The Imaginary Gentleman (19 page)

Laura rose and walked into the shadows around her bed, where the white coverlet gleamed faintly below the looming oak bedhead. Again she drew comfort from the familiar feel of the white embroidered flowers, tracing the stems of its pattern of blooms, invisible in the shadows. Holding the white silk of the bed-curtain against her cheek, she let it slide across her skin. Her head against the twisted oak of the bedpost, she rested her face in the curtain. Pain rose up in her
throat, a hard, unyielding tightness, a tearing, so that she opened her mouth in a silent scream. She silently wept, until the curtain was wet in her hands, until she lacked the strength to stand. She curled up on the bed, hugging her arms around her.

S
UNDAY PASSED AND
L
AURA DID
not take the opportunity to tell Sir Richard of her decision. Dull Oakmont was enlivened by a spirit of excitation, which only emphasised her feeling of aloneness. Happier than she had ever seen him, Edward left immediately after church to take breakfast at Lewton Hall. Elspeth expected Lady Clarydon to visit the next day and was in an absurd flutter of anticipation.

Worst of all was Sir Richard's excitement, apparently brought on by his cousin's engagement. He asked Elspeth to play a love song, which she did, the pair of them singing a duet—to Laura rather than each other.

“Another, Cousin?” he said.

“One must suffice—remember it is Sunday,” said Elspeth.

In the library, Laura had found a copy of
The Minstrelsies of the Scottish Border
. Thinking to find relief in Scott's lyrical words, she tried to lose herself in its pages. The evening passed with agonising slowness, and every time she looked up, Laura found her cousin's eyes upon her.

It was a relief to escape to bed.

 

Mrs. Evans was in a constant flutter the next morning, taking trips to the window to gaze out along the road, and checking in the mirror for any deterioration in her looks that may have taken place in the previous fifteen minutes. At about two o'clock, the rumble of coach wheels upon the gravel gave her hope. Her lace-work was thrust aside and she leapt up with all the energy she could be presumed to possess, and called to Laura to abandon her sketching. Sir Richard joined them in the hall and the footman threw open the great oak door, so that they witnessed the arrival of a large peacock-blue carriage, with a gold coronet upon the door.

“A barouche-landau! Nothing but the best for Lady Clarydon,” said Sir Richard.

“It is the very latest design and exquisitely comfortable,” said Elspeth.

Her ladyship's footmen, well-matched in height, resplendent in livery of the same blue as the carriage, leapt down. One opened the door, the other pulled down the step. Laura then beheld the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, descending from the carriage.

“Everything pertaining to the countess is perfection!” said Elspeth.

Lady Clarydon was of middle height, with an excellent figure, and beautifully attired in a velvet coat trimmed with fur. Black curls escaped her bonnet to frame a face of perfect loveliness. As she glided up the steps, Elspeth glided too, as though drawn by a magnet through the doors to greet her. A most beguiling smile curved her ladyship's lips as she leant forward to place them upon Elspeth's cheeks, first one then the other.

“My dearest Countess,” trilled Elspeth.

“My perfect darling Mrs. Evans,” replied the countess. She turned to Sir Richard, who stood gaping in the rear.

Elspeth said, “Dear Countess, may I present my cousin, Sir Richard Morrison? Sir Richard, this is Lady Clarydon, the Countess of Clarydon.”

He bowed and welcomed her to Oakmont.

“How I have longed to know you,” she said, her fine dark eyes glowing. “Dear Mrs. Evans has told me everything about you.”

Sir Richard stammered his way through a long reply.

Next, it was Laura's turn to accept the salutations of the lady. Her ladyship had that happy knack, possessed by few, of making each person to whom she spoke feel singled out as the most delightful acquaintance in the world. For the moment, Laura was quite as dazzled as Sir Richard.

Just then, the baronet spotted another lady looking from the carriage window, vainly seeking assistance to get down. She began to descend alone.

“Michael! William! What are you about?” The baronet's menservants rushed to do the duty that the countess's had neglected, and the lady slowly mounted the steps.

