The Imaginary Gentleman (2 page)

Laura rose resignedly and submitted to a watery resumption of sisterly affection, a remedy she found more distasteful than the relapse.

As soon as she could, Laura escaped to the privacy of her room. She took out a sketchbook from her small portable desk. On a pristine page, in quick strokes of charcoal, she produced a sketch of Mr. Templeton. Above the simple arrangement of his cravat, the planes of his face emerged; his hair blown about in the wind. Her breath was caught by the expression in his eyes, their intensity captured by her skilful hand.

She closed the book and locked it in her desk.

T
HE WIND BLEW ITSELF OUT
by the next morning. The ladies had long finished their breakfast, and Mrs. Evans had at last stopped bothering her footman over the arrangements in the room. She put aside her sewing—a hat decoration, over which she tended to frown a little—to stretch out on the sofa, arranging her black silk skirt becomingly.

She looked over at Laura, seated at a small table near the window. “What are you drawing, dearest?”

“I am working on my sketch of the fishing traps.”

“Can you not be discovered engaged in something more interesting, Laura?”

“I find the shapes and shadows of the traps very interesting.”

Elspeth sighed. “I refer to what appears int—”

The door opened, and the inn servant announced, “A gen'leman come to see you, madam.”

Elspeth picked up her sewing and smirked at her sister, while Laura looked towards the door, hoping her high expectations were well-concealed. She composed herself as best she could, scarcely able to concentrate upon her task.

In the doorway appeared a gentleman of fine figure, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a grey cloak that swept down past the tops of his polished boots.

“Oh,” said Elspeth. “It is only you, Edward.”

“I had hoped for a happier welcome,” the visitor said, taking off his hat and tossing it aside on the table. “I hope you, too, are not disappointed to see me, Laura.”

“The day will never come when we are not happy to see our brother,” replied Laura, crossing the room to kiss him.

Laura helped Edward off with his cape. He wore a dark blue cut-away coat over a lighter blue waistcoat with military trimming, both well fitted to his fine torso. His left sleeve was empty and pinned up over the little that remained of his upper arm.

He returned her kiss, saying, “You look exceedingly well, Laura.”

“She does indeed, Brother!” said Elspeth. “How alike you two look today—with your healthy complexions and
straight
brown locks.”

“Our hair will never conform to Elspeth's ideals, Laura!” said Edward. Leaning on his stick, he crossed to the sofa. “The sea air agrees with Laura more than with the invalid, I see.”

Elspeth sniffed. “I hope I am not so ill-looking that I am not worth a glance, Edward.”

He laughed. “Your fighting spirit tells me that you are recovering your good health.”

He sat on the edge of the sofa and took Elspeth's hand. As he leant forward to kiss her, he felt her turn her body to avoid contact with his left shoulder.

“I shall never know robust health again, my dear Edward. I have scarcely set foot out of doors since the first day: I went sea-bathing!”

“Hardly a dangerous proceeding!” said Edward. “I cannot understand why it has kept you indoors for five days.”

“My spirits were intolerably oppressed. I believe the weather was not ideal when we immersed ourselves.”

“Elspeth means that she had a cold and her nose turned crimson,” said Laura.

Edward laughed.

“I was too sick and sorry an object to inflict myself on the populace,” said Elspeth.

“You ought to take more exercise, Sister. The sea air is very healthful.”

“I might be excused a little weakness at this unhappy time.”

“You will talk yourself into real illness, Elspeth,” Edward said.

“
Talk
myself into illness, indeed!” Her voice wobbled. “That is very hard of you.”

Edward looked at her, kindly enough, but shrewdly. “I believe you have got into bad habits, after too much indulgence from your husband.”

“Mr. Evans was very kind,” said Laura, seeing her sister on the point of tears. “It's not a wonder if she misses him.”

Edward grunted and caught Laura's eye, suspecting her of irony. War with France had kept him much at sea until the previous year, but Laura's letters had conveyed a picture of the old gentleman held in terror of the slightest frown from his pretty young wife.

