The Imaginary Gentleman (14 page)

“I am so sorry, Miss Morrison! I was showing Mama your sketches of me.”

The book was open at the sketch drawn from memory, that day in Lyme. Somehow Laura had captured the intensity of his expression. It was the picture of Mr. Templeton.

Laura made no immediate answer, but took the book from the young girl's hands.

“I said you were impertinent, Evalina!” said her mother.

Jane glared at her sister and Evalina blushed again.

“I am always wary of having others look at my unfinished work,” Laura said stiffly.

“I didn't think you would mind, Miss Morrison,” said Evalina. “We all admire your work so!”

“It is of no importance, Miss Evalina,” said Laura, more formally than she intended. “I am a little eccentric, I suppose.”

“Now you are angry with me and I did so wish you to like me!” the young lady cried.

Laura could not but be moved, charmed indeed. She thought with pity of the young lady's future husband (whoever he would be), should he ever seek to have his way!

“You are forgiven, now.”

“How kind you are! I shall always be good, from this moment on!”

Laura smiled. “I might take your words as an example for myself,” she said.

 

Laura departed immediately after taking tea, citing her sister's ill-health. Jonathon looked relieved to jump up on the carriage steps—he was little used to so much walking as he had lately done.

As the carriage bowled away from the steps, Evalina turned to her mother. “Who was he—the man in the picture?”

“I did not see it properly, Evalina, and you should not care!”

“Don't you understand that you have displeased Miss Morrison?” said Jane.

“You would like to know every bit as much as I, but you'll never admit it. How would one feel to see such an expression in a man's eyes? Thrilled, I imagine!”

“You are full of nonsense.”

“I shall tell you, Jane, though you don't deserve it.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“It was the mysterious Mr. Templeton!”

O
N
S
ATURDAY
, S
IR
R
ICHARD RETURNED
to Oakmont Manor to find that another mysterious being had invaded his quiet world. The first symptom of something amiss was the presence of two footmen standing about in the hall, where he was accustomed to seeing only Michael.

Sir Richard asked his butler for an explanation of this odd circumstance.

With evident embarrassment, Smithson replied, “Michael has hit upon the notion that Oakmont Manor has been visited by … a ghost.”

“What?”

“He believes that the ghost of the late Miss Morrison has visited and—regretfully—he has infected many of the servants with this idea.”

Now, the common view that Sir Richard's tutor had taught him nothing was far from true, and here was an example. From childhood he had been taught, at home, as at school, that the idea of ghosts was a nonsense, and his mind did not readily lend itself to alteration.

“What has given Michael this foolish notion?” he said.

“Well, sir, the present Miss Morrison became sad and thoughtful—she was dining alone.”

“Is that all? No doubt the lady found the silence oppressive. That will be it. You may tell the servants from me that belief in ghosts is superstition and ignorance. There will be no reunions with my respected aunt until we meet again in the afterlife. Everyone in my employ is to forgo such beliefs and they will be a good deal happier,” he concluded with a kindly smile.

“But, sir …”

“I am ready for a glass of wine, Smithson, and a biscuit. Are the ladies at home?”

“Mrs. Evans keeps to her room, Sir Richard. Miss Morrison is in the solar. Will the captain be present at dinner?”

“No. He will be away for some days.”

Leaving his factotum to convince the servants of their safety from spectral visitations, the baronet took a deep breath and went upstairs, into the solar. Laura sat at the table close to the large south-facing window that gave the room its name, with her drawing materials around her. The afternoon light fell on her face and hands, and produced a shimmer on the white of her gown.

“Laura, what a pleasure it is to see you.”

“I am glad of it. How do you fare?”

“Excellent. Is all well with you?” He bent and kissed her cheek.

She put down her pencil. “What happened?”

“Gracious, Laura, you have captured the likeness of Miss Evalina exactly!” He picked up the two drawings, one in each hand, looking from one to the other.

“Do not torment me, Richard. What of Mr. Templeton? Did you speak to him?”

