather embarrassed by the whole procedure but felt it was his duty to attend.
‘After all,’ he said, ‘I was one of the last friends she had. She was more to be pitied than reviled and there are few enough going to be present.’
Colonel Hartley had decided that as he scarcely knew Mrs Thorpe, he was not obliged to put in an appearance; but to please the Denbys he sent an empty carriage as a mark of respect.
As it was a fine morning and the distance barely a mile I decided we would walk. The Colonel had promised to send us back in his carriage, which by then would have returned from the funeral.
‘Coming here is like going from night to day,’ said Elinor, ‘though the house needs a woman’s touch.’
I knew what she meant; the house was bright, comfortable and orderly but rather shabby and masculine. There were many portraits of officers in redcoats, hanging swords and paintings of battle scenes, and the like, but mercifully none of the ancient weaponry that bedecked Lovegrove Priory. Old General Hartley was in a wheeled chair but as charming and kindly as ever in his bluff, outspoken way. He was very proud of his garden and had himself pushed around by a manservant to show us his favourite flowers and trees. We were followed by several large dogs.
At one point, the girls were inspecting a fountain full of goldfish and the manservant had gone over to explain how the flow of water was controlled. The old general suddenly seized my hand.
‘My dear, don’t take this amiss but this place needs a mistress – a young lady like you. John thinks very highly of you – I’m sure you know that.’
I felt my cheeks burning. ‘He hasn’t said anything – why should he? We’ve only known each other a few weeks.’
‘Quite long enough! I want you to know I’d be more than happy for you to be my daughter.’
I scarcely knew what to say. ‘That’s very kind of you but things must take their course. I’ll be going home soon and I don’t know when – or even if – I’ll ever come again. Our visit hasn’t been an overwhelming success. I believe Lady Denby had some idea of making a match between Rowland and Sophie but of course that came to nothing.’
‘I hope Sophie wasn’t disappointed. That boy’s a useless lump anyway.’
‘Not at all. She’s in no hurry to marry and I’m sure she’ll do better if she waits a few years.’
‘Of course she will! And that girl Elinor – I’ve always felt sorry for her. Sir Ralph’s a good enough fellow but that dreadful wife of his – excuse me, I’m too outspoken, I know you are kin.’
‘I think most people would agree with you. As for being related, it is quite a distant connection and I’d never m
et her before this visit. My brother George last saw her when he was twelve. Apart from an occasional letter, we’ve never had much to do with each other.’
‘That’s a relief! I once tried to read one of her novels but I couldn’t get on with it at all – nothing but gloomy castles and girls swooning. I’m sure you’re not the sort of girl who goes in for swooning.’
‘Well, I must admit I’ve never done it.’
‘I should think not! Anyway, I prefer something like Tom Jones or Humphry Clinker.’
I laughed. ‘So do I – but I have read her ladyship’s novels and Sophie used to be very fond of them. Since meeting Lady Denby I think she’s changed her mind.’
‘And who can blame her? Ah, here comes John – he’s obviously finished with the bailiff. Now I’m going indoors and he can take over. I’m sure you prefer his company to mine.’
‘Not at all, I think we get on very well.’
‘So we do – and remember what I said.’ With that he summoned his servant and was wheeled back to the house.
‘I hope my father hasn’t been boring you,’ said Colonel Hartley. ‘He doesn’t often have the opportunity of talking to ladies and he does enjoy their company.’
‘Well, I enjoy his and he’s not at all boring. I agree with him on most things.’
‘He can be rather blunt and dogmatic at times – perhaps it’s the privilege of age and high military rank.’
‘I like him immensely and he seems to like me.’
‘Oh he does – and that’s hardly surprising. Are the dogs bothering you?’
‘Of course not – we have several at home and I’m missing them.’
‘Yes, I expect you’ll be glad to go.’
‘Not entirely. This part of the country has great attractions.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ Then the girls ran to join us and we could say no more.
‘I think you ought to marry Colonel Hartley,’ said Sophie as we drove back to Lovegrove in his carriage, newly returned from its funeral duties. ‘It would be nice to come and stay with you here and I’m sure you’d work wonders on the house. The curtains are faded and the carpets worn and I really think they can’t see it. Men are like that, aren’t they? Papa’s the same – he’d never replace anything if it wasn’t for you.’
‘But I really can’t marry someone just to oblige you,’ I said lightly, ‘despite the need for new furnishings. A draper might do as much for them.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Sophie.
‘Do I? Perhaps we’d better concentrate on the immediate future. Do you think your papa will be well enough to leave now, Elinor? If he’s managed to attend the funeral he should be almost back to normal.’
‘I hope so. I want to see how he has borne it. The ceremony must have been quite a strain after several days of doing very little.’
‘I’m sure Lady Denby will make him rest. I really do think she is very fond of him, Elinor.’
‘Yes, I suppose so but her affection doesn’t extend to me. If anything happened to Papa my life wouldn’t be worth living.’
‘Oh, don’t say that!’ cried Sophie. ‘Life is always worth living.’
‘For you, perhaps, with a kind father and aunt and a pleasant home where you truly belong. I was happy enough before my father married again. I don’t know what would happen to me if I was left alone in the world.’
‘You would at least be well provided for,’ I said, ‘and when you are of age you could perhaps hire a respectable companion and enjoy a little independence – travel, perhaps – indulge your taste for music.’
She brightened visibly. I do not think the idea had occurred to her except as a fantasy.