The countess's fellow traveller was a lady of about five and thirty, dressed in an unfashionable coat, her hair obscured by the large cap she wore beneath her black bonnet. Her plain face wore a tentative expression. The countess let go of Elspeth's hand, and indicated her friend with an elegant gesture, smiling that wonderful smile.

“This, my friends, is my particular companion, whom I never allow to leave my sight, my dear Mrs. Bell.”

Sir Richard bowed as gallantly to her as to her dazzling employer. Laura greeted her kindly, and Elspeth led the way to the drawing room, giving orders for tea and cake to be served.

Mrs. Bell sank onto an upright chair. As she removed her gloves, Laura noted the mourning ring on her wedding finger, inset with a lock of grey hair. Even as Laura looked at the lady, her complexion seemed to grow paler.

“Mrs. Bell, I fear you are ill,” she said.

“Indeed no … how kind,” the lady replied.

“Naples biscuits—you spoil me, Mrs. Evans!” said Lady Clarydon. She put a biscuit near her delicate nose and inhaled its scent of roses.

Travel seemed not to have exhausted the countess: she flirted, amused, enchanted her audience, until Sir Richard all but begged her to stay as long as she liked.

“I cannot find words to express my regret, Sir Richard,” said Lady Clarydon. “I dare not stay as my relations expect me for dinner.”

“I am most disappointed,” said the baronet.

During the conversation that followed, Laura noticed that Mrs. Bell drank barely half of her tea, and left her cake after attempting only a nibble.

“Had we more time, my poor Mrs. Bell would have enjoyed a tour of the house,” said the countess. “She delights in things Medieval.”

Sir Richard, tearing his eyes from the enchantress, noticed Mrs. Bell's pallor.

“My dear lady,” he said. “Are you well?”

“Sir Richard is as gallant as dear Mrs. Evans has described him,” said the countess.

“Mrs. Bell, do you wish to lie down?” asked Laura.

A flash of annoyance showed in Elspeth's eyes at this usurpation of her role. She turned to her friend. “What think you, Countess?”

“My dear friend does not seem able to travel.”

“Mrs. Bell will be welcome to stay with us, Countess,” said Elspeth.

The countess was easily persuaded, and Laura escorted Mrs. Bell to a guest room, sending for Sarah to attend her. The lady was concerned to be the cause of this slight trouble.

“You are very welcome here, Mrs. Bell,” Laura said. “We will nurse you back to health. You must not think of leaving until you are quite well.”

 

Within an hour, the peacock-blue carriage had whisked its elegant owner away. Sir Richard wandered off with an absent look on his face, while Elspeth sank upon the sofa.

“How can I fill the days until my friend returns?” she asked.

“As you did before you knew her, Elspeth,” said Laura.

“You have no appreciation of fineness, Laura.”

“I own her ladyship to be very pleasing: she is beautiful, beguiling and amusing. It is small surprise that you take pleasure in the friendship.”

“That is all you have to say!”

“It seems a good deal to me,” said Laura. “I have not had the opportunity to plumb the depths that lie beneath the enchanting exterior.”

“The countess is perfect in every way,” said Elspeth, firing up.

“Then she is unusual indeed.”

 

On enquiring from Sarah, Laura found that Mrs. Bell had fallen asleep, and she went up to the solar to sketch by the window in peace. Before long, Elspeth followed her and began to fidget with her sister's pencils.

“You are muddling my arrangements,” said Laura.

Elspeth sighed. “It is bliss to be so distinguished by the countess.”

“She was careless of Mrs. Bell when she arrived. Her servants should treat the lady with more respect.”

“You amaze me, Sister! The drab creature has nowhere else to go and the countess is very kind in offering her a home.”

“Mrs. Bell must be a useful guardian of her ladyship's reputation, jaunting about the country as she does.”

“But so dull! The silly woman married a penniless curate, who carelessly caught cold and died, leaving her without a farthing.”

“Those poor curates should leave marriage to the better equipped.”

“I agree with you absolutely,” said Elspeth. She looked out along the empty drive, letting her shadow fall across Laura's work.