Elspeth pouted. It was all very well for Laura to make fun of her marital arrangements. She had not had to put up with the grovelling attentions of an ancient.

“How does your friend Captain Newell fare, Edward?” said Laura.

“Thank you, but I fear he will never return to full health and will depend upon his relations for the rest of his life.”

“How tiresome for you, dear Brother, to spend time at the side of an invalid,” said Elspeth.

“We were midshipmen together, years ago. He fought as bravely as anyone at Trafalgar, yet missed out on any prizes.”

“He has his pension, I daresay, but I know from experience how demanding an invalid can become. I can imagine the difficulties he put in the way of your departure.”

The captain did not reply.

“He is fortunate in your friendship, Edward,” said Laura, changing the subject.

“One does not abandon a friend, surely?”

“You certainly do not.”

“Tell us about your journey, Brother,” said Elspeth. “You must have started out very early.”

The captain satisfied his sisters on all aspects of his journey, and of the health of the naval friends he had just left in Plymouth. Then he went to refresh himself in his room.

The ladies were left to themselves for a time.

“With our brother's protection, we are well placed to include Mr. Templeton in our circle. We were a little foolish to imagine that he may have called so early today.” Elspeth giggled. “Most like, he is resting after his errand. Perhaps he is staying on with the bereaved family.”

“He could hardly have returned to Charmouth after dark, in the storm.”

“How provoking if the dying man should be lingering still and reluctant to part with his spiritual shepherd.”

“That is not charitable, Elspeth.”

“What sort of dying personage does not send for the vicar of his own parish? He is selfish to demand that a complete stranger, holidaying in the district, make a dangerous journey in all that rain.”

“It does seem strange. Mr. Templeton himself did not know what to make of it.”

“I should not sit awaiting him, if I were you. Perhaps you might take a short walk with Edward after he has rested. Do not tire him; he has not yet learnt to take account of his infirmities.”

“I thought he was walking a little better than when we saw him last—leaning less on his stick.”

“Oh, Laura!” Elspeth cast a mournful look at her sister. “My brother will never know perfect health again—and such a handsome figure of a man he was!”

“Is he not handsome still?”

“In his features, certainly.”

“He has still that same manly deportment that always distinguished him.”

“Oh, Laura! How your affection blinds you!”

 

The sky was a watery blue and the wind subsided when Laura set out with her brother on their walk. Edward adapted himself readily to the hazards of Broad Street's steep descent.

“I wish Elspeth would not fuss so,” he said. “I lived too long at sea to settle into the life of an invalid.”

“You seem to be walking rather well.”

“I am determined to prove the physicians wrong and live to walk as I did before. I would be ashamed to pity myself, after seeing the state of some of my brother officers. I thank God that I am so far spared.”

“We do too, Edward.”

From the bottom of the street, near the spot where Laura had
stood the day before, they turned onto the walk that skirted around the little beach towards the Cobb. On the shingle, a few children ran about or searched in the sands for marine trophies washed up overnight. In the harbour, the fishing fleet was at anchor, and one or two pleasure craft awaited hire. A horse was pulling a bathing machine into the water, the little hut swaying on its wheels.

Edward shivered. “I would not be tempted to bathe on such a day as this.”

“You know that the physicians recommend this season as more beneficial for the health than summer.”

“They love to see their patients suffer,” he said.

“I enjoy sea-bathing very much. How Elspeth screamed the day she went into the water!”

Two solidly built women were helping a lady to creep down the steps of the bathing machine into the sea, while her garment billowed about her. The captain looked discreetly away, but Laura watched as the attendants pushed the lady under the water. Her squeal echoed across the bay, as her legs slipped from under her and she sank to her neck in the brine.

Edward jammed his hat down firmly against the wind and stepped onto the beginning of the breakwater. The words of a letter had come instantly to his mind, words he learnt by heart aboard ship, in happier times.

It was not the sea that parted us so finally, he thought.

Laura glanced at her brother's profile, his eyes concealed by the
shadow of his hat, as he stared out to sea. They looked out over the ocean rolling into the bay, its strength breaking up against the stone wall.

