The Imaginary Gentleman (21 page)

L
IFE AT
O
AKMONT WAS IN
a state of excitement to more than rival Edward's adventures.

At breakfast, Elspeth had announced her plans for a dance in honour of Evalina, to take place two days before the wedding.

Sir Richard pronounced himself delighted and undertook to engage the musicians from Tiverton.

“That gaggle of ill-dressed men!” said Elspeth. “Certainly not! I wish you to arrange for the same ensemble that played, very well-attired, in Exeter, at the King's Birthday Celebrations.”

“'Tis but a neighbourhood dance, Cousin.”

“It will be properly done, Sir Richard.”

“Of course. But let us not terrify the local populace with our grandeur.”

“Terrify them! I would not dream of it! I shall, however, do honour to the occasion.” She looked from Sir Richard to Laura. “The ball will be full dress.”

“Full dress!” said Laura. “We are not in London, Elspeth. How many of Sir Richard's friends are even in possession of court dress?”

Sir Richard added, “You put too much expense upon my friends.”

“They can borrow … things … from each other, surely.” Elspeth waved her hands vaguely. “They can easily add a little lace or fancy trimming to their attire.”

“Where are folk such as the Charmans and the Wallaces to obtain tiaras and so forth?” asked Sir Richard.

“As for the Wallaces—let them hire jewels, or wear ornaments of paste. I had not thought to invite the
Charmans
, Cousin.”

Sir Richard whitened with anger. “You will insult these respectable ladies because they are come upon hard times?”

“Very well—let us have the Charmans. You worry without cause, Richard. You know not the many tricks a poor lady has up her sleeve to make a respectable appearance.”

“Nay, Cousin. I cannot invite my neighbours to a dance knowing that the grandeur of it will cause them discomfort. That is not what I call hospitable conduct.”

“Very well, then,” said Elspeth. “But stand on notice, Richard, that I intend my brother to appear in full dress uniform. At the very least, our guests will expect his family to be very elegant indeed.”

 

The solar was given over to the ladies' sartorial preparations. White muslin, silk and lace frothed over the furniture. Mrs. Evans had sent for one of her own maids to come from St Austell to assist with her gown.

“This occasion forces me to finish embroidering my silk at last,” said Laura. “I can be rid of the task, and enjoy wearing a garment I have seen in my imagination for so long.”

“You will be very elegant,” said Elspeth. “I beg that Mrs. Bell supervise as we add the muslin overskirt, so you might remove it later without damage to the silk.”

“What overskirt? You take over my wardrobe along with everything else!” said Laura.

“Don't be cross, my love,” said Elspeth, holding a length of lilac silk so that it fell in folds over the black of her skirt. “I spent the entirety of the morning yesterday, deep in discussion with the Woodruff ladies about their costumes for the ball. We are in absolute agreement that Edward must have the honour of appearing in full dress uniform.”

“You are going against Richard's wishes?”

“No, the invitations will carry no hint of grandeur. I do not ask for full dress. However, Mrs. Woodruff undertakes to spread the word of what the captain deserves from us all.”

How she gets her way! thought Laura. Elspeth will make it a patriotic duty for our guests to spend more than they can afford on lace and other expensive trifles. Folk such as the Charmans will make an excuse to stay at home—poor little Fanny Charman will miss it all. Laura's mind turned to how she could help her, without offending the aunts' dignity. She would wait to hear what answer they gave to their invitation.

Laura had spent several weeks embroidering the border of her silk. She had planned a simple, elegant gown, white with the green embroidery on sleeves and hem; now a glitter of green tassels and beads lay in her basket. She had no choice but to fall in with Elspeth's plans. If the Woodruff ladies appeared more or less in full dress, she could hardly do less.

Elspeth laughed suddenly. “A dull widow such as I cannot steal the light from the young ladies,” she said, standing over her dressmaker, watching every careful snip of the scissors into her lilac satin.

Laura glanced at the other widow in the room. Mrs. Bell was seemingly unaware, measuring out her gown and humming … she was humming to herself, as she stroked the precious gleaming satin. Her gown was to be made all in folds, invisibly pinned in place—only the sleeves would be cut out. Laura knew the lady had the skill to make something quite perfect of it. Afterwards, of course, it could be all unpinned with no wastage, and another gown made up from it, if need arose.

“We must give some thought to the guest list,” Elspeth said. “One cannot expect the countess to be brought into the company of folk who are scarcely even genteel.”

Laura laughed. “I challenge even you, Elspeth, to persuade my cousin to abandon old friends.”