“Elspeth, pray move …”

“Her ladyship is so delightful in her condescension: one feels quite her equal!”

“When we meet again, I shall treasure the delight of being treated with courtesy by one so far above me.”

“Sarcasm is most unbecoming, Laura.”

“It would pass for a higher form of wit were I only a countess,” said Laura. “You are in my light, Elspeth.”

 

Edward returned in time to join his relations for coffee in the drawing room. How solemn Oakmont appeared, after the pleasures of Lewton Hall, and the company of his beloved. He was not presented to Mrs. Bell, who kept to her room. Elspeth was suffering the keenest regret on the brevity of the countess's visit, only comforted by the thought of her friend's return. Sir Richard was full of ponderous humour, to which Laura seemed incapable of making an answer.

“How dull you all are!” said Edward. “I hope this will cheer you: you are all invited to dine at Lewton Hall tomorrow.”

“Delightful,” said Elspeth. “If only we could have presented the countess.”

“Edward and his future bride must enjoy prominence on the occasion,” said Laura.

“This will be a small family celebration,” said Edward. “On
Wednesday I leave you for a few days to attend to business relating to my marriage.”

Before retiring, he found a chance to whisper to Laura, “Have you answered my cousin?”

“No—not yet.”

“But it will be in the affirmative?”

“You need not fear, Edward,” she said, bitterness creeping into her voice.

I
N THE MORNING
, M
RS
. B
ELL
came downstairs for breakfast, to the alarm of her new friends. She insisted she was quite well, and valiantly bit on a slice of toast. There was but one topic that aroused her from her lethargy.

“What think you of my banners, Mrs. Bell?” said Sir Richard.

“Oh,” she said. “I think them wonderful.”

“They are very old,” the baronet said.

Elspeth came to his assistance. “From their condition, one can see that they were, at times, used as weapons. Our ancestors were so very practical!”

“Surely not!” said Mrs. Bell.

Sir Richard said, “Nay, my cousin is teasing. The banners were treated with greatest respect in early times.” He turned to Mrs. Bell. “The damage you see is due to their antiquity.”

Mrs. Bell silently gazed at the venerable tapestries.

“There have been attempts at repair,” said Sir Richard.

Mrs. Bell saw fit to give her opinion. “Such endeavours can do more harm than good.”

“Just as I always fear!” said Sir Richard.

“My sister believes it is time to bring the banners down,” said Laura.

“You would not destroy my banners, Cousin Elspeth?” said Sir Richard.

“Never!” Elspeth laughed. “I would have them carried with the greatest respect—to the attics.”

Sir Richard looked at her in reproach, and Spotty waddled over to nudge him.

“You know my sister still teases you, Sir Richard,” said Laura.

“Oh!” he said. “Yes, indeed.”

Mrs. Bell cast a look of awe on the pennants.

Sir Richard noted her expression. “They are more than a little shabby,” he said.

“The genuine articles?”

“The very pennants carried out in defence of the Queen of England!” said Sir Richard, putting his hand to his heart.

“The very same?”

“We are of the one mind, I see. Some day I shall commission copies.”

“And these …?”

“The originals! You may be sure they will not reside in the attics. They will be preserved in a display case.”

Mrs. Bell soon retired to bed again, in the care of a chamber maid, and the family separated, to their own occupations.

Laura went for a long walk all around the park and gardens, with Jonathon trailing behind. She visited the home farm, resting on a seat outside the manager's cottage, and enjoying the childish pleasure of a glass of fresh milk. If Jonathon hoped to return to the house, he was disappointed. He had no time to ask for a second tankard of ale, before he had to follow his charge over field and stile to the far edge of the estate, where the ground dropped away into the valley. Only the pine forest was neglected in the tour.

Laura returned with barely time to dress for the celebration.

“What have you done to Jonathon?” said Elspeth, coming into her sister's room. “He is good for nothing.”

Sarah turned her head away to hide her smile.

“I did not ask for his company,” said Laura.

“You have made sure it was necessary.”

“I am sure the exercise is healthful. Pray let me dress.”

On Wednesday, Laura faced Mrs. Bell across a deserted breakfast table.

