The Imaginary Gentleman (11 page)

“Did you ever see such a bunch of oddities as that Morrison family?” said Jeremy. “Miss Morrison is a great, gawkish fright.”

“She is a fine-looking woman, Jeremy!” said his mother.

“With a good figure,” said Jane.

“Even if it's too long!” their brother said.

“For you, perhaps,” snapped Evalina. “She wouldn't look at a stumpish fellow like you.”

“Stumpish am I, Evvy? You've taken a liking to lanky men, I see. Old Morrison'd jump at a catch like me.”

“Stop this disrespectful talk, Jeremy,” said his mother. “You are very conceited.”

“Beg pardon, mother. The poor captain, through no fault of his own, could only now win some desperate spinster after his fortune.”

Jane snorted “Nonsense!”, but Evalina said nothing, hurrying ahead of them all up the steps.

“You forget your duty to Mama, Evalina,” said Jane.

Evalina stopped and let her mother precede her into the house.

She was on the point of tears and her sister put her arm around her waist.

“Pay Jeremy no heed,” Jane said softly. “He is determined to tease us.”

As though on cue, her brother said, “As for the baronet—he calls his dog Spotty! Spotty! The great shuffling fool!”

This last statement produced a response at last from the colonel,
who had tramped ahead of them through the door. He turned and said, “Silence! You speak of your sister's future husband.”

“My what?” cried Evalina.

Her father strode into the library. Evalina stood in the doorway.

“Papa, what do you mean? I am not engaged to Sir Richard.”

“You know my wishes.”

“I know them, but …”

“Do you not understand my struggles to educate my children before I came into this property?” he said, poking at the air with his finger.

“Yes, and I do thank you, Papa, but …”

“I am determined that my daughter will be Lady Morrison.”

“If he does not ask me, I cannot marry him.”

“You can charm him into it.”

“I do not love him.”

“What has love to do with it? You will love your consequence, believe me.”

Tears stood on her eyelashes. “I thought you loved me, Papa.”

He stared at her. “Do I hand you over to a brute? No. That is love, child. Off you go now. I have not yet read the newspaper.” He closed the door.

Evalina turned to the rest of her family, who stood awkwardly in the hall.

“You better face up to it, Evvy,” said her brother. “Father won't rest until he sees every family in the district bobbing and bowing as you go by.”

“Jeremy has a point, my love,” said her mother. “Just think—your own son would be baronet one day. Such an old family—the title handed down from father to son for two hundred years.”

“Unlike us, jumped up, if the truth be told,” said her son.

“Lower your voice, Jeremy,” said his mother, glancing about to see if any servants had overheard him. “Money is not all—remember that your father was born a gentleman.”

“I know I am a gentleman's son. Luckily for him, and me, our relations were not so hardy as us, and he is now a
landed
gentleman.”

“Just remember Sir Richard's position, my dear. He may not be fashionable in his air, but he is highly regarded in the district.”

“I know. I know he's so respectable but …”

“That is where it ends, dear boy.”

“Mrs. Evans is an angel! It would be a lucky man who could win her.”

There was a murmur of agreement from his mother. Evalina was too engrossed with her own thoughts to pay him heed. Jane looked coolly at him, surmising that he felt himself to be eligible for the task. She was the only one among them to prefer Miss Morrison to her sister.

“Off you go, my dears,” said their mother. “I wish to talk to your father.”

 

Alone behind his paper, the colonel was thinking over the captain's credentials. Jane was plain as a pike, poor girl, and with nothing to her bosom. He could give her a modest fortune now, and her deficiencies might balance those of the unlucky hero. In his present condition, Morrison would not do for his pretty little Evalina, of course, for all his heroism.

He looked up as his lady opened the door.

“Come in and be comfortable,” he said.

Mrs. Woodruff did so, taking an armchair across from his. She then raised a certain matter with an economy of words—well-used to her husband's impatience with preambles.

“Colonel, it occurs to me that Jane has spoken rather kindly about the baronet.”

“What of it?”

“She may be the better equipped of our daughters to secure him. And it seems wrong for Evalina to marry before her older sister.”

“It was good enough for the Morrisons, first cousins to the baronet, to marry off the younger daughter before the elder.”

