The Imaginary Gentleman

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The Imaginary Gentleman

ePub ISBN 9781742742601 Kindle ISBN 9781742742618

Random House Australia Pty Ltd 20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, NSW 2061 http://www.randomhouse.com.au

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First published by Random House Australia 2006

Copyright © Helen Halstead 2006

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Halstead, Helen. The imaginary gentleman.

ISBN 978 1 74166 064 7. ISBN 1 74166 064 5.

I. Title.

A823.4

Front cover illustration: Dorset: Lyme Regis Viewed From Charmouth, 1825 by William Daniellnta © CORBIS/Australian Picture Library Cover design by Christa Moffitt, Christabella Designs

For my father

“There is no passion with which people are so ready to tamper as love, although none is more dangerous.” Dr. William Buchan, 1785

Domestic Medicine: or The Family Physician

CONTENTS

Cover Title Page Copyright Imprint Page Dedication Epigraph: Dr. William Buchan, 1785 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36

Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Acknowledgements About the Author

CHAPTER 1

Lyme Regis, 1806 LAURA MORRISON STOOD AGAINST THE power of the wind as it whipped at her garments. One moment her brown coat wrapped tightly around her tall figure; the next it flew out, flapping her white skirts around her ankles. Behind her, the ends of her scarf streamed out, orange flags in the wind. She laughed, feeling the rush of salt wind in her mouth. An autumn storm was invading the shelter of Lyme Bay. Away to her right, Laura saw battalions of waves rushing at the dark breakwater known as the Cobb. Like a great rocky arm, it reached into the bay and bore, in stony sullenness, the anger of the sea. Water threw itself over the Cobb, firing volleys of spray above, only to subside in defeat in the lee of its arm. The briny smell of the ocean was strong in the air, and she touched her lips with her tongue, tasting their saltiness. Over her shoulder she cried, “Is this not a magnificent spectacle, Sarah?” “I only know it be perishin’ cold, miss,” said the girl, huddling in the slender shelter provided by her lady. “Are you afraid of such a puny adventure as this?” “I not be one for adventurin’.” Laura turned, smiling at the piteous expression in the girl’s eyes. “Why, Sarah, your nose is turning blue.” “You’ll catch your death, miss. Then the mistress will be angry with me.” Miss Morrison laughed, her tone wry but affectionate. “Off you go then, Sarah. Await me at the library.” “Thank’ee, miss.” The girl scuttled off, the wind at her back. Laura walked a little way to her right along the

sea wall, seeing a spear of sunlight shoot through a gap in the leaden sky, setting the waves alight in a shining trail. “Ah, such splendour!” she murmured. A glance backward showed her the waves there glowering greyly still, where their backs angled away from the light. She heard no sound but the wind and waves; there seemed no soul about but her. She turned again for a last fading view of the shimmering trail on the water. Behind her, she heard a footfall and a voice deep and warm against the sounds of the sea. “Seeing the light depends upon the angle of our vision.” She felt her breath was blown away for an instant, then, looking over her shoulder, green eyes alight with humour, she replied, “Indeed, nature is illustrating that truth.” “A lesson for the philosophers,” he said. As she turned to him, her scarf blew across her face, so that she looked at him through an orange veil. Laura felt the softness of his kid glove brush lightly on her skin as he unwound the scarf and sent it spinning out behind her again. There was brilliancy in her complexion and her eyes were glass green in the wind. Yet, she knew not how to look at him while she still so vividly recalled the sensation of his touch upon her cheek. “From whence I stand, I see only light.” She wondered at the intensity in his brown eyes. The light faded from the sea and they turned away from the grey of it. She keenly felt their close proximity. Although he stood at over six feet, her chin almost reached his shoulder. For a moment, neither moved; then, as one, they stepped apart and he bowed. “Good morning, Miss Morrison.” “Good morning, Mr. Templeton,” she shouted, almost, against the wind. “You find me alone in this wild place, for my maid has run away from me. She is not made of the stuff that delights in being blown about by the gale.” “Then she is not such as you and I,” he said. Laura looked at him steadily. “As you and I,” he repeated. His gaze openly expressed his admiration. He offered her his arm and they began to walk slowly along the stretch of paving above the

sea wall. “My sister—” she began. “I did so hope to …” he said. They both paused, wishing the other to go on, so that there was a little silence. He gestured for her to speak. “My sister is a little better today. She announces that she is equal to receiving callers.” “Then I am cast down,” he said. “I regret that I am unable to make Mrs. Evans’s acquaintance today.” Laura shivered, the chill of the wind penetrating at last. They were turning back into the narrow little street that led steeply up through the town when she thought of her sister’s displeasure: Mrs. Evans would take offence that a gentleman who had befriended her unmarried sister should fail to make himself known to her family. Mr. Templeton looked at Laura keenly. “I have received an odd request to attend upon a dying man some distance away, at a place near the Axminster Road. The family goes by the name of Whichale.” Laura rallied her spirits. “You can scarcely refuse, Mr. Templeton. Yet, is it not wild weather to travel so far? I am sure that it will rain heavily soon.” “It is eight miles off—the family must have their own parish clergyman nearby.” She frowned. “It is odd that they sent for a stranger at such a moment.” “I cannot refuse my attendance in this case— indeed I do not wish to, while the patient may need assistance to make his peace.” “How selfish I must appear!” “If you are displeased at my going away, then I am gratified.” Laura hesitated at Swan’s Library door, safely shut against the wind. Mr. Templeton looked embarrassed. “It is an awkward business that I have still to present myself to your family.” “It is not your fault that Fate plays so with us.” “I am pleased that your sister is rallying now.” “She recovers as well as she lets herself.” Their

eyes met in wry understanding. “The interval before our next meeting will gape sadly,” he said. “Not while you have your race with the rain to amuse you, surely?” He smiled, gazing into her eyes, and the deep timbre of his voice resonated in her. “I will see you very soon—tomorrow if I possibly can.” He bowed and went away alongside the high stone wall of the inn stable yard, blown away from her, until he disappeared through the gate. Laura stood still in the wind, as her senses recovered and her heart ceased its hammering. A short time later, she went up the stone staircase and along the wide flagged cloister that skirted the inner courtyard of the inn. Over the stone balustrade she saw that the cobbled yard of the stables was empty, with nought but scraps of straw blowing about. Laura went into a sitting room, which was halfpanelled in timber and cozy under its low ceiling. Two small windows overlooked the street. Candles on a table illuminated a pretty view of Mrs. Evans, reclining upon a sofa. Her white cap was edged with a narrow band of black, which, by happy chance, looked rather well against her fair hair. “Oh, Laura,” she whimpered. “I thought you would never return. I feared you had slipped into the sea in this frightful wind.” “Ha! Slipped into the sea, indeed! The only storm to be had just now is in your fervid sensibilities, Elspeth.” Laura removed her bonnet, giving it to Sarah, and unbuttoned her coat to reveal her white muslin gown, which was close-fitting in the bodice and fell gracefully from its high waist almost to the floor. Her brown hair was arranged in the classical style, held in a bandeau of apricot silk. Elspeth touched her own fair locks and sniffed into her lace handkerchief. “I hope that you did not walk out along the Cobb, Laura.” “On the breakwater—in this wind? Hardly.” Laura arranged her shawl on her shoulders, and sat on a chair near the sofa. “I don’t wish you to walk upon the top of the

Cobb at all,” said Elspeth. “It looks very rough and slopes away into the sea.” “It was not built with the clumsy in mind, but I am not afraid of it.” “The redness has quite gone from my nose, has it not?” Laura regarded the shapely little knob in which her sister took much pride. “You are almost presentable enough for me to be seen with you,” she said. “I take care to appear to advantage. I ought never to have gone sea-bathing, my constitution is too delicate.” “As long as you coddle yourself, it will remain so. I enjoy bathing immensely.” Mrs. Evans looked a little cross at the introduction of that theme. “Pray ring the bell. I wish to be ready for Mr. Templeton,” she said. Calmly, though she felt a clench of disappointment, Laura said, “Mr. Templeton will not see you today. I met him near the Assembly Rooms and he says he cannot come.” Elspeth stared, offended. “I call that very poor of him! I particularly wish to meet him.” Laura jumped up and went to the window, looking down on the almost-deserted street. “He is worthily detained by a mercy visit to a dying man,” she said. “In such weather as this?” Elspeth waved her lace handkerchief at the windows. “I call that dying man most inconsiderate!” Laura turned back to her, laughing. “You think he should delay his dying until we see an improvement in the weather?” “You understand my meaning.” “I confess that I do not have that pleasure. You didn’t object to Mr. Templeton coming from Charmouth in the wind to see you.” “To make the acquaintance of a lady, a widowed lady, moreover? He ought to be willing to endure a little discomfort on my account.” “He came in person to apologise when he might have sent a messenger. Encountering me has saved

him half an hour—time to hire a carriage before the rain comes in.” “You have met this gentleman while wandering about in a gale. What must he think of us?” “I believe he thinks well enough of me,” said Laura, with a secret smile. All of Elspeth’s soft weakness evaporated as she sat upright. “Laura! What has happened?” “I only meant that we are excellent friends,” she said. Elspeth fell back upon her cushions. “It is ever your lot, Laura, to be excellent friends with eligible men who then propose marriage to someone else. A lady has no use for an ‘excellent friend’—what is required is a husband.” Laura went to pour herself a glass of water at the sideboard. “Are those not the most horrid, thick glasses you ever saw, Laura?” “They do very well when one is thirsty.” Elspeth looked around crossly. “I know not why my brother ordered rooms for us here—people of fashion stay at the Three Cups.” “You told Edward you could not abide to stay there as it was so close to the sea.” “If I did—what then? Why can he not comprehend when he is required to read between the lines?” Laura shook her head. “Sometimes there is no understanding you, Elspeth.” Her sister responded with, “Why are you so tall, my dear Laura?” Laura adopted a look of mock apology. “Pray excuse my want of restraint. I shall endeavour to be shorter in future.” “Do not be so foolish. If you were to adopt a more elegant manner, you might turn your height to more advantage. That orange scarf is too bright, my love.” “I like it.” “At Lady Clarydon’s last month—” Laura pretended breathless attention. “Lady Clarydon!” she said.

“Unfortunately, you fail to comprehend that attention from a countess gives one consequence.” “If I have not learnt it by now, there is no hope for me.” “Precisely my point, Sister. At Clarydon Castle, last month, I encountered a young lady of your stature or more. She has engaged herself very well to a colonel, no less, and a handsome one in his regalia, I must say.” A tiny frown creased Elspeth’s forehead. “It can be done, Laura!” “Are those the chief requirements in a husband? Good looks and a splendid uniform?” said Laura. “I cannot see anything wrong with either. A true woman will always favour a military man!” “Is there no other character trait that appeals to her?” asked Laura, thinking of Elspeth’s more worldly precept when accepting the hand of Mr. Evans, whose personal charms had eroded into querulous old age by the time Elspeth met him. The feature that had recommended Elspeth’s suitor had been his considerable estates. Her sister understood her at once and said snappily, “You would do yourself good to spend time in Lady Clarydon’s company, Laura. I wish I could bring her young guest’s name to mind. She dressed all in rich trimmings—an ironic mustard—and once in a kind of subdued and knowing red.” “I know not how one discovers a length of silk to be ‘knowing’, let alone discern an ironic humour in a velvet,” replied her sister. Elspeth shrugged. “I wish I could have known her better, but was obliged to keep in the background, in my sorry circumstances.” She raised her lace to her eyes to perform what could only be assumed to be the wiping away of a tear. “Widowhood is a sorry trial,” said Laura. “Men are not called upon to extend the appearance of their grieving so thoroughly. You ought to go out more, Elspeth. You might have come to the Assembly ball last week.” “And sit about in my black gown and jet ornaments, looking as if I knew not how to enjoy myself? I think not!”

Peeping across at Laura, Elspeth discovered her to be laughing silently, her blue eyes narrowed. “At least Lady Clarydon’s friend is no longer to be a charge upon her relations,” she said. She could not quite read the expression that passed across Laura’s face. “I am perfectly prepared to live with Aunt and Uncle Fielding, Elspeth.” “No, no, dearest!” “It would not look well, would it, Elspeth?” “What should I care for the look of it, dear one? I cannot have you boarded out upon more distant relations.” “What would you have me do, Elspeth? If you wish me to marry a man whom I find repulsive, I can no doubt secure such a one.” “My darling, no, never that!” Elspeth stretched out her white arms from a froth of black ribbons and lace. “I am well able to maintain us both. Come here, my love.” Laura rose resignedly and submitted to a watery resumption of sisterly affection, a remedy she found more distasteful than the relapse. As soon as she could, Laura escaped to the privacy of her room. She took out a sketchbook from her small portable desk. On a pristine page, in quick strokes of charcoal, she produced a sketch of Mr. Templeton. Above the simple arrangement of his cravat, the planes of his face emerged; his hair blown about in the wind. Her breath was caught by the expression in his eyes, their intensity captured by her skilful hand. She closed the book and locked it in her desk.

CHAPTER 2

THE WIND BLEW ITSELF OUT by the next morning. The ladies had long finished their breakfast, and Mrs. Evans had at last stopped bothering her footman over the arrangements in the room. She put aside her sewing—a hat decoration, over which she tended to frown a little—to stretch out on the sofa, arranging her black silk skirt becomingly. She looked over at Laura, seated at a small table near the window. “What are you drawing, dearest?” “I am working on my sketch of the fishing traps.” “Can you not be discovered engaged in something more interesting, Laura?” “I find the shapes and shadows of the traps very interesting.” Elspeth sighed. “I refer to what appears int—” The door opened, and the inn servant announced, “A gen’leman come to see you, madam.” Elspeth picked up her sewing and smirked at her sister, while Laura looked towards the door, hoping her high expectations were well-concealed. She composed herself as best she could, scarcely able to concentrate upon her task. In the doorway appeared a gentleman of fine figure, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a grey cloak that swept down past the tops of his polished boots. “Oh,” said Elspeth. “It is only you, Edward.” “I had hoped for a happier welcome,” the visitor said, taking off his hat and tossing it aside on the table. “I hope you, too, are not disappointed to see me, Laura.” “The day will never come when we are not happy to see our brother,” replied Laura, crossing the room to kiss him. Laura helped Edward off with his cape. He wore a dark blue cut-away coat over a lighter blue waistcoat with military trimming, both well fitted to his fine

torso. His left sleeve was empty and pinned up over the little that remained of his upper arm. He returned her kiss, saying, “You look exceedingly well, Laura.” “She does indeed, Brother!” said Elspeth. “How alike you two look today—with your healthy complexions and straight brown locks.” “Our hair will never conform to Elspeth’s ideals, Laura!” said Edward. Leaning on his stick, he crossed to the sofa. “The sea air agrees with Laura more than with the invalid, I see.” Elspeth sniffed. “I hope I am not so ill-looking that I am not worth a glance, Edward.” He laughed. “Your fighting spirit tells me that you are recovering your good health.” He sat on the edge of the sofa and took Elspeth’s hand. As he leant forward to kiss her, he felt her turn her body to avoid contact with his left shoulder. “I shall never know robust health again, my dear Edward. I have scarcely set foot out of doors since the first day: I went sea-bathing!” “Hardly a dangerous proceeding!” said Edward. “I cannot understand why it has kept you indoors for five days.” “My spirits were intolerably oppressed. I believe the weather was not ideal when we immersed ourselves.” “Elspeth means that she had a cold and her nose turned crimson,” said Laura. Edward laughed. “I was too sick and sorry an object to inflict myself on the populace,” said Elspeth. “You ought to take more exercise, Sister. The sea air is very healthful.” “I might be excused a little weakness at this unhappy time.” “You will talk yourself into real illness, Elspeth,” Edward said. “Talk myself into illness, indeed!” Her voice wobbled. “That is very hard of you.” Edward looked at her, kindly enough, but shrewdly. “I believe you have got into bad habits, after too

much indulgence from your husband.” “Mr. Evans was very kind,” said Laura, seeing her sister on the point of tears. “It’s not a wonder if she misses him.” Edward grunted and caught Laura’s eye, suspecting her of irony. War with France had kept him much at sea until the previous year, but Laura’s letters had conveyed a picture of the old gentleman held in terror of the slightest frown from his pretty young wife. Elspeth pouted. It was all very well for Laura to make fun of her marital arrangements. She had not had to put up with the grovelling attentions of an ancient. “How does your friend Captain Newell fare, Edward?” said Laura. “Thank you, but I fear he will never return to full health and will depend upon his relations for the rest of his life.” “How tiresome for you, dear Brother, to spend time at the side of an invalid,” said Elspeth. “We were midshipmen together, years ago. He fought as bravely as anyone at Trafalgar, yet missed out on any prizes.” “He has his pension, I daresay, but I know from experience how demanding an invalid can become. I can imagine the difficulties he put in the way of your departure.” The captain did not reply. “He is fortunate in your friendship, Edward,” said Laura, changing the subject. “One does not abandon a friend, surely?” “You certainly do not.” “Tell us about your journey, Brother,” said Elspeth. “You must have started out very early.” The captain satisfied his sisters on all aspects of his journey, and of the health of the naval friends he had just left in Plymouth. Then he went to refresh himself in his room. The ladies were left to themselves for a time. “With our brother’s protection, we are well placed to include Mr. Templeton in our circle. We were a little foolish to imagine that he may have called so early today.” Elspeth giggled. “Most like, he is resting after his errand. Perhaps he is staying on with the bereaved family.”

“He could hardly have returned to Charmouth after dark, in the storm.” “How provoking if the dying man should be lingering still and reluctant to part with his spiritual shepherd.” “That is not charitable, Elspeth.” “What sort of dying personage does not send for the vicar of his own parish? He is selfish to demand that a complete stranger, holidaying in the district, make a dangerous journey in all that rain.” “It does seem strange. Mr. Templeton himself did not know what to make of it.” “I should not sit awaiting him, if I were you. Perhaps you might take a short walk with Edward after he has rested. Do not tire him; he has not yet learnt to take account of his infirmities.” “I thought he was walking a little better than when we saw him last—leaning less on his stick.” “Oh, Laura!” Elspeth cast a mournful look at her sister. “My brother will never know perfect health again— and such a handsome figure of a man he was!” “Is he not handsome still?” “In his features, certainly.” “He has still that same manly deportment that always distinguished him.” “Oh, Laura! How your affection blinds you!” The sky was a watery blue and the wind subsided when Laura set out with her brother on their walk. Edward adapted himself readily to the hazards of Broad Street’s steep descent. “I wish Elspeth would not fuss so,” he said. “I lived too long at sea to settle into the life of an invalid.” “You seem to be walking rather well.” “I am determined to prove the physicians wrong and live to walk as I did before. I would be ashamed to pity myself, after seeing the state of some of my brother officers. I thank God that I am so far spared.” “We do too, Edward.” From the bottom of the street, near the spot where Laura had stood the day before, they turned onto the

walk that skirted around the little beach towards the Cobb. On the shingle, a few children ran about or searched in the sands for marine trophies washed up overnight. In the harbour, the fishing fleet was at anchor, and one or two pleasure craft awaited hire. A horse was pulling a bathing machine into the water, the little hut swaying on its wheels. Edward shivered. “I would not be tempted to bathe on such a day as this.” “You know that the physicians recommend this season as more beneficial for the health than summer.” “They love to see their patients suffer,” he said. “I enjoy sea-bathing very much. How Elspeth screamed the day she went into the water!” Two solidly built women were helping a lady to creep down the steps of the bathing machine into the sea, while her garment billowed about her. The captain looked discreetly away, but Laura watched as the attendants pushed the lady under the water. Her squeal echoed across the bay, as her legs slipped from under her and she sank to her neck in the brine. Edward jammed his hat down firmly against the wind and stepped onto the beginning of the breakwater. The words of a letter had come instantly to his mind, words he learnt by heart aboard ship, in happier times.

You would have been ashamed of your Charlotte for the way she squawked, dear Edward. Those brutes of women thrust me

under the water so that I thought I would drown. Then, minutes later, what fun I had! I never laughed so much in my life before, with your sister, darling Laura, laughing with me (or perhaps at me, for certainly I deserved it). I laughed to think that you are surrounded by this delicious element day and night. Then cried for thinking of how long it must keep us apart, my dearest, dearest Edward.

It was not the sea that parted us so finally, he thought. Laura glanced at her brother’s profile, his eyes concealed by the shadow of his hat, as he stared out to sea. They looked out over the ocean rolling into the bay, its strength breaking up against the stone wall. “Edward, why do you not take a boat out while you are here? I have seen the fishermen taking other visitors out on the water.” He grunted, not committing himself. “I would delight in accompanying you, if you so wish,” she said. He was silent for a few moments, then spoke, pointing out to a distant haze over the sea. “The French coast is just there, over yonder.” The set of his mouth was expressive of bitterness. “Your eyesight is prodigious!” Laura said, trying to tease him out of his glum mood. “I do not need to see its very shores to feel the menace. It is a reproach to me. I ought to be doing my duty still, guarding against the enemy.” Laura felt pained and breathless. “You have more than paid your dues to England.” “There is no end to my duty while we are still at war.” “The sea power of the French is broken. You played your part in that, at Trafalgar.” “England will always need a strong navy. I am cast aside as useless.” He referred to the war, and to his career, cut short. Yet, he could not help thinking of another path equally severed. In the little silence, Laura sensed where his thoughts went. Her brother had lost all—his career, his pride in his place in the navy, his belief that he was worthy to be loved. “Can you not see your country’s gratitude in the honours and rewards granted to you?” she said. He turned and looked into her eyes, the same green as his own.

“Poor Laura, how can I serve you such gall?” “No matter. Shall we go back?” Ragged children had followed the receding tide, collecting shell-fish. The occasional shout of triumph signalled the find of a fish thrown up into a pool by the heavy seas. A young boy, the dirty tail of his shirt coming loose from his string belt, bounded up Granny’s Teeth, the precipitous steps leading from the sands to the walkway, to stand before the captain. “Good morning, young sir,” Edward said laughing. “Do you truly be a hero, sir?” The boy had a slight impudence, somehow ameliorated by an impish humour. “I am a retired ship’s captain, if that is what you mean,” said Edward. “The inn-keeper had it of your servant, sir—you fought on, when you was a’cut up and was a’writ in the newspaper.” Laura laughed. “He is indeed a hero, make no mistake.” “Ooh!” He looked hopefully towards Edward’s pocket and the captain fished a halfpenny from his purse. “Too much admiration will make a poor man of you after all,” said Laura. The lad clutched his reward and ran off a few paces then paused, saying over his shoulder, “I seed thee yonder in the tempest, miss.” He darted off down the steps. “In what tempest did the lad see thee?” “Yesterday morning was very windy. The tide was high and drove the fishwives from the sands.” “Not that young lad, it seems.” “It seems not.” She paused, before adding, “I met Mr. Templeton there briefly. He is—” “Ah, Elspeth told me about him, before breakfast—an acquaintance of the lady you both know, staying at the inn.” “Yes.” She did not look at him and he did not press her, wanting to hear it from her voluntarily, if there was more to tell. Her silence told him more than a speech may have. “Do you wish to see a little of the town?” “Indeed.”

They walked along the river path, admiring the pretty scenes there, and came back into Broad Street. “Would you like to present your card at Number 54, the unofficial gateway to genteel society here?” “It is unlike you, Laura, to be the one to propose such a thing. Have you called there?” “Mrs. Gurdon is staying at the inn and she introduced me. She is a friend of Aunt Fielding in Suffolk. Do you remember her?” “Mrs. Gurdon? No, I cannot say that I do. Remember that I have seen little of our Aunt and Uncle Fielding since first going to sea.” “Of course! I am very attached to Aunt Fielding —she is so affectionate.” “It is a pity you did not go to live with her, when Father died.” “How differently things might have turned out if we had! Aunt Fielding so resembles Mama.” “Yes—Aunt Morrison was a poor substitute for our mother.” “To return to Mrs. Gurdon. She is our aunt’s particular friend, and is staying here at Lyme. You cannot imagine Elspeth’s agonies—to be in Lyme and not make her presence felt with the family at Number 54. They could be relied upon to broadcast our sister’s importance in the world.” Edward smiled. “It is not like you to repeat a visit of form.” “Perhaps I wish to show off my hero brother.” Edward laughed and rang the bell at Number 54. In the hall, Laura introduced Edward to the master of the house, having made his acquaintance at the Assembly. The master apologised for his lady’s absence. “I gave her no notice before calling,” said Laura. “Your wife received me—a complete stranger to her—very kindly last week. My brother and I are on our way back to the inn.” Edward bent to sign the visitor’s book. Laura had made up her mind not to run her eyes over the names

and looked determinedly away. The gentlemen began to discuss the progress of the war. Edward replied to queries about his career, all old tales for Laura, and she found that her gaze drifted down to the book. She bent her head, the better to read the names, running her eyes from her brother’s name to the top of the page and saw nothing to interest her. Her fingers all but twitched with the sore temptation to lift the corner of the page, but she resisted, attending again to the gentlemen’s conversation. “Why, Captain Morrison, we recently had a visiting ship’s captain, whom you may well know. Let me see, now …” He made a comic little half-bow to Laura as he reached for the guest book, flipped to the previous page and ran his finger down from the top. Laura’s eyes followed his finger. He turned back another page and was stabbing away at the name, his meaty palm covering much of the entries. “Hah! I never forget a military man! Here he is! Captain Bonner. What a pity you have missed him—what stories you could share! He was a fine figure of a man.” He glanced at Edward’s empty sleeve and he reddened slightly. “He arrived on the 10th of August, but stayed scarce above a week.” He lifted his hand at last. Laura leant forward from his side to scan the list. Mr. Templeton’s name was not there. She smiled wryly at herself—an old spinster of thirty resorting to such desperate measures to merely read a gentleman’s name was a sight sorry enough to laugh at!