“As long as he can see the need to include those who may be useful to our new sister.”

“You mean the Dowager Viscountess Fardon, and the Viscount with his lady?”

“The very same.”

Laura's expression showed a little distaste, but Elspeth was not one to pass judgement on those of use in the world. “I shall draw up a list this afternoon,” she said.

T
HE CAPTAIN RETURNED TO
O
AKMONT
on Saturday, in time to pick up his letters from the tray in the hall and take a bath before dinner.

Almost as soon as they were all seated in the dining hall, Laura sensed that some communication about her had taken place between Elspeth and her brother. Edward watched Laura and Sir Richard closely at first, and looked at Elspeth and smiled. It seemed they had surmised that the engagement had taken place.

“What news of your journey, Edward?” said Sir Richard.

“I have ordered work on the cottage to begin at once. There must be certain comforts for my bride when we arrive.”

“Assuredly,” said Elspeth.

Laura said nothing; she had no cheer to add.

“Most of the work will take place after we go to town. Evalina wishes to enjoy a season in London.”

“You must stay in my London house, Edward,” said Sir Richard. “It has stood empty since I can't recall. I will order it readied for you.”

“That is very kind, Cousin.”

“It takes a great temptation to move me thither, as you know. Perhaps later in the season there may be reason for me to go to London.”

He seemed aware of making a small blunder for he looked down, reddening.

“There will be a lady to present at court,” said Elspeth, glancing sidelong at her sister.

Laura stiffened but Elspeth said, “I believe I could prevail upon Lady Clarydon to present your bride at court, Edward.”

Edward's eyes lit up with pleasure. “Evalina will be highly gratified with the honour,” he said.

Elspeth smiled complacently. “I am happy to be of use to my family. The countenance of a peeress can only enhance dear Evalina's consequence.”

Edward thanked her again, and finished his description of the improvements that were begun at Wintern Cottage.

It was not until the dishes were laid out for the second course, that Edward said, “You may have noticed a letter came for me from Lyme. It is good news from the surgeon whom I appointed to attend the injured boy.”

“Young Tom? How is he, Edward?” Laura could not keep a quaver from her voice.

“You are too kind to him, Sister,” he said.

“Mrs. Bell, you must be patient with us,” Elspeth said. “Miss Morrison saw an injured boy at Lyme.” Her lip curled a little. “He was the son of some fisherwoman. My sister insisted upon the captain going to his aid.”

“How kind!”

Elspeth raised her eyes heavenward.

Edward continued. “The surgeon re-set the boy's broken leg, which should heal almost entirely in time.”

“I am happy to hear it!” said Laura.

“The lad's eye is open and he sees from it.”

“I barely hoped for such a recovery.”

Edward shook his head. “The boy now tells a different tale, just as the surgeon predicted. He claims that he was running along the path from Charmouth, when he collided with two ruffians. He has an ‘irrepressible humour', the good doctor writes, and suggested in colourful terms that the strangers were at fault. They left him in a pitiable state and made good their escape from the district. Fortunately, Tom was soon discovered and carried home upon a plank.”

“He was given a cruel lesson,” said Elspeth. “I hope he has benefited from it.”

 

Later, in the drawing room, Elspeth was playing the pianoforte and Sir Richard lounged in a chair listening to her, while Mrs. Bell sat at the table with a picture of the crest before her, making out the pattern. Edward sat with Laura on the other side of the room.

“I hope your doubts are settled, my dear Laura,” Edward said quietly.

“I am happy to hear about Tom's recovery, but I am still puzzled by his saying that there was no gentleman with me that morning.”

“Do not trouble yourself so over these details, Laura.”

“Why should he say it?”

“Did he say it of his own accord, Laura? Did you ask him about the gentleman first?”

She could not speak. Her breath was carried away by his calm assumption that she was wrong in this too. He looked at her kindly. She found she could not say it; she could not be completely sure.

She was silent for a moment and he looked at her anxiously.

“Poor Edward,” she said. “What a trouble I have been to you.” She seemed to hear her own words as though spoken by another; she scarcely knew what she meant.

“Can you accept that the events are explainable?”

She hesitated, before saying, “I think I must.” He kissed her.

There was silence for a moment or two before Edward said, “I visited an old friend in Cornwall. Do you remember Albert Jenner, my old friend from school? He is settled not far from Fowey.”

“Yes—I met him while I still lived at Wintern.”

“He asked to be remembered to you.”

“I like his wife very much. It will be pleasant to renew our acquaintance when I visit Wintern.”