“The captain left at first light to attend to his business affairs.”

Mrs. Bell nodded.

“Sir Richard has gone shooting with the colonel and Mr. Woodruff, I believe.”

“Oh.”

“How would you like to occupy your time today?”

Mrs. Bell looked as though she had no way to determine such a thing.

“Shall we take a short walk?”

“I would be delighted.”

“When you are completely recovered, I can offer a fine view of Dartmoor crags. It is quite steep, you know, up through the pine forest, but worth every step.”

“I would like that very much.”

They wandered out in the flower gardens.

“Let me know if I outpace you with my great limbs,” said Laura. “How my mother despaired over their ferocious growth.”

“You knew her?” There was a glimpse of wistfulness in Mrs. Bell's eyes.

Laura indicated a bench, and they sat there, among the fading foliage of autumn. She said, “My mother died when I was a child, but I remember her very well. Did you not know your own?”

“She did not survive my birth.”

“Were you the only child?”

Mrs. Bell nodded.

Laura did not like to ask who had remained of the family, but Mrs. Bell surprised her by volunteering the information.

“My father was much attached to his classical studies.”

“One can learn much from a scholarly parent,” said Laura.

“The day would pass and I would see him only at meals.”

“My father too withdrew himself from his children—from grief, I believe. We fell to the care of our aunt.”

The other lady smiled, as fellow feeling lit her expression with softness.

“Then you married Mr. Bell!” Laura said, attempting to shake off the glum mood that seemed to threaten them.

“My father arranged it all, and appointed Mr. Bell as his curate.”

“Oh?” Laura began to doubt the poverty of this parson who could afford to pay a curate.

As though she read those thoughts, Mrs. Bell said, “There was no money. We lived with my father, who was Mr. Bell's good friend. They were closeted together all day over their books.”

What an odd business marriage can be, thought Laura.

“They died within six weeks of one another,” said Mrs. Bell.

Like a devoted old couple! Laura thought, amazed.

“You are very kind to listen to me,” said Mrs. Bell.

“It is no hardship, I assure you.”

“I have never spoken so much about myself in my life.”

“Can you not confide in the countess?”

Mrs. Bell gave a small laugh of self-deprecation. “I … try to amuse her but still … she finds me tedious, I know.”

 

After a quiet morning, the three ladies gathered in the drawing room before dinner, awaiting the appearance of the baronet.

“Sir Richard is never so unpunctual,” said Laura.

“He will be down shortly,” said Elspeth. “He has not long been home.”

Five minutes later, the baronet hastened in.

“How late you are, Sir Richard,” said Laura.

Sir Richard blushed, bowing several times. “I do beg your pardon, Cousin.”

“It is of no great matter. If you enjoyed the colonel's company, I am happy.”

“What? Oh, yes.”

“Tell us of your achievements today.”

“What!” he said, his eyes sliding away from her.

“How fared you in the game of strategy and chance?”

“What do you mean, Laura?”

Elspeth sighed. “My sister asks you how many birds you shot in the colonel's woods today.”

“None.”

“You poor love! Let us go into dinner,” said Elspeth, rising from her seat.

“How did your host fare?” said Laura.

“I … didn't go to Lewton Hall today.”

“I thought it was a settled thing.”

“Laura, can you not leave the subject alone?” said Elspeth, giving the baronet a gracious nod as she took his arm.

“I am sorry if I appear to pry,” said Laura, trying not to feel offended.

“Not at all,” said Sir Richard, turning his head towards her, but not meeting her eyes. “I will explain myself in due course.”

“You need do no such thing, Richard. It is no affair of mine. I was merely making conversation.”

Even the back of Elspeth's head had a self-satisfied look, Laura thought.

 

Day succeeded day in slow procession. On Thursday morning, the three ladies sat together in the solar.

Mrs. Evans had expressed delight on seeing Mrs. Bell so much recovered.

“How sorry you must be to have missed visiting her ladyship's uncle,” she said.

“I am passing my time perfectly pleasantly here, I thank you,” said Mrs. Bell.