CHAPTER 3

THURSDAY PROVIDED IMPROVEMENT IN THE weather and in the colour of Mrs. Evans’s nose, sufficient to calm her terrors. She was supported down the stairs and into the street. Once in the public eye, she was provoked that her brother could give her but little support. Instead of appearing frail and interesting on the arm of a naval captain, she must walk with her sister and have her brother limping on ahead of them—lurching almost, as he lacked the imagination to move with slow dignity. “Do be kind enough to point out Mr. Templeton if you should see him, Laura.” Laura was silent. “I relied upon Mr. Templeton to liven me and have seen nothing of him.” “You are much better now, Elspeth. The purpose of our visit to Lyme was to lift your spirits not to meet with Mr. Templeton, of whose very existence we were ignorant a week ago.” “I cannot understand what has become of him these three days! A true gentleman would have sent a message if unable to keep his promise.” Laura frowned. “I confess myself as surprised as you,” she said. “I took him for a person who would be scrupulous in honouring an engagement.” Elspeth smirked. “You are not, perhaps, such a good judge of character after all, Laura.” “I imagine he is still at this place near Axminster. Perhaps he is unwell.” “You take it very calmly, Laura. I am excessively disappointed.” Laura was again silent, lost in thought. Only two days had passed, it was true, yet she had expected at least to hear from Mr. Templeton by this time. He could have been overtaken by the rainstorm as he rode to Charmouth

—surely he was now ill. Were he merely detained on his mercy errand, he would have sent word. Did the wild weather on Tuesday lend a romance to their meeting that was not really there? No, she thought, from their very first meeting, there was a strong feeling of mutual interest between them. Certainly some indisposition or even an accident was keeping him from her. Laura looked at her brother, walking ahead of them down the street. What pleasure she would have in introducing them to one another! Elspeth sighed crossly. “You are not entertaining me this morning, Sister.” They went along the path a little way, to where Edward awaited them, and Elspeth looked out into the harbour. “What a pretty little bay,” she said. She sniffed and pulled a face. “It smells of fish!” “A shocking occurrence by the sea,” said Edward, looking at Laura who had to hide a smile. He pointed to the breakwater. “Ah, the Cobb. A magnificent structure, is it not, Elspeth?” “That great thing puts me in mind of a fearsome serpent!” “Nonsense, Elspeth. In no time at all, you will be walking along the lower walkway—not everyone has Laura’s confidence in walking along the top.” “That is all very well for you to speak so, Edward. You lack my delicacy.” “You waste your delicacy on your brother, my dear.” “Sometimes I wonder if you care for me at all, Edward.” “I like you best when you are sensible, Elspeth,” he said. Elspeth dabbed at her eyes. “I wish to return to the inn.” Her brother and sister acquiesced and turned back. Only the distractions of the tea shop and haberdasher’s were permitted to delay the party’s return to the safety of their sitting room.

By the following day, Edward was restless from so little activity and proposed a walk with Laura upon the cliffs as far as Charmouth. Elspeth subsided onto the sofa, bemoaning the dangers. “So wild a proceeding for a young lady! It is four miles, at the very least, and a stiff climb at the beginning. You will pay a penalty, Edward.” “I will pay it without complaint,” he said. She settled for sending the carriage to meet them at Charmouth. Laura and Edward ascended the steep street; then crossed the fields towards the top of the cliff. Soon they found a spot where the view over Lyme opened before them. The captain, too proud to let his sister indulge him, had forced the pace. Now he drew breath sharply. “Let us enjoy this spectacle for a few moments,” he said. “I have tired you, Edward.” “I will do very well, Laura, if you will just help me to sit here by this rock.” She helped Edward to lower himself onto a patch of tough straggly grass, where he leant against the rock, facing the view of Lyme Bay. He patted the ground next to him. “Thank you but that grass looks prickly. Perhaps we might turn back soon, Edward.” “I will be thinking I am with my other sister, if you continue to be so assiduous in your care of me.” “Never that!” She pointed out at the sea beyond the breakwater. “Look there, Edward! Are they not the fishing boats returning?” “I believe you are right.” He took out the small spyglass from his pocket, unfolded it and studied the boats as they came back to harbour. “That dark weedy patch in the bay would be a splendid spot for fishing.” “Oh, yes,” she said absently. He swept the glass further across the bay. “I will show you how the fishermen are using the tide to sweep them back towards the harbour.” “Mmmm.”

Edward lowered the glass and looked at Laura sharply. She was gazing around her unseeing, and he wondered if she thought of the mysterious Mr. Templeton. She felt his gaze and stared at him defiantly, until he laughed and raised the eyeglass again. The path was well back from the unstable cliff, and wound through scrubby foliage so that she could not see far. Leaving him to enjoy his amusement, Laura looked around a great clump of gorse and a longer view of the path opened before her. She was caught by a kind of breathless laughter, for, some distance ahead, she discerned a familiar figure walking in her direction. Knowing how little her brother would like another man to watch him raise himself clumsily from the ground, she said, “Edward, there comes one whom I would wish you to meet.” He looked into her face and chuckled. “Hush!” she said and helped him to his feet, bending to retrieve his stick from the ground. “Laura, I did not think to see you blush so!” “I am not blushing, as well you know.” However, her eyes shone. Laura watched as Edward folded his spyglass with irritating deliberation. “Come,” she said, standing at the bend in the path, looking back at Edward as he came to her. She stepped a little aside so he could get a good footing on the path. Only then did Laura turn. She could see how the path continued to wind through the gorse. Laura stared. The path was deserted. Quite simply, there was no one to be seen in the entire stretch of the trail before them. Laura gave a small half-laugh of surprise, of embarrassment, of bewilderment. Edward began to speak, stopped, and she sensed his desire to laugh, so she turned away and frowned out across the sea of heather, her bonnet screening her face from his scrutiny, while the sea birds swooped and squawked above. “You’ve merely made an error,” the captain said, the laughter not altogether extinguished from his voice. “It was something else I saw,” she said, sounding somewhat bitter when she wished to sound wry.

“A tern or perhaps something larger, a rabbit.” She felt little amusement in her own jest. She felt herself to have something in common with that furry creature just then. She knew her brother would be holding back a witticism or two. “You are very good to me, Edward.” “You deserve more than my paltry supply of goodness.” She felt the sympathy now, in his look, as he surmised her disappointment. “Come,” he said. “Let us on to Charmouth. I believe we are suffering from an excess of fresh air and bird squawks.” They finished their walk in awkward silence. Edward’s thoughts were engaged with the new impression that his sister, at the age of thirty, was at last in love. There seemed no other explanation for her fancied sighting of the man on the cliff path. The whole matter seemed unsatisfactory; he wished to make this gentleman’s acquaintance as soon as might be. The carriage awaited them in the yard of the Charmouth inn, and Laura entered it at once. If Mr. Templeton was in the village, she had no intention of revealing herself. A basket of refreshments had been prepared with slices of freshly baked pound cake, some bread and cheese and a flask of wine. With shaking hand, Laura poured herself a glass and took a small bite of a slice of the cake, its faint aroma of Madeira failing to please her in her unsettled state. The captain stood alongside the carriage, enjoying a tankard of ale and a hefty slice of beef pie brought out from the inn, while Laura sat well back from the window. Edward made up his mind to keep the incident upon the cliff secret from Elspeth. On their return, they found Mrs. Evans was already interesting herself in her sister’s arrangements. “My dears, I have discovered from the servants here that no Mr. Templeton, no tall clergyman, has been seen at the inn this past week.” “That is peculiar,” said Edward. “A young man who has walked into town will require refreshment

somewhere. Perhaps he went to the Three Cups.” “That cannot be it,” said Laura. “On Saturday, he joined Mrs. Gurdon and me as we walked down to the sea wall and afterwards for refreshments in her sitting room just along the passage here.” “So we have an acquaintance in common with Mr. Templeton, Laura?” “Naturally, Brother. Did you imagine I had struck up a conversation with a stranger in the street?” “Of course not. Nothing is simpler, then,” said Edward. “We must call upon Mrs. Gurdon, who may be able to solve the puzzle of the gentleman’s whereabouts.” “No, no, Edward,” said Elspeth, crossly. “Mrs. Gurdon has been very ill for several days. Otherwise, I should have scarcely forgiven her neglect of me.” Edward turned to Laura. “How then is it possible that the servants here claim no knowledge of the gentleman?” “I cannot explain it.” “Your maid may have some news of him.” He rang the bell and asked for Sarah to attend them. Sarah was able to enlighten them on Mrs. Gurdon’s condition, having had a gossip with that lady’s maid. The old lady had taken a fit of apoplexy three days before but was recovering. However, she was still frail and very much wandering in her mind. The physician had said she was to have no visitors yet. “Did your conversation with your new friend touch upon Mr. Templeton, Sarah?” “Mr. Templeton, sir?” She shook her head. “I know of no Mr. Templeton.” “Of course you know of him, Sarah,” said Laura. “He is the gentleman with whom I was speaking three days ago, on Tuesday, near the Assembly Rooms, on that very windy morning.” Sarah shook her head stubbornly. “There weren’t no gen’leman, miss, not as I saw.” All three stared at the girl in silence and disbelief. Her chin stuck out and a pout appeared as she repeated, “There weren’t no gen’leman—there were no

one, save my mistress and me in all the street. I’m not lyin’, miss. You tell me when Sarah Jones ever told you a lie.” Laura felt very strange, as though silence filled her head, leaving her unable to think; it was like a noise that throbbed in her temples. Elspeth said, “We know you for an honest girl, Sarah. That will be all. You may go.” The girl tripped to the door, glancing back once to see Laura sitting still and strange-looking. “Let us all have a glass of wine,” suggested Elspeth. “Edward—would you be so kind as to assist our sister?” Edward went across to the table and poured the wine. Elspeth looked significantly at Laura, who continued to sit enveloped in silence. “Let me help you,” said Elspeth, arising from the sofa. She placed a glass of wine convenient to each and sank back upon her cushions. She looked at the light shining through the claret, imagining how well she would look in ruby-coloured satin, cut low in the bosom, with a long blonde curl straying over her shoulder. She took a sip. “Laura, dear, you forget your wine!” she said. “Thank you,” said her sister belatedly. Her numbed senses began to return to her and she swallowed a mouthful. As she began to think clearly again, she realised why it was that Sarah had not seen Mr. Templeton —and began to speak. “I became confused and forgot—” Elspeth interrupted her sharply. “This must stop, Laura!” “What must stop?” “This talk of Mr. Templeton has given me a headache. Every day I wait for him to present himself and he does not! He has taken himself off without notice—after you have been meeting him alone! Where was Sarah when you saw him on the shore?” “I met him alone but it was not by intention.” “You have met him three times, you say, and yet I, your sister, know not even what he looks like, and your maid—who accompanied you on your walk—has never even heard of him! I am deeply shocked.” “How do you dare—” began Laura, to be cut off

by her brother’s words: “You are being hasty, Elspeth. I think it best if you apologise to your sister.” “I—who am the wronged party—ought to seek pardon?” “These are wild criticisms levelled at a sister who has never been anything other than a lady.” “When I hear that Laura has done no wrong, I will take back my words and not before.” “Then kindly refrain from remark for a few moments, at least.” Ignoring Elspeth’s huffy shrug, Edward turned to Laura. “Will you tell me the history of your meetings with Mr. Templeton?” “Nothing could be simpler or more innocent. Mrs. Gurdon presented him to me at Number 54—no, it was in the street. Mrs. Gurdon greeted a gentleman by name and introduced him to me. We all walked down to the sea and then together back to the inn, where we took refreshment in Mrs. Gurdon’s room. Mr. Gurdon was absent.” “You were gone a fearful long time, Laura.” “Time passed rapidly. I had never encountered a gentleman before whose conversation so interested me and I know he … Mrs. Gurdon all but fell asleep in her chair. I parted with Mr. Templeton outside her door.” He nodded. “So ends your first encounter?” “Yes, indeed. On Sunday I went to church with Mr. and Mrs. Gurdon. Sarah came with us, but I sent her back with them immediately after the service concluded, on Elspeth’s own request.” “You were gone an age then, too, Laura!” cried Elspeth. “I particularly wanted your opinion on the alterations I was proposing to my new muslin.” Laura ignored the interruption. “I walked a little along the river path, Edward. I encountered Mr. Templeton on my way, quite by chance—he had attended the early service in Charmouth—and we walked together for a short time.” “A short time, she calls it!” “Pray forgive me if your sartorial emergencies

did not distract me from a fascinating conversation.” “What is my conversation, pray? I fancy it is not dull!” Edward frowned at Elspeth. “Pray continue, Laura,” he said. “I was walking with him no more than an hour. It wanted ten minutes to one when I returned.” Edward nodded, encouragingly. “And the third meeting was on Tuesday, on the beach?” “Not on the beach itself—it was much too windy. I met him at the bottom of the street, above the sea wall. We were expecting him to call so that I might present him to Elspeth, but not before midday. I wanted to get out of the inn for a while—I felt so confined. I momentarily forgot that Sarah had gone to shelter in Swan’s.” Elspeth gave a loud, impatient sigh but Laura continued. “I forgot because I was taken by surprise—quite shocked when Elspeth said nobody had seen Mr. Templeton. On Tuesday, Sarah was whining about the cold —quite ridiculous for she was dressed warmly. She is incapable of enjoying the sights and sounds of the ‘vasty deep’ as she puts it.” “This was the moment when Mr. Templeton arrived upon the scene?” “Indeed, yes. We talked for a few moments. Mr. Templeton made his excuses against his visit to us here at the inn, and left me.” Elspeth took a sniff of her smelling salts. “It begins to be perfectly plain, Laura. Mr. Templeton has left the district or, if he remains, it is with no intention of meeting with you or your family again.” “I know in my heart he would not have done so.” “Forgive me for saying so, dearest, but you have so little experience in these matters. The gentleman enjoyed a brief flirtation and has taken fright as he realises that you think him a serious suitor.” “You insult my intelligence, Elspeth.” “Not at all, my love.” Elspeth’s air of wisdom infuriated Laura. “Cleverness never will protect one’s sensibilities from hurt. You are not the first lady to mistake the meaning of a few compliments from a gentleman.”

Laura jumped up and went across to the window. “I am not claiming to be engaged to him! I have met him just three times.” “Exactly! He was very interesting, no doubt, but you had not time to get to know him.” “To know his heart perhaps, but I understand his character. He is incapable of the deceit and cowardice of which you accuse him. He may well change in his inclinations but, if he engaged to present himself, only his inability to do so would prevent him, and he would find some means to explain his absence.” Elspeth patted her lace collar. “If Mr. Templeton is so very nice in his observances …” She paused, eyebrows raised in query. “Where is he?” Laura looked stricken, her complexion paled. “An accident has befallen him, as you will see.” She left the room. Elspeth turned to Edward, sunk in gloom in his chair. “What are you brooding about, Brother? The simple truth is that the wonderful Mr. Templeton has taken to his heels. Am I wrong?” “It is only too plain that you are correct.”

CHAPTER 4

HOW STRANGE A MYSTERY, SHE thought, I cannot unravel it. These thoughts were in Laura’s mind even as she opened her eyes the next morning. She yawned and blinked her eyes, heavy with weariness. She sat up, threw her shawl around her shoulders and fished about for her slippers, staring into the dim room. Why were my relations so reluctant to enter into the puzzle? she thought. Of course, they believe me deceived in Mr. Templeton’s interest—and immodest in pursuing the friendship. What had Elspeth said, in that smug tone of voice? Oh, yes, “Forgive me, my dearest, but you have so little experience in these matters.” How galling! I well know the difference between the sympathy of character that leads to friendship and that which leads to—well, love. Laura lit her candle and opened her journal to read about that first encounter.

Saturday 6th September, 1806 This day has been marked by a most interesting adventure. Mrs. Gurdon, who is staying here at the

Lion, asked me to accompany her to No. 54 Broad Street, where she wished to sign the register of visitors. I was delighted to have this amusing companion, for neither age nor her apparent frailty has diminished her spirit. We signed our names in the important tome, and chatted for several minutes with the lady of the house, before descending to the street. My friend said, in her

whimsical way, “I declare I am ready to brave a view of the sea.” How she makes me laugh! Then —at that very moment— we were overtaken by a tall gentleman striding down in the direction we planned to take. “Mr. Templeton!” cried Mrs. Gurdon, and he stopped and turned. I was struck by something in his appearance: he is not handsome, I suppose, yet has a presence that I found

very pleasing. His eyes, a deep brown, are warm, yet observing, and his bearing has that dignity that I always admire when it is accompanied by no trace of pretension or false pride.

Laura looked up from the journal and laughed at herself— had she really read so much in the gentleman’s bearing in an instant?

The three of us went down to the shore, with Mrs. Gurdon appreciative, I think, of the gentleman’s support as well as my

own, for the street rushes steeply down to the water. We stood at the sea wall, observing the fisherwomen as they waded in the shallows, dragging small nets in the hunt for fish. “My, how they raise their skirts up high!” cried Mrs. Gurdon, and indeed modesty is not their guiding principle! Had I been prone to blushes, I would have done so then, so aware was I of the presence of

Mr. Templeton seeing this display of female limbs with us. I joked that the fishwives are careful of their petticoats, wanting to avoid constant washing. Mr. Templeton chuckled— he understood my humour at once but Mrs. Gurdon tutted. “By the state of their dress, I shouldn’t think they trouble themselves frequently with that task, Miss Laura!” She looked up and caught us laughing.

“I needs must think twice about your every remark, young lady!” she said. We came back up the street to the inn, with tiny Mrs. Gurdon’s head bobbing between our shoulders. I know not how to describe the feeling of an understanding that seemed to pass between us over her head. I cannot explain my certainty that Mr. Templeton was as aware of me as I was of him.

Again Laura paused, and the clear memory of that short walk returned to her; she was still certain that the sensation had been mutual. The old lady had tired, requiring their support, and they had carefully matched their pace to hers, one or the other frequently bending a head to speak to her. Yet all the time, she had felt his consciousness like a touch.

Mrs. Gurdon invited us to take some refreshment with her as with Mr. Gurdon absent for the day, she would enjoy our company. I found my sister asleep on her sofa, left her a note, and our hostess led us to her rooms, just along the passage. There we waited an age for an answer to the bell. Finally, Mrs.

Gurdon sent her own servant down to the kitchen.

Laura sat up and smiled. This explains the inn servants’ ignorance of Mr. Templeton, she thought. Nothing could be simpler! They had not answered the bell! Why do I not remember these things when I am under Edward’s examination? I used not to be so muddleheaded.

The old lady’s servant fetched the refreshments, and Mrs. Gurdon served us with cake, fruit and wine, which she watered too well for me. Our conversation ranged from the war to our favourite books. Never have I encountered a man with

whom I have so many tastes and views in common. My humour, far from bewildering him as so often happens with others, was greeted with open pleasure. I do not dare write all that I felt. Suffice it to say, I have never, on a first meeting, felt that I made the acquaintance of so valuable a friend.

Ah, she thought, I am usually a cautious creature, for all my ability to quickly understand another’s essential character. She rose and walked about the room. The rosy light appearing at the window drew her to it and she peeked out at the clouds, darkish, edged with silver and pink. Was I deceived about him—I think not! She returned to her reading.

Mrs. Gurdon gradually fell silent until she slept in her chair, and we talked on. I consulted my watch and was amazed that two hours had passed since we returned to the inn. “My sister will be concocting every variety of misadventure,” I said. Mr. Templeton replied, “I hope this has not been a misadventure.” I laughingly said that only the future can tell us that.

Heavens, she thought. At the time, it was only a jest!

He said, “I hope to see you very soon.” His deep voice was quite thrilling as he said those words. I felt it almost as a vibration in my spine. He is lodging at Charmouth, and, like me, enjoys long walks so it will be no trouble at all for him to come again to Lyme. I so hope that he does!

Laura was as convinced as ever that she had not mistaken his interest. Furthermore, she strongly believed that honour would lead Mr. Templeton to make his excuses in some way, if he feared he had raised unreasonable hopes. To simply disappear without a word, leaving her feeling puzzled, hurt, even insulted, would not be gentleman-like. In

Laura’s judgement, he was a man who would never avoid the responsibilities of a gentleman. Some accident has befallen him, she thought. I shall prevail upon my brother to help uncover the truth. Weary enough, she went back to bed. Laura slept until well past nine o’clock. When she entered the small dining parlour, she felt it more confined and dim than usual. The table, lit with two candles, groaned with a selection of cold meats, pickles, eggs and fruit, from which Elspeth pecked daintily at this and that. Laura felt her stomach recoil. “My dear, how ill you look!” cried Elspeth. “Does she not look very dreadful, Brother?” “You do look tired, Laura,” said her brother. “Did you not sleep well?” “I could barely sleep for thinking of this mystery, Edward.” “You must try to avoid such thoughts, my dear.” “Sarah will give you a sleeping draught tonight,” said Elspeth. Laura waved away this offer. “There is something …” “You shall have some toast,” said her sister. “I know you will prefer that.” Elspeth nodded to the footman at the sideboard; he bowed and set about preparing to toast some bread at the fire. “Thank you, Jonathon,” said Laura. She turned to her brother. “Edward, there is something I wish you to do for me.” “Of course,” he said, but she noted an unconvincing jocularity in his voice. “I wish you to discover whether the horse that Mr. Templeton hired from the stables here was ever returned.” Elspeth burst in: “Edward is not even acquainted with Mr. Templeton! For him to make enquiries would seem very peculiar.” “Nothing could be easier. Men are forever

loitering in stables and discussing the merits of various horses.” Edward put down his cup, wiped his mouth and said, slowly, “Laura, my dear, I am not inclined to make enquiries after Mr. Templeton. Until he chooses to show himself, he is best forgot.” “Forgot!” She bristled. “It is not as you think, Edward. As his friend, I wish to discover whether some mischance has befallen him. He would do the same for me, I am sure.” “Your family would have cause to object if he made a public enquiry about you,” said Edward. Elspeth cut in. “I should be very angry if a gentleman did so, if you had withdrawn yourself from his society.” Laura opened her mouth to speak but words did not come. She felt the blood drain away from her cheeks. She stared at Edward, and he winced a little, looking away momentarily before returning her look with a blend of kind firmness and, horribly, of pity. Elspeth began to speak but Laura raised her hand and her sister fell silent, staring. Laura said, “You were always my friend, Edward. At times you have been my only ally.” “I am your friend and your ally now, dearest, did you but know it.” “I think not.” She rose. “Pray excuse me, Elspeth,” she said. “Where do you go, my love?” Now there was pity in her voice, pity laid on with a trowel. Laura paused at the door but did not look back, saying, “I wish to walk out. Perhaps the sea air will relieve my feelings of oppression.” She left the room. Elspeth turned to Edward. “Oh, Brother, we have not been kind enough with her,” she said. Edward looked at her keenly. “Elspeth, are you sure that you are not somewhat enjoying Laura’s discomfiture?” Tears swelled upon Elspeth’s lashes and her lower lip trembled. “You do not know how I love my sister—I sacrificed myself for her!”

“Surely you don’t suggest that you married Mr. Evans for Laura’s sake?” “Certainly, for Laura’s sake! She would not take our cousin when he offered. It was left to me to secure our comfort.” “You both had income of your own from our mother’s fortune. I purchased Wintern Cottage for your use after our father died.” “Yes—and Laura stayed crammed in there after my marriage, determined to disoblige me, and make me appear mean to the world. Only my aunt’s death—the loss of a chaperone—forced Laura to move to St Austell.” “She would not leave Aunt Morrison alone in the world, despite the old lady’s cold nature. What is there to criticise in that?” “You make it sound very fine.” “It was not a luxurious life but it was the life of a gentlewoman.” Edward saw how ready his sister was to take offence, and said, “We are not all the same, Elspeth. Nobody blames you for desiring more comfort, and Mr. Evans was a man of highest character. He loved you very well to his dying day.” “That day was a good deal further off than I had been led to expect.” “Elspeth!” “He was one and eighty! Everyone said he would not live above a twelve month—and I believed it. And why should he not love me well? A much younger man might feel gratitude for my hand.” Edward sighed. “Let us not quarrel, Elspeth, over what is done. I wonder where Laura has gone.” “Down to her precious sea. I cannot imagine …” “She would surely not …” They looked at one another. “You must go to the stables, Edward, before our sister does.” “I just pray she is not there before me.” He winced as he rose too quickly from his place, seizing his cane as Elspeth rang for his hat and gloves. He left with all speed. Elspeth sank onto the sofa with a cross sigh.

Laura had raised her hopes with her talk of Mr. Templeton. She should have known better than to think Laura would ever win a man. Heavens! Aunt Morrison was always saying that Elspeth must wait for her elder sister to marry before she accepted an offer—but she changed that idea very rapidly when Mr. Evans appeared. Six years of marriage, and now Elspeth was widowed, with Laura still a spinster. If she would marry, I might spend my time more freely with Lady Clarydon, Elspeth thought. She smiled, and took a letter from her pocket. How kind the dear countess was to reply so speedily. She stroked the letter and put it away. The way Edward spoke of Mr. Evans’s goodness, one would think Elspeth knew nothing of the matter. Of course, he had loved her well. What man would not! If he was old and ugly, then he must expect to pay for the affections of a pretty girl of sixteen. Ugh! Why had no one told her how it would be? Laura had not gone to the stables but walked down to the foreshore and along the path to the Cobb. She did not feel inclined to walk out upon it; she merely glanced about the place for a sign of the one who was so much in her thoughts. He was not to be seen. The waves out at sea were choppy, as the wind had picked up again, blowing clouds across the sky. Again the fishwives had their skirts hitched up well-nigh to their thighs. Laura looked towards them unseeing, as their powerful arms pulled on the net, until she was roused by one of them screeching “Get thee to thy work!” Her reverie broken, Laura saw that three ragged children stood idle, looking up at her, mouths open. One of the women waded out of the water and cuffed each over the ear. Crying “Ow”, they bent again to their task of sorting the fish in the baskets set on the stones. The woman gave Laura a sly, sidelong look over her shoulder, and headed back into the water. Laura’s brief urge to remonstrate subsided; how could she, a stranger, with no experience of want, hope to make a kind mother of the woman? Further out in the harbour, she saw a small boat sailing close to the end of the Cobb, headed out of its

shelter and into the sea beyond. How happily I would join in their adventure, following them out onto the ocean, she thought. 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.