“I … no.”

“Did he leave Mr. Whichale's house safely?”

“Laura, dear Laura, can we not await Edward's return?”

“Certainly not!” She gave him a suspicious look. “Where is Edward?”

Sir Richard's mouth opened and closed, and his eyes darted towards the window.

“He is gone to see a friend, Plymouth way.”

Laura jumped up. “What friend is this? Richard, tell me the truth!” She took a deep breath as she fought to control an uprush of anger—and fear of his news. “He is dead, is he not?” She put her head in her hands. “Mr. Templeton is no more. I knew it all along.”

“Indeed not … Laura, please be calm.”

She sank again in her seat and he drew a chair up close to her and sat with her hand in his.

“We found no trace of him,” Sir Richard said.

“What!”

He bit his lip. “He never arrived at Mr. Whichale's house. We stayed there speaking to Mr. Whichale and his lady for upwards of an
hour.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I am satisfied that Mr. Templeton never was there.”

“How can that be?” She could make no sense of it at all.

Sir Richard mumbled some meaningless syllables.

“What can have happened to him? There must be some other Whichales in the district.”

“No. Edward and I investigated every possibility.”

“This is ridiculous, Richard.”

“It
is
ridiculous. In fact, it is a mystery.”

She withdrew her hands from his. “You are keeping something from me.”

Sir Richard quailed before her betrayed look. “One thing.” He looked away. “Mr. Whichale never sent for him.”

“Nonsense!” She jumped up from her chair. “What is Edward doing in Plymouth?”

With the tiniest hesitation that she could not but notice, Sir Richard replied, “Edward is gone in search of … further facts.”

She pressed one hand to her brow and looked around her, unseeing, then said, very quietly, “I was not expecting this.”

“I would not have been the bearer of such tidings, Laura.”

They sat there together, as the late afternoon sunlight gradually shifted across the window, sliding across her drawings, then across his face. He bit his lip; looked at her face, now pale and drawn and watched the veil that came over her clear green eyes, as her expression told of perplexity at the news, her uncertainty and developing sadness.

“Laura …”

“I see it clearly now,” she said, each word wrung slowly out. “I see now what has happened, though I tried to avoid the truth …”

The door opened and they both looked up. Elspeth moved languidly into the room, her lace handkerchief held to her head. Sir Richard rose and bowed.

“They told me you were returned, Richard. I have risen from my sickbed to see you.”

“Ought you to have taken such trouble?”

“Richard, I will take a brief turn in the garden before dinner. Will you give me the support of your arm?”

“Of course, Elspeth. You have only to ask.”

She inclined her head graciously, as he came across the room to her.

“Will you join us, Laura?” he said.

Elspeth replied for her. “I am not such a philistine as to disturb Laura at her art.”

Laura did not resent Elspeth her chance of private conversation with their cousin; indeed she had no desire to report the gentlemen's discovery herself.

“Off you go,” she said, with forced humour. “I shall survive the solitude.”

 

As they paced slowly along the gravel walk, Sir Richard told Elspeth that they had found no trace of Mr. Templeton.

“I am relieved, Richard,” she said.

“You are not displeased?”

“No,” she said. “This outcome is more to our purpose than if you had discovered the man.”

“Poor Laura is alarmed about the gentleman's fate.”

“What fate, Richard? The mysterious disappearance of a respectable clergyman would be noted in the newspapers and be the talk of the country.”

“I suppose you are right, Elspeth.”

“Indeed I am, Richard. Mr. Templeton ran away from Laura and made sure he would not be found.” Her eyes narrowed. “He has made a fool of my sister, but I am glad my relations failed to hunt him down.”

“Why?”

“Would you have liked to interview him about his intentions?”

“That would be distasteful, certainly.”

“Mr. Templeton is a liar as well as flirt. Scarcely even a gentleman.”

She bent and picked a sprig of lavender from a bush that grew by the terrace. Holding it to her nose, she inhaled.

