The Imaginary Gentleman (8 page)

“What?”

“There are to be no letters to Lyme or to a Mrs. Gurdon. All Laura's correspondence must come first to her sister.”

Sir Richard sagged in his seat. “How can I give such orders?”

“Instruct your servants that all letters are to come to you. Any by Laura you show to Elspeth.”

Sir Richard stared at his wine glass. “This is too dreadful, Edward.”

“It is for Laura's protection. These meetings with the wretched fellow have … unsettled her.”

Edward poured himself another glass of port. “Do you know, Richard, I wonder if Laura's unreasonable hopes of this man can be traced to the many difficulties of her life.”

“Laura has been lonely for so many years!” said Sir Richard.

Edward stared at him. “I wouldn't have put it so strongly as that!” he said.

“Oh?” Sir Richard sounded surprised.

Edward shrugged. “As time goes by, Laura will start to be
angry with him, and thus be on the road to forgetting him altogether.”

Sir Richard was slumped over one arm of his chair, his hand hanging down towards the floor. His spaniel waddled over from the fireside and licked his master's hand.

“Oh, Spotty!” said Sir Richard, mirroring the spaniel's expression of gloom.

“Come, my good fellow!” said Edward. “Drink up! All will be well!”

E
VEN BEFORE SHE OPENED HER
eyes, Laura felt oppressed by thoughts that had disturbed her through the night. She was tired to the bone.

She arose, drew a wrap around her shoulders and stood woodenly at the window, watching the way the sun lit up the tops of the pines and sent sprinklings of light through the trees at the edge of the forest, then across the grassy slope at the base of the hill. She felt distanced from it, felt that any joy must filter through an invisible barrier that now stood between her and her world.

Ironically, relegation to the second guest room after Elspeth's marriage, had given her this beautiful view. Laura recalled Elspeth's little smile of triumph, on that first Christmas visit to Oakmont after her marriage, when she was given the room that had once been Laura's, with its aspect over the gravel drive and lawns. That smile began the alteration in our relations, Laura thought; what lies ahead for me now?

She seated herself at the table and opened her little desk, turning back the lid. She glanced once more at the play of light in the trees, thought of sketching it, but decided against it. She lifted out her journal and opened it by pressing the small brass catch.

Laura stared out vaguely at the familiarity of Oakmont's hill, where the early rays of the sun had ceased to dance around the old trees. She blotted the page, locked her journal away and rang for her maid. There was a giggle from the passage and the muffled sound of Sarah's voice. When the girl entered with a jug of hot water and a towel, Laura saw that her cheeks were flushed.

As she was helping her mistress on with her coat, Sarah said, “Sir Richard has never seen your new blue coat and bonnet.”

“He will not be astonished by my new coat. This brown object will do very well for the forest.”

Sarah held out the long filmy orange scarf.

“No! I never wish to see that scarf again.”

Sarah looked surprised. “'Tis all but new, miss.”

Laura did not reply, quickly leaving the room. In the corridor, she all but stumbled over Jonathon, who stood too close to the door.

“So it was you who kept Sarah standing about with a heavy jug in her hands,” she said.

“I offered to carry it in for her, madam.”

“Very well.”

Laura set off down the corridor, only to hear the soft footfalls of the footman behind her.

“Jonathon! Can you not find something useful to do?”

Jonathon bit his lip. “'Tis mistress's orders.”

Laura did not reply, but went swiftly downstairs and out into the gardens.

In no time she was walking briskly up among the pines, breathing in the early crispness of their scent, feeling the cold against her cheeks, while she warmed within. At the top of the hill, she stopped at a favourite spot where she might sit and enjoy a view for miles around. Her lovely surroundings were just as they always were. Even the distant crags, in their romantic ruggedness, had a solid, familiar look that seemed to laugh at the mutation in all her feelings. She began to hope that the small pleasures of her previous life might return.

Turning back down the hill, she encountered Jonathon, on guard just out of sight. She ignored him, returning to the house with flushed cheeks, and her green eyes glowing with the exercise. Her relations were seated in the breakfast parlour. They turned to greet her, pausing in their meal—Edward forking up ham and eggs, Sir Richard chomping on a piece of pie, while Elspeth picked at an array of dainty portions of this and that.