CHAPTER 5

THE NEXT DAY WAS SUNDAY 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 illbred 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. Laura tried again. “He is a bold boy, an impudent boy, not afraid of his betters.” “That be Sassy Tom!” The girl reached for the coin, even as some doubt clouded her eyes again. Laura held the coin from her reach. “Where does Tom live?” “You’ll not hurt him?” “Of course I won’t hurt him, child. What a thought!” To what evils had the child been exposed in her short life to make her so suspicious? thought Laura. She said, “Where does he live?” The girl looked from the coin to Laura’s face, and behind her to the door of her hut. Laura opened her purse and produced another penny. “You won’t tell ’twas me as told thee?” “Never.” “He lives there.” Her little finger wavered as she pointed to a shack, put together from the salvaged remains of shipwrecks, a few doors further into the lane. Laura lowered her hand; the child seized the coins and ran back inside the hut, slamming the flimsy door. In the increasing rain, Laura picked her way across the cobbles, slippery with rain and refuse. Fumbling

in her pocket for her handkerchief, she held it to her nose, inhaling its scent in an attempt to combat the fetid odours of the place. She stood before the door, of crooked driftwood planks. She hesitated only a moment; then raised her hand and knocked. The door opened a crack, and Laura saw part of a face, topped with tangled hair. “What do you want with us?” It was a woman’s voice, slurred and rough. “Leave us alone!” she hissed, through broken teeth. “I can help you,” said Laura, “and I believe your son can help me.” “He’s helped you a deal too much. Leave him be.” “How has he helped me?” “I don’t take to fancy tricks. You done wrong by my boy.” “I have done nothing to the child. I only wish to ask him what he saw, and whom he saw, five days ago.” “Ma!” Laura heard, but could not make out the rest of the words. The woman turned and looked over her shoulder. “Stay quiet, Tom. Ya ma’ll deal with this.” There was a shuffling sound, of something dragged across the floor. “No, Tom!” The harridan turned and Laura took the opportunity to step past her into the dankness of the room. She could see nothing at first but, as her eyes adjusted, she looked around and still could not see him. Then she heard a mumble, almost at her feet. She looked down and sharply drew breath. The urchin, agile and impudent—who had called out to her so saucily a few days before—was dragging himself across the floor, with one leg splinted in rough boards. His once lively face was a lump of bruises, and his right eye closed with swollen flesh. “What has happened, you poor child?” She made out his mumbled “Don’ let them hurt me, miss.” “Of course not, Tom. I will fetch my brother who is a ship’s captain, as you know, and he will report this matter to the constable.” The harridan laughed, a horrible empty sound. “Only leave us alone,” she said.

Laura moved to go to the child but winced in the sudden vice of the mother’s grubby hand on her arm. “So this was the reason for the little girl’s fear of me!” she thought. The boy mumbled something and now she caught his meaning. “I know nuffin’.” Laura tried to wrench her arm free but it was held tight. “Tom, I can help you. Who has done this evil deed?” His one good eye looked up at her fearfully. Laura said to the woman, “I shall send the surgeon to attend him.” “We don’t need no surgeon. The bonesetter’s already been and left her fee. I’ll have to raise it the only way us poor women can.” She leered unpleasantly. “And me a respectable woman. I were married to me old man, not like some along here.” “Let me help you. You will pay nothing. These bonesetters have no proper training in setting a leg straight.” For the first time, Laura caught a glimpse of the woman’s maternal anxiety; saw that she hesitated, torn between the hope of good care for the child, and an irrational anger … or fear. Laura took out her purse. The woman slowly nodded. Laura turned and bent down the better to see Tom’s face. “Tell me, child, that windy day, near the Assembly Rooms, you saw me watching the storm come in.” He stared up at her with one wild eye. “Tell me—the gentleman to whom I spoke— where did he go after he entered the stable yard of the Lion?” “There weren’t no gen’leman.” “What!” cried Laura. “You was alone. There never was no gen’leman.” “Enough!” screeched the mother. “You’ve had your fill of our troubles now.” Laura was holding the coins from her purse in her hand, and felt them snatched away. She was roughly

pushed out into the lane, into the rising gale. The harpy cried, over the howling of the wind, “The whole town knows thee for barmy!” She slammed the door. Laura stood a moment, in the pouring rain, confused by too many feelings. To be insulted again, and by such a low slattern, outraged her. Yet that sensation was overpowered by the horror of everything she had heard and seen. It was ridiculous for that dreadful woman to imagine that a lady such as herself had a hand in so horrible a deed. She became aware of the rain penetrating her cloak, and looked along the lane darkened by the ever-massing clouds. Doors that were open a crack began to close. Laura ran as quickly as she might and, above the moan of the wind, heard another sound, a pebble falling. Spinning to look behind her, she almost slipped to the ground. A small smooth stone had landed on the cobbles. Laura looked around, saw no one, and raced along the lane. With relief she turned into the bottom of Broad Street but another stone, the length of her thumb, landed a yard or two ahead of her. Laura saw that the sea was boiling up even within the harbour, then a third stone was whipped up from the beach, carried on the powerful wind and flung at a cottage ahead of her. It banged against the closed shutters and slid onto the ground. Grateful for her sturdy boots, she hurried up Broad Street towards the inn, her head down against the rain and wind. She gasped as a stone struck her back. Two doors from the inn, she saw Edward coming towards her, his stick skidding on the wet road. He almost fell and she caught his arm, pulling him up. His stick fell on the ground, and, as she bent to retrieve it, a stone struck her cheek. Together, they fled the stoning of the sea until they gained, at last, the door of the inn. At the entrance to their rooms, in the lantern light of the passage, they discovered Sarah waiting, twisting her hands in anxiety. She followed them as they went into the sitting room. When Elspeth saw Laura bruised, yet safe, her terror for her sister’s life was overcome by anger. “How

could you have done such a wild thing as to go out in this storm?” Ignoring her, Laura spoke to Edward. “I discovered that boy—he has been cruelly beaten.” Elspeth moaned aloud. “You visited the lowest part of the town! You called at so evil a place?” “Elspeth, that evil place is home to some hundred or more wretches. They needs must go there daily.” “My sister need not! I do not recognise you, Laura—you seem crazed to me.” Laura held in her anger, while Sarah helped her to remove her sodden cloak and bonnet. The girl took the captain’s cloak and hat and took the wet clothes from the room. “Will you only listen to me, Edward?” said Laura, unbuttoning her coat. Her sister turned away in disgust, but Edward seemed ready to hear her. Laura gave him a brief summary of her horrible and puzzling discoveries, while he looked at her with growing impatience. At the end of her recital, there was a moment’s silence. “Your sister is right, Laura. These doings can be nothing to you.” Laura turned, her wet skirts clinging to her, and went off to her room. Edward sank heavily into a chair. “I am happy to see you take a firm stand, Edward,” said Elspeth, picking out a sweetmeat from a dainty box beside her. Edward looked at her, a frown creasing his high forehead. Her marriage had altered her beyond belief, he thought. Where was that strong affection she always showed to Laura in earlier days? He had feared a different outcome from her marriage—that disappointment and tedium would sour her charm. But no, she had refined her manner, while hardening her heart. He pitied her second husband, for there would no doubt be one as soon as she was out of mourning. “How gloomy you look!” said Elspeth. “You used not to be so readily cast down.” If only Charlotte had not abandoned him, she thought, Laura would now be passing

most of her time at Edward’s house. Edward sighed. “It seems so hard on Laura.” “We women, you know, must take what comes our way. We are condemned if we pursue what we desire. Laura knew this. Yet pursue she did, and others judge her for it.” Elspeth took a bite of her sweet. “I am sorry for her,” said Edward. “I would more easily sympathise if her conduct did not reflect upon her family.” “Where is your heart, Elspeth?” This provoked the tearful response that he knew it must, and would do nothing for her. Sarah followed Laura to her room, helping her into a nightgown and placing a warmed brick in her bed. Laura watched as the girl knelt to build up the fire; then heard a sniff. “What is it, Sarah?” The girl did not turn, only said, “Oh, miss … you give us such a fright!” “I am very sorry for it. But, Sarah, I do not regret going out.” The girl turned to her in surprise. Laura continued, “I have discovered a terrible crime has been committed. An innocent young boy has been unjustly beaten.” “That need not concern you, miss. Such folk don’ know how to live respectable.” “No one has taught them how to conduct themselves, Sarah. They are not to be blamed.” “The half-witted boy from the stable followed you to the alley, then came and told the captain.” Sarah rose from the fireplace and handed Laura a cup of hot chocolate. “Them places is full of danger. I thought I’d never see you more.” Sarah burst into a flood of tears. Laura patted Sarah’s shoulder, sparing what little comfort she had left within. She dined alone in her bed; then sent for her brother. She noticed at once his sense of unease, an awkwardness that had never been between them before. She patted the bed beside her, but he drew up a chair. Laura said, “Edward, please speak to the

parish constable and alert him to this attack.” A twinge of impatience crossed his face. “The last thing I wish is to involve more of the townsfolk here in our business.” “What harm can it do to tell him what you have heard?” She looked at him as he hesitated. “I will think about this.” “Nay, Edward, pray do it. Also, I wish a surgeon to attend Tom. His leg is splinted with some old boards tied on with filthy rags! I doubt it is even straight.” “The boy’s fate is not connected to yours, Laura.” “You used not to care so little for the powerless in our world!” This hit home, as she knew it would. He sighed. “Do not think that I care not—but what can one do? These people live with a lack of regard for standards that are unquestioned in your world, Sister.” “I will find a way to aid this child, whether you help me or no.” “Very well, then. Let me think it over. Good night, Laura.” He bent down, kissed her cheek and turned to the door. To his broad back she said, “Do not take Elspeth’s part against me!” He turned around. “There is no question of taking parts. We are all as one.” “You heard her, Edward. I acted in desperation, not madness!” “Our sister delights in dramatic language, as you know. She will be calmer in the morning.” He stood again by the bed. “Edward, you never doubted my judgement as you do now.” He gave a half-laugh, affectionate and comforting, or so he hoped. “Of course I do not think of you as Elspeth spoke. How could you think this?” He patted her shoulder, in unconscious imitation of her own action with her maid. “Elspeth spoke in anger. Yet, I cannot lie to you, Laura; I do doubt your judgement just now.” She felt more than shock, for a lonely desolate

feeling filled her. If she lost his trust, then that particular friendship she had long had with him was gone with it. “Edward …” She could not speak, her throat filled with tears. He kissed her cheek with a kindness she could hardly bear. Briskly, he said, “This is a momentary difficulty and will pass when we leave this place and immerse ourselves in the comfortable and familiar world of Oakmont.” He rose and smiled, adopting an air of forced jauntiness that only emphasised her aloneness. “Try to sleep, my dear Laura. You will feel very differently tomorrow.” He left the room. Aching in her limbs as much as her heart, Laura crept down under the covers. Moments later, she heard the door being opened with exaggerated care, and the hissing of Elspeth’s silk gown as it slipped across the floor. “Darling Laura!” she whispered. Laura kept her eyes closed, breathing quietly and slowly. Laura listened as her sister tiptoed out and let out her breath in relief as the door closed. She started up at the sound of the key turning in the lock.

CHAPTER 6

CAPTAIN MORRISON SAT BY THE fire, thinking over his promise to aid young Tom. To involve the parish constable was out of the question, he thought. What could he gain by involving others, spreading knowledge of the whole affair? The brutal treatment of such a boy—plainly a stranger to respectable conduct—could have no connection with a lady such as Laura. He stared into the flames. Never could he have predicted such irregular behaviour in his sister. “It was a mistake to come to this small place,” said Elspeth. “It is so dull just now.” “What!” he said. “How does the season influence matters?” “If there were visitors of my own standing, I may have been able to rally myself, and Laura would not have gone out alone.” “You stayed indoors because the society out of doors did not tempt you?” “I did have a cold, Edward. I don’t ask for so much—a private party, an elegant little dinner—suitable entertainments for a lady in my situation. My health collapses when my spirits fall.” “Let us be thankful you are faced by no greater trials, then.” Elspeth did not reply. Edward thought of Tom again—he would consult a medical man to assist the boy as an act of charity. Before dinner, Edward sent his servant to find the surgeon, requesting that they meet as early as may be. Before breakfast the next day, the captain met the local surgeon, Mr. Deare, in a small sitting room on the ground floor of the inn. He saw at once that here was a practical man, on whom he could rely to deal with the facts

unadorned with superfluous niceties. Wasting no time, Edward told a simplified tale of events concerning the lad. “A lady of my acquaintance encountered a young fisher-lad in the course of her walks. His name in the town, it appears, is ‘Sassy Tom’.” The surgeon laughed, saying, “Did he convince the lady that she must rescue him from some disaster?” “Why, yes!” said Edward. “She became so concerned for the boy that she went into Fish Alley to find him.” The surgeon shook his head. “That part of the town is no place for a lady.” “The lady has passed her life almost entirely in country villages, where the cottagers regard her with great respect.” Surgeon Deare shook his head and tutted. “Some of the fisher folk are a different case altogether.” “Indeed. She discovered that the young lad has been most severely beaten.” Edward saw how Deare all but groaned as he said, “’Tis not the first time that young Tom’s impudence earned him a thrashing.” “But his leg was broken and one eye all but put out.” “That seems severe, sir. What story did he give the lady of the attack?” “She heard nothing that made any sense.” “She’d hear nothing but a pack of lies from that quarter. No doubt there was some ploy to get the lady to empty her purse,” said the surgeon. “Indeed.” “She’ll not see the money again, sir. I imagine it’s already gone on gin.” “The lady is concerned only that the boy’s livelihood is ruined,” said Edward. “Until Tom learns to guard his tongue, he will always run into strife,” said the surgeon. “Is it too much to ask, sir, that you set the boy’s leg properly, and clean his eye?” “It is not my usual practice to attend upon a resident in Fish Alley, but if it would put a lady’s mind at rest …”

“I will, of course, compensate you for this inconvenience,” said the captain. “Please assure the lady that I will do what I can. Do you wish to receive a report on the case?” “I do not like to waste your time, but reassurance of Tom’s condition would be agreeable, I imagine.” Mr. Deare accepted the captain’s direction and a generous fee in advance. He donned his cape, saying, “I must away, sir, for I am on foot. The road is impassable to horses at the moment.” “I noticed stones flying about in the storm last night.” “On rare occasions, the wind swings violently about, and pieces of shale and small stones are thrown up into the town. The street will soon be cleared.” In the first light that penetrated the gap between the heavy bed-curtains, Laura had awoken. For a moment she lay still, her eyes half open, and her life seemed as it had always been. It was the memory of a sound that returned to her, before its meaning—the grating of the key. She had been a prisoner while she passed the night in deep, dreamless sleep. Laura leapt out of bed and ran across the cold floor in bare feet. The handle turned in her grasp but the door did not budge. It was still locked. There was no bell to the servants’ quarters in her room, so she knocked, but there came no answer. She knocked louder, calling Sarah’s name, then Elspeth’s, to no avail. Laura wondered where her brother could be, for he was an early riser. His room was independent of theirs, opening directly onto the passage outside, so that he would not hear her unless he came into the sitting room. Elspeth’s room was further into their apartments and she never rose so early as this. Laura realised that, until someone was up and about in the sitting room, she could go nowhere. She placed her hands against the door, leant her head there and felt the utmost rage at her sister’s temerity, wondering if her brother knew that she was imprisoned. As she leant on the door, Laura became aware of the sound of activity in the street. Shivering now, she

donned the warm wrap that lay across the chair and went to the window, whence she could see over the wall of the courtyard and into the street. Keeping back from view, she looked down at the people picking up the stones from the road. There were so many small sea pebbles, flung up even to the front of the inn, that the street was impassable, for horses would slip upon them. She could not help feeling a certain satisfaction that her brother’s plan of leaving very early was foiled. Amongst the workers, Laura recognised a little girl in a grubby frock as the one she had seen in the alley; she was putting the little stones one by one into a basket. A baby crawled over to her and began to lift out the pebbles, licking them, then throwing them about, until the other child —she must have been all of four years—slapped him. He began to howl and the little girl, his sister no doubt, hoisted him up out of the way and dumped him on the pavement, where he sat unheeded. Another child took the opportunity to snatch a handful of stones from her basket, but the little vixen flew at him with her finger nails and he dropped them back. When her basket was full, she was given a coin by a workman who tumbled her stones into his barrow. She turned at once and began collecting again. There was no sign of Tom’s mother. Laura wondered if she was down on the shore where the harvest should be rich after the storm. Poor as the fisher-woman was, she could not afford to sacrifice her share of the pickings. Perhaps Tom, too, was a prisoner, cowering alone and wounded in that dark cell of a room. A man emerged from the door of the inn below, and, forgetting to conceal herself, Laura leant a little forward to catch a better view. A burst of laughter reached her and she saw a couple of urchins pointing up at her. Dropping the curtain she had pulled back, she hastily withdrew from the window. Laura decided to fill the interval before Sarah came to her by writing up the events of the day before in her journal. She unlocked her little cedar-wood desk, and drew out the book.

Monday 15th September Yesterday was a day of horrors. The first degrading experience began upon entering the church …

After she had set down the humiliations of the day, Laura began to ponder the difficult situation she faced with her sister. She was now Elspeth’s prisoner, to be kept under lock and key, a lunatic who might go nowhere. This would be bitter enough in itself without all that her sister owed her. For Elspeth had been, in effect, raised by Laura, herself a child of eight years when their mother died. Laura had stood in the place of mother to Elspeth, bestowing all the frustrated affection of a motherless child upon her infant sister. Within a few days of their mother’s death, their father’s sister had come to keep house at the parsonage. Their father, punctilious enough in discharging the responsibilities of his parish, had never involved himself much with his children. Now, in grief, he separated himself still more from them. Aunt Morrison had briskly rearranged the household responsibilities, and baby Elspeth’s physical care was passed to a nurse. Yet she remained Laura’s lot to amuse and comfort. Elspeth was my charge, my pleasure, my doll, thought Laura. She was swept into a hidden, scarcely visited place in her memories. Inwardly, she crouched again in the scented darkness of her mother’s closet, her face against the silkiness of her mother’s best gown, little Elspeth tightly enclosed in her arms: rocking, rocking,

rocking … A knock and the sound of the key in the lock brought her into the present. Hastily, she locked her journal in her desk. Sarah was come at last, with a jug of hot water. Laura washed and dressed for travel, preparing to make Elspeth regret her action of the previous evening. She entered the dining parlour, to find her brother awaiting her. “Laura, I have appointed a surgeon to take over Tom’s case,” he said. “Thank you, Edward. What says he of Tom’s story?” “He seems an honest man and promises to do what he can for the boy.” “And the attackers go free?” “Mr. Deare believes there is small chance of discovering the truth in the case, and he is a local man.” With this, Laura had to be satisfied. The servant opened the door to admit Elspeth, and Laura gave her a cold look. Elspeth motioned for the servant to leave them. “Laura, my darling! I have scarcely slept all night. Can you forgive me?” She stood by Laura’s chair, draping her arm across her sister’s shoulders. “Do you think I am so easily put off, Elspeth?” “Of course, you are cross. I knew it would be so.” Elspeth took Laura’s hands and raised one to her cheek. Laura pulled her hands away. “How do you dare to treat me so ill, Elspeth?” Elspeth dabbed at her eyes with her lace handkerchief. “I had to keep those evil creatures away from my sister, who is too kind to them!” “I cannot forgive you, Elspeth.” Elspeth turned up her pretty little hands and looked helpless. “What can I say but that I am sorry?” Edward interrupted. “Enough, Laura! Can you not forgive your sister, after the anxiety to which she was subjected?” Laura felt chilled to the bone. Her voice a low whisper, she said, “You knew!”

He nodded. “And you did not release me.” “To what end?” He has clearly no trust left in me at all, she thought. “Do not make so much of it, Laura. Come, let us eat,” said Edward. “The road is cleared, and the carriage awaits us.” The ladies were veiled as their party went along the stone passageway towards the stairs. This brought them past the Gurdons’ rooms, where, by chance, Mr. Gurdon stood looking back into his open doorway, so that he did not observe them at first. They saw that Mrs. Gurdon was being assisted to leave the room by her grandsons. She made very slow progress and, as she was dressed in a loose morning gown and a shawl, it appeared that she was merely coming out into the passageway for a few moments of fresh air. Laura raised her veil and saw at once that the old lady recognised her, moving her lips as if trying to speak. Mr. Gurdon looked over his shoulder and saw Laura; his brows drew together, the corners of his mouth turned down in a scowl of disapprobation. He moved to block her view of his wife, but Laura briefly saw that the expression in her eyes was one of compassion. Elspeth sniffed. “Pray do not dawdle, my dear,” she said loudly. “There is no one here of whom we need take account.” “Mrs. Gurdon,” cried Laura. “I must speak with you.” She felt a hand firmly grasping her arm and saw that her sister’s footman had done it. “How dare you! Leave go of me,” she said. On a signal from the captain, his own servant took Laura’s other arm and she was propelled away, looking over her shoulder at the old lady, seeing pity in those faded eyes. Unable to speak for outrage, Laura was hustled down the stone stairway, across the courtyard to the street door. There, Elspeth reached up and pulled down her sister’s veil. The servants let go of her arms and Elspeth took hold instead as they left the inn. Through the carriage

window, Laura looked out to see various bystanders staring at her, with covert sneers and even a little laughter. She was thankful for her veil, which meant she needed give no thought to disguising her feelings. These outrages to her dignity brought on emotions strong enough to overwhelm her—a sense of injustice and shame. Edward stood beside the coach, sternly surveying the street until, one by one, the folk standing about looked at their feet and doffed their caps. He gave the street a sweeping glare of contempt and allowed his valet to assist him into the carriage. The footman jumped up behind and Edward banged the roof with his stick. “Drive on!” he called, and the carriage moved off. The captain, facing backwards as they travelled, was afforded a good view of the idlers in the road, shuffling with the disappointment of being robbed of their amusement. The carriage began to climb up out of the town. “That I should suffer such degradation!” began Elspeth. “Your degradation!” cried Laura. “I have been submitted to indignity that would outrage all decent-feeling people. You have instructed menservants to constrain and bully me down those stairs.” “You were determined to continue …” “I may never have the chance to speak to her again.” “That would be as well. Meanwhile, I will keep you to some semblance of delicate behaviour,” said Elspeth. “Edward—do you sit by while I am insulted?” The captain shrugged. “I could not take your arm myself, Laura. I needed my stick to use the stairs.” Laura gasped. All her support was knocked away. “You planned this together,” she said. “Laura, you must know of my deep regard for you.” “She wanted to speak to me,” said Laura, her voice low with bitterness. “Oh, Laura! Could you not see the old lady’s confusion?”

“Besides,” said Elspeth, “I imagine she is the only soul in all of Lyme not to be witness to your unseemly behaviour!” “Elspeth, our sister is to be pitied, not scolded,” said Edward. “Pitied? Am I to be pitied?” Edward reached over and patted her hand. “Let us cast aside all memory of this place and pass our time pleasantly at Oakmont.” “Poor Edward,” said Elspeth. “To think you came to Lyme to have a happy time of it.” “I am happy that I was at hand to protect my sisters.” He smiled. “What a fearsome opponent I am—for who would take on a one-armed man?” Elspeth laughed, while Laura looked stonily out of the window. The journey passed with desultory conversation between Edward and Elspeth. The three were occupied with their own thoughts. Edward wondered at Laura’s preoccupation with a man of whom she knew so little. He suffered much anxiety on her account. Elspeth worried over the new responsibilities and possible restrictions upon her freedom now that her sister’s commonsense and decorum could no longer be relied upon. Meanwhile, Laura struggled to separate the different strands of her unpleasant situation: the probable restrictions on such freedom as was hers, the humiliation of being exposed as a fool and the decline she felt in her brother’s regard for her. Above all, she suffered acute disappointment and perplexity over the entire course of the strange events surrounding Mr. Templeton. At last, as they neared Oakmont, the familiar scenery began to cheer Laura a little. Perhaps it was possible for life to resume its old shape, she thought. “Everything here is just as it always was,” said Elspeth, as the carriage rumbled through the village of Oakmont. “I believe I see a new sign over Georgeson’s shop,” said Edward. “That is as dramatic a novelty as we will ever see here.”

“Indeed,” said Elspeth. What a pity our father was the younger son, she thought. We might have lived here in a little elegance, instead of growing up in the parsonage. If Richard dies childless, my brother will be the next baronet. “It is a wonder our father did not join the navy, instead of becoming a clergyman,” she said. As second son, their father had always known his brother would inherit all, while he must find a way to support himself. “He would not have profited as I have,” said Edward. “I have the war to thank for allowing me to build my fortune.” Laura continued to look out of the window, wondering if Edward felt his gains justified what he had lost. She still remembered him begging to be allowed to go to sea. His father wished him to have a gentleman’s education, take his degree and accept a parish from his family. Such a living offered respectability and security. However, Mr. Morrison had not the spirit to prevent twelveyear-old Edward from having his way. Nine years later, the outbreak of war with France had offered Edward his great chance. Another eleven years and he captured a valuable ship, and his prize money—added to his reward for capturing many prisoners—had established him. But to what end? Laura thought. Not the happiness he had dreamed of with Miss Charlotte Hadfield. They drove past the stone walls of Oakmont’s fine park, in through the iron gates and rumbled along the gravel drive. “Dear Oakmont,” said Elspeth. Three tall roof peaks came into view, then the house itself, its lime-washed walls bright in the dull day. The carriage pulled up and Sir Richard Morrison appeared on the steps, his head poking forward, tortoise-like, above his scrawny figure. “Dear Richard!” murmured Elspeth, and she looked thoughtfully at Laura’s face.

