The Imaginary Gentleman (28 page)

“Take your treasured freedom. I give it back to you!”

Elspeth turned and stalked from the room. The soft click of the door sounded loudly in their ears.

Silence fell. Laura could not bear to look at either of the gentlemen. What did Elspeth mean by her eccentric doings? It seemed she meant something other than Laura's strange episode in September. How did Laura cramp her freedom? It was Elspeth who dictated whether they came or went; she did as she pleased. Realisation came to Laura, as she recalled all the constant little niggles from Elspeth about presenting oneself according to a recipe that summed up her ideas of elegance. Elspeth thought her sister's manners too natural, and her conversation too honest to be accommodated by the fashionable world of Lady Clarydon's circle. This was her real crime.

She saw that Edward looked at her in deep concern. Their eyes met. Brother and sister were on opposite ends of the scale of happiness.

Sir Richard sat disconsolate in his chair by the fire.

“Come, Richard, will you not take my hand?” Edward said,
extending his own. Sir Richard jumped up and shook his hand warmly. Tears stood in his eyes.

“Edward, I never thought to be part of such a scene!”

“No more did I.” Edward turned to Laura. “Laura, will you shake my cousin's hand in friendship, at this strange turn in our lives?”

“I will do more,” said Laura, and kissed first Sir Richard and then her brother.

“I have wronged you, Laura,” said Edward.

Laura shook her head. “Edward, you did what you considered best for Richard's happiness and mine.”

Edward put the key in her hand. “You shall make your home with Evalina and me, Laura. I see it is impossible for you to go with your sister to Clarydon Castle.”

They parted for the night, each to their rooms. Laura opened her journal but found it impossible to put her feelings onto paper, so complete did the crisis in her life appear. Over the past few years, Elspeth had whittled away any cause for Laura to truly esteem her, but this violent quarrel with the sister who had been so significant a part of her life was difficult. Even if they parted in the morning, time would bring them together again—as soon as Christmas. Laura's prayers that night were that her heart not harden against future forgiveness.

L
AURA AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING
feeling calmer than she could have imagined the night before. She unlocked her desk and lifted out her diary.

Breakfast brought them all together again. Elspeth's frigid greeting of her relations made her resentment very plain. Laura watched as Elspeth tried to fill the silence with elegant nothings.

Whom does Elspeth imagine she fools? she thought. I know now of certain acts she has committed—but what deeds are still unknown to me?

The countess, on the other hand, seemed to have recovered her usual charm.

“I long to show you the forest at Clarydon in its autumn dress, Miss Morrison. Perhaps you will sketch the Folly, and the Cupid who lurks there.”

“It sounds very picturesque, Countess.”

“You dislike artifice, I know, but you may see something poetical in the way the leaves blow into the ruined temple and moulder away upon the head of the poor little archer.”

“Poetical, indeed,” said Laura.

Edward then said, with a bow to the countess, “I fear my sister must postpone her visit to Clarydon Castle, Countess.”

“What!” said Elspeth.

Laura was amazed at her sister's pretend surprise. Was Elspeth ready to continue as though nothing had happened?

“I hope you will pardon us, your ladyship,” said Edward. “My wife particularly wishes to have Laura's advice on her refurbishments, and I am in a position to escort her conveniently.”

“It will seem very odd if the whole party does not arrive at Clarydon,” said Elspeth. “It would be an insult to the earl.”

Laura doubted very much that the earl would even notice her absence, let alone take offence. She wondered if the countess knew of the quarrel the night before. Then her ladyship added, “I would be delighted if our happy number could be augmented with the addition of Mrs. Morrison and of you, Captain.”

“My wife is in Cornwall,” said Edward, as though she were as far off as the Americas.

The countess's look informed him that she read his reluctance.

“It is a matter of twenty miles or so! It would be the work of a day to fetch her, surely?”

Edward muttered something as to the honour of the invitation.

“It would look peculiar if Laura were to run away from this place as soon as she arrived,” said Elspeth.

Now this gave even Laura pause for thought. She was aware of how the perceptions of the townspeople towards her seemed to alter in the presence of the countess. She had indeed been in the town for only two days before her brother appeared. Would it seem that she ran away, or was carried off by him again? Much as she wished not to care, she did resent the interest gossips had taken in her before.

Lady Clarydon was saying, “How can I tempt a bridegroom to join our party within a week of his wedding?”