“You seem very calm, Elspeth,” he said. “I don't like to see Laura unhappy.”

She faced him. “It is in your power to offer her serenity, Richard. She never needed you more.”

“Me?”

“When a woman comes under the censure of society, a certain position affords her protection from the cruelty of those who would judge her. My sister was never in more need of consequence.” She gave him a coy smile and took his arm to walk back to the house. “I suppose you know that we have not been without our adventures in your absence?”

“Michael's nonsense about a ghost?”

“It was all Laura's doing for she sat at table, staring at the empty chair, where once our venerable aunt sat on our visits to Oakmont. Apparently Laura turned very pale and Michael says she seemed to be hearing some spectral voice.”

“He is very superstitious.”

“Why would such a dull old soul as our lamented aunt return to us? Laura seems on the point of hysteria. Something must be done, Richard! The maids were at sixes and sevens, crowded into each other's rooms for the night.”

“What did Laura say?” he said.

“Last night, when I was too ill to attend, she said something about Aunt Morrison, the poor old thing, and so forth. She says that it was only memories of Aunt Morrison that saddened her.”

“That is an explanation that should satisfy all!”

“I am glad it makes you happy. I prefer the old Laura—who did not terrify servants with her memories, and never fancied that gentlemen admired her.”

“Laura has been admired, quite often.”

“No one is more proud of her abilities than I, but …” She fingered her mourning locket, with its ring of white hair encircling the portrait of her venerable spouse, gazing mistily into the distance. “Laura has not that softness and sweetness of temper that lead to more serious admiration.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Pray do not mope, Richard. I feel a little better.”

“The fresh air is doing you good.”

“Perhaps it is that.” She stopped strolling as she thought of something. “Where is my brother? I trust he has not joined the company of disappearing gentlemen.”

“He sent off an express from the inn yesterday to some naval friend, who replied upon the instant. Edward is now off to Plymouth.”

“Why?”

“Why? Yes, why, of course. I imagine his friend is in some difficulty, in Plymouth.”

“Why did he not mention this friend, with his difficulty, before leaving Oakmont?”

For an instant, her cousin was at a loss; then he brightened, saying, “Look, here is Smithson, no doubt come to tell me my wine is ready.”

“A moment, Richard,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “You are telling me, then, that Mr. Templeton is gone from our lives?”

He nodded slowly, rhythmically, for several seconds, until his cousin snapped, “For Heaven's sake, Richard, are we done at last with Mr. Templeton?”

In anguish, Sir Richard looked up at the window of the solar, imagining that Laura stood there, but he could not make her out, for the reflected glint of the setting sun.

“How?” he said.

“How what?” said Elspeth.

“How are we ever to be done with him, while Laura is not?”

She looked up into his moist, brown eyes, and put on an expression of pity. “Poor, poor Laura,” she said. “Poor Richard.”

She tossed her lavender sprig into the garden bed and walked away.

I
N A RELENTLESS DRIZZLE OF RAIN
, Captain Morrison travelled back to Oakmont, thinking over his interview with the physician. He held a pamphlet to the light seeping in at the carriage window. It was a mercifully slim volume, entitled
Hysteric Disorders of the Female Mind
by Doctor Albert Mellbone. He turned to the flyleaf.

Edward groaned. Was the good Doctor Mellbone capable of nothing more inspiring than this? A quick glance through the list of contents informed him that Mellbone was indeed capable of more. The little booklet summarised the collected wisdom of respected physicians from Galen, in the second century, to the up-to-date theories of Dr Pinel, who was shaking the ideas of the more progressive medical men in England as he had done already in Paris. Edward shook his head over this section. Did a Frenchman dare speak about the mind of an English gentlewoman?