“Laura, I asked him if he had heard of a person mistaking someone for another whom they barely resembled.”

Laura looked at him, the expression in her eyes reflecting at once caution and a certain annoyance. “You have disguised the story of my ‘seeing' Mr. Templeton in the Hollow, in order to gauge his opinion.”

“Don't be cross. I am sure he thought I spoke of myself. He said it is a common occurrence.”

“Yet you have the advantage over me, Edward: your infatuation is with a real woman.”

Elspeth stopped playing for a moment, her eyes having left her
music sheet as she watched them. She was too far away to hear them and resumed playing.

Laura watched as Sir Richard rose and went over to the table, leaning over Mrs. Bell's work, a paper with rows of letters and numbers—the pattern for the banners.

Edward's eyes followed hers.

“You have accepted him?” said Edward, quietly.

“Yes, do not fear.”

“I confess to feeling a little hurt by that reply, Laura. I want only what will further your happiness.”

She wanted to ask what happiness could be found for such as her. She looked at him, full of his successful love, anticipating all the joy of passionate love returned. She shook her head a little, as though to dislodge the uncharitable thought. At least of the three siblings, one was to be happy in matrimony, and he, of all of them …

She put her hand on his. “Edward, you have so earned your happiness.”

“Thank you, dearest Laura. You have merited more than life has served you thus far. The path you have chosen is the best.”

“I suppose so.”

“That is not graciously said.”

“I would have preferred an offer that had less generosity in it.”

Edward patted her arm. He was on the point of turning away, when she remembered. “When we came home from Lewton Hall on Tuesday evening, you went into the library with Richard and Elspeth. Why was that?”

He paused. “We discussed the terms of your marriage contract.”

“Before I had even accepted him?”

“What point is there in delay?”

She had no answer and he went to sit near the pianoforte.

Laura recalled her cousin's mysterious absence on Wednesday, when he should have been with the colonel. Richard had been evasive in answering her innocent questions about his day. Had he gone to see his attorney?

How they scurried secretly about, like mice behind the wainscot.

A
HEAVY, DRIZZLING SKY HUNG
over Oakmont. Elspeth sat by the drawing-room fire, weaving a gathering thread into Laura's long trail of lace. Mrs. Bell sat close to the window for the natural light, putting the first careful stitches into a sleeve for her new gown, poking in her needle, drawing the thread through with unvarying concentration. On the mantle, the clock emitted a tentative tick.

Laura jumped up from her embroidery and hurried from the room. She emerged from the cloakroom in cloak and bonnet, with Sarah scurrying out behind her, holding out a warm scarf. Jonathon grimaced at Sarah in despair on seeing the outdoor garb, so that Sarah poked out her tongue at him from behind her mistress. Jonathon tilted his head in a hint for her to come too but she laughed.

At the kitchen door, Laura slipped on her clogs and left the house, leaving Jonathon to pull on boots and coat as quickly as he may.

Laura climbed the dim, slippery path, emerging at the top. The moor was wrapped in a shroud. In moments she was chilled to the bone. Jonathon was not halfway up the hill before she passed him and went back inside, dropping her damp cloak on the stone floor. The scullery maid gaped at this uncharacteristic thoughtlessness, but Jonathon shrugged and picked it up.

Laura paced restlessly along the gallery, until her sister appeared from the drawing room. Without speaking and with a fierce intensity in her eyes, Elspeth mimed the writing of a word. Laura turned away and continued her walk, up and down the long gallery.

Three days had passed since the documents were delivered, and still the contracts for Laura and Sir Richard's marriage lay unsigned in the baronet's desk.

The captain came down the stairs and stopped short at the sight of Laura's restlessness.

“Laura, are you bored?” he said.

“I cannot tolerate another moment here.”

“Come with me to Lewton Hall. I am sure Miss Woodruff will be glad of your company.”

“Thank you, Edward. I will.”

He went into the drawing room.

“Will you ladies join us in a visit to the Woodruffs?” he said.

“A kind thought, Edward,” said Elspeth. “But there is much to do here.”

“Very good,” said the captain, not one to repeat an invitation.

“Laura, remember your work basket,” Elspeth said. “You will have need of that embroidery very soon.” She handed the basket to her sister. “Mrs. Bell undertakes to sew the beads on the bodice, Laura. Is that not very kind?”

Laura turned to Mrs. Bell. “You ought not reward my laziness, madam. Have you time for this?”

“Oh, yes. I will have my own gown half done by bedtime.”

“No more sketching for me until my gown is complete.”

“Oh, but you give others pleasure with your drawing,” said Mrs. Bell.