CHAPTER 7

LAURA DETERMINED TO SEIZE UPON the opportunity to appear to advantage. For dinner she donned her new gown, which was white with an overskirt of emerald silk and hung in a deep v-shape at the back. Sarah wove a braid of matching green cord through her brown hair, pinned up in the Greek style. “Oh, you look lovely, miss!” said Sarah. Laura did not reply. “Are you not pleased?” “Bless you, Sarah—yes!” Laura gave herself a little shake. On leaving her room, Laura all but collided with one of her sister’s footmen standing near her door. “What do you here, Jonathon?” “Mrs. Evans’s orders, madam. I am to attend you from now on.” “I shall not lose my way to the drawing room.” Jonathon blushed. “Of course you’d not do that.” She smiled ironically and went along the corridor to the top of the stairs that led down to the hall, conscious of his attendance close behind her. She halfturned her head and made a gesture for him to fall back a little, which he did. Laura proceeded to the drawing room feeling a prickle of irritation down her back. In the long drawing room, Laura found Elspeth engaged in her lacework. “My darling Laura, you look delicious. Have you donned your new gown in my cousin’s honour?” she said, smiling archly. “Don’t be so foolish. Why was Jonathon standing outside my door? He followed me like a puppy downstairs!” Elspeth whispered theatrically, “The world shall know that my sister does not go without protection.”

“What nonsense! To what harm shall I come in my cousin’s house?” “I shall take every precaution to ensure that nothing does.” “I will not be hounded like this! I shall appeal to my brother.” “Edward is equally determined to protect you from yourself.” “What?” “Hush! Here come the gentlemen now.” Elspeth on the arm of the baronet, and Laura alongside her brother, they proceeded along the gallery, which crossed the width of the house. “Edward,” Laura said softly. “Elspeth has Jonathon following me about!” “Dearest girl, your sister is anxious to establish your respectability.” “It needs no establishing. I shall be driven mad!” “You will accustom yourself to it, Laura.” He wedged his stick beneath the stump of his arm and patted her arm with his freed hand. She drew her arm away. “This difficult time will pass—it will be forgot!” They dined in the great hall, all sitting at one end of the immense oak table that had stood in that spot, nigh immovable, for over two hundred years. The coat of arms of the old queen cast patches of its rich colours over the scene. In spite of his height, Sir Richard Morrison seemed dwarfed by the high carved back of the chair, of which he never seemed to occupy the centre, but leant to one side, as though making room for a shadowy other. The footman had placed the dishes upon the table. Platters of roast meats, vegetables fried or served in creamy sauces, were among the dishes. “What is the pie, Smithson?” asked the baronet. “Pork, sir.” There was also an excellent pigeon pie, the contents announcing themselves by an avian head decorating the pastry on the top. It was the first anniversary of Mr. Evans’s death, and Elspeth was no longer called upon to appear all in black. She was in half-mourning, the dark sheen of her silk gown trimmed with white lace and sash. She wore a little

black beaded cap among her fair curls, with white feathers tilting forward from the back. “You look very well, Elspeth,” said Edward. “I am happy to see you cast off your weeds.” “I thank you, sir,” said Elspeth with a little bow of her head. Of course, Edward could have no notion of the quality—or cost—of the exquisite Brussels lace at the low neck of her gown. She glanced questioningly at Sir Richard. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, indeed. I agree … with Edward. Very becoming, Elspeth.” Elspeth tilted her head in a parade of modesty. “One can display one’s mourning for too long, so that others are discomfited.” The gentlemen murmured in agreement, and Elspeth looked sharply at her sister, feeling that Laura’s expression of detachment was not complimentary. “Of what are you thinking, dear Laura?” “It would be better not to ask, dear Elspeth.” “Wolf-Fish—my favourite!” said Elspeth. The large piece of poached fish was presented in a sauce of wine and herbs. “Your cook always takes such care of me, Sir Richard.” “Did she send an express messenger to Portsmouth fish markets, Elspeth? An extraordinary achievement,” said Laura. She could well imagine the upheaval in the kitchen when their party arrived unannounced, a month early. While Elspeth picked daintily at a piece of WolfFish, Edward said, “Laura, too, is wearing a new gown, I think.” Sir Richard leant forward, his thinning brown hair flopping a little, as he said, “Very … becoming, Laura. You look very pretty tonight.” She laughed—a slight, almost hollow sound. “I thank you, Richard,” she said. Elspeth cut in, “Laura would be more often described as fine-looking than pretty.” “I never seem to choose the correct word, do I? Never mind, Laura, for to me you are very pretty.” Elspeth looked in exasperation at the ceiling.

Sir Richard drew back the corners of his mouth, like a gawkish adolescent who knew not how to get along in company and feared a scolding later. He gave Laura a look that was almost desperate—she understood how Elspeth intimidated him. “I wish that everyone was so afflicted in their address, Richard, if they would say such pleasant things.” His brotherly smile had just a hint of foolishness, and Laura could not help contrasting it with that intelligent passion she had seen in Mr. Templeton’s eyes. The thought of him, before she knew it, transported her to that street that sloped so precipitously down to the sea. She all but braced herself against the buffeting of the wind, tasting the saltiness of it on her lips, and gasping a little at its chilly power. She recalled his sudden appearance, felt warmed again by that last look of fervent admiration, so that a thrill of purest pleasure filled her. It was a second of ecstasy severed by remembering that all was at an end. She became aware of her surroundings, trying to secretly catch her breath in a struggle to recover her countenance. Her relations were all regarding her in silence. There was no sound, a footman stood frozen in the act of placing a dish upon the table, glancing nervously at the butler. Elspeth nodded and the dish was put in its place. The butler moved forward to pour more wine. “You become more absent-minded by the day, Sister!” said Elspeth. Sir Richard said, “You seem somehow changed, Laura.” “I? Changed?” Her voice was brittle with her attempt at humour. “Now, we know that will never be, for I shall always be the same Long Laura. I shall become again, in time, Lofty Laura with the Long Tongue, I daresay.” Sir Richard laughed happily, beating time on the arm of his chair, saying “Lofty Laura! Lofty Laura!” Elspeth cried, “How can you repeat such vile epithets, from childish times?” “They do date from childish times, when perhaps I was not always so guarding of my tongue,” said Laura. “As we do not all improve as we grow old, perhaps I

shall be one of the unimproved—a wicked old lady who has forgotten how to soften the edges of her speech.” “You do not always remember to do so now,” sniffed her sister. Sir Richard was looking sad, and opened his mouth wordlessly. Laura forced a smile. “Sometimes people are so foolish as to forfeit all claim to my indulgence.” “You are always generous to me, Laura,” said Sir Richard. “And I am as foolish as any.” “Indeed you are not foolish, Richard!” exclaimed Elspeth. “You are the head of the family, and a man of property.” “An estate that you manage very well,” said Edward. “Your son will be grateful to you.” Sir Richard blushed. “I know not if there will be a son.” Edward laughed. “A son will follow after you take a wife, Cousin.” “Take a wife?” Sir Richard seemed mesmerised by Elspeth’s feathers, bouncing as she leant forward, nodding her head conspiratorially. “We shall find you a bride, Richard, in your own circle of acquaintances. I imagine that there is any number of young ladies vying for the position.” “I…I … would not have you interfere, Elspeth.” “A good marriage is always a question of interference, Richard. It was our Aunt Morrison who convinced me to listen to Mr. Evans, and thus I discovered his excellent qualities. How gloomy you were about it all, Laura.” “I was concerned for your happiness.” “There are many paths leading to that elusive state. No, it is much better as it is. I am in a position to offer my sister a home a good deal more comfortable than she may otherwise have found.” The meal came to an end. The gentlemen stood while the ladies went across the dining hall and into the wide gallery. The sisters went up the left branch of the stairs to the solar, so pleasant in the autumn, with the rosy light of the setting

sun sliding across the room. There Elspeth seated herself at the pianoforte and began to look through the music. Laura took out her sketchbook. “You seem determined to interfere in everyone’s life,” she said. “You will scarcely feel restricted, if you avoid doing anything foolish, such as writing letters to the wrong people.” Laura turned to her. “Letters?” “I am to see them before they are sent.” “You cannot do this to me, Elspeth!” “Can I not? If you write nothing of which you might be ashamed, you cannot object to my seeing them.” She turned a bland smile upon her sister. “There is no way around this, Laura. The servants know where their best interests lie.” Laura knew how little a servant could afford to risk being dismissed without a reference. “You abuse your power, Elspeth.” “My family’s reputation is everything to me. You know that the slightest slip from probity in a female causes disgrace to all her connections.” Laura turned away. She stood now accused of threatening all her family with scandal—over what? For a few moments, she studied her sketch of the Pinney at Lyme. She had shown part of the fallen cliff and captured the richness of the verdure but she was too angry to contemplate it with satisfaction. She put it down and went over to the piano. “Why do you threaten to find a wife for Richard? He will be miserable if married to a woman who took him only for the position he offers.” Elspeth played a few light chords on the instrument before saying, “He is incompetent in the art of obtaining a wife.” “He would prefer the single state than to be tied to a woman of your choice.” Elspeth’s nimble fingers trilled across the keys, before she stopped and turned on the stool to look at her sister. “My interference is designed to keep Richard out of the married state.”

“What?” “You know how stubborn he can be.” Elspeth rose and wandered daintily around the room, touching an ornament here and there. Coming close to Laura, she said quietly, “Our brother should be master of this house. If only Richard had been a girl, Edward would now be baronet.” “Edward would never have such thoughts.” “He cannot but think of it. It is Richard’s inheritance that sent my brother to his fate.” “You cannot blame Richard for inheriting his own father’s estate.” The delicate rosy light was fading from the sky, the large windows slowly turning a darker blue. Elspeth’s lace took on the colour of a bruise. She continued, in a whisper, “There is another way to pass the estate to our side of the family.” “I don’t even wish to think of what that means.” Laura felt goosebumps rise, as Elspeth’s fingers caressed the back of her neck. “Richard never has an original idea in his head. You might supply the imagination that is missing.” Laura looked at her coolly. “Let us have some light, Elspeth. You are standing by the bell. Why do you not ring it?” Meanwhile, in the dining hall, Edward had given Sir Richard the hint to dismiss the servants after the decanters had been set out. “Richard, you will have perceived that all is not well with Laura just now.” “She is not her usual self.” “She has had a disappointment in Lyme, which prompted us to come to you earlier than planned.” The baronet’s mouth drooped. “Poor Laura!” “A gentleman showed admiration, only to decamp without a farewell.” “She deserves better!” said Sir Richard. “Yes, yes. I am sorry to add that Laura has behaved in a peculiar manner, refusing to accept his defection. She went out, twice, in search of information of his whereabouts.”

“Impossible!” said Sir Richard. “Laura has too much pride.” “Richard, I cannot convey the alarm that Elspeth and I have experienced. Laura only met the gentleman three times, hardly the base for affection.” “Love at first sight …?” “There can be no such thing!” Sir Richard at once capitulated. “Of course!” “Laura insisted that her admirer met with an accident.” “Perhaps he has?” “Ridiculous, Richard. I hope you won’t encourage Laura in these theories.” “Of course, I wouldn’t like to prolong her suffering by raising her hopes.” Edward leant forward. “It is of the utmost importance that you concur with our arrangements, Richard.” Sir Richard looked wary. “Which are?” “Elspeth has appointed Jonathon, her most trusted servant, as Laura’s constant guard. She will not leave the house without him.” “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!”

CHAPTER 8

EVEN 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.

Tuesday 16th September I am bereft of everything I held dear. I

am returned to the house where I have spent so many happy visits, to find all unchanged here but myself. In the week since I last saw Mr. Templeton, I have tumbled from the highest anticipation, from a sense of being truly valued by another, to the lowest I ever thought to be in others’ estimation. Naturally Elspeth and Edward thought me indecorous when I tried to discover Mr. Templeton’s fate. Yet, as

I feared some mischance had befallen him, I believe my boldness cannot be judged by everyday standards. I never imagined the day could come when I would be locked in my room, that I would be seized by menservants, and carried away. Pray God I will find the grace to forgive this indignity. From long ago being the creature dearest in the world to Elspeth, I am become an embarrassment.

I can bear the forfeit of her respect for, in truth, I have respected her but little in my heart for some time. Yet, the loss of my brother’s respect and high esteem is a bitter blow; I know not how I can recover from it. If Mr. Templeton is serious in his regard, and has suffered some accident, he will find me out. In that event … Oh, why do I feel it is impossible? It is all so peculiar that my fears cannot be

confided even in these pages.

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-atarms, 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. The rest of the party climbed the sides of the Hollow, with Elspeth last of all. “Laura! What on earth is the matter?” Elspeth swept across the grass to her sister and gave her face a most penetrating inspection. “Are you not well, dearest?” she said sweetly. “Richard, we must get her to the house. Shall I send for a footman?” “I shall be perfectly able to walk, Elspeth.” Sir Richard said, “I will help my cousin to the house.” “I thought I heard Laura call out Mr. Templeton’s name,” Elspeth whispered. Sir Richard nodded. Elspeth saw the advantage of continuing as if all were normal, and led the rest of the party away. When they were out of earshot, Laura said, “Whose was that third voice I heard, Richard? I heard three men in the Hollow.” “Nay, Laura. It was but Mr. Woodruff, playacting.” Laura gasped, her eyes questioning his, while he looked crestfallen. Miss Woodruff watched in concern as Laura returned to the house. Elspeth said, “Would you like to see the flower gardens?” It seemed to Jane that Mrs. Evans wished to distract the guests. Mrs. Evans faced Mr. Woodruff, saying, “I am more than a little afraid of you, sir, for you have frightened my sister and she is never afraid.” “Am I a dangerous fellow, then, Mrs. Evans? I like that very much.” They walked away, Elspeth giggling in a way young Woodruff enjoyed, leaving Miss Woodruff to follow behind them, with her sister. Before they turned the corner of the house, Miss Woodruff saw how Laura stopped and looked strangely at the baronet. Evalina came to her side. “Jane,” she said, “who is Mr. Templeton?”

CHAPTER 9

THERE WAS NO PRETEXT ON which Laura could remain in her room for the entire evening. She wished only to gather her wits for half an hour, but her sister’s bustling was very trying on her nerves. “Sarah! How slowly you answer the bell!” Elspeth said, when the girl ran in, panting for breath. “I were at the bottom of the house, madam, pressing Miss Laura’s dinner gown.” “Close the curtains! Turn back the bed covers! No!” Elspeth said, as Sarah went to the window. “The bed first!” “Pray lie down, Laura,” she said. “We dine at five o’clock. I trust you will be in command of yourself by then.” “I am perfectly well, Elspeth.” “Lavender water, Sarah! You can manage that, I suppose.” “She has only one pair of hands, Elspeth,” said Laura. Sarah rolled her eyes at Jonathon as she scurried out, and he grinned. “A right fuss!” he said, from the side of his mouth, as he shut the door. Laura sat in her armchair. “Listen, Elspeth. That deep voice—unlike Richard’s or Mr. Woodruff’s—merely confused me for the moment so that I felt a little faint. I wish you would not make so much of it!” Elspeth turned at the door and stared icily at her sister. “Is it I who makes much of this? You called out the name of that wretched Mr. Templeton, who is as likely to be here at Oakmont as Bonaparte. Your behaviour must appear very odd to our guests—but what else can I expect nowadays?” “I will not tolerate—” Laura’s reply was cut off by

the door opening on the return of Sarah and the footman, carrying in jugs of hot water, cloths and a box containing Elspeth’s supply of scents. Elspeth left the room and the servants put their remedies on the table. “Leave me, please,” said Laura, and they went out, only to hover in the corridor, fearful of Mrs. Evans’s return. Laura remained, lost in thought. How could she have mistaken Mr. Woodruff for Mr. Templeton? She could bring to mind the very sound of that shout. “Ah, take that, you scoundrel!” The young man, dropping his usual affected manner, had used the deepest register of his voice. On reflection, Laura realised that it had not otherwise resembled the tone of her friend from Lyme. She pictured Mr. Woodruff rising from the Hollow with his back to her, when first his hat appeared, followed by his narrow shoulders. The posture he had assumed was unlike his usual foppish carriage. Of course, Mr. Woodruff was play-acting, she thought. Yet why did I think of Mr. Templeton at that moment? I ought not to have cried out his name. Laura sat at the table and took out her sketchbook. With light pencil strokes, she began to sketch the scene, indicating the edge of the forest and the downward slope of the grass. She drew the outline of a woman, walking down towards the Hollow; then closed her eyes to bring back her sense of the shape of the young man’s torso as it rose from the ground. She sketched Mr. Woodruff in the act of sweeping off his hat, half-turned towards the lady, the elaborate folds of his cravat swathing his entire neck. She smiled ruefully and closed the book, slipping it into its special place in her desk. It was time to dress for dinner. Laura entered the drawing room to find everyone assembled. She saw that Elspeth had trimmed a black silk gown afresh, lowering the bodice and fitting it with black lace cunningly trimmed with lilac ribbon so that the eye of the beholder dived towards her décolletage. Going in to dinner on Mr. Woodruff’s arm, Laura

wondered if the uncertainty that had entered his fashionable nonchalance was caused by his awareness of her height. She thought how her behaviour at the Hollow must have seemed so strange. His awkwardness was more likely to be about that. How awkward and uncertain she felt herself! The colonel did his utmost to be all that was charming to his hostess, providing a contrast with the pitiful performance of his heir, who answered every question of Laura’s with “Indeed” or “Indeed not”, and seemed quite unable to raise a new topic himself. On the other hand, it must be admitted that young Woodruff did pay very polite attention to his plate, accepting offerings of meat, roast potatoes, pie and vegetables served the Italian way. After a silence, Laura said, “I do hope I did not alarm you, sir, by all but fainting when you appeared before me in the meadow.” “No, no,” he said, swallowing a mouthful. “I was ashamed of myself for leaping up in that thoughtless fashion.” “If you are to blame, sir, it is your excellent acting at fault. I had no excuse for alarm because everyone likes to play at Loyalists and Rebels, and I have seen many others leaping out from the Hollow.” “I am happy you are not angry with me. My sisters have scolded me severely,” he said. She found him oddly endearing at that moment, as sincerity seemed to creep through the cracks in the armour of his knowingness. They got along much better after this explanation, and conversation flowed along the imaginative lines of how long they had lived here or there and what they thought of the society to be found in those places. With the arrival of the second course, young Mr. Woodruff was in heaven. His eyes darted here and there among the dishes—he spotted fish pie and mutton ragout set forth among some new sweet dishes. He wondered if undoing the bottom button of his waistcoat might go unnoticed. As if these delights were not enough, he had now the opportunity to converse with the lovely Mrs. Evans. “You haven’t sampled the fish pie, dear lady,” he said. “I could not eat another morsel, sir, no matter

how I might wish to gratify you,” she said. She shuddered slightly and he noted an interesting little heave of her white bosom, displayed in a froth of black lace. His attention so divided among treats for his mouth and eyes, Mr. Woodruff only took in the words “I might wish to gratify you”. He asked her about her estate in Cornwall, a county he frequently visited. With an exclamation of pleasure, he announced that he had a particular friend living beyond St Austell. “I must have passed your house a score of times,” he said. “Won’t you try the vinegar pie?” she said. “Cook always prepares my favourites.” “If it is your favourite …” he said, accepting a slice of the tangy pie from the footman, where it joined a generous serving of fish pie, a slice of roasted partridge and the remains of some raspberry fool. The ladies withdrew to the drawing room. Candles in the sconces on the old stone walls, and two candelabra on the mantle, lit the area around the fire. Mrs. Woodruff accepted a seat in an old oak armchair of the same antiquity as the house, its elaborate carving softened with silk cushions. Mrs. Evans took a seat opposite her, while Laura sat with Miss Woodruff on the sofa. Miss Evalina was not to be so easily settled. She darted first to the watercolour portraits of the family that hung beside the fireplace. “How well Sir Richard looks!” she cried. “It is a wonderful likeness,” said Elspeth. “My sister painted it, as with all but one of the watercolours you see there. Laura’s own likeness was taken by the celebrated Mr. Foley, when the baronet invited him to Oakmont to paint my brother’s portrait.” Miss Evalina examined the picture. “How beautifully he has captured your eyes, Miss Morrison!” “It is hard upon me that a professional portrait is displayed so near my own efforts,” said Laura. She noted that Evalina’s eyes constantly returned to the large portrait of Edward, painted when first he appeared before the family in his captain’s regalia. However, Evalina said, “This is a lovely likeness

of Mrs. Evans.” The lady was pictured in a white muslin gown, with her hair tumbling in artfully arranged curls down her back. Evalina touched her own deceptively simplelooking coiffure of plaits wound around a chignon. How comical and old-fashioned Mrs. Evans looked in her picture, she thought. “Who is this lady?” she asked, moving on. “That is our Aunt Morrison. She gave up everything to take care of us when we were left motherless,” said Elspeth. Laura almost laughed out loud. “Look, Mama,” said Evalina. “She wears such an old-fashioned gown.” “Evalina, my dear,” admonished her mother. “It is true, Mrs. Woodruff,” said Laura. “Our aunt refused to raise the waist on her gowns. She called the Empire style ‘nasty French ways’.” The ladies laughed. “She wore a long bodice, over an old-fashioned tight corset, with long stomacher and four petticoats, to the end of her days.” “That shows consistency, at least,” said Jane Woodruff. Elspeth said, “Our aunt was rightly proud of her consistency. She never budged in her opinion on anything —such was her strength of mind.” She spoke indulgently, as of an eccentric but much mourned relation. Some secrets might never be revealed. How Aunt Morrison had paraded her young niece before Mr. Evans, when she saw how the girl caught the old man’s fancy. The old lady might wear all the layered coverings of yesteryear, but the girl was presented in muslin, with one petticoat. When told she must sing for him, smile for him, Elspeth did not disobey, for Miss Morrison had bullied and pinched her, leaving bruises where no one might see. Elspeth’s duty was drummed into her, that she owed it to her sister to make her a comfortable home. In any case, Aunt Morrison had it on excellent authority that Mr. Evans had a weak heart and could not live a twelve month. This comforting prophecy, along with her suitor’s promise of a very generous marriage settlement, turned Elspeth’s resistance aside.

Miss Evalina quickly tired of looking at the oldfashioned aunt, and moved to the larger portrait in oils, on the wall on the opposite side of the fireplace. Painted at the age of seven and twenty, the captain looked down seriously at her, his eyes the same clear green as Laura’s. Evalina admired the chiselled effect of his upper lip, well captured by the artist. The past five years had added one or two lines around his eyes, not unbecoming, she thought, for he was exposed to all weathers aboard ship. The other ladies could not hold the girl’s attention, as they discussed Laura’s skill in catching a likeness. The girl’s eyes moved to the captain’s shoulders, well-filling his uniform. She looked carefully at his left shoulder and at the arm below it, where it ought to be, in the days before it was struck off in the service of his king. Her mother’s voice cut into her reverie. “What think you, Evalina?” She turned her head to the three ladies seated still by the fire. “Of what, Mama?” “Come here, child.” Evalina crossed the carpet and stood before her mother, who said, “Miss Morrison has most kindly consented to take your likeness.” Evalina clapped her hands. “Miss Morrison, you are generosity itself!” Her mother frowned, noting that the neck of Evalina’s gown seemed to be slightly lower, exposing more of her bosom than Mrs. Woodruff thought appropriate in a girl of eighteen at a country dinner. She surmised that her daughter had pulled the bodice down while she had her back to them. “Miss Morrison, might I be portrayed at one of the small high windows of Oakmont?” said Evalina. “Perhaps in dress from the times of the knights in armour?” “Miss Morrison will be laughing at you, Evvy,” said her sister Jane, and Laura was indeed struggling to keep her countenance. Mrs. Woodruff said, “Your father will wish your portrait painted at home.” Miss Evalina pouted, but soon recovered her spirits. “You must not come alone, Miss Morrison. It is above three miles to Lewton Hall. Your brother could escort you.”

Elspeth hid her laughter behind her fan. “You are thoughtfulness itself, but my sister’s footman never fails in his duties—he is devoted to his mistress.” Mrs. Woodruff said, “Mrs. Evans, I do hope you will give me the pleasure of coming to Lewton Hall with your sister. The gentlemen will be very welcome too.” On that note, the guests departed, attended by the baronet to their carriage. The Morrisons went back into the drawing room and Elspeth laughed. “Mrs. Woodruff no doubt sees a great advantage in Laura taking her daughter’s likeness. She seeks more opportunities to dangle her pretty daughter under the unseeing eyes of the baronet.” “Do you mean me?” said Sir Richard. “Why should she do that?” His cousins all smiled. “Perhaps she has more than one match in mind,” said Edward. Elspeth looked surprised. “You think Laura ought to make a match of it with the son? He is off to an excellent start by so resembling …” she broke off. Laura was staring coldly at her, and Elspeth paused a moment, before saying, “Perhaps Mr. Woodruff plans to enrapture Laura by terrifying her out of her wits.” No one joined in her laughter. Edward said, “She may be hoping for a match between you and her son.” Elspeth laughed again. “I imagine she came here well-disposed to liking my fortune, if not my person! That puppy cannot be thinking of marriage yet, poor babe.” Sir Richard joined Laura on the sofa, sitting side-on to her and giving her a long look. His spaniel waddled over to him, flopped down on his feet and gazed up at Laura also. Laura said, with affectionate humour that she hoped covered a touch of irritation, “Richard, I beg you not to bend such a mournful gaze upon me until I am declared —quite definitely—to be dead. You resemble Spotty more every day.” He picked up her hand and held it between both

of his. “Woof!” he said. She pulled her hand away, laughing. Elspeth gave one of her tiny shivers of revulsion and looked for sympathy to her brother. She found him to be laughing too. She rubbed her forehead, gently so as not to encourage wrinkles. “How I long for elegant amusement,” she said.