“You are very late,” said Elspeth, and her emphatic tone produced in Laura a sinking sense of freedom dwindling away.

“Good morning, Laura,” her brother said kindly. “How well you look.”

“Your cheeks are glowing quite red,” declared Sir Richard.

“Glowing,” murmured Elspeth.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her cheeks are simply glowing, Cousin. There is no need to mention redness.”

“I believe I like red cheeks excessively!” he cried valiantly.

Elspeth responded with a delicate cringe, and Sir Richard cleared his throat. “I am expecting dinner guests today—Colonel Woodruff and his family,” he said.

“Woodruff?” said Elspeth.

“The colonel is new to the district, having inherited Lewton Hall. I wrote to let you know of the young master's fatal riding accident.”

“Oh, yes, Richard. The new heir is somewhat distantly related? Woodruff, indeed!” said Elspeth.

“I have met them five times … no, four times. They are very respectable, dear Cousin Elspeth.”

“Are they? Well!”

 

A few hours later, Colonel Woodruff marshalled his family into the drawing room, in a manner that Laura suspected owed much to habits on the parade ground. They were a fine-looking family, all of middle height. Sir Richard presented Mrs. Woodruff, who was plump and fussily dressed, and the colonel who carried his portliness rather well. He then introduced the three adult off-spring.

“My dear cousins, these are two of Colonel Woodruff's daughters. This is Miss Woodruff …” He indicated the shorter of the two, a young lady of about five and twenty, and somewhat plain of feature. Her serene manner of greeting was pleasing to Laura. The ladies curtsied.

Edward said, with a courtly bow, “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Woodruff.”

“And this is Miss Evalina Woodruff.” All the freshness of eighteen years added to the attractions this young lady presented—a slender figure, just tall enough to display well her endowments, and glossy black curls clustering in front of her bonnet, spilling down beside her cheeks. A momentary shock registered in her eyes on first seeing the captain's empty sleeve—he saw it and a shadow passed across his expression. As she was presented to him, she smiled, her sparkling grey eyes looking directly into his. He bowed, unsmiling, mumbling coolly, “A pleasure, Miss Woodruff.”

There only remained Mr. Jeremy Woodruff, aged little more than one and twenty, elegant and lounging. He put his glass to his eye and seemed vastly amused by the sight of his new acquaintances, until a subtle poke in the ribs from his mother produced a more sociable expression.

“Three younger children still occupy the schoolroom at Lewton Hall,” said Sir Richard.

Elspeth, who always adopted the position of hostess when at Oakmont, urged the guests to sit down and refresh themselves with cake, fruit and sweet wine.

After doing full justice to the refreshments, the colonel said, “Well, now, Sir Richard, you have promised us a tour of the gardens. Are you to be as good as your promise?”

Laura felt strangely watchful, merely an observer, as they assembled at the foot of the steps. Although Sir Richard had offered his arm to Miss Woodruff, somehow the place seemed to be usurped by her pretty sister.

The senior Woodruffs had aligned themselves on either side of Captain Morrison.

“I have wished to meet you, Captain, since reading of your heroism,” the colonel said.

“You will find the reality not up to my reputation, sir, for I am a dull fellow.”

“I'll have none of that!”

“My papa will find you out to be a true English hero, Captain,” said Miss Evalina.

Edward looked at her, on the baronet's arm, a smiling, dimpled and utterly charming young lady.

Sir Richard's spaniel ran round and round his feet, yapping. “That's enough, Spotty! Sit, sir!” Sir Richard ordered, wagging his finger without result. Miss Evalina bent down and smacked the dog on the nose—a soft, playful tap that had him on his haunches at once.

“You have a power of command, Miss Woodruff!” said Sir Richard.

“Ha! Ha!” laughed her father. “Evvy certainly does, at that!”

Miss Evalina spun on her heel, saying, “I have a love of mysteries, Sir Richard. I cannot rest until I see Oakmont's famous Loyalist Hollow.”

“The Hollow is in the slope to the west side of the house.”