Laura knew not what to say, feeling awed by Mrs. Bell's unassuming generosity of spirit.

“The carriage awaits, Sister!” Edward said, and they left for Lewton Hall.

 

The moment she entered the house, Laura sensed the anger, almost sizzling in the air, and looked questioningly at her brother. Evalina flew down the stairs, and, scarcely greeting them properly, led them up. On the landing, Miss Woodruff was to be found, her face white, wringing her hands. She seemed to struggle for breath as she curtsied.

“Miss Woodruff, you are not well,” said Laura.

“I am well.” There was an awkward pause. “Pray go with my sister and I will join you shortly. You will not be disturbed in that part of the house.”

“Pray, let me assist you,” said Edward.

“You are very kind but it is best if you do not. I will come to you in a few moments.”

Evalina led the visitors quickly along the corridor and around a corner, where they paused. She put her finger to her lips. Laura peeped around to see that Jane still dallied, far enough back from the stair to be unseen from the hall below. Evalina pulled her around the corner, keeping Laura's hand in hers; both were shaking.

A masculine shout of rage was heard, followed by a pause—Laura wondered if someone was replying. Evalina turned and reached out towards Edward and he pulled her to him.

“What has happened, my dearest?”

“A letter from India.” She was on the verge of tears.

The shout echoed through the house. “Jane!”

“I am here, Father,” his daughter called, clearly and with a calmness that belied the anxiety of her appearance.

“Come!” her father shouted.

Edward broke away from Evalina and ran back towards the stairs.

“Edward, no!” cried Evalina.

Edward stopped at the head of the stairs, in clear view of the colonel should he emerge from the library. Jane was taking her first steps down the stairs, clinging to the banister.

In the hall below, the colonel stepped out of the library.

Jane barely paused, but continued slowly down the stairs.

Edward stepped forward—he could not stand by. Before he could speak, another ran past him—young Jeremy Woodruff, still pulling on his coat, his hair standing up in unbrushed curls.

Laura and Evalina came slowly along the corridor, fascinated.

Buttoning his coat, Jeremy straightened. His father looked up at him as he descended.

“Ain't you tired of this, sir? For I am,” the young man said.

“What! Stay out of this, you cub.”

“Well, I'm sorry, sir, to say that I can't—not any more.”

The colonel spluttered, red-faced.

Mrs. Woodruff appeared in the doorway of the library. “Jeremy, I beg you …”

Her son bowed, but continued down the stairs until he stood before the colonel. “I don't wish to quarrel with my father, but Jane's the best of us, sir, and you never will see that.”

“Silence!”

“Why not give her your blessing this once?”

“Leave my house.”

“As you wish, sir. But stand on notice of my return should I hear the slightest complaint from my sister.”

As Jeremy turned at the door, Laura stared in wonder at his manly bearing as he said, “I shall send for you, Jane, when I have established myself.”

His father snorted in derision, and an expression of true defiance now crossed his son's face.

Until that moment, Laura had thought he might turn back. He bowed deeply to Mrs. Woodruff, who held on to the library doorway for support.

“My deepest respects and grateful affection to the best mother who ever breathed,” he said.

“Jeremy, my darling …” She began to weep. Jeremy turned on his heel and marched out of the house.

The colonel stalked back into the library and shut the door.

Jane went to her mother and, putting her arm around her, led her up the staircase.

 

Evalina took Edward and Laura to the back of the house, into a small sitting room. She sat on a sofa next to her captain, while Laura sat on a chair opposite.

“You must be so curious, Miss Morrison, but I dare not tell,” she said.

“I am not curious at all,” said Laura, with more politeness than accuracy.

“Would you care for tea?”

“Thank you, yes,” said Laura. She realised she sat with her basket upon her knee. She put it on the floor and took out her work, preparing to finish embroidering her hem.

“Your brother is gone to the village,” Laura said, feeling it awkward to make no comment upon the incident at all.

“Oh! Yes,” said Evalina. Then, after a pause, she added, “Sometimes my father loses patience with him.”

Laura nodded pleasantly and studied her work.

“You are not to think that Papa orders him from the house, by general rule.”

Laura looked into her eyes and saw her confusion and fear. “Of course he would not—I never thought so.”

Edward took Evalina's hand. “Don't fret, my love. Jeremy must come to manhood in the best way he can. If he were away at sea, he would do so with no need to challenge his father's rule.”

“One cannot challenge my father; that way never succeeds.”

He laughed. “You have found the way, but Jeremy must work with the nature God gave him.”