“Jane would have the patience to … make the best of Sir Richard's … peculiarities.”

The colonel snorted. “Jane is solemn, dull and plain.”

Mrs. Woodruff flared up a little. “You forget to praise her for her sweet temperament.”

“There is too much of kindness and nothing of charm in her. In any case, what makes you think she will be induced to take the man if he should make an offer?” he demanded.

“Well, she will see how the connection would benefit her younger sisters. And Jane will not like to disappoint her parents.”

“Will she not, indeed? Your memory is shorter than mine, madam.” He picked up the newspaper. “I recall a suitor bothering me about her, not so very long ago. Damnable fellow! And she too stubborn to send him off.”

He opened the newspaper before his face; the interview was over.

E
LSPETH REPORTED THE VISIT TO
Sir Richard as a great success.

“Miss Evalina would make a graceful mistress of Oakmont.”

“Of Oakmont!”

“She is a sweet girl,” said Elspeth, “and I believe I perceive some partiality on her side.” Sir Richard looked so woeful that Laura actually laughed.

“Edward thinks her very charming,” Sir Richard said.

“Bother Edward. What do you think of her, Richard?”

“I … I don't want to, Elspeth, and that's the truth of it.”

“Time will take care of your objections.” She sank into an armchair. “The elder sister—her
conversazione
—so dull! She plays beautifully, yet her mother had to command her give up her horrid work and favour us with an air! What was she sewing, Laura? It looked like a duster.”

“A frock for an orphan in the village. Miss Woodruff told me she is making the child a few serviceable garments.”

“The maids ought to do such work in their spare time,” said Elspeth, with a sneer.

“Why must you persist in disliking anyone who shows a little kindness to others?” said Laura.

Elspeth looked startled. “Dislike is a strong expression. I merely meant that a piece of embroidery or a length of lace is the variety of work that gives a lady an air of elegance.”

“I call her very good-natured to assist the poor girl,” said Sir Richard.

Laura did not answer, scarcely understanding why she found her sister's cynicism so much more wearing than usual.

“Richard,” said Elspeth. “You would have been pleased to see how Laura was admired.”

“I like to hear it.”

“Everyone was in awe of her artistic talents.” Elspeth chortled.
“You missed a great joke. Mrs. Woodruff was delighted in her own ‘inspiration'—a hackneyed idea she had for her daughter's portrait. She would insist upon Laura's praise for originality.”

Her wit fell on deaf ears. Sir Richard had risen from his seat and sat with Laura on the sofa.

“We shall always understand one another, Laura,” he said.

She knew not how to speak, for the painful swelling of her throat.

“Sometimes it seems one is all alone, my dear, yet it is not so,” Sir Richard added quietly.

“My sister gives no quarter; she tears all to pieces,” she said, too quietly for Elspeth to hear. Her lips began to tremble and she pressed them tightly together.

“She does not mean it.” He picked up her hand and pressed it to his heart. Though in the past she may have withdrawn it, she did not do so now.

Elspeth was watching in surprise, although she could only hear Sir Richard's words.

“I'm not so clever as you, dear Laura.” He lowered his voice and Elspeth, sitting forward in her chair, strained to hear him as he said, “Yet we are much the same for all that.”

Laura felt his hand over hers, the warmth like an embrace, although no touch could reach the dull heaviness within her.

“You must excuse me, Cousin, for I feel inexplicably pained just now,” she said.

“You always did, Laura.”

She did not reply.

He said, “I want to ask you something important.”

Elspeth rose and glided swiftly, quietly from the room. The tiny click of the door catch was clearly audible in the silence that now fell between the two cousins. Sir Richard released Laura's hand and took out his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that brimmed in her eyes.

“Laura,” he said. “I cannot understand what has happened. Edward told me something of events in Lyme.” He noted her alarm. “Can you not trust me, dear?”

She shook her head slightly as tears again filled her eyes.

He said, “I have always been your friend and you have always been mine.”

She nodded, her head turned away.

“Do not let pride come between us.”

“Pride?”

“Pride, of course. I am not so commanding as Edward or so … something … as Elspeth. But I can help you as they, perhaps, cannot. Don't you know what it is to feel a fool, as I often do, and know there is one whose affection is undiminished by her—or his—knowledge of one's foolishness?”