CHAPTER 10

ELSPETH ROUSED HERSELF THE NEXT day to accompany her brother and sister on their promised visit to the Woodruffs. The carriage pulled up before a square-set house, in the Palladian style. It was Edward’s first visit there in several years. “I am glad our cousin has ceased to mourn the pulling down of the old house,” he said. “I am sure he grieves still,” said Elspeth. “Mercifully he keeps his objections to himself.” “The old house was built in the Devonshire tradition,” said Laura. “Richard has no concept of the benefits of modernising,” said Elspeth. “Although I must say that the proportions of this house are ridiculously wrong for the style.” She descended from the carriage, to congratulate the colonel and his lady on the perfect loveliness of their home. Mrs. Woodruff was excessively disappointed at the absence of the baronet, who had sent the excuse of parish business. “Sir Richard certainly spends a great deal of time on these matters,” she said. “He is a responsible landowner, indeed,” said Edward. “There is a quarrel in the village over the appointment of the new constable, it seems.” “The entire parish can hardly make a decision without his advice,” said Elspeth. “He busies himself with his estate, too,” said the colonel. “I wonder he takes the trouble for I believe he has an excellent steward.” “Indeed he does. However, my cousin believes that no one can take the interests of his tenant farmers as keenly as their landlord.”

“I suppose he is right, too.” The colonel took Edward under his wing and they went on a tour of the estate in his chaise. The Woodruff ladies took Elspeth and Laura on a gentler excursion, showing them the principal rooms of the house. They then returned to the drawing room. “An inspiration came to me, Miss Morrison!” said Mrs. Woodruff. “I picture Evalina against a background of the yellow curtains, looking dreamily into the air …” “Is it not a very original conception, Miss Morrison?” asked Evalina. “I am sure you will appear to great advantage against the yellow silk,” said Laura, not altogether to the point. “The light will be very flattering.” “Can we begin today?” said Evalina. “I thought I would take a sketch today,” said Laura. “I do not wish to have Jeremy in the room, Mama, for he is certain to say something witty and devastating.” “Devastating perhaps,” said Jane. “I could not be certain of his wit.” Laura laughed inwardly. Then she said, “It is a matter of only half an hour for me to take a first impression.” It was by no means easy to settle the young lady into the languid pose desired by her parent for more than five minutes: Mrs Woodruff happened to be speaking of the captain. “He is such an interesting object to the colonel,” Mrs Woodruff said. Evalina turned her head to hear the answer. “My brother attracts attention wherever he goes,” said Elspeth. “Of course, his reputation often precedes him.” “Miss Evalina, please turn your head this way,” said Laura. The young lady obliged. Mrs. Woodruff continued, “Let us not forget that Captain Morrison is a fine-looking gentleman, with a manly air.” “You cannot ask his sister to disagree,” said Elspeth, with a coy look. “Naturally, I do favour military men,” said Mrs.

Woodruff. “I could not agree with you more,” said Elspeth. Evalina’s eyes widened and she pursed her lips. “Miss Woodruff?” said Laura. Evalina turned and favoured her with a delightful smile. “Yes, Miss Morrison?” “Will you try to hold the same position?” Evalina drew herself up as though preparing to salute, and gazed sternly at the wall. Laura laughed. “No, no, looking towards the flowers behind me, as before.” She put down her pencil and went to re-arrange her subject. “Try to remember to keep your chin just so, smiling very slightly—now you are laughing.” “Pay Miss Morrison the courtesy of cooperation, Evalina!” said her mother. “I’m sorry, Mama.” Her mother returned to her conversation with Mrs. Evans. “Captain Morrison is well-rewarded in prize money, the colonel tells me, and in retirement will have nothing else to do but establish a home.” “Indeed, I know not how he will occupy himself.” “I suppose he has spent so much time at sea. Does he hunt at all?” “He was fond of the sport—in former times.” “Of course—so indelicate of me.” “Not at all,” said Elspeth. “It was a very natural question. My brother has recommenced riding and is determined to return to such of his old pursuits as he may.” Laura said quietly, “Pray close your lips just as before, Miss Woodruff.” The young lady complied and her mother continued, “I daresay the captain will soon marry … Evalina! Why are you looking this way?” Evalina blushed and turned back to her previous position. Mrs. Woodruff saw that the portrait would be a slow business if any distractions remained. “Mrs. Evans, would you like to come to the music room?” she said. “My dear Jane, leave that work for

now. You might play that delightful new song for Mrs. Evans.” Left alone with her artist, Miss Evalina sank into a dreamy state that boded well for the portrait that her mother had in mind. Her lips scarcely moved as she murmured, “Oh, Miss Morrison, how your heart must break every time you look upon your brother!” “I would be dead by this time, were my heart so frail.” “I wonder that you did not pine away.” “The loss of a sister would scarcely compensate my brother for the loss of his arm. Besides, pining away is not as easy as people often seem to imagine. I rather believe that only the most determined woman could do it, and, if she has sufficient stubbornness for that, she ought simply to endure.” “When I imagine my brother so used by fate— oh! He is a figure of tragedy!” “I had thought Mr. Woodruff to be remarkably sanguine, but I do not know him. Perhaps he conceals a tortured soul.” “I did not mean my brother, Miss Morrison! If Jeremy were to so injure himself, it would be in doing something foolish, like racing his curricle along a winding lane, and upsetting some poor farmer’s cart.” “I daresay his family’s grief would be no different for all that.” “But … oh … how noble your brother is to be so maimed in saving his country.” “I see your meaning. My brother did win the war all of his own accord; the dispatching of an entire navy against the French was quite superfluous,” said Laura, with a smile. “The papers were full of his bravery. With so serious a wound, he continued to fight. Papa says he dealt several sword cuts before he collapsed from loss of blood.” The topic could hardly be pleasant for Laura, but Evalina was too engrossed to perceive this. “They say that when he returned to port, he stood to attention on the deck and took the salute of the crowd, when he was all but fainting with pain.”

“Edward would put that down to his stubborn temperament. Although it is more likely to be the madness of fever.” “Of fever!” “Yes indeed. He was already burning from the contagion in the wound. He was at death’s door for many days.” “You helped nurse him?” “Of course—it is best to do what one can.” Unlike Elspeth, she thought, who had moaned more about her own sufferings than she had of Edward’s. “Well, I am very sorry for him indeed.” “He would not thank you for your pity,” said Laura. The image of him, in those painful days, so readily came to her mind. The endless task of trying to cool the patient, to keep him from thrashing about, disturbing the horrible wound, had left a strong enough impression. And through it all, he cried out for Charlotte, not knowing she had visited him already. She had seen him delirious, the side of his body swollen up with infection, the blood seeping into the bandages. She had turned away in disgust, and Laura had come close, very close, to hatred. Evalina looked at Laura, curious, a little awed. Laura caught her glance and smiled. “Enough for today, don’t you think?” The entire party assembled to take tea, and Evalina chose a place next to Mrs. Evans, whom she longed to know better. The captain was seated across the room from her, between Jane and her mother. The colonel’s yawning heir appeared, his cravat arranged to perfection. “Out of your bed, at last, young sir!” said his father. “You have missed a fine airing with the captain.” “You never go at a fast enough clip to satisfy me, sir.” He smirked at Elspeth, and drew a little jewelled box from his pocket. “What’s that you have there?” said the colonel. “Why, Father, it’s a toothpick case. Have you never heard of them?” He turned to Elspeth, handing her

the box. “It is very elegant,” said Elspeth. “You see how cunningly the corals are set into the top, Mrs. Evans. Some fellows go for flashier cases— diamonds and so forth—but I like to be more subtle.” The colonel snorted something about the subtlety of his son’s allowance, and his wife said, “Do sit down next to Mrs. Evans, Jeremy.” He seemed happy to oblige. As soon as her brother’s mouth was stopped up with plum cake, Evalina put her hand upon Elspeth’s arm and said quietly, “Mrs. Evans, I spoke to your sister about your poor brother’s tragic wounding but she would only laugh at me.” Elspeth could see that Laura was in conversation with the colonel, and she patted the girl’s hand, saying, “My sister’s grief was excessive, most painful to behold. One needs to know her a very long time to understand a fraction of her tender feelings.” “Oh!” Evalina looked at Laura, thinking, a veil of secrecy drawn over her heart. Recently these words in a novel had struck her as very fine. Yet, the reality for Evalina was that, for all her secret veils, Miss Morrison was rather dry and clever when compared with her pretty and charming sister. Elspeth put a hand on the place where her own heart could be presumed to dwell. “As for me, I believe I fainted away. It was as though I lost a part of him.” Miss Evalina’s lovely eyes glowed in sympathy; she saw no accidental humour in this statement. She sneaked a look at the captain, seemingly engaged in an engrossing conversation. What could Jane possibly have to say that would make him lean towards her, with that expression of interest? Evalina saw how her mother shifted her own chair slightly, making almost a threesome of their seats, cutting them off a little from the rest of the company. How very ill things are turning out, Evalina thought. With an effort, she turned back to hear what her brother, Jeremy, was saying to Mrs. Evans. “Why, I can go that way with no trouble at all, Ma’am!” he said. “I am more than happy to oblige you.”

“I am grateful, sir,” she said. “Where are you going, Jeremy?” asked Evalina. “Nowhere that concerns you, Evvy,” he replied. Just then, a momentary silence fell, and Mrs. Woodruff could be heard to say, in a humorous manner, “Captain, you must tell the baronet how displeased Miss Evalina is at his failure to appear this morning. She is looking quite cross.” “Mama!” “I am jesting, child!” “You are to say no such thing, sir!” said Evalina. Her cheeks flushed, rather prettily, and her father roared with laughter. “Do not fear,” said Edward. “I will carry no such tale of you to Oakmont. My cousin would not believe me if I did, for he is the most modest man in the kingdom.” “That he is!” cried Elspeth. “Miss Evalina, I could tell you tales of him that would melt any young lady’s heart.” She was aware of Laura looking a little cross with her. What ails her now? she thought. Can she be jealous? The very idea brought a smile to her lips. As Jeremy handed Mrs. Evans into the carriage, Laura looked up in admiration at the loveliness of a flight of birds set against a delicate stream of cloud. The colonel followed her gaze, and pointed them out to Edward. “We’ll have plenty of sport, sir,” he said. “There’s been no shooting here for these five years at least.” Thus only the Woodruff ladies saw that Elspeth handed Jeremy something through the window. It was a letter, folded small, half-concealed by her hand. “You save me some anxiety, sir.” “It does no harm to involve a friend in these matters,” he said. He handed Laura into the carriage, and stepped aside for the captain, who seized the door-frame and swung himself up easily on his good leg. The footman put the steps up and closed the door. “Good day to you all,” the captain said, and knocked his cane against the roof. “Drive on!” he called.

The visitors’ carriage was scarcely out of the drive, before Mrs. Woodruff said, “Jeremy, what is that letter that Mrs. Evans gave you?” “Fear not, Mother, it ain’t a billet doux! It’s just a letter to Mrs. Evans’s housekeeper, but I flatter myself that it was an honour to be entrusted with it.” “But Jerry, you are not going near St Austell,” said Jane. “I am now. Ha! Ha! I shall have to leave tomorrow, Mother.” “This is an extravagant gesture, Jeremy. I cannot understand Mrs. Evans putting you to such inconvenience!” “I told her I was passing through St Austell. I’ll get a look at her estate when I deliver it.” He tapped the side of his nose. “She is worth a journey, I think.” “Where did you learn so vulgar a gesture, Jerry?” said Jane. “Ah! In places I wouldn’t take my sisters to!” He linked arms with his mother, as they all turned back indoors. “Did you ever see such a bunch of oddities as that Morrison family?” said Jeremy. “Miss Morrison is a great, gawkish fright.” “She is a fine-looking woman, Jeremy!” said his mother. “With a good figure,” said Jane. “Even if it’s too long!” their brother said. “For you, perhaps,” snapped Evalina. “She wouldn’t look at a stumpish fellow like you.” “Stumpish am I, Evvy? You’ve taken a liking to lanky men, I see. Old Morrison’d jump at a catch like me.” “Stop this disrespectful talk, Jeremy,” said his mother. “You are very conceited.” “Beg pardon, mother. The poor captain, through no fault of his own, could only now win some desperate spinster after his fortune.” Jane snorted “Nonsense!”, but Evalina said nothing, hurrying ahead of them all up the steps. “You forget your duty to Mama, Evalina,” said Jane.

Evalina stopped and let her mother precede her into the house. She was on the point of tears and her sister put her arm around her waist. “Pay Jeremy no heed,” Jane said softly. “He is determined to tease us.” As though on cue, her brother said, “As for the baronet—he calls his dog Spotty! Spotty! The great shuffling fool!” This last statement produced a response at last from the colonel, who had tramped ahead of them through the door. He turned and said, “Silence! You speak of your sister’s future husband.” “My what?” cried Evalina. Her father strode into the library. Evalina stood in the doorway. “Papa, what do you mean? I am not engaged to Sir Richard.” “You know my wishes.” “I know them, but …” “Do you not understand my struggles to educate my children before I came into this property?” he said, poking at the air with his finger. “Yes, and I do thank you, Papa, but …” “I am determined that my daughter will be Lady Morrison.” “If he does not ask me, I cannot marry him.” “You can charm him into it.” “I do not love him.” “What has love to do with it? You will love your consequence, believe me.” Tears stood on her eyelashes. “I thought you loved me, Papa.” He stared at her. “Do I hand you over to a brute? No. That is love, child. Off you go now. I have not yet read the newspaper.” He closed the door. Evalina turned to the rest of her family, who stood awkwardly in the hall. “You better face up to it, Evvy,” said her brother. “Father won’t rest until he sees every family in the district bobbing and bowing as you go by.” “Jeremy has a point, my love,” said her mother.

“Just think—your own son would be baronet one day. Such an old family—the title handed down from father to son for two hundred years.” “Unlike us, jumped up, if the truth be told,” said her son. “Lower your voice, Jeremy,” said his mother, glancing about to see if any servants had overheard him. “Money is not all—remember that your father was born a gentleman.” “I know I am a gentleman’s son. Luckily for him, and me, our relations were not so hardy as us, and he is now a landed gentleman.” “Just remember Sir Richard’s position, my dear. He may not be fashionable in his air, but he is highly regarded in the district.” “I know. I know he’s so respectable but …” “That is where it ends, dear boy.” “Mrs. Evans is an angel! It would be a lucky man who could win her.” There was a murmur of agreement from his mother. Evalina was too engrossed with her own thoughts to pay him heed. Jane looked coolly at him, surmising that he felt himself to be eligible for the task. She was the only one among them to prefer Miss Morrison to her sister. “Off you go, my dears,” said their mother. “I wish to talk to your father.” Alone behind his paper, the colonel was thinking over the captain’s credentials. Jane was plain as a pike, poor girl, and with nothing to her bosom. He could give her a modest fortune now, and her deficiencies might balance those of the unlucky hero. In his present condition, Morrison would not do for his pretty little Evalina, of course, for all his heroism. He looked up as his lady opened the door. “Come in and be comfortable,” he said. Mrs. Woodruff did so, taking an armchair across from his. She then raised a certain matter with an economy of words—well-used to her husband’s impatience with preambles. “Colonel, it occurs to me that Jane has spoken

rather kindly about the baronet.” “What of it?” “She may be the better equipped of our daughters to secure him. And it seems wrong for Evalina to marry before her older sister.” “It was good enough for the Morrisons, first cousins to the baronet, to marry off the younger daughter before the elder.” “Jane would have the patience to … make the best of Sir Richard’s … peculiarities.” The colonel snorted. “Jane is solemn, dull and plain.” Mrs. Woodruff flared up a little. “You forget to praise her for her sweet temperament.” “There is too much of kindness and nothing of charm in her. In any case, what makes you think she will be induced to take the man if he should make an offer?” he demanded. “Well, she will see how the connection would benefit her younger sisters. And Jane will not like to disappoint her parents.” “Will she not, indeed? Your memory is shorter than mine, madam.” He picked up the newspaper. “I recall a suitor bothering me about her, not so very long ago. Damnable fellow! And she too stubborn to send him off.” He opened the newspaper before his face; the interview was over.

CHAPTER 11

ELSPETH REPORTED THE VISIT TO Sir Richard as a great success. “Miss Evalina would make a graceful mistress of Oakmont.” “Of Oakmont!” “She is a sweet girl,” said Elspeth, “and I believe I perceive some partiality on her side.” Sir Richard looked so woeful that Laura actually laughed. “Edward thinks her very charming,” Sir Richard said. “Bother Edward. What do you think of her, Richard?” “I … I don’t want to, Elspeth, and that’s the truth of it.” “Time will take care of your objections.” She sank into an armchair. “The elder sister—her conversazione—so dull! She plays beautifully, yet her mother had to command her give up her horrid work and favour us with an air! What was she sewing, Laura? It looked like a duster.” “A frock for an orphan in the village. Miss Woodruff told me she is making the child a few serviceable garments.” “The maids ought to do such work in their spare time,” said Elspeth, with a sneer. “Why must you persist in disliking anyone who shows a little kindness to others?” said Laura. Elspeth looked startled. “Dislike is a strong expression. I merely meant that a piece of embroidery or a length of lace is the variety of work that gives a lady an air of elegance.” “I call her very good-natured to assist the poor girl,” said Sir Richard. Laura did not answer, scarcely understanding

why she found her sister’s cynicism so much more wearing than usual. “Richard,” said Elspeth. “You would have been pleased to see how Laura was admired.” “I like to hear it.” “Everyone was in awe of her artistic talents.” Elspeth chortled. “You missed a great joke. Mrs. Woodruff was delighted in her own ‘inspiration’—a hackneyed idea she had for her daughter’s portrait. She would insist upon Laura’s praise for originality.” Her wit fell on deaf ears. Sir Richard had risen from his seat and sat with Laura on the sofa. “We shall always understand one another, Laura,” he said. She knew not how to speak, for the painful swelling of her throat. “Sometimes it seems one is all alone, my dear, yet it is not so,” Sir Richard added quietly. “My sister gives no quarter; she tears all to pieces,” she said, too quietly for Elspeth to hear. Her lips began to tremble and she pressed them tightly together. “She does not mean it.” He picked up her hand and pressed it to his heart. Though in the past she may have withdrawn it, she did not do so now. Elspeth was watching in surprise, although she could only hear Sir Richard’s words. “I’m not so clever as you, dear Laura.” He lowered his voice and Elspeth, sitting forward in her chair, strained to hear him as he said, “Yet we are much the same for all that.” Laura felt his hand over hers, the warmth like an embrace, although no touch could reach the dull heaviness within her. “You must excuse me, Cousin, for I feel inexplicably pained just now,” she said. “You always did, Laura.” She did not reply. He said, “I want to ask you something important.” Elspeth rose and glided swiftly, quietly from the room. The tiny click of the door catch was clearly audible in the silence that now fell between the two cousins. Sir

Richard released Laura’s hand and took out his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that brimmed in her eyes. “Laura,” he said. “I cannot understand what has happened. Edward told me something of events in Lyme.” He noted her alarm. “Can you not trust me, dear?” She shook her head slightly as tears again filled her eyes. He said, “I have always been your friend and you have always been mine.” She nodded, her head turned away. “Do not let pride come between us.” “Pride?” “Pride, of course. I am not so commanding as Edward or so … something … as Elspeth. But I can help you as they, perhaps, cannot. Don’t you know what it is to feel a fool, as I often do, and know there is one whose affection is undiminished by her—or his—knowledge of one’s foolishness?” She tried to look at him but did not answer. “Do you think my affection or my esteem for you will lessen one jot if you confide in me?” “No, no, of course not.” “Then, Laura, who is Mr. Templeton?” Elspeth intercepted her brother as he crossed the hall. “Edward, do not go up to the solar just now,” she said. “Why ever not?” “Come into the drawing room,” she said, seeing the manservant adopt the vacant look usually intended to mask eavesdropping. They sat by the dwindling fire in privacy. “Well?” Elspeth lay back in her armchair, smoothing the folds of her gown. “I believe our cousin is on the point of making Laura an offer of marriage.” “This is poorly timed. She’ll not accept him.” “At such a point of desperation, she may well accept.” “She has not yet reconciled herself to Mr. Templeton’s defection. Richard may not be clever, but he is

sensitive to others’ feelings.” “Kindly indulge me for a few minutes,” said Elspeth, as she fiddled with the cupid that ornamented the table next to her. Edward drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, and watched as five minutes ticked away on the clock. “Laura has been made to look a fool, and she prides herself upon her judgement,” said Elspeth. “Don’t we all? What gives you the notion that our cousin is making an offer now?” “Richard was holding her hand and said he must ask her something important.” “Have a pity, Sister!” He got up and left the room; moments later she heard his uneven footsteps on the stairs. Sighing, she rose to follow him. They entered the room to see their cousin and sister sitting close together on the sofa, Sir Richard appearing engrossed in what Laura was saying. She broke off. “I interrupt you,” said Edward, beginning to back out of the room. “Nay, Edward,” said Sir Richard. “Already I have heard enough.” Elspeth followed Edward into the room and shut the door. Sir Richard said, “I see that your departure from Lyme was precipitous.” “You are qualified in that matter?” said Elspeth. Sir Richard gave her a kindly smile. “I was not present, of course.” He turned to Edward. “Why did you not think of it yourself, Edward? I shall go to Axminster; discover the gentleman whom Mr. Templeton was visiting, and ask whether he arrived safely.” “No!” said Edward. “The matter is best forgot. If you had been in Lyme, Richard, you would have been deeply shocked at the public nature of our embarrassment.” Sir Richard said slowly, “Laura points out the strangeness of her behaviour being interpreted so harshly.” “It is ever so when a lady fails to conduct herself with absolute propriety every minute that she is in the public

eye,” said Elspeth. No one replied. Edward paced about. “I cannot permit this.” Sir Richard stood up and faced Edward squarely, his chin thrust out. “I have made a lady a faithful promise of aid.” “Perhaps you could don that old armour that stands in the hall,” said Elspeth. “You might wear one of Laura’s scarves on your breastplate.” “That is unkind,” said Laura. Sir Richard leant down to pat her shoulder. “Do not fear for me, dear Laura. Your sister seeks to protect you —but I shall be your protector in this instance.” He turned and looked sternly into the captain’s eyes. They stared at one another for a moment. “I shall come with you,” the captain said. “Edward! Are you out of your mind?” said Elspeth, seizing his arm. “Elspeth, you know Richard. He has formed a determination from which he will not be shifted.” Elspeth all but stamped her foot. “You stubborn, stubborn man!” she cried. Sir Richard only smiled at her and turned to look down at Laura, who sat on the sofa still. “Thank you, Richard,” she said quietly. Sir Richard nodded and turned back to Edward. “We shall leave at first light tomorrow,” he said. Elspeth’s irritation made dinner unpleasant. She quarrelled: firstly with Sir Richard for his interference, thinking him more than usually stupid; then with Edward, declaring him weak in failing to stop the whole escapade; and lastly, with her sister for being the greatest nuisance that ever threatened to ruin her happy widowhood. She escaped to her room, where she retired to her sofa, groaning as her maid dabbed at her head with lavender water. She re-read her latest letter from Lady Clarydon. The dear countess urged Elspeth to come to Clarydon Castle with all her family. Yet how could Elspeth risk taking Laura among the countess’s friends? What improper action might she take? If Edward would but marry,

Laura might live with him, leaving poor Elspeth free from this onerous responsibility. The following day, the two men made enquiries in Axminster and were directed to continue beyond the town to a crossroads, where stood a small inn. There they stopped to refresh themselves in a snug old parlour. While the landlord served a small repast of an excellent pork pie and ale, they were regaled with information about old Mr. Whichale. The old gentleman had been something of a celebrity in the district, due to his eccentric behaviour. Famously penny-pinching, he let his estate run down badly, and quarrelled with almost everyone he met. “The funeral was just t’other day,” said the landlord. “Every man as could went along to see how it were conducted.” “What were they expecting to see?” “Well, rumour had it that in the will he said the coffin were to be a plain, deal box.” “His economies were to be continued beyond the grave. Was it?” “No, sir, ’twere a fine oak casket,” he said, in a disgusted tone. “The heir is quite the gentleman—perhaps he overruled the instruction.” “Perhaps it never existed,” said Edward. “That would spoil the tale!” They all laughed. “No—’twere a disappointment all round. A regular gentleman’s funeral it were, with a eulogy fit for a saint.” The gentlemen entered the carriage again to travel the country road leading to Longpan. The road turned to follow the path of the river, where it widened into a long shape oddly resembling the pan that gave the place its name. A little beyond the village, they came to a large old lime-washed house, hidden from the road by a high stone wall. The wooden gates stood open and the two men drove into a cobbled court before the house. Here they saw evidence of much activity; ladders were propped against the front wall, with servants engaged in the task of cleaning the windows and walls. Everywhere, signs of neglect and dirt were being briskly removed.

