The Imaginary Gentleman (22 page)

She picked up the sketch; looked at it closely, peering into Mr. Templeton's eyes, as though he might be able to answer her.

She tried to recall—when was the drawing last in its place?

She groaned and rubbed her forehead.

I remember Evalina saw it—how long ago was that? Have I seen it since?

Laura got into bed, and stretched rigidly on top of the covers. She stared at the bed canopy, which gleamed faintly about her. She remembered rushing out of the house in the morning.

Had she left her sketchbook in the drawing room?

She tried to retrace the steps she had taken but recalled mainly the agonising slowness of the passage of time in the drawing room, and her sister signing with an invisible pen. The next thing Laura
remembered was her view of the moon shrouded in mist. She had fled to escape Elspeth. Of course—Elspeth!

Laura went to see her sister in her room. She was seated before the looking glass, watching as her maid dressed her hair.

Trying to keep suspicion from her voice, Laura said, “I left my sketchbook in the drawing room today.”

Elspeth looked a little vague for a moment.

“So you did! I thought it very unlike you, Laura.”

Elspeth turned to her maid. “Leave us,” she said. The waiting woman went into the dressing room and closed the door.

Laura said, “Edward was in a hurry to go out, so I ran upstairs forgetting about the book.”

Elspeth smiled. “You are quite forgiven. Heavens, I leave my work about constantly!”

“Who put it in my room?” said Laura.

“Put what? Oh, you mean the book. I sent it up with a servant. Is it damaged?”

Laura looked at Elspeth narrowly. “Someone has torn a page from it.”

Elspeth's blue eyes widened. “Are you quite sure?”

“Why would I say so, if I were not?”

Elspeth's eyes met hers in the mirror. “Do you suspect the servants, my dear?”

Laura could not tell if her sister was acting a part.

“I cannot imagine what motive the servants might have.”

“Theft?”

“No. Someone has put it into my desk in the same place whence the other sketch disappeared.”

Elspeth raised her pretty hands. There was an unpleasant, insinuating tone in her voice. “You say another sketch has been taken already?”

Laura felt trapped. “I did not say anything about that because … I removed it from the book myself.”

Elspeth turned around, meeting her sister's eyes. “You removed it yourself.”

“What of it? I was not satisfied with it. When it disappeared, I thought little of it because I … did not like it.”

Her sister was looking at her in alarm—feigned or not? Laura could no longer tell.

“There is no need to adopt that expression, Elspeth,” she said.

“I am very confused about your indecision over the first … disappearance … of a sketch, that is.”

Laura was angry enough to want to slap her.

“Why did you put those flowers in my room?”

“I thought you would like them.”

“You know I cannot abide dried flowers.”

Elspeth pouted. “You were very insensitive in placing them in the passage, where I might see them.”

Laura looked at her keenly. “You have been in my room. Did you do it, Elspeth? Did you tear out that sketch and put it in my desk?”

Elspeth smiled sweetly. “How, Laura? How could I have done it, through all your locks?”

There was a pause. Then Laura said, “I do not know.”

Elspeth shook her head. “Poor, poor Laura,” she said.

M
RS
. E
VANS CALLED ON THE
assistance of Mrs. Bell and Laura to write out the invitations to the ball. Sir Richard sent them out—some by post, some with a servant, others delivered by his own hand. The acceptances came back promptly; only one or two families declined on the grounds of ill-health. One such refusal threw the baronet into dark suspicion.

He rode into the village and knocked at the door of the lodgings occupied by his old friends the Miss Charmans and their orphaned niece, seventeen-year-old Fanny. He ducked his head to enter the cramped room, which held such pieces of furniture as they had salvaged from former days, when they had lived in more comfort. He found the two older ladies alone, sitting by the fire. On the mantelpiece, the invitation, marked with the coat of arms of Oakmont, stood in proud prominence.

“Sir Richard, what delight you give us,” said Miss Annabel Charman. “You were too kind, you know, in sending us such a large piece of pork the other day.”

“No, no—we cannot have waste at Oakmont!” he cried, as usual. It mattered not what the gift had been—from a load of firewood to a great jug of soup—his excuse was the same.