She tried to look at him but did not answer.

“Do you think my affection or my esteem for you will lessen one jot if you confide in me?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Then, Laura, who is Mr. Templeton?”

 

Elspeth intercepted her brother as he crossed the hall. “Edward, do not go up to the solar just now,” she said.

“Why ever not?”

“Come into the drawing room,” she said, seeing the manservant adopt the vacant look usually intended to mask eavesdropping.

They sat by the dwindling fire in privacy.

“Well?”

Elspeth lay back in her armchair, smoothing the folds of her gown. “I believe our cousin is on the point of making Laura an offer of marriage.”

“This is poorly timed. She'll not accept him.”

“At such a point of desperation, she may well accept.”

“She has not yet reconciled herself to Mr. Templeton's defection. Richard may not be clever, but he is sensitive to others' feelings.”

“Kindly indulge me for a few minutes,” said Elspeth, as she fiddled with the cupid that ornamented the table next to her. Edward drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, and watched as five minutes ticked away on the clock.

“Laura has been made to look a fool, and she prides herself upon her judgement,” said Elspeth.

“Don't we all? What gives you the notion that our cousin is making an offer now?”

“Richard was holding her hand and said he must ask her something important.”

“Have a pity, Sister!” He got up and left the room; moments later she heard his uneven footsteps on the stairs. Sighing, she rose to follow him.

They entered the room to see their cousin and sister sitting close together on the sofa, Sir Richard appearing engrossed in what Laura was saying. She broke off.

“I interrupt you,” said Edward, beginning to back out of the room.

“Nay, Edward,” said Sir Richard. “Already I have heard enough.”

Elspeth followed Edward into the room and shut the door.

Sir Richard said, “I see that your departure from Lyme was precipitous.”

“You are qualified in that matter?” said Elspeth.

Sir Richard gave her a kindly smile. “I was not present, of course.”

He turned to Edward. “Why did you not think of it yourself, Edward? I shall go to Axminster; discover the gentleman whom Mr. Templeton was visiting, and ask whether he arrived safely.”

“No!” said Edward. “The matter is best forgot. If you had been in Lyme, Richard, you would have been deeply shocked at the public nature of our embarrassment.”

Sir Richard said slowly, “Laura points out the strangeness of her behaviour being interpreted so harshly.”

“It is ever so when a lady fails to conduct herself with absolute propriety every minute that she is in the public eye,” said Elspeth.

No one replied.

Edward paced about. “I cannot permit this.”

Sir Richard stood up and faced Edward squarely, his chin thrust out. “I have made a lady a faithful promise of aid.”

“Perhaps you could don that old armour that stands in the hall,”
said Elspeth. “You might wear one of Laura's scarves on your breastplate.”

“That is unkind,” said Laura.

Sir Richard leant down to pat her shoulder. “Do not fear for me, dear Laura. Your sister seeks to protect you—but I shall be your protector in this instance.”

He turned and looked sternly into the captain's eyes. They stared at one another for a moment.

“I shall come with you,” the captain said.

“Edward! Are you out of your mind?” said Elspeth, seizing his arm.

“Elspeth, you know Richard. He has formed a determination from which he will not be shifted.”

Elspeth all but stamped her foot. “You stubborn, stubborn man!” she cried.

Sir Richard only smiled at her and turned to look down at Laura, who sat on the sofa still.

“Thank you, Richard,” she said quietly.

Sir Richard nodded and turned back to Edward. “We shall leave at first light tomorrow,” he said.

 

Elspeth's irritation made dinner unpleasant. She quarrelled: firstly with Sir Richard for his interference, thinking him more than usually stupid; then with Edward, declaring him weak in failing to stop the whole escapade; and lastly, with her sister for being the greatest nuisance that ever threatened to ruin her happy widowhood.

She escaped to her room, where she retired to her sofa, groaning as her maid dabbed at her head with lavender water. She re-read her latest letter from Lady Clarydon. The dear countess urged Elspeth to come to Clarydon Castle with all her family. Yet how could Elspeth risk taking Laura among the countess's friends? What improper action might she take? If Edward would but marry, Laura might live with him, leaving poor Elspeth free from this onerous responsibility.