Sir Richard banged with the knocker, recently polished so that it shone against the faded paintwork of the door. An old manservant let them in, showing them into the library, before taking their cards to his master. They looked around at the shelves, half-empty so that the books leant towards one another. “Not a single volume purchased since our grandfather’s day, by the look of it,” said Edward. He wandered over to the window that was yet to receive the ministrations of the servants, and peered through the grime. “Look at this, Richard.” His cousin joined him and they looked out at a small orchard. “Sadly neglected, I’m afraid,” said a voice. They turned to encounter a stout gentleman, in middle age, who greeted them genially. “Oliver Whichale, at your service. I am honoured by a visit from Sir Richard Morrison.” Sir Richard apologised for calling unannounced. “Not at all,” Mr. Whichale said. “I am only sorry to have the house appear in such a neglected state. My dear old uncle passed away but ten days ago.” “Pray accept our condolences, Mr. Whichale,” said Edward. Sir Richard shook the gentleman’s hand and added his kind sympathies. “You are very good,” said Mr. Whichale. “It was a blow, of course, but our faith in the Lord is aiding us. My dear uncle was advanced in years and, regretfully, the servants imposed upon him. Now, will you accept a glass of wine and tell me what it is that brings about your welcome visit?” They settled by the fire and Sir Richard began. “A gentleman named Mr. Templeton has been long expected by his friends.” Mr. Whichale nodded encouragingly, “And …?” “When he did not arrive, his er … friends asked me to enquire after him, as I was coming into Dorsetshire this week.” Mr. Whichale tutted. “Young rattles nowadays dash off and never think to write a simple line to explain

themselves. I have had the same trouble with my own nephew.” “Mr. Templeton is not a rattle, sir,” said Edward. “He is a highly respectable man, a clergyman moreover, of whom better manners may be expected.” “Forgive me. I have been so harassed by my nephew’s neglect of the forms that I came to a hasty conclusion. A clergyman you say?” Sir Richard, unperturbed, was set to give all the explanations in the world, but his cousin cut him off. “Mr. Whichale, you seem to know nothing of him. Did Mr. Templeton not arrive here safely then?” “Here? If the gentleman, Mr …. I am sorry, what was his name?” “Templeton.” “If Mr. Templeton had called in my absence, I imagine the servants would have informed me.” He beamed, turning from one to the other. Sir Richard burst in, “Sir, Mr. Templeton was sent for to attend a dying gentleman, by the name of Whichale, at this very house, eleven days ago, on a Tuesday.” Mr. Whichale smiled apologetically. “You understand my dying uncle to have called him to this house, to perform a service of comfort?” “Yes.” Mr. Whichale seemed almost inclined to laugh. “You have been imposed upon, my good sirs. The scene you suggest is unlikely in the extreme.” “Why so? Is it strange that your uncle would have wished to see a clergyman who was a stranger to him?” Mr. Whichale shook his head sadly. “No, I meant that for my lamented relative to have called for any clergyman at all is next to impossible. Sadly, he was not a believer …” “What?” cried Edward. “I have shocked you by speaking of his lack of faith. Only long familiarity with my uncle’s ways hardened me to his unorthodox opinions.” He rose and rang the bell. “You must verify this

with my man here.” “Mr. Whichale, we do not doubt your word for a moment.” Their host waved away their objections and the ancient servant entered. “Moreley, you good fellow, can you help these two gentlemen with some information?” “Yes, sirs?” The old man’s voice quavered. “There is no need to feel alarmed,” said Edward. “I wish merely to discover whether your previous master called for a clergyman in his last hours.” “Bless you, sir. I were with my old master for many a year. He would not have wanted prayers said over him, or take Holy Sacraments or anything of the like. He could not abide clergymen, sir.” “Tell the gentlemen about the sign, Moreley.” The old retainer reddened slightly. “There were a sign, sir, on the gate, these last twenty years—writ big— NO PARSONS, it said. There were a parson once chose to ignore it and the dogs was set upon him.” “Enough!” cried Mr. Whichale. “There is no need to tell every shameful detail, Moreley.” He turned to the visitors. “Will you join us for dinner? Mrs. Whichale is always pleased to offer hospitality. We dine simply in memory of my uncle, but we would be most honoured.” “I regret that we have ordered dinner at the inn,” said Edward. “However, we would be delighted to pay our respects to Mrs. Whichale,” said Sir Richard. The lady of the house was a genteel woman, but somewhat timorous, giving a little start when her husband introduced the visitors. Sir Richard did what he could to put her at her ease, until realising that perhaps she was all the more nervous for his attentions. After a few pleasantries, the visitors were making their bows before departing, when a commotion broke out in the hall. The dogs were barking joyously and a friendly voice called out, “Where shall I find your mistress, Moreley? In the drawing room?” The voice was followed into the room by a young man. “You are come, Benjamin!” cried Mrs.

Whichale. “Give your aunt a kiss.” The young man saluted his aunt as requested, and greeted his uncle, who said, “Gentlemen, may I present my nephew, Benjamin Reece.” The visitors were at once struck by the young man’s open, friendly expression. He was somewhat less than middle height, and while not striking in appearance, had pleasant features. His countenance was open and interested, while the expression in his hazel eyes shone with candour. Edward and Sir Richard both took to young Mr. Reece, staying some minutes longer than intended. The young man said, “I had the pleasure of speaking to a young lady named Miss Morrison, in Lyme a week or two since.” “Why, that is my sister!” “Is she? I was introduced to her at the Assembly and we enjoyed a lively conversation—she has an ironic wit, has she not? She was obliged to leave early due to the indisposition of her companion.” “I hope you made a good impression upon the young lady,” said the uncle. “I doubt if Miss Morrison noticed me particularly, for there were five or six of us, and she was enjoying sparring with that dreadful old fellow—you must know him, Aunt—he has such a mane of white hair, the biggest nose in the kingdom and the sharpest tongue!” “That is not a polite way of recalling him to my memory, Benjamin!” “She had him on the run! Lord, how we all laughed, and he too! Then the old lady was taken over faint and they went away.” Sir Richard took the opportunity to ask if Mr. Reece was acquainted with Mr. Templeton. “No, not at all,” he said. Edward dismissed the thoughts crowding his mind to wish for the good health of Mr. Whichale’s family in the county. “As to my relations, there are none hereabouts,” he said. As they turned out of the gate, Edward pointed out a square patch on the wall, cleaner than the rest. “The

sign was just there,” he said. “This is very mysterious, Cousin,” said Sir Richard.

CHAPTER 12

THE LANDLORD AT THE INN told them that the Whichale family was definitely the only one of that name in the county. Old Mr. Whichale had a younger brother, now deceased, who was the father of the new master and had moved away to Somerset years before. He also had a sister, with whom he had quarrelled after her marriage, as indeed he had with almost everyone he encountered. Nothing was heard of the sister again, until her grandson, Mr. Benjamin Reece, came to make himself known, about two months since. “He is a personable young man,” said Sir Richard. “That he be, sir. Old Mr. Whichale made out to hide him with his cane, or so they say, when first he saw this great-nephew, but in the end he come round.” “You mentioned earlier that old Mr. Whichale was something of a hermit,” said Edward. “There is many a tale told of him. He were very near and never parted with a farthing if he could avoid it.” “I hope the old gentleman saw his error at the last, and called in the vicar to help him through his last moments.” “Why bless you, sir,” the landlord said, chuckling. “I can’t believe that. With him the parsons always were a’run down.” He left the room and Sir Richard burst out with, “It’s incomprehensible, Cousin! Mr. Templeton told Laura that he was called to the bedside of Mr. Whichale. Surely he would not be so ungentlemanlike as to tell a falsehood.” The baronet waited for a reply, anxiously watching while Edward thought over the question. “I thought Whichale honest enough, yet I found something in his behaviour a little odd—too jocular.” “Perhaps his inheritance has promoted him beyond a level of society in which he feels comfortable,”

said Sir Richard. “I wondered if he has been engaged in trade, perhaps, and fears some will look down upon him now he is a gentleman.” “You may well be right. That would fit with his lady’s shyness.” “I felt her to be rather timorous, too—perhaps of the entire male sex.” “But the nephew?” “Oh, there is no doubting the transparent honesty and well-meaning of Benjamin Reece!” “And Laura had made his acquaintance,” said Edward. “I didn’t know that before. I wonder if she heard of his old Uncle Whichale at the Assembly? It is usual for local people to mention such connections to those new to a district.” “We don’t know that anyone did—if so, she forgot.” “I wonder if she heard some gossip about the young gentleman. Lyme is no great distance from Longpan. Perhaps people were whispering about his strange uncle, not long for this world.” “That is it, then!” Sir Richard said. “She made a mistake, perhaps, about Mr. Templeton’s destination.” “It seems so,” said Edward. “Do not sound so bleak, Cousin. We will get at the answer.” “If you say.” Edward was gazing into the fire, with a sadness his cousin felt to be out of proportion to the setback they had received. “Let us away to Charmouth, in the morning,” said Sir Richard. “I know you want to forget …” “To Charmouth, certainly.” “You agree?” “I think we must.” They parted for the night, each with his own view of their quest. Sir Richard, while puzzled over the circumstance of Laura’s uncharacteristic forgetfulness, let go of the enigma and fell asleep. Edward, on the other hand, was wakeful long into the night. Just beyond the crossroads, the coachman turned the

carriage into another road, at the sign reading “Charmouth 8 Miles”. They arrived at the Charmouth Inn where the smell of a rich mutton ragout was permeating the air. They did not pause after finding no news of their quarry at the inn and headed in the direction of some lodgings nearby. Here they found the mistress to be absent, but Edward questioned a maid. She twisted her hands in her apron, as she replied, “No, there wern’t no gentleman a’lyin here then—not such as you say.” “What, none?” “There weren’t no gentleman like that in Charmouth,” she said, fear in her eyes. “Are you afraid of me, young woman?” he demanded. “You have nothing to fear for I am only trying to locate this gentleman.” “He were not at this house.” Sir Richard intervened. “Nay, Cousin, you are too abrupt and the girl fears you are angry with her.” He gestured for Edward to stand aside and began in his kindly way. “You must not be afraid of this gentleman. He’s been at sea for too long, he’s forgotten that young women don’t like to brow-beat like a sailor.” “They do not.” She pressed her hands onto her stomach and looked at him piteously. “I’m a’joppetyjoppety.” “Well, I am sorry for it.” He leant down as if in confidence. “The captain here is all ‘a-joppety-joppety’ too, about Mr. Templeton.” Edward scowled but Sir Richard ignored him, walking a few steps away. She followed. “Perhaps the Dorset Drowners got ’im,” she ventured, with a wavering smile. “They pulls folks under the bog.” “Perhaps he walked into the water meadows to prove they don’t exist.” She laughed. “They don’ be true—not really— do you think, sir?” “Well, I don’t think that’s what happened to him. I think he’s simply gone off and forgotten to let his friends know where he is.” “’Tis more likely than the Drowners got him.” “So will you tell me now that Mr. Templeton was

here?” She shook her head, her eyes wandering from his face. “Do you speak the truth?” She turned back to him and raised her eyes to his, and said, “Yes, yes. There weren’t no gentleman, no Mr. Templeton. He were not here.” This was the result of all their enquiries, and indeed there were few enough places at which to ask. They returned to the inn, where they found the ragout not up to their hopes. “What shall we do now, Edward?” asked his cousin. “However shall we find him?” “Do you not see, Richard, what stares you in the face?” Edward got up and paced across to the window and back. “Mr. Templeton does not exist.” Sir Richard was incredulous. “Nay, Edward, what mean you when you say the gentleman does not exist?” “He is an illusion, a phantasm, a product of my sister’s fancy. He is no more real than the Dorset Drowners.” He turned away from Sir Richard’s expression of shock to repeat, “He does not exist.” “He must exist, Edward, or your sister is lying. She would never do so—she is utterly truthful.” “It is not a deliberate falsehood. She would never have sent us on this journey, if it were.” He rose and walked to the small window, and, leaning against the frame he rested his head upon his arm, staring out into the waning light of the afternoon. He said, over his shoulder, “Laura believes him to be as real as you and me.” “What of the lady who introduced Laura to him —Mrs. Gurdon?” “We have been unable to speak to her since the disappearance of Mr. Templeton.” Sir Richard could not see his cousin’s face. “Laura cannot be blamed for the old lady’s illness.” “No, but it is interesting that the only remaining witness to Laura’s story was too ill to confirm or deny it.”

Sir Richard felt a bleak, confused depression settle over his spirits. He sat with his hands hanging between his legs and his head bowed. At last he raised his eyes to see his cousin gazing darkly into a corner of the room. “What of her maid, Sarah?” asked Sir Richard. “Just like every one of Laura’s witnesses, it is discovered that she was not so placed as to see him after all. The boy Tom, the ostler at the stable, Sarah, the Whichales, the servants at the Lion in Lyme and at the lodging places in Charmouth—all deny knowledge of him.” “It looks bad, yet …” Sir Richard’s voice trailed away. Edward raised his hands in frustration. “Yet what, Cousin? Always we have relied upon your cheerful view of the world to put us right when we are too gloomy. Tell me your yet,” he said, his voice full of bitterness. “Laura is too clever to fall into some wild imagining.” “I have been thinking about Laura’s life—she has not had an easy time of it, Cousin.” “No, she has known much grief.” “Always when I saw her, Laura was full of humour. I see now I have not enquired sufficiently into her happiness, but thought too much of my own concerns.” Sir Richard went over to the window and placed his hand on Edward’s shoulder. “You are as good a brother to her as might be; you were at sea most of the time since she was nine or ten years old.” “It will not do, Sir Richard. I have not paid her sufficient care.” Lost for words, Sir Richard dropped his hand from his cousin’s shoulder and sank into an armchair, to gaze unseeing at the newspaper. In the lowering of the daylight, Edward sat at the table to write a letter.

Friday 19th September

My dear Jenner, I trust this letter finds you and your family in good health. Forgive my bluntness as I refer to a story told me in great confidence. I have urgent need of your advice on a delicate matter. You told me once of an illness suffered by one of your female relations. Do you understand my reference? I particularly recall that your family had obtained the best

possible treatment for her, only after trying several practitioners. Circumstances have arisen placing me in the sad position to benefit from your advice. Pray give me the name and direction of the physician who was finally able to help your family. Our long friendship informs me that I can rely upon your secrecy. Yours, etc. Edward Morrison p.s. I shall send this letter by special messenger,

who shall await your reply.

Having sent off his letter, the captain sank into a reverie, his brow darkening. Sir Richard’s senses were alive to his cousin’s sad mood, which communicated itself to him, until he felt a turgid knot of anxious sorrow settle in him. Edward stared sightlessly into a corner of the room. He felt so wearied of the struggle to maintain a semblance of confidence in the future. Dear, dear Laura, he thought. I know not how I could have recovered without your gentle care of me. He recalled only sensation from his weeks of illness. The heat that raged through his body threatened to consume him. That first instant when the wet cloth touched his forehead, cheeks, or neck remained a memory of joyous relief, lasting only seconds. The terrible thirst, quenched by water carefully dribbled into his mouth— by whom? The pain—he felt it to be in his left arm, not knowing that it raged chiefly at the site of amputation— deadened by the dose of opium. Another moment he could not forget—when he took the dose and the pain only receded, refused to die. He had reached out and seized the hand that denied it. “More!” he begged. And felt the splash of his sister’s tears on his hand. He had felt the skin of her forehead hot on his arm—he remembered the strangeness of it feeling hotter than his own. The fever was broken. She had put off his questions about Charlotte— why was she kept from him? Who kept her away? Could he not be vouchsafed a glimpse of her at the door? Of course she had come already, while he was still delirious—he knew that now. She had recoiled at the sight of him. It was Laura who did her best to soften the blow, Laura who had quelled all her anger and resentment to present the case in a light that give him least cause to feel himself repulsive. He had offered Charlotte freedom from her promise by letter, and she accepted it in the same mode, with phrases of reluctance and words about her tears.

Had the pain and burden of that time weakened Laura’s mind? He thought it might be so. Laura had been a treasured friend—her regular letters eagerly awaited through all his years working his way to captaincy. Laura had been his equal in mind and character, with a courage and sharpness to equal his own. Now she was brought low, her own bright wit and clarity of mind betrayed by her womanly weakness. Well, he thought, I will care for her, in my own way, as assiduously as she has cared for me.

CHAPTER 13

AT OAKMONT, LAURA ATE A solitary dinner at the long table in the dining hall, her place well lit by candles, while shadows crowded into the further recesses of the room. Sir Richard must have frequently faced this array of dishes alone, sat here alone, with the butler and footman waiting in readiness behind him to move a dish closer or to spoon a potato onto his plate. Even in the last years of Mr. Evans’s life, when he travelled little and could not abide separation from Elspeth, Laura had made her annual visit to Oakmont, but had never dined here by herself. If an engagement had taken Sir Richard away, she always sat opposite her aunt, whose grim visage had faced her through so many a meal for most of her life. Laura raised her eyes from her plate and looked at the place vacated by Aunt Morrison, picturing her in the plain, crisp white cap that had covered her hair, with long frilled flaps over her ears. Oh, how we hated her, she thought. Yes, we hated you, Aunt Morrison! You came to take our mother’s place but you found no joy in caring for us —you had no love to give. That dry sense of duty dominated your life. Laura stared and blinked, felt a slow chill of fear creep along her arms and neck, as a shadowy representation of the woman herself seemed to form in the chair, candle-lit against the dark space behind, her gaunt face withered by the cancers she suffered in her last years. “Do not come back to me,” Laura whispered, soundlessly. “Your coldness forced me to keep my true self secret.” Horrified, Laura thought she saw tears forming in the old lady’s eyes. Yet, she knew she brought the image up from her own memory; she even blinked her eyes to be rid of it.

Laura’s lips formed the words but she did not speak them. Why could you not love us, Aunt? Why could you not take two little orphans in your arms and love us? The withered face looked sternly back at her and Laura felt the answer form in her own mind. Why, our faces—Elspeth’s and mine—were closed against her! The figure of her aunt stood up and Laura wondered for an instant that the footman did not leap forward to move her chair. She turned her head and saw the servant at her side, holding a serving dish, standing frozen, his eyes full of fear. She waved him back. Laura turned back to the bent figure standing across from her and felt herself dwindle to her childish self, as a child saw the stern countenance. She felt her lips part and she almost cried aloud. We hate you! How we hate you, Aunt Morrison! She recalled it now—after forgetting for so long—there had been a glittering in the woman’s eyes, and the child Laura had added something like “We will never love you!” She recalled the snapping of her aunt’s next words, “You are the two most horrid little girls I have ever encountered. I did not seek love from such as you.” She had never forgotten the wound of her aunt’s words, but she had not recalled her own childish cruelty until now. I knew not that my aunt had such feelings, she thought. Laura blinked and brought her senses back to the present. She was suddenly aware of the menservants behind her waiting, no doubt wondering, at the strange silent pause in the room. She began to rise and the footman leapt forward to draw back her chair. “I am not quite well, Michael,” she said. “Please bring my coffee to my room.” He opened the great wooden door into the hall and Laura, oblivious of his fearful expression, passed out of it and upstairs. Laura visited her sister where she lay in her bed, all white lace and frills, the scent of lavender overpowering the room. After dabbing the invalid’s forehead with a cool cloth, Laura sat down by the bed. “I thought of Aunt Morrison at dinner, Elspeth—

of the way she was seemingly so hard and unloving.” “Laura, how can you speak to me of Aunt Morrison when I am in this state?” “You do not look ill, Elspeth.” “What do you know of my sufferings? You spent your day in selfish pursuit of pleasure, neglecting me, your only sister.” “If you have felt abandoned, I am sorry.” “My head aches unbearably—I cannot have you remain in the room.” “I shall continue to neglect you then,” said Laura and went to her own room. Here she seated herself at her table and unlocked her little desk. Presently, Michael brought coffee to her and a plate of little cakes. “How thoughtful you are!” she said. Jonathon entered. “Miss, should I carry in a little bed for Sarah?” “Good lord, no, Jonathon! Why should I put you to such trouble?” “This old place gets lonely with so few folks in it.” “If Sarah is nervous, she must sleep with one of the other maids.” Jonathon departed and Laura opened her journal.

Oakmont, Friday 19th September My father withdrew from his children and slowly weathered away, until he died … of a lonely,

ungiving grief, at the loss of his wife. I forgave him long ago. Yet why could I not forgive Aunt Morrison for failing to take my mother’s place? Perhaps my aunt suffered as much bitter loneliness as he, but clung on to duty and endured it. Always we blamed her —I had completely forgotten that incident when I spoke to her so cruelly. I was but eight or nine years of age, so I will not berate myself, but I understand

my aunt a little better. What caused that memory to return sharply when it did? Is hers the pain that lies ahead for me? To live a lonely old age, tolerated and made use of by uncaring relations, cannot be pleasant. Perhaps I could live with my brother, instead of with Elspeth, when he marries. Someone like Miss Woodruff would suit me well. I could listen to her play by the hour and she

would teach me to be good, because she seems so good herself. Yet, why can I not find happiness of my own? I am not made to devote myself only to others’ pleasure. Need I give up all hope of Mr. Templeton? Even now Edward and Richard may be with him, hearing his rational explanation of what has separated us. At the very least, they should have discovered some fact to put my mind

at rest. If he lies somewhere, wounded, he cannot be still alive, after all this time.

Laura looked out into the growing darkness, sighing.

Should it be that Mr. Templeton’s intentions never were genuine, I can learn to bear it. However I cannot bear never to discover what happened to him.

The next morning, Elspeth lay in her room, complaining of an intolerable pressure in her head. Laura decided to take a walk alone to Lewton Hall. Like a shadow, Jonathon appeared behind her before she could cross the hall and Sarah ran up from below stairs. “Might I come with you, Miss Laura? I can carry

your sketchbook.” “Nay, Sarah, I will do that,” said Jonathon. “Don’t be foolish!” said Laura. “I can carry my book and even a pencil.” A weak voice floated down to them from the top of the stairs. Laura looked up to see her sister clinging to the balustrade with one hand, while she held the other to her head. “Jonathon, send the carriage around for Miss Morrison,” she said. “Elspeth, this is ridiculous!” said Laura. “You shall travel as a lady does,” said Elspeth. Laura stormed out of the great door and down the steps, while Michael darted around the house towards the stables. Laura was sorely tempted to set off at once, on foot; she had looked forward to the exercise and felt in any case that it was incumbent upon her to take a stand. She walked briskly down the driveway to the gate. Behind her, she heard the crunch of gravel under Sarah’s feet. She said, “Go back, Sarah.” “I daresn’t, Miss Laura.” Laura looked out across the lawn to a side gate that offered a short cut. The grass sparkled with raindrops. “’Tis very wet, miss.” “I shall not give you the needless work of cleaning the hem of my coat. Come, let us walk along the road and let the carriage overtake us.” The servants delivered their charge safely at the steps of Lewton Hall. After a short conversation, Mrs. Woodruff and Jane excused themselves on the grounds that Evalina was so easily distracted. Laura was left alone with Evalina to work upon the portrait. Staying quite still for as much as five minutes, Evalina said, “Did the captain carry a kind report of my sister to the baronet?” “My brother doesn’t always remember to be so gallant but I told Sir Richard of Miss Woodruff’s kindness to that little orphan.” “I suppose he is a man of practical talents and very sensible.”

“Sir Richard certainly takes a practical interest in the management of his estate,” Laura obtusely replied. “I … I meant Captain Morrison.” “Oh, him! My brother entered the navy at the age of twelve, Miss Evalina. It is not a life that generally produces a poet. He is a very capable man, I fancy.” “He will marry a sensible and capable lady then,” ventured Evalina. Laura noted the faint, pretty flush on the girl’s cheeks. “He has never confided in me his requirements in a wife.” “It does not do for a clever man to marry someone stupid.” “Not everyone stops to think of what will do when they choose their partner in life.” Evalina dropped her pose altogether, and turned full on to Laura, her eyes sparkling. “I see you are making fun of me, Miss Morrison.” She laughed, her dimples deepening, and lowered her long black lashes so that they swept against her cheeks. Laura saw in that moment what all men must find charming in such a creature. After half an hour, Laura felt satisfied with her sketches. She walked out with Miss Woodruff, followed by the faithful Jonathon and Sarah. They went first to the village, where Jane paid her daily visit to the child who had captured her interest. The little girl, four years of age, clung to her fostermother’s skirt all the while, looking up at Laura, her little mouth agape. Miss Woodruff said, “We cannot override her aunt’s wishes. It is proper that she should go to her relations in Honiton.” She bent over the child and cupped the grubby little chin with her hand. “You see, Susan, everyone wants you. I hope you will be very good for your aunt.” She paid the goodwife her foster fee and promised the bundle of clothing in time for the carter, with whom the aunt had made arrangements to take the child away.

Walking back towards Lewton Hall, Laura said, “I wonder what future awaits her? I hope her aunt will be kind.” “It would not be right to keep her in the village, when her own kin send for her.” “Indeed we cannot all be where we would wish.” Laura felt Miss Woodruff’s keen glance and hoped she had not betrayed any of the bitterness in her heart at that moment. The wind was cold but the day had a bright crisp feel of autumn, as they passed through a small gate into the park and began to walk at a brisker pace, following paths that took them through woodland and meadows. Laura paused at the view of a natural depression in the ground, filled with swamp plants, the reeds turning yellow, and the leaves of the primroses at the edge beginning to curl up, with the poignant beauty of autumn. Jane looked at Laura, whose eyes were tracing the patterns of light and form that lent the scene its loveliness. “How would you paint such a scene?” said Miss Woodruff. Laura smiled. “You are very observant, Miss Woodruff,” she said. Jane listened carefully to her new friend’s explanations. “How wonderful it must be to have such skill!” “Mr. Evans, my sister’s late husband, took great interest in my drawing, and made sure I had the best masters. I owe him a debt of gratitude.” “He was a very wealthy man, I believe.” “Indeed he was, and generous too.” “Do you see his family at all?” “No, I do not,” said Laura, wondering if word had reached the Woodruffs of the quarrels that broke out in Mr. Evans’s family when he signed over a valuable property to his child bride. “I paid long visits to my sister during her marriage, but her stepson lives in the north. Our visits never coincided, so I missed the opportunity to spend time with hi s numerous children.” She gave her companion a wry look and Jane laughed. “You have accomplishments of your own, Miss Woodruff. I greatly admire the screen you embroidered for

your mother.” “It gives her pleasure, as I knew it would, and that gave me the patience to finish it. Yet, how I prefer to be of real use!” Laura stopped and turned to look at her companion, whose expression was of an artless sincerity. “You really mean it!” Laura said. Miss Woodruff said, “There is no great merit in doing what gives one pleasure. I enjoy doing what I can for a child such as little Susan.” “You make me feel ashamed. What a selfish creature I am!” “You are too modest. Sir Richard told me that there is scarcely a cottage in the village that does not proudly display some example of your portraiture.” “I draw for my own amusement. Quick charcoal and pencil sketches purchase praise very cheaply. My cousin is too good.” “He is indeed a very good sort of man,” said Jane, in a serious tone. “I do not know him well, yet that kindness in him shines out.” They continued their walk in silence for a few moments, with Laura’s mind busy with everything she had heard. What wonders this lady might do for me, she thought. She will make a good creature of me yet. Richard is very kind. He cannot help but be stupid—yet over that he has no power; he has only power over his own actions. Those actions—sometimes bumbling and irritating—are invariably kind. He thinks of others before himself, while I … it does not bear thinking of. They returned to the house in time to take tea with the other ladies. As they entered the drawing room, they heard Evalina’s voice raised in exclamation. At once, Laura saw that the young lady was holding the sketchbook open in her hands. Her eyes betrayed her great curiosity and her lips were parted in the remark cut off by the sound of the door. She blushed furiously as Laura came in. “I am so sorry, Miss Morrison! I was showing Mama your sketches of me.” The book was open at the sketch drawn from memory, that day in Lyme. Somehow Laura had captured the intensity of his expression. It was the picture of Mr.