“Edward, why do you not take a boat out while you are here? I have seen the fishermen taking other visitors out on the water.”

He grunted, not committing himself.

“I would delight in accompanying you, if you so wish,” she said.

He was silent for a few moments, then spoke, pointing out to a distant haze over the sea. “The French coast is just there, over yonder.” The set of his mouth was expressive of bitterness.

“Your eyesight is prodigious!” Laura said, trying to tease him out of his glum mood.

“I do not need to see its very shores to feel the menace. It is a reproach to me. I ought to be doing my duty still, guarding against the enemy.”

Laura felt pained and breathless. “You have more than paid your dues to England.”

“There is no end to my duty while we are still at war.”

“The sea power of the French is broken. You played your part in that, at Trafalgar.”

“England will always need a strong navy. I am cast aside as useless.”

He referred to the war, and to his career, cut short. Yet, he could not help thinking of another path equally severed.

In the little silence, Laura sensed where his thoughts went. Her brother had lost all—his career, his pride in his place in the navy, his belief that he was worthy to be loved.

“Can you not see your country's gratitude in the honours and rewards granted to you?” she said.

He turned and looked into her eyes, the same green as his own.

“Poor Laura, how can I serve you such gall?”

“No matter. Shall we go back?”

Ragged children had followed the receding tide, collecting shell-fish. The occasional shout of triumph signalled the find of a fish thrown up into a pool by the heavy seas. A young boy, the dirty tail
of his shirt coming loose from his string belt, bounded up Granny's Teeth, the precipitous steps leading from the sands to the walkway, to stand before the captain.

“Good morning, young sir,” Edward said laughing.

“Do you truly be a hero, sir?” The boy had a slight impudence, somehow ameliorated by an impish humour.

“I am a retired ship's captain, if that is what you mean,” said Edward.

“The inn-keeper had it of your servant, sir—you fought on, when you was a'cut up and was a'writ in the newspaper.”

Laura laughed. “He is indeed a hero, make no mistake.”

“Ooh!” He looked hopefully towards Edward's pocket and the captain fished a halfpenny from his purse.

“Too much admiration will make a poor man of you after all,” said Laura.

The lad clutched his reward and ran off a few paces then paused, saying over his shoulder, “I seed thee yonder in the tempest, miss.” He darted off down the steps.

“In what tempest did the lad see thee?”

“Yesterday morning was very windy. The tide was high and drove the fishwives from the sands.”

“Not that young lad, it seems.”

“It seems not.” She paused, before adding, “I met Mr. Templeton there briefly. He is—”

“Ah, Elspeth told me about him, before breakfast—an acquaintance of the lady you both know, staying at the inn.”

“Yes.” She did not look at him and he did not press her, wanting to hear it from her voluntarily, if there was more to tell. Her silence told him more than a speech may have. “Do you wish to see a little of the town?”

“Indeed.”

They walked along the river path, admiring the pretty scenes there, and came back into Broad Street.

“Would you like to present your card at Number 54, the unofficial gateway to genteel society here?”

“It is unlike you, Laura, to be the one to propose such a thing. Have you called there?”

“Mrs. Gurdon is staying at the inn and she introduced me. She is a friend of Aunt Fielding in Suffolk. Do you remember her?”

“Mrs. Gurdon? No, I cannot say that I do. Remember that I have seen little of our Aunt and Uncle Fielding since first going to sea.”

“Of course! I am very attached to Aunt Fielding—she is so affectionate.”

“It is a pity you did not go to live with her, when Father died.”

“How differently things might have turned out if we had! Aunt Fielding so resembles Mama.”

“Yes—Aunt Morrison was a poor substitute for our mother.”

“To return to Mrs. Gurdon. She is our aunt's particular friend, and is staying here at Lyme. You cannot imagine Elspeth's agonies—to be in Lyme and not make her presence felt with the family at Number 54. They could be relied upon to broadcast our sister's importance in the world.”