 

The following day, the two men made enquiries in Axminster and were directed to continue beyond the town to a crossroads, where
stood a small inn. There they stopped to refresh themselves in a snug old parlour. While the landlord served a small repast of an excellent pork pie and ale, they were regaled with information about old Mr. Whichale. The old gentleman had been something of a celebrity in the district, due to his eccentric behaviour. Famously penny-pinching, he let his estate run down badly, and quarrelled with almost everyone he met.

“The funeral was just t'other day,” said the landlord. “Every man as could went along to see how it were conducted.”

“What were they expecting to see?”

“Well, rumour had it that in the will he said the coffin were to be a plain, deal box.”

“His economies were to be continued beyond the grave. Was it?”

“No, sir, 'twere a fine oak casket,” he said, in a disgusted tone. “The heir is quite the gentleman—perhaps he overruled the instruction.”

“Perhaps it never existed,” said Edward.

“That would spoil the tale!” They all laughed.

“No—'twere a disappointment all round. A regular gentleman's funeral it were, with a eulogy fit for a saint.”

The gentlemen entered the carriage again to travel the country road leading to Longpan. The road turned to follow the path of the river, where it widened into a long shape oddly resembling the pan that gave the place its name. A little beyond the village, they came to a large old lime-washed house, hidden from the road by a high stone wall. The wooden gates stood open and the two men drove into a cobbled court before the house. Here they saw evidence of much activity; ladders were propped against the front wall, with servants engaged in the task of cleaning the windows and walls. Everywhere, signs of neglect and dirt were being briskly removed.

Sir Richard banged with the knocker, recently polished so that it shone against the faded paintwork of the door. An old manservant let them in, showing them into the library, before taking their cards to his master. They looked around at the shelves, half-empty so that the books leant towards one another.

“Not a single volume purchased since our grandfather's day, by the look of it,” said Edward. He wandered over to the window that was yet to receive the ministrations of the servants, and peered through the grime.

“Look at this, Richard.”

His cousin joined him and they looked out at a small orchard.

“Sadly neglected, I'm afraid,” said a voice. They turned to encounter a stout gentleman, in middle age, who greeted them genially.

“Oliver Whichale, at your service. I am honoured by a visit from Sir Richard Morrison.”

Sir Richard apologised for calling unannounced.

“Not at all,” Mr. Whichale said. “I am only sorry to have the house appear in such a neglected state. My dear old uncle passed away but ten days ago.”

“Pray accept our condolences, Mr. Whichale,” said Edward.

Sir Richard shook the gentleman's hand and added his kind sympathies.

“You are very good,” said Mr. Whichale. “It was a blow, of course, but our faith in the Lord is aiding us. My dear uncle was advanced in years and, regretfully, the servants imposed upon him. Now, will you accept a glass of wine and tell me what it is that brings about your welcome visit?”

They settled by the fire and Sir Richard began. “A gentleman named Mr. Templeton has been long expected by his friends.”

Mr. Whichale nodded encouragingly, “And …?”

“When he did not arrive, his er … friends asked me to enquire after him, as I was coming into Dorsetshire this week.”

Mr. Whichale tutted. “Young rattles nowadays dash off and never think to write a simple line to explain themselves. I have had the same trouble with my own nephew.”

“Mr. Templeton is not a rattle, sir,” said Edward. “He is a highly respectable man, a clergyman moreover, of whom better manners may be expected.”

“Forgive me. I have been so harassed by my nephew's neglect of the forms that I came to a hasty conclusion. A clergyman you say?”

Sir Richard, unperturbed, was set to give all the explanations in the world, but his cousin cut him off.

“Mr. Whichale, you seem to know nothing of him. Did Mr. Templeton not arrive here safely then?”

“Here? If the gentleman, Mr …. I am sorry, what was his name?”

“Templeton.”

“If Mr. Templeton had called in my absence, I imagine the servants would have informed me.” He beamed, turning from one to the other.

Sir Richard burst in, “Sir, Mr. Templeton was sent for to attend a dying gentleman, by the name of Whichale, at this very house, eleven days ago, on a Tuesday.”

Mr. Whichale smiled apologetically. “You understand my dying uncle to have called him to this house, to perform a service of comfort?”