Edward did not answer quickly enough to satisfy Elspeth, who said, “Our dear Evalina would be delighted with the pleasures of such a visit.”

“Of course,” he said, with a bow of the head to the countess.
“However, there are certain obligations to fulfill—invitations from our neighbours.”

In truth, Edward could picture only too clearly his wife's ecstasies on receiving an invitation to stay at the castle. They had experienced joy in the near solitude of the cottage, but Evalina deserved—richly deserved—all of life's pleasures. Perhaps her presence would be the ingredient to cause the ladies to cast aside their differences. He had no wish for the quarrel to become public knowledge—and he imagined Laura felt the same.

The chatelaine of the noble seat was watching him patiently. She gave him one of her enchanting smiles. “If Mrs. Morrison will but let me know when she is at liberty, a fitting reception will be prepared for her.”

“With heralds and trumpets!” said Sir Richard, pleased that the icy mood seemed to be thawing.

Edward gave way so far as to write to his lady telling her of the invitation; he sent it with his servant immediately after breakfast, with instructions to make all haste.

He stood up from the writing table to say, “You will excuse me, ladies, I hope. I wish to find the surgeon and thank him in person for attending to Tom.”

The ladies excused him: there was an unspoken understanding that the captain would not hurry back. Sir Richard made to rise, perhaps hoping to accompany his cousin, but Edward seemed unaware of him and he sank back in his chair to stare at a newspaper two days old.

Laura looked for a reason to escape, as her brother seemed to have done. Elspeth herself came to her rescue.

“You might collect her ladyship's parcel from the haberdasher, Laura. He is not even to be trusted to send a package to an inn.”

“Certainly,” Laura said, coolly. “Mrs. Bell, will you give me your company?”

The countess's long-suffering companion was employed in sewing a row of lace beneath the brim of Mrs. Evans's new bonnet. Mrs. Bell had been given to understand that a lifetime of such
services might go some little way towards earning forgiveness for her unnamed transgressions. She looked in the direction of the countess, who barely raised her eyes from her book to wave her hand in a gesture of farewell. Mrs. Bell nodded.

“Our friend is very much occupied at present, as you can see,” said Elspeth.

“Oh, let her go, my dear. I cannot have her fading away from want of exercise,” said the countess. “Also we must lose no time before assembling the fatal turban.”

So all is to go ahead as planned, despite the horrible disagreement last night, thought Laura. She wondered if she could endure those two women fussing about her head.

“May I escort you, ladies?” said the baronet, rather too eagerly.

Laura nodded.

“Wait, my love!” cried Elspeth. “I wish you to find me a ribbon to match my midnight-blue silk. Come with me, my pet!”

Laura followed her sister into that lady's bedchamber, where Elspeth turned over the items in her work basket. Over her shoulder, she said, “Do not leave them alone for an instant!”

“Whom, Elspeth?”

“My cousin and that Sly-Boots, Mrs. Bell.”

Laura laughed. “You call Mrs. Bell a Sly-Boots! What has the poor lady done?”

“You know very well, Miss!” Elspeth was wrapping a piece of blue silk in paper with her dainty little hands, as she hissed the words: “You may get out of your promise to Richard, but I will not have that … nobody … take my sister's rightful place!”

“You cannot direct another's life to your own ends, Elspeth.”

“It would have been to your benefit to be settled at Oakmont, in a quiet, retired life.”

“You make it sound like a nunnery.”

“I envy our ancestors that useful depository for troublesome females.”

“Those were delightful times, in which my brother would have engaged you to another old man as soon as the first died. You
would have bade goodbye to the delights of Lady Clarydon's company! Nothing would be worth
that
to you!”

Elspeth's arm flew back; Laura side-stepped and the small parcel hit the wall behind her. Laura opened the door and walked out without looking back. She took one or two deep breaths to calm herself, before returning to the sitting room. That touched her sensitivities, she thought.

“Did your sister not find the silk?” said Lady Clarydon.

“It is not where she thought it to be.”

 

Sir Richard was relieved to escape the two more formidable of the ladies, yet he could not feel quite comfortable. On one arm was the lady whom many people expected him to marry; on the other arm was … another lady.

Fortunately, Laura's spirits rose with every step she took away from her sister. She suggested the river path as a pleasant detour from their errand, and she met with no opposition. She pointed out all the prettiest sights along the way and met with no disagreement. Of the dozen witty thoughts that came to her mind, those that she voiced produced a rumble of amusement from the baronet and breathless laugh from the widow.

