The Imaginary Gentleman (5 page)

A portly old gentleman went along the lower walk on the breakwater, waving his stick in the direction of the boat. The sailors, two young men, saw him, and headed the boat back into calm waters.

As the old gentleman came back along the breakwater, Laura recognised him as Mr. Gurdon and guessed that the two young men were the grandsons he and his wife had been expecting. Here was her chance to ask after Mrs. Gurdon's health, and perhaps to be invited to visit her. She gave Mr. Gurdon a cordial nod, but he appeared not to recognise her and trudged past, scowling. Laura felt a little affronted for a moment, until recalling that she had never found him a pleasant man in her few meetings with him over the years. A momentary hope of perhaps having some conversation with Mrs. Gurdon had to be abandoned.

There remained but one avenue of information about Mr. Templeton's fate, and her brother refused to employ it.

Well, she thought, if he will not, I shall!

 

Laura entered the cobbled stable yard, wrinkling her nose as she stepped around a pile of steaming manure. A lad by the stable door stopped his mucking out and leant on his rake, mouth open.

“It seems you have a deal to do,” she said, in a kindly manner. He only gaped, while his raked-up pile of dirty straw and droppings began to spill over his boots.

“Are there many horses in these stables?” asked Laura.

“Aye, miss.”

“Your master hires them out to visitors, I suppose.”

“Aye, miss.” Staring, he took a few steps towards her and she recoiled from his stink, stepping back.

“Did a gentleman hire one of your horses on Tuesday morning?” she asked.

“Tuesday, miss?” A stolid stupidity took the place of awe.

She saw the futility of further questions, as the poor lad was deficient.

“Horses come in and horses go out, miss,” he said, eager to please.

“Never mind. I see you are a good lad.”

At that point, there came a shout, “Fool! Get about thy work!”

An ostler had come out of the stables and, swaggering over to Laura, he stood before her with his hands in his pockets. Taken aback by his disrespectful stance, she did not hide her displeasure.

The ostler adopted an offensive, insinuating tone. “The lad be not right in the 'ead, miss. Master keeps him out of charity.”

“I hope you can help me,” said Laura, a cold tone entering her voice to prompt him to adopt a more respectful stance. “I am enquiring about a horse that was taken on Tuesday by a gentleman who wished to ride it to Charmouth.”

“Tuesday, you say, miss?” From his tone, she may as well have named a date two years before.

“Yes, Tuesday, when a gale began to blow up, followed by a heavy fall of rain.” The ostler scratched his chin.

“Tuesday, let me think now. The physician came to see the old lady as was taken ill.” He jerked his head up towards the second floor of the inn. “He came in his own carriage. Medical men must go about in all weathers, miss. He seed someone else in the town … who was it now?”

“It does not signify who his patients were, for I am not speaking of the physician. This gentleman was a clergyman, a very tall gentleman.”

“Oh, yes, you'll not know that family, not a
lady
such as yourself.” His tone now was downright insulting.

“You will address me with more respect.”

“Yes, miss. 'Tis not like a parson to be riding about in the wind and rain. Parsons likes their comforts.”

“Nevertheless, he took a horse from here, on Tuesday.”

He gave a slow, insinuating grin. “I were here all day and there weren't no gentleman such as you describe come in.”

“How can you tell such lies? If you cannot recall, own it.”

His eyes took a quick survey of her figure. She was on the verge of striking him; would indeed report him to his master, as soon as she extracted the information she sought.

“I saw him go into this yard.”

“If the truth don't satisfy thee, miss, 'tis not my fault.”

She stared at him, fierce in her disbelief, and he stared back.

“Laura!” She spun around on hearing her brother's voice. “My dear, I have been looking for you.” He joined them, limping as swiftly as he could across the slippery yard to them. He had formed the impression that the ostler was addressing his sister impudently from the man's stance.

Ignoring the ostler, he said to her, “Have you enquired after my friend?” He turned to the servant. “I am concerned about the safety of my friend, Mr. Templeton.”

“Oh,” he answered. “He be
your
friend, sir.”

“He took a horse from this stable. Has the horse been returned safely?”

“No, sir, there were no gentleman come in that morning for a horse.”

“What do you say? Answer me truthfully or it'll be the worse for you.”

The ostler dropped his defiant pose at once, his shoulders drooping. “I'd have recalled him, for my master won't hire out his beasts to strangers when 'tis stormy.”

Edward knew not whether to believe it. He was a fair judge of men after all his years at sea and didn't much like the specimen before him.