Evalina fetched her workbasket from a table, and resumed her place by Edward. She was making little roses from pink satin ribbon.

A servant entered and set up the tea table next to Miss Evalina, who began to pour the tea, saying, “I am such a novice.”

After another fifteen minutes, Jane joined them.

“My mother sends her apologies. She is not well and will not take tea with us today,” she said.

“I am so sorry,” said Laura.

“My father, too, is indisposed by some worrying piece of business. It has ruffled his mind. He knew not that you were in the house and sends his apologies.”

“Not at all,” said Laura, and the captain bowed.

“I see you have brought your sewing, Miss Morrison.” She looked at Edward. “How will you occupy yourself, Captain, while we ladies busy ourselves with our finery?”

“Edward must read to us,” said Evalina. “We have been reading
The Romance of the Forest
.”

“Have you?” said Laura, near to laughter, half in humour, half with relief. “It used not to be a favourite with Edward.”

“Do you mind if we listen to Cowper instead?” said Jane.

Pouting, Evalina fetched
The Olney Hymns
from the bookshelf, and handed it to Edward. He gave her a little wink and she sat down, content.

“Let me choose for you, Jane,” said Edward. He held the book against the arm of the chair, while flicking through the pages with his fingers. As soon as he began, Laura recognised it as “Peace After a Storm”.

Laura saw how Edward's eyes briefly met Evalina's—saw how he smiled, and how she looked back at him with a sweet seriousness, an inner stillness that Laura had scarcely supposed her to possess.

As he read, Jane's voice joined with his.

She stopped. Edward read the remaining verses alone. There was a small silence.

“How fortunate we all are!” said Jane.

 

Brother and sister returned to Oakmont and Laura went upstairs to dress for dinner. Edward discovered his cousin alone in the library, reading in an armchair.

“Edward, you are returned! Had you an enjoyable visit?”

“Well, yes, I suppose.” Edward pulled up a chair next to his cousin's. “What are you reading?”

Sir Richard turned the spine of the volume towards the captain, who noted the title,
A Complete Survey of the Coats of Arms of Middle England, Volume 3
.

“I thought you had mastered that subject,” said Edward.

“There is always something new to learn.”

“I suppose there is.” He adopted a brisker tone. “We need not stand upon ceremony, Richard.”

Warmth was replaced at once by wariness in the baronet's eyes.

“I wish to speak of your engagement to my sister.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“I do not like this delay over signing the marriage settlements.”

“I am ready to sign as soon as Laura is—but I cannot be party to … insistence.”

That old stubbornness appeared, as the baronet's jaw tightened and he raised his head high.

“I will not sign those papers until Laura comes to me of her own free will, and says to me, ‘Richard, I now wish to sign the contracts.'” He looked steadily at Edward. “I will know if she is forced.”

“Laura will not be easy until all is settled, and a date set for the marriage.”

“I have not forgot how Elspeth pressed her to accept that … slimy fellow who asked for her hand a year or two back.”

“This is quite different. There can be no exception to you as a husband.”

“Aunt Morrison tried to make Laura marry me all those years ago—how dreadful I felt! Like a monster!”

“You are her knight and she knows it.”

“It will not do for others to declare it. Laura must feel it so, else I am her jailer.”

 

As soon as she entered her room, Laura noticed a scent in the air. On the night-table, someone had placed a dried bouquet of flowers with an aroma strong enough to smell from the door. It had been perfumed with fragrant oil—in all likelihood by her sister. She put it on a table in the corridor.

There was time for Laura to quickly record her visit in her journal. She had already decided on discretion: she would not write of the mystifying quarrel among the Woodruff family. She turned the key of the desk, lowered the lid and reached towards the drawer before she noticed. Her outstretched arm froze and a numb sensation filled her head.

In the pigeon hole, empty since the drawing disappeared, it lay returned. Slowly she stretched out her hand and pulled out the screwed-up paper. Her hands shook as she slowly opened it out, then she dropped it, gasping.

It was not the sketch of the Hollow, but the picture she drew of Mr. Templeton, blurred here and there where the charcoal was rubbed by the crumpling of the paper. She looked down to where it lay by her feet. He stared up at her, from the past, from what seemed very long ago. The intensity of his gaze frightened her, seeming to accuse her.

No, she thought. It was a sketch of the Hollow. I am sure.

She picked up her sketch book and turned the pages hastily, sometimes turning two at a time, before finding she could not turn the next for the numbness of her fingers. At last she satisfied herself. The picture had been torn from her sketchbook.

Certainly I saw it there yesterday—or was it longer ago?