Templeton. Laura made no immediate answer, but took the book from the young girl’s hands. “I said you were impertinent, Evalina!” said her mother. Jane glared at her sister and Evalina blushed again. “I am always wary of having others look at my unfinished work,” Laura said stiffly. “I didn’t think you would mind, Miss Morrison,” said Evalina. “We all admire your work so!” “It is of no importance, Miss Evalina,” said Laura, more formally than she intended. “I am a little eccentric, I suppose.” “Now you are angry with me and I did so wish you to like me!” the young lady cried. Laura could not but be moved, charmed indeed. She thought with pity of the young lady’s future husband (whoever he would be), should he ever seek to have his way! “You are forgiven, now.” “How kind you are! I shall always be good, from this moment on!” Laura smiled. “I might take your words as an example for myself,” she said. Laura departed immediately after taking tea, citing her sister’s ill-health. Jonathon looked relieved to jump up on the carriage steps—he was little used to so much walking as he had lately done. As the carriage bowled away from the steps, Evalina turned to her mother. “Who was he—the man in the picture?” “I did not see it properly, Evalina, and you should not care!” “Don’t you understand that you have displeased Miss Morrison?” said Jane. “You would like to know every bit as much as I, but you’ll never admit it. How would one feel to see such an expression in a man’s eyes? Thrilled, I imagine!” “You are full of nonsense.”

“I shall tell you, Jane, though you don’t deserve it.” “I don’t want to hear it.” “It was the mysterious Mr. Templeton!”

CHAPTER 14

ON SATURDAY, SIR RICHARD RETURNED to Oakmont Manor to find that another mysterious being had invaded his quiet world. The first symptom of something amiss was the presence of two footmen standing about in the hall, where he was accustomed to seeing only Michael. Sir Richard asked his butler for an explanation of this odd circumstance. With evident embarrassment, Smithson replied, “Michael has hit upon the notion that Oakmont Manor has been visited by … a ghost.” “What?” “He believes that the ghost of the late Miss Morrison has visited and—regretfully—he has infected many of the servants with this idea.” Now, the common view that Sir Richard’s tutor had taught him nothing was far from true, and here was an example. From childhood he had been taught, at home, as at school, that the idea of ghosts was a nonsense, and his mind did not readily lend itself to alteration. “What has given Michael this foolish notion?” he said. “Well, sir, the present Miss Morrison became sad and thoughtful—she was dining alone.” “Is that all? No doubt the lady found the silence oppressive. That will be it. You may tell the servants from me that belief in ghosts is superstition and ignorance. There will be no reunions with my respected aunt until we meet again in the afterlife. Everyone in my employ is to forgo such beliefs and they will be a good deal happier,” he concluded with a kindly smile. “But, sir …” “I am ready for a glass of wine, Smithson, and a biscuit. Are the ladies at home?” “Mrs. Evans keeps to her room, Sir Richard.

Miss Morrison is in the solar. Will the captain be present at dinner?” “No. He will be away for some days.” Leaving his factotum to convince the servants of their safety from spectral visitations, the baronet took a deep breath and went upstairs, into the solar. Laura sat at the table close to the large south-facing window that gave the room its name, with her drawing materials around her. The afternoon light fell on her face and hands, and produced a shimmer on the white of her gown. “Laura, what a pleasure it is to see you.” “I am glad of it. How do you fare?” “Excellent. Is all well with you?” He bent and kissed her cheek. She put down her pencil. “What happened?” “Gracious, Laura, you have captured the likeness of Miss Evalina exactly!” He picked up the two drawings, one in each hand, looking from one to the other. “Do not torment me, Richard. What of Mr. Templeton? Did you speak to him?” “I … no.” “Did he leave Mr. Whichale’s house safely?” “Laura, dear Laura, can we not await Edward’s return?” “Certainly not!” She gave him a suspicious look. “Where is Edward?” Sir Richard’s mouth opened and closed, and his eyes darted towards the window. “He is gone to see a friend, Plymouth way.” Laura jumped up. “What friend is this? Richard, tell me the truth!” She took a deep breath as she fought to control an uprush of anger—and fear of his news. “He is dead, is he not?” She put her head in her hands. “Mr. Templeton is no more. I knew it all along.” “Indeed not … Laura, please be calm.” She sank again in her seat and he drew a chair up close to her and sat with her hand in his. “We found no trace of him,” Sir Richard said. “What!” He bit his lip. “He never arrived at Mr. Whichale’s house. We stayed there speaking to Mr. Whichale and his lady for upwards of an hour.” He gave her

an apologetic look. “I am satisfied that Mr. Templeton never was there.” “How can that be?” She could make no sense of it at all. Sir Richard mumbled some meaningless syllables. “What can have happened to him? There must be some other Whichales in the district.” “No. Edward and I investigated every possibility.” “This is ridiculous, Richard.” “It is ridiculous. In fact, it is a mystery.” She withdrew her hands from his. “You are keeping something from me.” Sir Richard quailed before her betrayed look. “One thing.” He looked away. “Mr. Whichale never sent for him.” “Nonsense!” She jumped up from her chair. “What is Edward doing in Plymouth?” With the tiniest hesitation that she could not but notice, Sir Richard replied, “Edward is gone in search of … further facts.” She pressed one hand to her brow and looked around her, unseeing, then said, very quietly, “I was not expecting this.” “I would not have been the bearer of such tidings, Laura.” They sat there together, as the late afternoon sunlight gradually shifted across the window, sliding across her drawings, then across his face. He bit his lip; looked at her face, now pale and drawn and watched the veil that came over her clear green eyes, as her expression told of perplexity at the news, her uncertainty and developing sadness. “Laura …” “I see it clearly now,” she said, each word wrung slowly out. “I see now what has happened, though I tried to avoid the truth …” The door opened and they both looked up. Elspeth moved languidly into the room, her lace handkerchief held to her head. Sir Richard rose and

bowed. “They told me you were returned, Richard. I have risen from my sickbed to see you.” “Ought you to have taken such trouble?” “Richard, I will take a brief turn in the garden before dinner. Will you give me the support of your arm?” “Of course, Elspeth. You have only to ask.” She inclined her head graciously, as he came across the room to her. “Will you join us, Laura?” he said. Elspeth replied for her. “I am not such a philistine as to disturb Laura at her art.” Laura did not resent Elspeth her chance of private conversation with their cousin; indeed she had no desire to report the gentlemen’s discovery herself. “Off you go,” she said, with forced humour. “I shall survive the solitude.” As they paced slowly along the gravel walk, Sir Richard told Elspeth that they had found no trace of Mr. Templeton. “I am relieved, Richard,” she said. “You are not displeased?” “No,” she said. “This outcome is more to our purpose than if you had discovered the man.” “Poor Laura is alarmed about the gentleman’s fate.” “What fate, Richard? The mysterious disappearance of a respectable clergyman would be noted in the newspapers and be the talk of the country.” “I suppose you are right, Elspeth.” “Indeed I am, Richard. Mr. Templeton ran away from Laura and made sure he would not be found.” Her eyes narrowed. “He has made a fool of my sister, but I am glad my relations failed to hunt him down.” “Why?” “Would you have liked to interview him about his intentions?” “That would be distasteful, certainly.” “Mr. Templeton is a liar as well as flirt. Scarcely even a gentleman.” She bent and picked a sprig of lavender from a

bush that grew by the terrace. Holding it to her nose, she inhaled. “You seem very calm, Elspeth,” he said. “I don’t like to see Laura unhappy.” She faced him. “It is in your power to offer her serenity, Richard. She never needed you more.” “Me?” “When a woman comes under the censure of society, a certain position affords her protection from the cruelty of those who would judge her. My sister was never in more need of consequence.” She gave him a coy smile and took his arm to walk back to the house. “I suppose you know that we have not been without our adventures in your absence?” “Michael’s nonsense about a ghost?” “It was all Laura’s doing for she sat at table, staring at the empty chair, where once our venerable aunt sat on our visits to Oakmont. Apparently Laura turned very pale and Michael says she seemed to be hearing some spectral voice.” “He is very superstitious.” “Why would such a dull old soul as our lamented aunt return to us? Laura seems on the point of hysteria. Something must be done, Richard! The maids were at sixes and sevens, crowded into each other’s rooms for the night.” “What did Laura say?” he said. “Last night, when I was too ill to attend, she said something about Aunt Morrison, the poor old thing, and so forth. She says that it was only memories of Aunt Morrison that saddened her.” “That is an explanation that should satisfy all!” “I am glad it makes you happy. I prefer the old Laura—who did not terrify servants with her memories, and never fancied that gentlemen admired her.” “Laura has been admired, quite often.” “No one is more proud of her abilities than I, but …” She fingered her mourning locket, with its ring of white hair encircling the portrait of her venerable spouse, gazing mistily into the distance. “Laura has not that softness and sweetness of temper that lead to more serious admiration.” “Oh,” he said.

“Pray do not mope, Richard. I feel a little better.” “The fresh air is doing you good.” “Perhaps it is that.” She stopped strolling as she thought of something. “Where is my brother? I trust he has not joined the company of disappearing gentlemen.” “He sent off an express from the inn yesterday to some naval friend, who replied upon the instant. Edward is now off to Plymouth.” “Why?” “Why? Yes, why, of course. I imagine his friend is in some difficulty, in Plymouth.” “Why did he not mention this friend, with his difficulty, before leaving Oakmont?” For an instant, her cousin was at a loss; then he brightened, saying, “Look, here is Smithson, no doubt come to tell me my wine is ready.” “A moment, Richard,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “You are telling me, then, that Mr. Templeton is gone from our lives?” He nodded slowly, rhythmically, for several seconds, until his cousin snapped, “For Heaven’s sake, Richard, are we done at last with Mr. Templeton?” In anguish, Sir Richard looked up at the window of the solar, imagining that Laura stood there, but he could not make her out, for the reflected glint of the setting sun. “How?” he said. “How what?” said Elspeth. “How are we ever to be done with him, while Laura is not?” She looked up into his moist, brown eyes, and put on an expression of pity. “Poor, poor Laura,” she said. “Poor Richard.” She tossed her lavender sprig into the garden bed and walked away.

CHAPTER 15

IN A RELENTLESS DRIZZLE OF RAIN , Captain Morrison travelled back to Oakmont, thinking over his interview with the physician. He held a pamphlet to the light seeping in at the carriage window. It was a mercifully slim volume, entitled Hysteric Disorders of the Female Mind by Doctor Albert Mellbone. He turned to the flyleaf.

“There is no passion with which people are so ready to tamper as love, although none is more dangerous.” Dr William Buchan, 1785

Edward groaned. Was the good Doctor Mellbone capable of nothing more inspiring than this? A quick glance through the list of contents informed him that Mellbone was indeed capable of more. The little booklet summarised the collected wisdom of respected physicians from Galen, in the second century, to the up-to-date theories of Dr Pinel, who was shaking the ideas of the more progressive

medical men in England as he had done already in Paris. Edward shook his head over this section. Did a Frenchman dare speak about the mind of an English gentlewoman? By the end of the journey, Edward felt he was in command of a more scholarly view than that of the everyday male, whose education about Old Maid’s Illness took place in the tavern, amid snorts of derision. The desperate spinster was powerless against the illness, in which she imagined the admiration of every second man she met, and even, in advanced cases, imagined the admirer’s very existence. The theories about the cause of this strange disorder might evolve over the years—from humours clogging up the virgin’s body, to witchcraft, to unhappiness and lesions upon the brain. Yet, always quick to grasp essentials, the captain saw that the favoured remedy for Old Maid’s Illness did not vary. Although Dr. Pinel’s procedure of writing down everything the patient said about the past seemed absurd, even that eminent thinker could be read as recommending the same cure. The weather was clearing as Edward arrived at Oakmont. As luck would have it he found Elspeth alone, reclining upon the sofa in the solar with a little afternoon light falling upon the novel in her hand. “Dearest Edward, you are come back to us!” she cried. “I am returned,” he said, in his matter-of-fact way. “Why are you lolling here when you might be taking the air?” “I never loll, Edward, I recline. I could not drive out if I wished to for Laura has taken the carriage to Lewton Hall. You chased after some friend all the way to Plymouth, I hear.” He kissed her and stood solemnly before her. “I will cut straight to the facts, Elspeth.” She shivered. “You frighten me, Edward.” “That is a realistic beginning for I do not bring good news.” She rang the bell. “I shall order a restorative.” She sat up a little, putting a small cushion behind her back, and Edward drew a chair near to the sofa and sat down.

Elspeth said, “I already know you did not find him. You have been asking the wrong people or going to the wrong places, but I am satisfied all the same.” “Elspeth, I do not believe in the existence of Mr. Templeton.” “He must exist,” snapped Elspeth, frowning. They were interrupted by the arrival of the servant, who took orders for ale and a slice of toast for the captain, weak tea for Mrs. Evans. Edward waited for the servant to leave, and said, “Did Richard tell you that Mr. Templeton is unheard of in Charmouth, too?” “That cannot be!” “At the Assembly in Lyme, Laura met a nephew of the old man who passed away.” “What of it? She made many new acquaintances there.” “I don’t believe Laura even remembers him, though he remembers her. His name is Reece.” “What has he to do with it?” “I do not believe that Laura heard about the dying Mr. Whichale from Mr. Templeton, but in passing at the dance, for he is a relation of Mr. Reece. The physician in Plymouth agrees …” He watched as her eyes widened. “Dr. Mellbone says that in a disturbed state, Laura would be likely to forget where she heard some fact and think she heard it from her admirer’s lips.” Elspeth sat up. “You go too fast, Edward. Let me get this straight. Has Laura invented the tale about Mr. Templeton’s call to the sickbed? Why would she? Was it to provide an excuse when she could not produce him?” “Elspeth, our sister is deceived by none other than herself. There is something more. Do you recall my taking a walk upon the cliff path to Charmouth with Laura?” The footman entered and put the tray on the tea table. Elspeth sighed and fiddled with her lace while he poured the tea, moved a little table to her side and placed her cup in her reach. He moved the captain’s refreshments near him and at last withdrew. Edward took a long draught of ale, before continuing. “On that walk, Laura claimed to see Mr. Templeton in the distance coming towards us. I had my

back to the path when she saw him, dropped my cane and could not turn quickly. He had completely disappeared when I did turn. I laughed at her for being lovesick.” “You ought to have told me, Edward.” “It is easy to be wise in hindsight.” Edward ate his toast and drank his ale. Eventually Elspeth said, “Laura saw him on the cliff path; she saw him in the Hollow. In just the same way, she saw him in Lyme.” “Yes.” “This is madness.” “It seems our sister does not grasp the difference between what is real and what is in her imagination.” “What is to be done?” “Dr. Mellbone has been helpful. He has the highest credentials and has practical skills in dealing with … I hesitate … disorders of the female mind.” Elspeth fluttered her fan. “I have a sense that I will not like what follows.” “The good doctor has given me a pamphlet on the subject of these, um … fancies, not so uncommon as one might think, in ladies who have been unsatisfied with their lives.” “Too long in the single state, do you mean?” “So I believe.” Elspeth was convinced that her brother referred to the bedroom aspect of marriage, which men seemed to think so important, even essential to a woman’s sanity. Those fumblings, she thought, crinkled fumblings, were they her share of the sanity bestowed by marimony? “Are you in pain, Elspeth?” “Indeed not,” she replied. “Pray give me the pamphlet, Brother.” He withdrew the booklet from his pocket and placed it on her small table. She left it there, regarding it with a suspicious look. “What is the treatment for this madness?” she asked. “Let us say illness, Sister. Mellbone has treated several cases successfully at his establishment.”

“You recommend this madhouse?” “No! It is unthinkable. Actually, Mellbone believes that the simplest cure is marriage.” There was a silence. The captain went over to the window and stood looking out across the lawns towards the gate. Without turning, he said, “Marriage and motherhood are the roles for which woman was created.” “I do not quarrel with you, Edward, but I know not what you expect me to do about it. Laura is become so prickly and difficult. She is all sweetness to you, whom she favours.” She put her handkerchief to her eyes and emitted a small sob. “Come, Elspeth, do not quarrel with me,” he said gruffly, leaving the window to sit again at her side. “Let us think of poor Laura and of what is to be done.” “She must marry Richard.” “She will not wish to.” “She will soon understand where her wishes ought to lie. Richard will be perfectly content to have her.” He smiled wryly. “There is another with whom she must contend for the title.” Elspeth laughed. “Richard will never marry Miss Evalina Woodruff!” “Why ever not? She is a delightful creature.” Elspeth looked incredulous. “Don’t you see that he is afraid of her?” “Nonsense! Who could fear Miss Evalina, all charm and vivacity as she is?” Elspeth tilted her head and looked at him sidelong. “I am pleased to see that you are not afraid of her.” “I thought you seemed bent on encouraging the match, Elspeth.” His sister smirked. “The more I tease him with her praises, the more he determines that he will not have her.” “You took a risk in encouraging the match.” “Come, Edward! The only risk was that Miss Evalina would break down his resistance over time. Once he felt pushed, he dug his heels into the ground, just as I knew he would.”

“You showed little thought for her feelings.” Elspeth put her hand to her heart. “Oh, Edward! I never even suspected—is she in love with him?” She laughed. He could not help but laugh with her. “There,” said Elspeth. “We are of one mind. Richard will marry Laura, who will be the foremost lady in the district, and the mother of the next baronet—should there be children. Lady Clarydon would certainly approve.” “You cannot dispose of others’ lives to satisfy Lady Clarydon!” Elspeth had finished her tea and placed the cup in its saucer in her delicate way. “I arrange matters to satisfy my family. Laura’s infirmity will be kept a secret,” she said. He shrugged. “That would be a decided advantage.” She picked up her fan once again and idly looked at the carvings upon the strips of sandalwood. “She cares for him, you know.” “I would hope for more from marriage—for true happiness.” “You shall have it, my dear Edward.” She caught his hand between her own. “But not everyone is blessed with choice. Laura certainly is not.” She turned again towards the window, at the sounds of wheels upon the gravel drive. “Who is this?” He went over to the window. “Your carriage is returning. Colonel Woodruff’s carriage follows. Are our friends from Lewton Hall dining here?” “Yes! I quite forgot.” Elspeth was rising—she had several last-minute touches to put to her dress. As Edward went to the door, his sister said, “Laura has no experience yet of the consequence accorded a woman upon marriage, especially to a baronet,” she said. He turned. “She would never marry for worldly advantage.” “Yet when she experiences the consequence she gains in such a marriage, she will feel compensated for giving up her freedom!”

“Her freedom!” “I think her much at liberty.” He shook his head in incredulity and left the room.

CHAPTER 16

LAURA CAME DOWN TO THE drawing room to find the whole party gathered there. Unable to question her brother in the presence of their guests, she burned with curiosity about his mysterious visit to Plymouth. Elspeth was practising her winning ways upon young Woodruff, returned already from his visit to his Cornwall friends. “Why, Mr. Woodruff, you delight us with your presence again so soon!” she said. “The society in Cornwall lacks the charm of that in Devonshire,” he said, with a smile he fancied was rather worldly. Elspeth bowed her head. “You are very kind.” “There was nothing to keep me in Cornwall once the rats were caught,” he added. “Shame on you! You only missed our society after your rat-catching sport was over!” “’Twas an obligation, you know,” he said. Elspeth turned to delight over Miss Evalina’s attire—a white muslin gown embroidered over with tiny flowers, so cut that it gave a tempting glimpse of her high round bosom. “Does she not look charming, Edward?” The captain made the required compliment and Evalina blushed, thanking him. Mrs. Woodruff glanced at the baronet, extracting his agreement that Miss Evalina indeed looked delightful, but Jane had to gently nudge Evalina as a reminder to thank that gentleman for his compliment. Before they all proceeded into the dining hall, Mr. Woodruff found the opportunity to whisper to Elspeth, “I have a letter for you, my dear Mrs. Evans.” “There is a reply? I thank you, sir.” He did not hand her the epistle at once, perhaps wishing to avoid his mother’s interference while

prolonging the sense of subterfuge. Evalina trailed in the rear of the procession of couples. Jane, her senior, went into dinner alongside the captain, unaware of Evalina glaring at her back. For the duration of the first course, Laura was regaled with tales of Mr. Woodruff’s recent exploits in ratcatching. “Are you a champion in this noble art?” asked Laura. “Ha! Ha! I rather believe I am,” he said. “For I killed eleven and my friend only got six!” “How many did the rat-catcher get?” Mr. Woodruff mumbled an answer not intended to be fully intelligible, and Laura surmised that he was disinclined to dwell on the achievements of the professional man. “My host was very grateful, I assure you. The cook prepared a special pie in my honour, for she was tired of the thieving rodents.” “Jeremy, this is hardly fitting conversation for dinner,” said his mother. His sister Jane said, “I wonder you had time to fulfill any social obligations on your journey, Jeremy.” “Good Lord, Jane! That was the purpose of the visit!” His eyes swivelled towards the lady at the head of the table, but Mrs. Evans would not understand his hint. Evalina did her best to make a contribution to Miss Morrison’s conversation with Jeremy. Yet she could not help glancing across at the captain, seeing how perfect were his manners in addressing all his attention to his dinner partner—for surely it could be only his sense of duty causing him to never look across at Evalina once? Evalina knew not the topic of Edward and Jane’s conversation, which at first dwelt much on the dishes before them, as he recommended the cook’s specialties. They spoke next of his sister. Miss Woodruff was appreciative of Laura’s wit and admiring of her skill in drawing, and to these remarks Edward was gratified to respond. However, Jane also paid compliment to Laura’s grace and commonsense, and this well-meaning praise served to remind him of his sister’s lapse from those very standards that were the foundation of his esteem for her.

His brotherly affection was undiminished and his debt of gratitude could never be fully discharged. However, he could scarcely imagine how their old friendship, their fellowship of understanding of the world, might survive, and this caused him grief of which Miss Woodruff was naturally in ignorance. While the new dishes were set out on the cloth for the second course, the colonel looked down the long length of the table, booming, “Sir Richard, how often have you folk enough to fill this board? I’d advise you to be rid of it.” The baronet paled. “It has stood here these two hundred years and more. At this very board, Her Majesty the Queen dined.” “You received our beloved Queen, Sir Richard!” “’Twas not our present queen—God Bless Her —but Good Queen Bess, who spent the night here—an honour shown my forebears for their loyalty.” “Awfully long ago,” observed Mr. Woodruff, with his approximation of a satirical expression. “Indeed,” said Sir Richard. “History has been preserved throughout the ages at Oakmont.” “Cut it!” cried the colonel. “Cut what?” “Cut the end from the table. It can be added later should great feastings return to Oakmont.” “What a clever notion,” said Elspeth. “Military men are always so practical.” Everyone turned to the baronet, who sat stunned in his great chair. Elspeth nodded at him with a kindly encouragement. “One thing more,” said the colonel. “Once it’s shorter, the table can go across the end of the room, leaving space for dancing.” Elspeth clapped her hands. “Sir Richard, what do you say?” “Dancing was always in the Royal Room,” said the baronet stolidly. “And the Royal Room is …?” asked Elspeth, raising her pretty hands in question. What is she up to? thought Laura.

The baronet was frowning. “It is pulled down, as you know, Elspeth.” He turned to Mrs. Woodruff, adding, “It fell into disuse, and, for a time, was used as winter housing for the sheep.” “For the sheep?” she said faintly. Sir Richard nodded. “In the year of the Great Tempest of 1685, the top barn blew down, the lambs were housed there, and it became a pattern, yes.” Miss Evalina’s upper lip curled a little. She said, “The ballroom was used to house sheep?” “Well it was never called a ballroom. It was the Royal Room, for Queen Elizabeth, after she paid the family the honour of receiving her loyal subjects from the neighbourhood there. It was the only room large enough for dancing.” Young Jeremy spluttered with laughter. “Not when the sheep were in it.” The baronet looked hurt. “I do beg your pardon,” said Jeremy. Laura rescued the situation. “We understand that the room was not habitable when the lambs were brought in, as the wall on the eastern end was collapsing. Later our grandfather had it pulled down for it was not worth repairing. He was also responsible for the restoration of the house.” “It is believed to be almost exactly as it was in Queen Elizabeth’s time,” said Sir Richard, with pride. “Why not bring the place up to date?” said the colonel. “Up to date!” said Richard, in horror. “Why, yes,” Miss Evalina said. “This room could be ever so delightful, with silk curtains all along the wall there to cover up the stone.” “You are very modern in your notions, Miss Evalina,” he said, leaning away from her suspiciously, as though a changeling were in their midst. “Everyone is modern nowadays!” she said. “You could install two elegant candelabra to replace this great thing,” she said, pointing overhead to the enormous circle of iron, in which burnt a ring of unfashionably thick candles. “You clever girl!” said Elspeth. “Sir Richard, can

you not imagine it so?” “I cannot,” he said, his voice hollow. “Come now, Cousin!” Elspeth said, smiling archly. “It has taken the clever Miss Evalina to show us how old-fashioned we are.” The baronet bowed towards Evalina with the kindness that was second nature to him, yet there was a certain distance in his expression. Seeming not to see the danger, Elspeth said, “Sir Richard, you could have some portraits hung at the end of the room.” “Under the banners?” They all turned to look upon the two old tapestry pennants, their fringes trailing in tattered despondency upon the wall. “Who has such things on dining room walls nowadays?” said Elspeth. “Lady Clarydon would burst into laughter if she saw them.” “She had better not come here, if we are not good enough for her,” said the baronet. Miss Evalina giggled and her mother glared a warning. Evalina blushed and opened her fan, cooling her cheeks with it. She saw that the captain watched her and hid behind her fan for a moment, before lowering it, very slowly, until her décolletage was revealed again. His eyes moved to her bosom and back to her laughing eyes. “Countess or not, I should soon show her the door if she did not value my dear family,” said Elspeth. “However, those old things on the wall might afford her amusement.” “I had thought to have them repaired. Perhaps they should be replaced altogether,” said Richard. “Excellent!” “Well said!” “Bravo, sir!” The cries of encouragement died own and the baronet said, “Yes, I think copies would do very well—exact copies, naturally!” After dinner, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Mrs. Woodruff saw, to her annoyance, her younger daughter paying attention to the captain.