“Come, let us go in,” he said to his sister. “I shall communicate with my friend by other means.”

For a moment he feared she would not acquiesce but Laura saw the futility of attempting to get the truth out of the ostler. Her
dignity was compromised enough by the interpretation he seemed to have put upon her appearance at the stable.

They paused a moment in the street and she said quietly, “You were perfectly correct, Edward, about how it would appear if I made enquiries. Even the servant thought it indecorous.”

“Nay, my dear, do not trouble yourself over the opinion of such a low fellow as this.”

They went in and began to mount the stairs. Pausing before their door, Laura said, “I think Mr. Templeton may have arrived in Lyme on horseback. It would be the business of a moment to retrieve the animal from some other servant and be gone, without this ostler so much as seeing him.”

“Laura, you just acknowledged the indelicacy of this investigation.”

“Yes, but it is so unfair. There is nothing shameful in my friendship with the gentleman.”

“I think only of how it may seem to others. It may well appear that you met Mr. Templeton by prior arrangement.”

“No, I was expecting him later, at the inn; I went out that morning to enjoy the wildness of the weather.”

He smiled. “You are singular in that taste, dearest.”

She laughed, hollowly. “Am I not singular in every particular?”

“There is no other person such as you in all the world.”

Silently she said to herself that there was one other, in the world, with much the same peculiarities as her own. Yet the world seemed to conspire to keep him out of her way.

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS
S
UNDAY
and, despite the wind, they walked to church with Mrs. Evans positively hugging Laura's arm to her side, as though the populace of Lyme were a danger to her sister. The widow's blonde curls peeped out from beneath her close black bonnet, creating a hint of a mysterious, lovely woman imprisoned in her grieving.

Yet Laura attracted more attention than her sister. Sidelong glances followed her passage up the aisle, and the hiss of whispers reached her ears but the voices were not loud enough for her to make out their meaning.

“That is Miss Morrison, who pursues that gentleman we hear of?”

“Indeed it is. I had it from my cook, who heard it from the butcher's boy. She went into the stables at the Lion of all places.”

“The stables! Why?”

“To discover where her admirer went.”

“How very immodest! To meet a gentleman by chance, when walking, is one thing; to enquire of a servant in regard to him is quite another!”

“The poor man had never seen the gentleman and she accused him of lying!”

“No!”

The lady occupying the pew in front turned around. “The family seems desperate to marry the poor creature off. My husband heard at the inn that the widowed lady—her sister—questioned the servants there about him, too.”

“They go about the matter the wrong way. A lady must allow a gentleman to pursue.”

“Until she secures him.”

“How true!” The ladies smothered their laughter, and turned to watch the visitors' progress.

Laura entered the pew that she had occupied with Mr. and Mrs. Gurdon the previous Sunday. Now the grandsons occupied their grandmother's place and Mr. Gurdon gestured to them abruptly to move along, leaving a space between him and the newcomers. He neglected to turn to Laura, giving her no opportunity to greet him. Laura did not reward his inattention with so much as a look but was angered by his neglect, for he knew of her good name and might have given her countenance in the midst of mistaken strangers.

Above the rising sound of the wind, the parson preached long and loudly about the duty of young women to be modest, demure and to scrupulously avoid putting themselves forward in society. If the parishioners hoped for blushes, they were disappointed, for Laura kept her head raised and looked directly at the vicar. He bent his gaze on everyone but her, avoiding the sharp questioning of her stare. Her look plainly showed how unjust, even ridiculous, she considered his censure.

 

There was no sign of the inner feelings of the Morrison trio to be enjoyed by the townsfolk as they left the church. Laura displayed a cool dignity, Elspeth a disdain that all but curled her lip, and the captain went out after them with a stern expression, discouraging others from attempting to meet his eye. They left at once, Laura walking a little apart from her relations, preoccupied with discomfort over being the object of gossip.

Elspeth cast her disparaging eye about the street. “I never saw so dull and shabby a place,” she said. “I know not what people see in it—there is not a building worth a second look. And one so quickly tires of inferior society.”

“The country air at Oakmont will suit you better,” said Edward.

“Sir Richard does not expect us at Oakmont Manor until November,” said Mrs. Evans. “If we stay until the New Year, it will be a very long visit.”

“I am very concerned about our sister,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we should return to your house, where I can stay for a time and help you watch over Laura.”