“This is not so fashionable as some of the places you visit with the countess—but we are family and accustomed to its defects.”

“Your sister showed me the principal rooms this morning and I am delighted with their preservation.”

Elspeth looked surprised and moved to a new topic. “We are very dull at Oakmont; it is ever so.”

Mrs. Bell was silent, for the only answer that occurred to her was that she liked dull places but that did not infer a compliment.

There came the sound of wheels on the drive, not rumbling upon it so much as scattering the gravel. Elspeth rose and looked out of the window.

“I am seized by the headache,” she said. “I shall go to my room.” Laura followed her to the window and saw Mr. Woodruff's curricle bowling up to the front door.

“You might overpower the sensation, Elspeth. It is your fault, surely, that he is here.”

Elspeth blew her a kiss from the doorway and hurried away. In her room, she reclined upon her sofa, quickly becoming engrossed in a novel detailing an adventure in Poland. Despite having read the tale several times over, Elspeth found that it exerted greater fascination upon her imagination than the visitor just arrived.

Laura did her best to entertain Mr. Woodruff, but the young man was difficult to provoke into conversation. He did express a concern that Mrs. Evans was prone to ill-health, and Laura comforted him by pointing out that her sister was in mourning, her husband having only passed away within a twelve month.

“Already I see signs that my sister rallies a little,” said Laura.

This pleased him to an unwarranted degree. “Mrs. Evans has an affectionate nature, I believe,” he said.

Laura, wanting to laugh, said, “She was of great comfort to Mr. Evans in his declining years.”

“He lived to a ripe old age—near ninety, they say.”

“He always said his wife kept him young.”

Mr. Woodruff may have been provoked into thoughts that did not bear expression in the company of ladies, for his mouth opened and closed again in silence.

He sat there, with his hat upon his knee, and filled the occasional silences with the flapping of his gloves upon its crown. No other subject seemed capable of eliciting much speech from him. He jumped up and departed as soon as fifteen minutes had passed, and politeness was satisfied.

“Think you that the gentleman came to see us?” said Laura.

Mrs. Bell thought over this question seriously. “He cannot have intended to call upon me,” she said.

A note arrived for Laura from her sister, and she excused herself.

She found Elspeth at the window of her bedroom. “He has gone out then,” she said.

“Did you send for me to confirm what you see from your window?”

“That odious boy!” Elspeth shuddered. “No, I want to know where Richard has gone.”

“I believe he has gone with his steward to Oakridge Farm. They will look at a tree that his tenant wishes to cut down.”

“You cannot mean that ancient oak? It lends the lane a picturesque look.”

“That is true—I have often enjoyed its gnarled appearance.”

“My cousin must refuse. These tenants begin to think a place their own.”

“The Gothic charm of a diseased tree is of little use to a farmer. It casts such heavy shade that he can scarcely use the garden for vegetables. It cannot survive much longer in any case.”

“These people never cease to impose upon my cousin with their complaints.”

“Richard is not the species of landlord to care more about the artistic appearance of a small corner of his estate, than about the welfare of a farmer with eight children.”

“George Browning has sons enough to cut down every tree in the neighbourhood.”

Laura laughed. “Fortunately my cousin is not so indulgent as that!”

Elspeth returned to the sofa and arranged herself attractively.

“Have you answered him, Laura?” she said.

“If you do not leave this matter to me, I will refuse him. There! I am decided.” Laura turned on her heel and went to the door.

“Dearest, you mistake me. It is only care that caused me to interfere.”

“We shall quarrel, Elspeth, if you harass me in this matter.”

“How could I quarrel with my own beloved sister?”

“It seems impossible, yet you will do it.”

“I insist that you accept his offer this evening.”

“Then the answer is no.”

Laura left the room, and spent some minutes on her own, walking up and down to work off her irritation.

When Laura returned to the solar, she found Mrs. Bell in a pensive state. Leaving her guest to her thoughts, Laura opened her workbasket and took out her embroidery, a long piece of white silk, the border of which she was ornamenting with a Grecian pattern in emerald green.

“That is a lovely pattern, Miss Morrison.”