Despite her swollen knuckles, Miss Charman poured the tea from a pot with a large handle. After accepting his cup, the baronet hummed and hawed a little.

“I do not like to bring up such a matter,” he said. “But—you have received your payment as usual this month?”

“Yes, indeed, I thank you,” said Miss Charman. “The proprietor of the gallery has sent a kind letter. A customer asks that Annabel paint a series of miniatures in the picturesque style—rocks, waterfalls and so forth—not that the buyer will know the artist's identity, of course. I would not have you think
that
.”

Every month, Sir Richard carried away a parcel of Miss Annabel's
miniature landscapes, and Miss Fanny's embroidery, to be privately sold in Exeter. Miss Charman, the elder, was too crippled with arthritis to contribute. It was well known in the village, but the fact that the ladies were not forced to display their goods themselves for sale, or to take payment face to face, preserved their situation as gentlewomen.

“Well,” he said. “I will come to the point. You will disappoint me greatly if you do not come to the dance. Perhaps Miss Fanny is shy?”

Miss Annabel laughed. “Well, that is hardly the case, is it, sir?” She blushed, despite having prepared for this very explanation. “We all feel that so much is owed to the captain, and this is the celebration of his coming nuptials.”

He looked at her, uncomprehending.

She went on. “His bride will wish to see him in full uniform, and … it makes the occasion a little grand for us.” She saw the dismay in his eyes. “We are so very happy and honoured to have been invited, of course. That means more to us than attending, in a way.”

The ladies saw that their benefactor seemed discomfited and set about entertaining him with the latest news.

“Did you hear, sir, that Mr. Woodruff has left his father's house?”

“I heard something of it but all will blow over, as such quarrels generally do.”

“The young gentleman stayed at the inn for two days, waiting in vain to hear from his father. He is now gone off in the London coach.”

“Surely not!”

“Yes indeed, for Mrs. Smith told us that Mr. Brumfield wrote to his wife that he travelled with him as far as Exeter and saw him get on the outside of the stage there.”

“The landlord at Lewton Inn has sent his bill to the colonel,” added Miss Annabel Charman.

Sir Richard shook his head. “The young man would have done better to arrange to pay it himself.”

“It seems that Mr. Woodruff wishes to take up the law.”

“It will be many a year before the law will pay for his fine way of life.”

Shaking his head over the impetuous young man, the baronet left them. His attempt to persuade the ladies to come to the dance in their usual evening dress was met with polite resistance.

 

Sir Richard was convinced that Mrs. Evans had found an indirect route to have her own way. She quickly learnt that he was very displeased, and no amount of flirtation or tears could excuse her, or cold looks frighten him. As had happened once or twice before, Elspeth had gone too far.

Two days later, the Charman ladies wrote to the baronet, explaining that their health had suddenly improved and that they hoped to be able to attend the ball. Sir Richard never enquired how Elspeth had got around the ladies' pride. In fact, it had cost her very little: a performance of tears and smiles; a tale of the gown that had been her old husband's favourite (though scarcely worn); of her happiness if she could but see it on another—although she could never wear it again herself without tears. It became an act of charity to accept the gift. And in the box, beneath the ball gown, the ladies discovered a piece of black lace—perfect for covering the faded patch on Miss Charman's old silk gown.

 

The last weeks before the wedding were enlivened by several entertainments at Oakmont and at Lewton Hall. At first these were attended by the small circle of gentlefolk that the neighbourhood afforded. Gradually the circle widened as visitors arrived at both houses, and visits took on more the appearance of parties.

Laura was pleased to renew her acquaintance with Edward's friends Mr. and Mrs. Jenner, who came to stay at Oakmont to attend the ball. How refreshing she found their natural friendliness, which they offered with no expectation of awing others with elegance or charm.

First Lieutenant Mitchell, formerly of the
Capricornia
, and Edward's most esteemed officer, also came to stay. Lady Clarydon was quite taken with him, and began to think of what she could do to arrange promotion for him. He had profited from rewards, too, but
naturally to a lesser extent than his captain. Her ladyship lamented that, while the war continued still, the sea battles seemed to be over. She recommended that he capture a French merchant ship—one well-loaded with valuable cargo. He undertook to do all he could to carry out this novel idea.