“St Austell? No, Edward. All is confusion there, with the refurbishment of the reception rooms. Let us go and be dull at Oakmont.”

“The manor provides the comfort of the familiar, and the kindness of our cousin is unvarying.”

“Soon it will be a year since my husband so sadly passed away. I will be in half-mourning when I next see Lady Clarydon.”

He did not answer this, only shrugged slightly. Laura caught up with them, Edward's turned-up sleeve brushing her shoulder briefly. He glanced at her but she did not give him the ironical look he expected.

What had happened to so disturb his sister's equanimity, he wondered. She had always been sensible, guarded, dignified. Would that he had met this fellow himself, and come to his own conclusions. He did not like it that Mr. Templeton was so mysterious. A gentleman's behaviour should require no explanation or excuses. How had Laura become so desperate for affection that she imagined more than the man meant?

 

In the privacy of their sitting room, Elspeth turned on her sister.

“What have you done, Laura, to expose me to such humiliation? My head aches intolerably!”

“You know very well I would do nothing to provoke such censure.”

Elspeth's voice faded to a potent whisper, and she sank upon the sofa.

“You ought never to have gone down to the stables!”

“What could the St Michael's congregation know of that? Had the ostler not been so determined to disoblige me, I may have discovered the truth.”

“You ought not to be discovering the truth about a gentleman you barely know.” Elspeth's mouth took on a prissy look of distaste as she added, “… a gentleman whom you first encountered in the streets.”

Laura walked to the window, saying, “You make out Broad Street to be a sink of iniquity.”

“It may as well be!” cried her sister, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes. “The whole place is laughing at you for an old spinster pursuing a terrified gentleman.”

“How I value your good opinion,” said Laura coldly, keeping her back turned to her. Elspeth burst into tears.

Edward slowly came over to join Laura by the window. “What a charming spectacle we make, Brother,” she said. He kissed her cheek, then went over to Elspeth and sat on the edge of the sofa.

“Come, Elspeth,” he said. “It does not do for us to be divided.”

She lowered her handkerchief. “What do you suggest, dear Edward?”

“We must leave Lyme tomorrow; that much is plain. We will go to Oakmont Manor, as agreed, and stay there quietly for a time.”

“That will do very well, Edward.”

“I shall give orders for the carriages to be ready early. I will travel with you. My carriage can follow.”

“What am I to do all alone in Lyme?” asked Laura.

“All alone! You will come with us, naturally,” said Elspeth.

Laura walked about the room, while her brother and sister watched. She turned to them. “I must remain here. I can discover nothing if we remove to Oakmont.”

Elspeth's eyes narrowed. “What you have yet to discover, Laura, is clear to everyone here,” she said. “Mr. Templeton has left the district with no intention of returning.”

Laura turned back to the window, breathless with anger that, for the first time, her sister stated her belief without disguise—and her brother did not contradict her!

Struggling to control her anger, she said, “I tell you that something has happened to him.”

Her sister began to speak but Edward interrupted. “Mr. Templeton has only to consult the visiting book at Number 54 to discover my direction.”

Laura's voice trembled as she said, “There is truth in that.”

Edward said gently, “Believe me, my dear, where a man fixes his intentions, nothing will prevent him from finding the lady.”

“You think me a lovesick fool!” Laura gesticulated angrily with her hands as she paced across the room. “Have I not ever had a talent for discovering the true character of those I meet?”

“Indeed you have, yet …”

“I understand this man. He would never be so ill-bred as to forsake his promise, without making his excuses.”

“If this is so, Laura, let others discover his difficulty, and in time he will make amends. Meanwhile, there has been gossip about you.”

“Laura, you know how easily damaged a woman's reputation can be!” said Elspeth.

“This talk will best be forgot if we leave.”

Laura stood before them. “Can you not see the very strangeness of this gossip, Edward? It is logic and logic alone that informs me. I have been examining my own behaviour and there is no sensible explanation for all the people in the town to censure me on so little pretext. Mr. Gurdon cut me near the Cobb yesterday,
before
I went to the stables.”

“But did he, dearest?” said Elspeth. “Yesterday, you said that Mr. Gurdon had walked past you without even seeing you. I believe you suggested he grows blind as well as ill-tempered.”

“Yes, but now I see that he cut me.”

“Perhaps he has some cause of which I am not informed.”

Laura gave Elspeth a fierce and searching look.

“It is quite impossible to discuss any question with you, Elspeth, beyond the lace on Lady Clarydon's gown, or the precise breeding of her pug.”