By the end of the journey, Edward felt he was in command of a more scholarly view than that of the everyday male, whose education about Old Maid's Illness took place in the tavern, amid snorts of derision. The desperate spinster was powerless against the illness, in which she imagined the admiration of every second man she met, and even, in advanced cases, imagined the admirer's very existence. The theories about the cause of this strange disorder might evolve over the years—from humours clogging up the virgin's body, to witchcraft, to unhappiness and lesions upon the brain. Yet, always quick to grasp essentials, the captain saw that the favoured remedy for Old Maid's Illness did not vary. Although Dr. Pinel's procedure of writing down everything the patient said about the past seemed
absurd, even that eminent thinker could be read as recommending the same cure.

 

The weather was clearing as Edward arrived at Oakmont. As luck would have it he found Elspeth alone, reclining upon the sofa in the solar with a little afternoon light falling upon the novel in her hand.

“Dearest Edward, you are come back to us!” she cried.

“I am returned,” he said, in his matter-of-fact way. “Why are you lolling here when you might be taking the air?”

“I never loll, Edward, I recline. I could not drive out if I wished to for Laura has taken the carriage to Lewton Hall. You chased after some friend all the way to Plymouth, I hear.”

He kissed her and stood solemnly before her. “I will cut straight to the facts, Elspeth.”

She shivered. “You frighten me, Edward.”

“That is a realistic beginning for I do not bring good news.”

She rang the bell. “I shall order a restorative.” She sat up a little, putting a small cushion behind her back, and Edward drew a chair near to the sofa and sat down.

Elspeth said, “I already know you did not find him. You have been asking the wrong people or going to the wrong places, but I am satisfied all the same.”

“Elspeth, I do not believe in the existence of Mr. Templeton.”

“He must exist,” snapped Elspeth, frowning.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the servant, who took orders for ale and a slice of toast for the captain, weak tea for Mrs. Evans.

Edward waited for the servant to leave, and said, “Did Richard tell you that Mr. Templeton is unheard of in Charmouth, too?”

“That cannot be!”

“At the Assembly in Lyme, Laura met a nephew of the old man who passed away.”

“What of it? She made many new acquaintances there.”

“I don't believe Laura even remembers him, though he remembers her. His name is Reece.”

“What has he to do with it?”

“I do not believe that Laura heard about the dying Mr. Whichale from Mr. Templeton, but in passing at the dance, for he is a relation of Mr. Reece. The physician in Plymouth agrees …” He watched as her eyes widened. “Dr. Mellbone says that in a disturbed state, Laura would be likely to forget where she heard some fact and think she heard it from her admirer's lips.”

Elspeth sat up. “You go too fast, Edward. Let me get this straight. Has Laura invented the tale about Mr. Templeton's call to the sickbed? Why would she? Was it to provide an excuse when she could not produce him?”

“Elspeth, our sister is deceived by none other than herself. There is something more. Do you recall my taking a walk upon the cliff path to Charmouth with Laura?”

The footman entered and put the tray on the tea table. Elspeth sighed and fiddled with her lace while he poured the tea, moved a little table to her side and placed her cup in her reach. He moved the captain's refreshments near him and at last withdrew.

Edward took a long draught of ale, before continuing. “On that walk, Laura claimed to see Mr. Templeton in the distance coming towards us. I had my back to the path when she saw him, dropped my cane and could not turn quickly. He had completely disappeared when I did turn. I laughed at her for being lovesick.”

“You ought to have told me, Edward.”

“It is easy to be wise in hindsight.”

Edward ate his toast and drank his ale.

Eventually Elspeth said, “Laura saw him on the cliff path; she saw him in the Hollow. In just the same way, she saw him in Lyme.”

“Yes.”

“This is madness.”

“It seems our sister does not grasp the difference between what is real and what is in her imagination.”

“What is to be done?”

“Dr. Mellbone has been helpful. He has the highest credentials and has practical skills in dealing with … I hesitate … disorders of the female mind.”

Elspeth fluttered her fan. “I have a sense that I will not like what follows.”

“The good doctor has given me a pamphlet on the subject of these, um … fancies, not so uncommon as one might think, in ladies who have been unsatisfied with their lives.”