Laura had watched the countess's return with more irony than the first time, given her understanding of Mrs. Bell's circumstances. Yet, it took the great lady only minutes to have Laura questioning herself as cynical, as the same charm wove its spell on them all.

“How does she do it?” thought Laura. “When I am away from her, I feel nothing but suspicion. Yet when I am with her—I am half under her spell.”

The colonel and Mrs. Woodruff went ahead with their plans for a musical evening at Lewton Hall, in the absence of the heir. They received their guests each in their own way. The colonel carried on as though no such person as Jeremy Woodruff ever existed, but his wife whispered their son's apologies on account of another engagement. It was widely said that the engagement to which Mr. Woodruff was held was that which tied him to a clerk's desk.

Almost as soon as Laura arrived, Jane broached the subject with her, saying quietly, “You will have heard that my brother has determined to be independent.”

Laura was about to make some innocuous reply, but changed her mind, feeling that Miss Woodruff might prefer her honesty.

“I admit to being surprised that Mr. Woodruff is prepared to throw himself into work which I imagine to be drudgery.”

“His employer offers Jeremy his chance in court in a year or so. A barrister must begin somewhere. My father comforts himself that Jeremy is not clerk to a tradesman.”

“Each of us has pride, over some matter or another.”

“Yes. He was wrong to quarrel with his father, but I am a little proud of him, for standing by his own foolishness.”

The musicians were taking their places. Sir Richard approached to escort Laura to her seat.

“I know just what my cousin would quote,” said Laura.
“Honest labour bears a lovely face.”

“That can only be the favourite quote of an honest man,” said Jane.

T
WO DAYS BEFORE
E
DWARD'S WEDDING
, the morning of the ball arrived at last.

Mrs. Evans entered the kitchen at the unearthly hour of nine o'clock. The table was groaning with produce and dishes in various stages of preparation.

Mrs. Evans picked up the menu. “How fares the white soup, Mrs. Croghan?” she said. Cook led the way to the scullery. A maid was busy skimming the fat from the top of a great pan of stock, made from the boiling up of knuckles of white veal, bacon, onions, celery and herbs.

“Remember to remove any impurities, Maud,” said Mrs. Evans. “You will need to stir very thoroughly.”

“Maud knows her work, madam,” said the cook.

Elspeth turned back to the kitchen. A girl was picking through a basket of almond kernels. Mrs. Evans frowned. “Are you sure you have a full pound, Jenny?”

“There was a few rotten, madam.”

“Well, replace them!”

Mrs. Croghan went to unlock the door of the storeroom, and, under her watchful eye, Jenny picked up a small handful of the nuts.

“Grind them very fine, Jenny,” said Mrs. Evans. “Mr. Evans always insisted on perfect white soup.”

Mrs. Croghan's nerves were teetering on edge.

The progress of every dish for the supper was examined, when Cook would rather have spent the time in expediting matters. She would herself prepare the pastry for the pigeon pies—no one could match her wonderfully decorated pie top with the head of a bird protruding from the centre in a wondrously lifelike manner.

“Them hogs' tongues look a treat, madam,” said Jenny boldly.

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Evans.

The delights in question steamed on a plate, awaiting skinning for their role in Chicken with Tongues. There would be three platters of this dish, which Mrs. Croghan considered another of her specialties. The chickens lay in their pans, having been soaked in milk, then rubbed with lemon juice the day before. What no one knew—not even her own maids—was the secret ingredient she added to the traditional recipe. If Mrs. Evans hoped to catch her in the act, she would be disappointed.

The trifles, jellies and cakes sat in sweet array upon the pantry shelves. Mrs. Evans was satisfied.

 

After breakfast, Elspeth said, “Come with me, Laura, to inspect the arrangements. This will be your duty in future.”

The sisters had scarcely been alone together since their quarrel about the sketch. They were busy with their guests and avoided intimacy, both unpleasantly aware that suspicion now shadowed their understanding. Laura decided to end their impasse and accompanied Elspeth with as good a spirit as she could.

The long drawing room had been largely cleared of furniture, leaving only a line of chairs along one wall. The carpets were rolled up and put aside. A dais had been erected at the end of the room for the orchestra. Elspeth touched one of the ornate floral arrangements that filled the window embrasures and decorated the stage.