Mrs. Bell favoured them with a short quotation from
Ulysses
, in Greek, followed by a translation, to the admiration of her hearers.

“My father was a serious scholar,” she said. “His studies of the Greeks were formidable.”

“Did he name you for one of the Greeks?” asked Laura.

“Until my marriage, he called me Miss Delta—our family name was Dawkins, you see.”

“My father called me ‘you great lout',” said Sir Richard.

Laura said, “So he did, but he was heard at times to give you your proper appellation.”

“Only when I was in great favour,” he replied.

Mrs. Bell peeped up at him, from under her bonnet. “He cannot have meant to be so unkind, Sir Richard!”

“He is not to be blamed that I was not the type of son he wished for.”

“How did your father address you once you were married, Mrs. Bell?”

“Oh, as Mrs. Beta, of course, and Mr. Bell followed suit. They were always of one accord.”

Laura glanced at Sir Richard as he stared into the distance. She could well imagine what path his thoughts might take—so well did she know him. Sir Richard was awed by the thought of the great arrears of affection and respect owing to this noble lady who had been so neglected, yet had lost neither faith nor goodness. Before he could quell the idea, an image arose of himself as the gentleman so honoured … He shook off the thought. Why, he was scarce out of his engagement to his cousin and she was here with him as he indulged in these thoughts!

“Have you seen the guest book at Number 54 yet, Mrs. Bell?”

“I am sure it would be very interesting,” she said.

“You both go,” Laura said. “I will attend to the countess's errand and meet you shortly.”

 

The baronet and Mrs. Bell mounted the steps, alone together on an excursion for the very first time. They were both overcome with self-consciousness, and the lady's hand trembled a little on the gentleman's arm. As they entered the house, the gregarious host greeted them, recalling the baronet from a previous visit to his little town.

Another gentleman was perusing the guest book so they took the time to listen to an oft-repeated account of the manifold attractions of Lyme. Long habit of observation caused Mrs. Bell to glance over to the stranger who monopolised the volume. He appeared to be reading the list of names, his eyes running down the pages, not stopping to read the comments of the visitors.

She turned back, nodding as their host enumerated the charms of the Pinney, his large hands sketching in the air the fragile cliff face. Her eye caught by a movement, Mrs. Bell saw that the stranger took a
folded piece of paper from his pocket book, looking from that to the guest book. He then took a hasty leave of his host and left the house.

“Now—if you will do me the honour, Sir Richard …” Their host turned to the guest book, noticed it was turned to a previous page and found the correct place.

He handed the pen to Mrs. Bell, who signed the book. The baronet placed his finger next to the space below her name and prepared to sign. Only then did he notice the name written above his companion's.

“Good Lord!” he cried.

 

Laura accepted the small parcel from the haberdasher, gave way to his eager offer to show her some new scarves, and at last turned to the door. She stepped into the street.

The shock was like a thump against her bosom. She could scarcely take breath. Before her, not two yards away, frozen in mid-step—it was he! There, on the footpath, in front of her.

She stared at him, confused. “It cannot be,” she murmured, shaking her head.

On the first instant, his brown eyes lit up with pleasure, but he saw how she frowned, and his hand froze, halfway to his hat.

“Mr. Templeton?” she gasped, at last.

He raised his hat and bowed. “Miss Morrison.”

The sound of that deep voice resonated in her memory. She nodded her head slightly.

He offered her his hand, in an uncertain way. Instead of taking it, she put her hand on his forearm, feeling it real and warm beneath her fingers, before taking her hand away.

“You … you took me by surprise, sir.”

“I am very sorry—I was just walking by, when …” His eyes moved over her face, as he tried to interpret her expression. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” she said, thinking that she sounded like a fool.

“For disappearing without farewell, for neglecting all that I owed to you.”

“I have still to convince myself that you are here,” she said.

He smiled—perhaps he thought her to be joking.

“Will you walk with me to the shores?” he said.

He offered her his arm, and she took it as they walked down towards the sea. Awareness of the touch between them, of its warmth, dominated her sensations. The reality of his arm beneath her hand, his coat brushing against hers, was very real—too real—after the weeks of wondering about his very existence.

In silence, they walked to the bottom of Broad Street, by the Assembly Rooms, where the ground fell away to the beach.

“Have you been in Lyme all this time?” he said.

“No, I have been at my cousin's house in Devonshire. We returned on Wednesday.”

“I have just arrived this morning, after coming here in all haste.”