“Too long in the single state, do you mean?”

“So I believe.”

Elspeth was convinced that her brother referred to the bedroom aspect of marriage, which men seemed to think so important, even essential to a woman's sanity. Those fumblings, she thought,
crinkled
fumblings, were they her share of the sanity bestowed by marimony?

“Are you in pain, Elspeth?”

“Indeed not,” she replied. “Pray give me the pamphlet, Brother.”

He withdrew the booklet from his pocket and placed it on her small table. She left it there, regarding it with a suspicious look.

“What is the treatment for this madness?” she asked.

“Let us say
illness
, Sister. Mellbone has treated several cases successfully at his establishment.”

“You recommend this madhouse?”

“No! It is unthinkable. Actually, Mellbone believes that the simplest cure is marriage.”

There was a silence.

The captain went over to the window and stood looking out across the lawns towards the gate. Without turning, he said, “Marriage and motherhood are the roles for which woman was created.”

“I do not quarrel with you, Edward, but I know not what you expect me to do about it. Laura is become so prickly and difficult. She is all sweetness to you, whom she favours.” She put her handkerchief to her eyes and emitted a small sob.

“Come, Elspeth, do not quarrel with me,” he said gruffly, leaving the window to sit again at her side. “Let us think of poor Laura and of what is to be done.”

“She must marry Richard.”

“She will not wish to.”

“She will soon understand where her wishes ought to lie. Richard will be perfectly content to have her.”

He smiled wryly. “There is another with whom she must contend for the title.”

Elspeth laughed. “Richard will never marry Miss Evalina Woodruff!”

“Why ever not? She is a delightful creature.”

Elspeth looked incredulous. “Don't you see that he is afraid of her?”

“Nonsense! Who could fear Miss Evalina, all charm and vivacity as she is?”

Elspeth tilted her head and looked at him sidelong. “I am pleased to see that you are not afraid of her.”

“I thought you seemed bent on encouraging the match, Elspeth.”

His sister smirked. “The more I tease him with her praises, the more he determines that he will not have her.”

“You took a risk in encouraging the match.”

“Come, Edward! The only risk was that Miss Evalina would break down his resistance over time. Once he felt pushed, he dug his heels into the ground, just as I knew he would.”

“You showed little thought for her feelings.”

Elspeth put her hand to her heart. “Oh, Edward! I never even suspected—is she in love with him?” She laughed.

He could not help but laugh with her.

“There,” said Elspeth. “We are of one mind. Richard will marry Laura, who will be the foremost lady in the district, and the mother of the next baronet—should there be children. Lady Clarydon would certainly approve.”

“You cannot dispose of others' lives to satisfy Lady Clarydon!”

Elspeth had finished her tea and placed the cup in its saucer in her delicate way.

“I arrange matters to satisfy my family. Laura's infirmity will be kept a secret,” she said.

He shrugged. “That would be a decided advantage.”

She picked up her fan once again and idly looked at the carvings upon the strips of sandalwood.

“She cares for him, you know.”

“I would hope for more from marriage—for true happiness.”

“You shall have it, my dear Edward.” She caught his hand between her own. “But not everyone is blessed with choice. Laura certainly is not.” She turned again towards the window, at the sounds of wheels upon the gravel drive.

“Who is this?”

He went over to the window. “Your carriage is returning. Colonel Woodruff's carriage follows. Are our friends from Lewton Hall dining here?”

“Yes! I quite forgot.” Elspeth was rising—she had several last-minute touches to put to her dress. As Edward went to the door, his sister said, “Laura has no experience yet of the consequence accorded a woman upon marriage, especially to a baronet,” she said.

He turned. “She would never marry for worldly advantage.”

“Yet when she experiences the consequence she gains in such a marriage, she will feel compensated for giving up her freedom!”

“Her freedom!”

“I think her much at liberty.”

He shook his head in incredulity and left the room.