“I do no harm to my family's name with such innocent subjects!”

They all started as a flash lit up the darkening room and thunder rumbled its disapproval. The servant entered to light the candles. Laura looked out at the sky; heavy masses of cloud were building up over the sea. She recalled standing on the path with Mr. Templeton, while the wind blustered in from the sea. She had seen no one else by the shore—the fishing boats were all well in by then, and the tide too high for the fisherwomen. Overnight, all the black promise of a storm dissipated in rain and the weather improved.

The next day, she had walked to the Cobb with her brother. She wrote in her journal about the boy who approached Edward with that odd mixture of awe and confidence. Oh! How could I have forgotten his words?—“I seed thee yonder in the tempest, miss.” He was there, somewhere, on Tuesday.

“Edward!” Laura cried. “Do you recall the urchin on the Cobb that day—he asked you if you were a hero, when all along he mostly cared to extract a penny from you.”

Edward thought a moment. “That's right! He was a mischievous fellow, if I am any judge.”

“Do you not see, Brother? He said that he saw me. He may have seen Mr. Templeton departing Lyme and know the direction he took.”

“What of it, Laura?” said Edward. “Fifty occupants of the low part of the town may have seen him but what are they to us?”

“I hope the day has not come when I must make arrangements with a beggar in regard to the society I keep!” said Elspeth.

Laura turned to the door.

“Where are you going, Laura?” cried Elspeth.

“I shall rest in my room until dinner.”

“Pray do that, dear heart! I shall send Sarah with a soothing draught,” said Elspeth, half-sitting in her determination to be of use.

“No, thank you.” Laura did not turn to her sister. “I will need no such assistance for I am very tired.”

 

Laura closed her bedroom door and leant against it for a moment. She was exhausted by the struggle and filled with fury towards Elspeth, who behaved as though Laura had lost her reason.

I will not permit Elspeth to abuse her present advantage, she thought.

There was a tap on the door, almost at her ear, and she jumped.

“Leave me, please, Elspeth!” she said.

“'Tis Sarah, miss, with a draught for you.”

Laura let her in. “I am sorry, Sarah.”

“The mistress said I was to help you undress. Are you ill?”

“No, thank you, only tired. I do not need assistance. Pray place the
draught upon the table.” Sarah placed the candle and drink she carried on the table, and left the room.

Laura locked the door. Although it was just after noon, the room was all but dark. The ancient bed loomed large, but she had no plan to enter it as yet.

She dressed for the rain that threatened, in her brown woollen coat and stout boots, pulling on a thick hooded cloak. She leant forward to blow out the candle. Careful to make little sound with her boots, Laura stole out through the entry to their rooms; then went along the stone passage and down the stairs to the street. There she pulled the hood up over her bonnet. Soon after her arrival, Mrs. Gurdon had pointed out a direction in the lower part of the town, saying, “You must avoid that place, my dear, on your rambles. I believe the fisher folk live along there.”

Her head lowered against the rain, Laura went swiftly down the street. The wind, tearing wetly off the sea, pulled at her cloak, until she drew it tight about her. At the entrance to the alley, she paused, peering in. It was a narrow, crooked lane hemmed in by the uneven walls of stone tenements. Here and there, ramshackle huts huddled in their shadow. The cobbles were awash with water that had picked up the filth, sending it pell-mell along the middle of the lane.

Laura raised the hem of her skirts, stained already with mud, and stepped into the alley. There was not a soul to be seen as she began to walk slowly down the side of the lane. A door opened abruptly and a small girl darted from a hut and collided with her. The child reeled back, her grubby face a picture of astonishment, then, as she looked up at Laura, in fear.

Her lips trembled. “Ma!” she called.

“You need not fear me, child,” said Laura. “That was mere mischance.”

The little mouth gaped wordlessly.

“I am a stranger but you need not be afraid.”

Still the child looked up silently, before, to Laura's surprise, she began to edge away, cringing against the wall, one hand reaching out for the door.

Laura pulled a coin from her purse and held it up. The child froze, mesmerised by the shiny penny.

“Can you give me a direction, child?” asked Laura. The girl looked from the coin to Laura's face but did not speak.

“This will be yours if you tell me where to find a boy to help me.”

“To run an errand?”

“No. I am looking for a particular boy, a fisherwoman's son; he stands perhaps this high.” Laura gestured. “He is a boy with black hair.”

The child frowned, for doubtless there were several such boys in the alley.