Sir Ralph had, indeed, survived the morning’s ordeal remarkably well. He had lost a little weight during the previous week but had regained his usual healthy colour and seemed quite lively again. His wife fussed over him to excess but he bore it cheerfully enough now he felt so much better.
There was, perhaps, a certain relief that the funeral was over. Mrs Lawrence received an account of the proceedings from her son.
‘I suppose it was all very well,’ she said, ‘but I little thought my sister would lie in a strange churchyard with so few friends to attend her laying to rest.’
‘But she never liked living in her cottage, by all accounts,’ said Frederick. ‘She was always visiting somewhere else and she had no connections with her local church – I don’t think she attended very often.’
‘Then I suppose we must be content. As things have turned out her death was so sudden there was little we could do about it.’
‘Tomorrow morning I’ll show you the grave,’ her son promised. ‘It should be filled in by then and I’ve ordered a simple wooden marker until we have a proper headstone made.’
‘And then there’s the trouble of her estate, such as it is,’ Mrs Lawrence continued. ‘I presume she left a will. The cottage was rented but she had a small amount of money – about two hundred a year in the Funds, I seem to remember. She had to sell most of her jewellery.’
‘Her attorney will probably have her will if she made one – some people don’t – in which case you and your sisters would inherit. If the money was an annuity it would end with her death.’
‘One thing,’ said Rowland cheerfully, ‘no one would have pushed her downstairs to claim her fortune.’
Everyone stared at him in silence. Mrs Lawrence glared. Lady Denby hastened to cover up her son’s crass lack of tact and he began to realize he had offended. He excused himself and left the room. A little later I caught sight of him through the window riding towards the gates. I presumed he was going to join his beloved Carrie in their lodgings in Ashdale.
Dinner was again a sober affair, especially as everyone was aware of its being eaten off the table on which Louisa Thorpe’s coffin had rested until that morning.
The Lawrences had declared their intention of visiting the churchyard and attending matins as it was a Sunday and they disapproved of travelling on that day. On Monday they were to leave early for Cheshire. Lady Denby protested and tried to persuade them to stay longer but I thought her entreaties half-hearted and insincere. They reminded her too forcibly of the recent tragedy and she had nothing in common with Mrs Lawrence, who had not even heard of her novels and was far too perspicacious to be impressed by her extravagant posturing.
When I retired that night I reflected what an odd day it had been. The morning and the afternoon seemed to belong to different worlds; one a garden full of sunlight and promise for the future, the other an evening of solemnity and awkwardness and a generally disagreeable atmosphere.
The day after tomorrow, George had decided, we would travel home. I was longing to leave Lovegrove but felt I could hardly bear the parting that would ensue. Perhaps it was my fate to be always parted from what I loved most.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The next morning, Mrs Lawrence and her son walked the half-mile to the village church to have a look at Louisa Thorpe’s grave. Lady Denby insisted on accompanying them though I am sure they would have preferred to go alone. As it was Sunday they intended to attend the morning service and Lady Denby, who was by no means a regular member of the congregation, decided it was her duty to be present. Sophie and I saw them leave as we returned from our morning walk.
As we approached the house one of the maids came out to meet us. I recognized Susan, the servant who had claimed to see the hermit’s ghost and threw a fit of hysterics in the entrance hall.
‘Please, miss, could I have a word with you alone?’ she asked, somewhat anxiously, and would say no more until Sophie had gone back into the house.
‘It’s Colonel Hartley, miss; he came here while you were on your walk and he wants to see you urgently. He says to tell you he wants to see you in the Tapestry Room closet and that he’s discovered something there that he thinks you ought to see.’ She spoke carefully and then looked pleased with herself, as if struggling to remember the exact words and
feeling satisfied at having managed it. A nice enough girl, I thought, but not very intelligent and not likely to rise very high in the ranks of the servants’ hall.
‘Thank you, Susan, you may go.’ She ran off as though glad to escape. Delivering messages was probably an ordeal for her.
I hastened into the house and upstairs to the Tapestry Room, which was now empty. Guessing that the Colonel was already in the closet as the door stood slightly ajar, I pushed it open.
‘I thought you couldn’t wait to get here. Quite besotted with him, aren’t you?’
I found myself face to face with Frank Lawrence, who was holding a pistol alarmingly close to my head. For a few seconds I felt my knees weaken but managed to overcome fear with anger.
‘How dare you threaten me – you cheap little imposter. What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in London.’
‘I took the mail coach, travelled ten miles and then came back after dark. This is a very good hiding place – no one ever comes here, which is why Louisa Thorpe and I used it sometimes.’
‘I heard you once.’
‘Really? Louisa was always inclined to make a noise. Too much noise sometimes – she knew more than she ought and couldn’t keep it to herself. But I haven’t gone to all this trouble and made all these plans only to have interfering busybodies spoil it all. Sit down!’
I did not move and he suddenly seized me by the throat and pressed the muzzle of the pistol to my temple. This time I was truly terrified; I had no doubt he would kill me if provoked too far. He forced me into a chair and tied my hands behind me with a length of cord.
‘Screaming won’t help – no one will hear. If I thought they would I’d gag you. Your lover will be here shortly, never fear.’
‘He’s not my lover.’
‘Not for want of hoping, I imagine. Still, ’Armless ’Artley should be easy enough to manage considering his incapacity. I’ve only got to threaten to harm you and he’ll do as I say. That’s why I need the two of you. First of all I didn’t know how much he’d told you and then, I knew he’d risk his own life – he’s done it often enough before – but he won’t risk yours.’
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