“What think you of this, Laura?”

“Very pretty.”

“
Pretty
? I prefer
fashionable
. I do not imagine many of the guests would have seen anything like it before.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Really, Laura! When did you see anything so unusual? I had them modelled on the latest Paris style.”

“Nasty French ways,” said Laura, smiling.

For a moment, Mrs. Evans was quite put out. “You think of stupid Aunt Morrison. Imagine the difficulties of doing anything elegantly with her about!” She laughed.

“The card tables are set up in the library. The solar will be exclusively for the ladies to attend to their dress. They will then be seen to advantage coming down the stairs.”

 

Sir Richard sent his carriage out on its rounds early to convey several family parties who lacked a carriage of their own. The Charmans were first, the elderly sisters having insisted they would like to keep out of the way in the solar until more guests were in attendance. More than modesty motivated them, for young Fanny wanted to take up her place by the window and look down upon the carriages as they arrived. Miss Charman felt quite up to the mark, the gift of lace adding a certain finish to her gown. Miss Annabel had made do with some trimmings unpicked from a couple of cushions.

The baronet had steadfastly refused to appear in court dress, making it known in the district that he would not. He wore a new coat of black silk, over a waistcoat of gold brocade. His valet had insisted on a new fashionable knot in his cravat, in which lay the diamond pin presented to him by his mother on his eighteenth birthday. With breeches, stockings, pumps all new, Mrs. Evans hardly knew what to criticise.

He came downstairs a few minutes early, putting his head in at the door of the solar, to enquire after the needs of the early visitors. The older ladies were settled very comfortably by the fire enjoying the coffee Laura had sent up, but Fanny turned from her post to curtsy. She was finely attired in a gown of white muslin, with blue ornaments. Her hair was held in a circlet of diamonds—if they were not real, nobody would find fault with her appearance.

“Miss Fanny, you are so elegant that you will frighten all your beaux,” Sir Richard said.

“I don't have any, sir,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.

“Then you very soon will,” he said. “Excuse me, ladies.” With a solemn bow, he left the room.

“Look! Aunt Annabel—here comes a carriage,” said Fanny.

Miss Annabel was not above coming to join her.

“It is the Woodruffs', I believe. They are certain to be early.”

“Will Mr. Woodruff be in their party?”

“I doubt that very much,” said Miss Charman. “I hear that a barrister in London has taken him on, in a very junior position.”

“He must feel so desperate.”

“It will do him no harm,” said Miss Charman. “He will learn there is a price to pay when one quarrels with an elder.”

Fanny went to peep over the banister. Sir Richard stood in the hall below, looking up; she saw that his party began to descend the flight of steps opposite her, which led from the private apartments.

Fanny ran back to the door of the solar. “Mrs. Evans wears lilac satin with a black lace overskirt,” she whispered. “There are pearls all over her bodice! And she wears a tiara and a necklace of pearls. She is very, very grand!” She scurried back to look. Over her shoulder, she said, “Mrs. Bell is in white satin. Such a gown! You would not know her! She wears a chain, with a topaz pendant. And wait …”

“Fanny, come and sit down, my dear,” said Miss Charman, unheard.

However, Fanny now stayed in position, merely turning to whisper loudly, “She has a bandeau of white silk, with the tiniest little cap over her chignon, and there is something in the bandeau—a brooch!”

Miss Annabel joined her niece on the landing, although a little further from the banister.

“Here is the captain,” said Fanny. “I never saw such a uniform! So much gold! And medals! He is very handsome!”

Fanny gasped as the captain turned on the stair to wait for Laura.

Miss Annabel cried, “Oh, Sister! Come—look at Miss Morrison!”

Temptation overcame Miss Charman at last: she came out to join them.

From the simple diamond tiara in her hair to her embroidered dancing shoes, Laura was perfectly lovely. The low neck of her gown was decorated with a band of exquisite lace. From beneath her bosom, the gathered muslin skirt floated to the floor, edged at the hem with a wide band of lace. On the left, the skirt was drawn up to
her sash, creating a cascade of lace that revealed the silk skirt beneath, embroidered along the bottom with the Grecian design. Her sash of green satin was simply tied, with the ends hanging down in the front, finished with fancy green tassels.