“A view of the flower gardens will content the older people,” said Mrs. Woodruff, patting Edward's arm. Evalina looked significantly at her and mouthed “Mama!” but it seemed Mrs. Woodruff had made up her mind to look at the flower beds under the captain's escort.

“Come, Captain,” cried the colonel. “Tell me about the
Capricornia
first—what size is she?” Edward was steered off with the older people, and even with his limp, had to slow his pace to accommodate the lady's, as they turned the corner of the house.

Young Mr. Woodruff attempted to raise one eyebrow. “Mrs. Evans, will you do me the honour?” he said, offering Elspeth his arm.

She tilted her head to one side and smiled, taking his arm.

Sir Richard looked around. “What think you, Laura?”

Laura realised she was standing woodenly, while the whole party waited for her to act. She turned to the elder sister, saying, “How stupid you must think me, Miss Woodruff! Shall we walk together?”

Laura soon learnt that Miss Woodruff was an excellent walker and fond of exploring woods, so they parted from the others at the corner of the house and were soon lost in the pines. They climbed quite quickly to the summit of the hill, and Laura led the way to the bench she had occupied that morning. They sat silently while they caught their breath.

“Do you approve of our picturesque county?”

“I intend to take every opportunity to explore its wonders,” said Miss Woodruff.

Laura pointed out several of the district's landmarks. “Do you draw, Miss Woodruff?”

“Sadly, no—but I have heard much of your genius in the art from the baronet.”

“Genius, indeed! Sir Richard is too loyal. However, drawing is my great love. I have sketched every aspect of this part of Devonshire, including the seaside, for we are not far from worthy shores.”

A wave of regret washed away Laura's momentary serenity, as another seashore, quitted so recently, was vivid in her imagination. Where is he now? she thought.

She recalled her guest and felt aware of Miss Woodruff's interested gaze.

Laura stood up. “Shall we join the rest of our party?” she said. “They may still be in the Hollow.”

“My brother will be enjoying himself there.”

“Take care as we go down, Miss Woodruff, for the pine needles are slippery after the rain.”

From the forest, they emerged onto the grassy slope, and Laura pointed away to their right. “The others are over there.”

Miss Woodruff looked bewildered, seeing neither a person nor a hollow in the ground. They could hear a voice, drawling with fashionable boredom, “Thou shall not keep me prisoner, sir.”

Laura laughed at the contrast between Mr. Woodruff's line and the languid tone in which he delivered it. Miss Woodruff looked about in vain for her brother.

“You are helpless against me,” cried Sir Richard, also invisible.

“Advance and I'll run thee through with my sword.” It was Mr. Woodruff 's voice still, but there was more of naturalness and excitement in his tone as he became engrossed in the game.

“Thou challengeth only to regret thy folly,” came Sir Richard's voice, followed by a girlish scream from Miss Evalina. From out of the ground appeared a stick, brandished by an invisible arm. Miss Woodruff was startled and laughing, at one and the same time.

A voice, deeper again, cried, “Ah, take that, you scoundrel!” as Laura saw the back of a gentleman's head and shoulders arise abruptly from the ground. His manly carriage and dignity were, for an instant, so like someone else and so unexpected that Laura cried out, “Mr. Templeton! What do you here?”

The man turned, the hat was swept off with a flourish, and the russet curls of Jeremy Woodruff were revealed. Laura's cheeks turned white; she felt faint, and put her hand to her head. Miss Woodruff's arm was at once around her waist. Laura swayed against the lady's inadequate support. Mr. Woodruff climbed up out of the Hollow, until he stood before her, bowing ceremoniously.

Laura stepped forward, dizzy still, and Miss Woodruff advanced with her, far enough to see the wide deep hollow in the ground, invisible until one was within twelve paces of it, and sufficient to conceal twenty men-at-arms, as indeed it had done, in the past.

“Sir Richard, please help!” cried Miss Woodruff and Sir Richard
rushed up out of the Hollow to support his cousin. She sank against his shoulder.

The phantom Mr. Templeton strutted forward. “My name, madam, is Woodruff, and I come to confess to killing your cousin, the noble knight, Sir Richard, in fair combat.”

“Stop this foolery, Jeremy. Miss Morrison is unwell,” said his sister.