“See how the embroidery on her sleeves is traced over with green glass beads,” said Miss Annabel. “That gem in her necklet is an emerald, I am sure. I imagine it was her mother's.”

Fanny looked down at her own beautiful gown, feeling the deepest gratitude for the gift.

“I understand now why you refused the invitation when first it came, Aunt,” she said.

 

The Morrisons stood in their places in the reception line, as one party after another climbed the steps, to be greeted by the host's party. Laura had received compliments before but this experience was new. There was a deference mixed with admiration.

Guests stood in the hall, watching as the Dowager Viscountess Fardon examined Miss Morrison. “Very fitting, my dear,” she said. “You will do very well.”

Laura did not need to ask which test she passed.

The viscount surveyed her through his monocle. “I hope you are not engaged for the third dance, Miss Morrison.”

“I thank you, Viscount. I am honoured.”

Whispers rippled through the bystanders. The viscount always danced the first dance with his hostess, the second with his lady, then spent the rest of the evening at cards. Elspeth tried not to let her triumph show.

The musicians were playing and the young began to tap their feet when the reception line broke up. The people left in the hall looked up as a group of people came out of the solar. The countess had linked arms with a delightful young lady; they came down the stairs together. Lady Clarydon, glittering in a gown of autumnal silk, sparkling with gold, was lending consequence to Miss Fanny Charman. Behind them came the two aunts, Miss Annabel scarcely able to contain her delight over her ladyship's condescension. The baronet
gave the countess a courtly bow and offered his hand to the countess. The first set was forming.

Evalina was delicious in white silk, the bodice and hem decorated with rows of pink ribbon flowers. She wore a circlet of gold in her dark curls. She had declared she would dance alternate dances, despite Edward's protests that he could survive. She could scarcely bear to be separated from her captain, who would not consent to perform dance steps adapted to his disablement.

Laura had accepted First Lieutenant Mitchell's request, and joined the first set. Already her dance card was almost full. The future Lady Morrison would not sit out any dances on that night. She was aware of her prominence as she moved through the stately steps of the minuet, of being accorded almost the deference shown to the two titled ladies.

Now, all was altered on the grounds of her expected marriage. As Lady Morrison, her tastes would be consulted and her opinions debated. It may be that some gentlemen sought to be her dance partner on account of her position, but what of it, if that consequence afforded her more enjoyment of dance?

The countess, with her impeccable beauty, lent honour to the occasion, as did the presence of the viscountess and the dowager, with their plain faces and full display of diamonds. The pretty widow, Mrs. Evans, was as enchanting as all expected: her lilac satin was muted suitably with black lace; her pearls rendered less showy by the attached mourning locket.

When Sir Richard led Mrs. Bell out onto the dance floor, the talk was of his kindness, his thoughtfulness, his generosity to a dull little widow.

However, when Sir Richard led out his cousin Laura for a second dance, there were murmurs of how right this was, how romantic, how perfect, after all these years.

 

Supper was served in the dining hall, where a second table had been placed at right angles to the long board. In the centre sat Mrs. Evans, with the viscount at her side. The gentlemen mostly wore black
evening garb, with the occasional full dress military uniform. Between them, the ladies sparkled in their finest—it was as close to full dress as Elspeth could imagine ever happening in this backwater—a ball that would never be forgotten. She was satisfied enough.

The servants moved about, pouring wine and serving the soup, with glasses of Negus. First Lieutenant Mitchell was seated by Miss Fanny Charman. How well the girl looked in her charity gown. Good enough for Mr. Mitchell, anyway, Elspeth thought.

“As excellent a white soup as I have tasted,” said the viscount.

“Then I am content,” said Elspeth.

She saw that Laura was part way along the table, enjoying a joke, apparently, with that drab squire, Mr. Jenner. He was probably telling her about his pigs. As she watched (from the corner of her eye, for she had a viscount to entertain) Elspeth saw how many guests covertly watched her sister. She imagined them in conversation about how life at Oakmont would improve, with all of them enjoying frequent hospitality, when Laura became the baronet's wife.