“What think you of my suggestions for the dining hall, Captain?” said Evalina. He bowed. “I have lived too long at sea to appreciate dull wood and metal around me. A sailor soon comes to value a woman’s hand in his surroundings.” A saucy reply, hinted at in her eyes, was interrupted when Laura walked past them to sit with Miss Woodruff on the sofa. When Evalina looked back to the captain, she found he had fallen into a reverie. Following his gaze, she saw that it rested upon Laura. Or is it my sister who draws his eyes? Evalina wondered. Jane looks very nice tonight; her hair becomes her in that fashion. Everyone must notice how white her throat is. In an echo of her thoughts, the captain said, “Your sister is looking very handsome tonight.” Evalina gasped a little and forced a smile to her lips. “She is lovely. Jane is the best sister I could ever have.” However, her thoughts were that Jane had dressed herself with care for him. Evalina was not the only person who marked the direction of the captain’s gaze. Her mother entered their conversation. “My daughter Jane will likely be talking to Miss Morrison about her music, Captain,” she said. “I don’t believe you have heard her play.” “No, I have not had that pleasure,” he said. At that very moment, Laura was asking Miss Woodruff to favour them with an air, and Jane moved to the piano. Laura shifted the candles on the pianoforte and sat beside her to serve as page turner. The captain gallantly moved closer to the instrument, and Miss Evalina saw there was nowhere for her to sit where she was in his line of vision. Jane captivated her audience, demonstrating more than accomplished fingering, for she had the rare talent of infusing fine feeling into her music. Her hearers were captivated, breathless almost in their attention. The candlelight picked up a glow in her complexion so that it looked creamy rather than pale. Evalina tried valiantly to enjoy Jane’s success. It had always been easy in the past to praise her older sister’s accomplishments when gentlemen seemed to

prefer her own prettiness. How she resented sharing this man’s attention for half an hour! Elspeth looked at Evalina’s expression, which seemed dangerously close to a pout. The poor girl knows not how to bear the shade for five minutes, she thought, I imagine she has taken admiration as her due, since she was on leading strings. I will ask her to sing, when Jane has finished. That will afford me some amusement. Miss Evalina sang two songs that were well applauded, but for the first time the young lady realised that the great gap between her own accomplishment and her sister’s was observed by others. Evalina’s performance was enjoyed, her sweetness gave much pleasure to her listeners, but she had not the skill that long hours of practice had given Jane, whose performance was further enhanced by her musical taste. I suppose he will marry Jane and she deserves him, Evalina thought, taking that leap of imagination so often encountered in those who love. As the baronet and Edward handed the visiting ladies into their carriage, Laura’s attention was caught by the secrecy of Mr. Woodruff’s movement as he slipped a small package, the size of a thick letter, to Elspeth. She saw how Elspeth concealed the little thing in the end of her shawl. For what reason can Mr. Woodruff be writing to Elspeth? Surely they are not on such terms as to correspond, she thought. The young man’s subterfuge lacked a respectable look. The colonel and his lady travelled home with conflicting opinions about the evening. Mrs. Woodruff had never seen signs that the baronet was actually falling in love, as yet. However, that evening, she had perceived what her husband had missed—that Evalina had somehow fallen from favour with Sir Richard. “That talk of bringing Oakmont into the nineteenth century has done the damage,” she said. “Nonsense,” said the colonel. “What man could resist my little Evvy?” He put his arm around the shoulders of his favourite and gave her a hug. “The time to bring about changes at Oakmont

would come after Evalina had secured him,” said his wife. “All will go as planned,” he said. “The baronet will soon come around to seeing that one can dwell too long in the past.” “Do you not find anything praiseworthy about Sir Richard’s pride in his family’s history, Papa?” asked Jane. “Pride is one thing. To retain inconvenient furnishings is quite another,” he said. “I never saw a gentleman so unfashionable,” said Jeremy. “His coat is a decent cut but he folds his neck cloth like … an old man.” The colonel frowned: his own cravat was tied in a manner that paid some attention to fashion, but his heir looked half-strangled in the elaborate arrangement around his neck. He looked across at his elder daughter in the dimness of the carriage. “You may well win a heart, Jane,” he said. “I doubt the captain has often heard a performance more delightful,” her mother said. “It would be convenient to have you off our hands suitably,” said the colonel. His wife nudged him with her foot. “What ails you, my dear?” he said loudly. His wife whispered, “Jane won’t like to be reminded.” “Soon her little sisters will begin to crowd the drawing room—that will remind her,” he replied. Mrs. Woodruff patted Jane’s hand. “I love to have you with me, my sweet girl.” Jane made the effort to smile. The two girls, seated one by each parent, looked at one another, with Evalina struggling to return Jane’s glance with equal affection. How patient Jane is, she thought. How can she wait with such equanimity, year after year, for what may never come to pass? Sir Richard did not return to the drawing room after seeing off his guests, but stomped off across the lawn in the gathering dusk. Edward set off after him. Elspeth lay back wearily in an armchair by the fire, playing with her lace shawl. Laura sat in a straight chair

nearby. “Elspeth, did Mr. Woodruff give you a letter just now?” asked Laura. “A letter! What an idea! He offered to attend to any errand I might have in Cornwall, so I asked him to collect my new piece of lace, which I left at home.” “He gave it to you very secretly.” “The silly boy likes to pretend we share some intrigue.” “You might show more consid—” She broke off as the door opened to admit Edward. “I thought you were walking with my cousin,” said Elspeth. “I gave it up. He was not in a temper to be cheered.” Elspeth nodded. “How he hates to be teased about his old-fashioned notions.” She yawned and closed her eyes. Laura indicated a distant corner of the long room and they left Elspeth to move there. “Edward, tell me at once,” whispered Laura. “You have learned something about Mr. Templeton.” “Richard has told you of our enquiries at Mr. Whichale’s house?” he said, in a quiet tone. “Yes, indeed. I admit, to you, that Elspeth was correct in that I may not … have heard the entire truth from Mr. Templeton. But why follow the trail to Plymouth?” There was a long pause, while Laura became increasingly uneasy. “I did not go there in search of Mr. Templeton.” He took her hand, yet could not look at her. “Laura, my dear, you are the only person in the whole district, it seems, who has seen or heard of him.” “It is very peculiar.” He was silent, and she studied his expression, seeing his acute embarrassment. “Do not speak it, Edward! How can you betray me in this way?” He began so slowly that Laura wanted to shake him. “Nevertheless, Laura … I find … I cannot believe in him.”

She jumped up and stepped away from him, speaking in a whisper still. “I might lie, but a complete stranger, your Mr. Whichale, is to be believed—because he is a gentleman?” “I know you would never engage in deliberate falsehood, Laura.” She stared at him, her struggles visible in her eyes. Her voice sank an octave and carried clear across the room. “Dare you say that you think Mr. Templeton a figment of my imagination?” Elspeth looked up. Edward rose. “Laura, I beseech you …” Elspeth cut in. “I cannot let you put Edward in the wrong, Laura. You must face the truth.” Laura turned to her. “I will not deal with you in this matter, Elspeth.” “You will find you have no choice,” said her sister, unperturbed. Laura gasped, turning from her to her brother. Then she felt a strange calm descending upon her. “Pray answer me, Edward.” Edward came to her and took her hand, his gaze never wavering, although she saw the pain in his expression. “I cannot tell you how this tears at my heart. I believe that you always spoke the truth, as you saw it. However, I have satisfied myself that … he … does not exist.” She drew her hand from his and stepped back. She was shaking her head, saying over and again, “No … no … no.” Edward glanced at Elspeth in alarm, but she merely made a gesture of impatience. Laura reached out her hands, as if to keep her balance. Edward stepped forward to take them, but she raised them in a repelling gesture and he stopped. “My dear Laura!” “I am not your dear Laura, Edward, if you will not believe me. Mr. Templeton has abandoned me, but I did not dream him into very existence. Do you not know me at all?” “I know you well, Laura, but you have not always known yourself. All has been explained to me, by one with great skill in these matters.”

“What do you say now? You believe me deluded and have discussed the matter with an outsider?” Elspeth rose and glided quickly to her side, putting her hand upon her sister’s arm. “Laura, dear, Edward has gone to great trouble to consult a physician.” Laura shook her off. “You do not deceive me, Elspeth. I understand you through and through.” She turned to Edward. “It is you who has betrayed my affection and my trust, and after so long being my friend!” She left the room, climbed swiftly up the stairs, and felt her way to her room, scarcely able to see for rage and grief.

CHAPTER 17

RISING VERY EARLY, BEFORE JONATHON was at his post, Laura left the house. Grey clouds hung low over Oakmont as she hurried into the pines. She forced her steps, one at a time up the path, pushing against the aching tiredness of her limbs. Finally she reached the summit, all but falling onto the seat, and let out a sigh; momentarily she leant her elbow on the armrest and rested her head against her hand. Her eyes closed—she escaped the blurry aching in her head by falling briefly into oblivion. As her head slipped from her hand, she heard the sound of a footstep and she started, pulled herself up straight and looked over her shoulder to see Jonathon slipping back out of sight. Laura felt as though inside a clear carapace. Even as it protected her, it cut her off from all sensation, so that the lovely vista held little power to refresh her. She wearily registered that clouds were massing on the horizon, spreading a dull blanket over the peaks, while in the field below, sheep huddled together under a clump of trees. Only slowly did she become aware that her skirt whipped about her ankles, and her scarf flew across her neck, stroking her face. She pulled her velvet cap low, feeling its soft comfort around her ears. It’s windy, thought Laura. Like that day by the sea at Lyme. How wild the ocean became, under those lowering clouds. I can almost taste the salt still. The sun darted through the clouds for a moment. How the waves lit up! As though she was still there, Laura could see the sparkling trail of light, which disappeared when she looked back to the east. I viewed it from the wrong angle to see the light reflections. She closed her eyes, recalling the glittering trail on the sea. What had followed? Oh, yes, the sound of his voice—it had thrilled her to the core of her being.

Mr. Templeton had said something about that phenomenon of the light, about the direction from which they looked, influencing what they saw. Vaguely she thought this wisdom might help her to find a key to the puzzle. She had slept so little the previous night that she could not tease it out. She drifted almost into sleep until suddenly realising her mistake. If he was not real, then it was she who dreamed him into being, and she who placed the words in his mouth. She could not think it out for the dull aching of her temples. The sound of a footfall made her groan— Jonathon would drive her madder still. Turning her head, she saw Richard there, emerging from the pines; now resting his hand on the back of the seat, taking off his hat so that his wispy hair flew about. “Dear Laura,” he said. “May I sit with you?” “If you do not fear contagion by my madness.” He sat by her and took her hand, holding it in both of his. “It is not madness, Laura, merely an error.” “My brother and sister do not share that kind interpretation.” “They cannot understand you, Cousin, as I do.” She gestured with her free hand. “I want to believe that life will go on as before, that after this momentary setback, all will be as it always was. Yet I will never be as I was.” He was listening, nodding slowly, paying attention to her every word. “You must feel the loss deeply, Laura.” She wondered at the way he so often understood her, yet he often surprised her when he did. She had never truly valued him. “I have lost not only Mr. Templeton, but the friendship I always enjoyed with my brother.” “Nay, never lost. He will always love you and be your friend.” “He has lost respect for my … abilities. I hardly care for an affection that is four parts habit and one of pity.” “Is that so deficient? Can we always secure the depth of regard that we desire? Edward and Elspeth have

not known enough of loneliness to understand you, dear Cousin.” She felt a surge of fear. “Richard, don’t speak of it!” She could not bear up if all was put into words. “I think it best, Laura. Why keep our feelings hidden from the few who understand them?” Making as if to draw her hand from both of his, from the comfort of his gloved fingers, she could not do it, only observed the way his fingers began to intertwine with hers, and felt the solace of it. After a little pause, he said, “I recall the occasion of your birth, Laura. I was in the solar, playing with my mother’s silks and buttons, while she read to me. My father came in with a letter in his hand. He said that his brother’s wife was safely delivered of a girl, both in good health—or some such words. Thanks be to God, Mother said, as she indeed found several occasions to say daily. She held a small sweet pastry in her fingers and she paused just so …” He kept one hand on hers while demonstrating with the other the dainty manner in which his late mother had held the sweetmeat. “I remember that habit,” said Laura. “She managed to suggest that she would never be so base as to eat it.” He chuckled and returned to the story. “What I particularly remember is my mother’s response when my father said that your name would be Laura. She said that the mother and grandmother were both named Elspeth. Why call the child Laura? How very peculiar, she thought it!” Sir Richard shook Laura’s hand a little when she did not respond. She could not laugh, could not speak. That core of strength inside her, which always held her heart and all her feelings tightly in place, was slipping away. There was nothing within which to encase her feelings, nothing to hold onto for balance, as though she turned to water. Her resolve, ever hard and true, was cracking, falling into pieces, washing away, as though over a precipice. She was left with nothing to dam her feelings, nothing with which

to wall up her pain. Laura felt one of Sir Richard’s hands drawing away from hers, felt his arm around her shoulders. She was leaning against him, the velvet of her cap pressed against his temple, her forehead against his cheek. He released her hand to fumble for his handkerchief, which he dabbed on her cheeks until she took it from him, holding it to her eyes, while he held her to him and she cried. The first drops of rain began to fall and she sat up, drawing her hand from his. “Laura, whatever you need of me, whatever is required, I will do for you—nothing less.” She could not bear to speak of it, so could not thank him for this gift. He drew her arm into his, held it firmly against his side and, in the rain, they descended the path to the house. At the bottom of the path, she said, “Will you post a letter for me?” She saw how he hesitated, how torn he was between his undertaking to hand Laura’s letters to her sister and the vow he had just made. “It will contain no mention of …” “Nay, tell me nothing. I trust you completely,” he said. He took out his keys and unlocked the littleused side door to the house, so that Laura was able to pass to the side staircase and thence to her room without observation. She changed into her night attire and slipped back into bed. Laura fell soundly asleep, only waking in time to see the afternoon sun beginning to creep in at her window, lighting up the room and underlying the silence in the old house. She had slept through the rain, through the activities that had occupied the household. In nightdress and shawl, she sat at the table near the window, drew her little desk to her and opened it. She took out her sketchbook— determined now to study the picture of Mr. Woodruff rising from the Hollow. Something of the young man’s essence was captured in the drawing. Was that how she truly saw him as he emerged? Why did she confuse him then with Mr. Templeton? Laura tore the picture from the book, screwed it up and pushed it into an empty pigeonhole of the

desk. Her hands shook a little as she opened her ink bottle and prepared her pen to write a letter. A momentary shadow fell across her paper and she looked out at the clouds racing across the sky. She waited a moment, calming herself before she picked up the pen. Laura wished to write to her Aunt Fielding in such a way as to obtain the information she required without taking advantage of Richard’s trust. She wrote lightly and amusingly of those seaside events that could neither cause alarm nor raise expectations. She dwelt briefly on Mrs. Gurdon’s illness and her hopes for the lady’s recovery, adding a postscript:

Dear Aunt, pray give my respects to Mrs. Gurdon and thank her for the delightful conversation we enjoyed in her sitting room in the inn at Lyme. I would be happy to hear of all her comments —she amuses me so with her whimsy.

From staying with her aunt, Laura knew that Mrs. Fielding paid frequent morning visits to Mrs. Gurdon, usually in the absence of their husbands. She folded over the bottom of the page so that the postscript lay concealed and folded the top part of the letter over it. The ends were then folded and the last flap tucked in. Red trickles of wax fell upon the edge of the sheet and the folded part beneath it, and she pressed into it the Morrison seal that lay upon the table. There came the low rumbling of carriage wheels upon the gravel drive. Peering from the side of the window, she was just able to see her sister’s chaise turning in at the gate. Their small family party gathered for dinner at Sir Richard’s end of the table, as was their habit when no visitors joined them. The ladies sat to either side of the baronet, and Edward beside Elspeth, who seemed to have recovered from her headache. She gave them an animated account of her visit to the vicarage, for the family there had just returned from a visit to Bath. “Mrs. Johnson is in fine form, for a wonder. She recovered from the last increase in her family.” “Poor lady,” said Sir Richard. “Mrs. Johnson is not sorry for herself. She invites Laura to come and see the little creature, which is to come home tomorrow from fostering. Ten months of age and a … girl, I think.” “That is something to anticipate,” said Laura. “How I should have loved a babe of my own!” Elspeth lightly stroked her flat stomach. “However, it was not to be.” “It is hardly too late, Elspeth,” said Edward. “You are but three and twenty.” Elspeth sighed. “I know not that I shall ever marry again.” She gazed for inspiration at the light shining in through the stained-glass panels in the window. “I may never know the joys of motherhood.” She let her hearers put their own interpretations upon this sad prophecy.

“How glum you all look!” she cried. “You have not yet heard all my news, for I discussed with Mrs. Johnson my new gown. It is to be cut in the very latest mode, after a pattern sent me by Lady Clarydon.” “The wondrous Lady Clarydon!” cried Sir Richard, happily. Elspeth looked at him suspiciously; then dismissed her fear of irony. Sir Richard was never ironical. “Indeed she is wondrous, dear Richard,” she said. “I wish you to know her. Do not look so fearful! She will be shortly passing this way to visit her uncle and aunt.” “Does her ladyship spend any time in the company of her husband?” said Laura. “Ha! Ha! She is the picture of devotion—from time to time.” Sir Richard frowned. “’Tis not right, Elspeth, for husband and wife to spend so much time apart. I cannot conceive of any cause for them to be separated at all.” Elspeth looked at him with sugary fondness. “If she were married to you, dear Cousin, that rule would very likely apply. However, his lordship lives for his sport and … a myriad other interests that cannot be expected to seize the interest of his lady.” “Her duty is with her husband,” Sir Richard stolidly continued. “The countess has fulfilled her primary obligation in producing two sturdy little sons. She is to be seen arriving on his lordship’s arm at all of the more important parties in London, during the Season.” “I don’t like it.” The captain laughed. “It would not suit you or me, Cousin, to be parted so much from the one who provides the comfort of a home. Yet these great people often live by a different rule. One hears no particular evil of Lady Clarydon, while the same cannot always be said of her husband.” “A lady will always attract some unpleasant talk if she spends more time away from her husband than with him.” “Many a man turns a blind eye when it suits him,” muttered Edward. “His lordship is not always appreciative of her ladyship,” cried Elspeth, a little crossly. “When you meet

her, Richard, you will be perplexed to understand the cause.” “When I meet her, Elspeth?” “Indeed, yes, for the countess has given me notice that she will call in here, at Oakmont. She is everything delightful and condescending.” Sir Richard shook his head and tutted. Elspeth said, “Your relations will be more careful of your happiness than Lady Clarydon’s were.” She looked from Sir Richard to Laura. “I intend to see you content in matrimony.” “I … I don’t wish for you to make such arrangements on my behalf,” Sir Richard said. Elspeth’s laugh tinkled sweetly, but Laura caught a brief glimpse of complicity between her and Edward. What now? she thought. Later, in the gloom of the gallery, Laura passed her letter privately to her cousin to post.

CHAPTER 18

TWO DAYS WENT BY IN which Laura could not see any member of her family without receiving a loving smile, a kindly word, and more indulgent looks than she could well stomach. She began to long for a return of Edward’s saturnine humour or a taste of Elspeth’s vinegar to spice the new sweetness of her existence. Even Sir Richard excelled himself, seemingly unable to understand that his soulful looks, intended to reassure her of his sympathy, were an uncomfortable reminder of her humiliation.

Thursday 25th September How like a knight of old Richard is! I have never spared a thought for the plight of the lady to whom a knight would devote his chaste and gallant rapture. How I pity her now, for it is no mean thing to put

up with being loved! The only moments of sanity I experience are when I am alone or when I can escape to Lewton Hall, with Jonathon left to kick his heels in the kitchen there. Today I went to put the finishing touches upon Miss Evalina’s portrait. Edward came too and I took no joy in his company for the feeling that I was under his guard. We walked in the park with the two Miss Woodruffs. I know not

how, but we became separated and I gladly left my brother and Miss Evalina in the woods. There was a melancholy moment when I accompanied Miss Woodruff to the village. She wished to farewell little Susan, her favourite orphan. The child was perched among the carter’s sacks of potatoes, to be delivered at the end of the day to a recipient whom she has never seen. I could scarce bear to look at

her, dressed in her new frock, her tiny arms stretched out to her foster mother. At the last, that good woman cried as heartily as the child herself. I was most unaccountably touched. While she was sorry to see little Susan leave, I believe Miss Woodruff was less affected than I, and expressed a belief that all would work out well for the child in her new home. She set about distracting

me in such an unobtrusive manner that she was an ideal companion. I am in even less of a humour than usual for friendship with one who wishes to confide all her secrets and learn all of mine. She maintains a dignified reserve, while kindly wishing others to be at ease. After dinner, while Elspeth sewed and Edward read a book, I told Richard about little Susan’s departure and he looked at

me mournfully, so like a wretched spaniel that I felt inclined to slap him. Then for some fool reason I felt close to tears. He leapt up at once and knelt beside my chair, begging forgiveness for his imagined wrongdoing. “Dear, dear Richard,” said Elspeth. Edward roused himself from his book to say, “What a good fellow you are, to be sure! No one thinks you meant any ill to my sister.”

They all three beamed at one another and tried to include me in their display of mutual affection, but I retained the satisfaction of being the only cross person in the room. I am all out of patience with her, with him, with everyone! It is two weeks and two days since I saw Mr. Templeton —or imagined it so. How these days have crawled by —did I meet him but three times? Did I meet

him at all?

For much of the night it rained heavily. In the morning the garden was too wet for walking, and Laura stayed in her room, reading by the window. She heard the footsteps of someone on the flagged terrace below and looked out. Her brother was walking up and down along the side of the house, in that small area dry enough to preserve his wellpolished top boots. She found herself smiling at the comical view of just the top of his hat and his broad shoulders, with his boots appearing one after the other in front. It was not only the peculiar perspective that amused her, for his walking had an oddly purposeful air. Something is different about him, she thought. Oh, I see! She watched him for a few moments; then heard the door open. Elspeth came in. “What are you looking at, Laura?” she said. Laura beckoned her. Elspeth looked out and was struck immediately by what had excited her sister. “Our brother is walking without his stick! How many turns has he taken?” “I think three or four at least.” “I hope he does not over-exert himself.” “I doubt it. This past week he has been forever out walking alone—no doubt discarding his cane when he was not observed.” Elspeth clapped her hands. “This secrecy of Edward’s is at one with his determined independence.” “Yes.” Elspeth put her arm around her sister’s waist. “We will not be disturbed by little secrets such as this.” She drew Laura’s head down to her and kissed her cheek. “It has taken your unhappy experience at Lyme to make us, all four, all in all to one another, as we always were.” “Four?” “Our cousin Richard is one of our happy quartet.” Elspeth stroked her sister’s cheek and Laura pulled away. Her sister continued, “It is my dearest wish and

Edward’s, that Richard will be not only cousin, but brother!” Laura removed the soft hand that lay upon her neck but Elspeth grasped her hand. Laura jerked herself away. “Make us all happy, dearest Sister!” said Elspeth. “Put all this terrible anxiety from our minds!” “Anxiety?” “Did you not read the pamphlet, Laura? It seems you are embarked upon an unhappy career of selfdeception.” Elspeth insinuated her arm about Laura again and whispered, “Only a day or two since, you were avowing that … a certain gentleman … may have been done away with! Now, though you may not be ready to admit it, you begin to see the truth.” Laura sharply pushed Elspeth back at arm’s length. “This is the motive of your new-found kindness for me! You are deceived, Elspeth, if you think that marrying Richard can make me happy.” “Happiness in marriage is much overrated, Laura. The husband has his occupations and the wife hers.” She looked at her sister shrewdly. “It is the unhappy truth that spinsters are regarded as of not much use in the world. They have missed their true role as helpmate for a husband. On reflection, I understand why this failure is enough to cause disorder in the mind.” “What of men in the same predicament? Are they also gone mad for want of a wife?” “The sages do not speak of them.” “How interesting!” “Never mind men, my dear. The remedy is within your reach. You must marry Richard.” “No.” “I say you must or I cannot answer for the alternative!” Laura turned away from her. Elspeth walked about the room, admiring herself in the mirror as she passed it. She noticed that an unattractive firmness had taken over her looks, and softened her expression. “Happiness does not require any great passion on either side. In fact, the scholars do teach us that an excess of passion in a woman can lead to madness.”

“We go mad with passion and without it, according to you.” “How you twist my words, Laura. I meant that the passions are the enemy of Woman: we have not the constitution to withstand them. Marry Richard! There is no risk there.” Elspeth sat on the edge of the bed with her feet upon the counterpane, admiring the effect of the lacey frills of her wrap spreading white foam across the white bed. Laura sat silent and withdrawn in her chair. “When you are married, you will no longer be under the supervision of your relations. You will look back with amazement upon your present servitude.” Laura looked up sharply. “Marriage can be a more bitter servitude, Elspeth.” “That would not be the case with Richard. You will bend him to your will.” Laura did not reply. Elspeth pulled out a small booklet, which had been concealed in her sash. She dropped it on the bed, saying, “I will leave you now.” The door closed and Laura went over to the bed to read the title: Hysteric Disorders of the Female Mind by Dr Albert Mellbone. Touching it only with a finger, she flicked it to the floor and kicked it across the room. She walked back to the window. In the meadow below, she could see Sir Richard walking across to meet his steward, who had come in by the side gate. They stood not far from where Mr. Woodruff had stood when he emerged from the Hollow. Mr. Woodruff had his back to me, she thought. I drew him the way he appeared to me as he turned. At what moment did I realise who he was? The picture was drawn so soon after the incident—that may tell me why I thought he was Mr. Templeton. Laura sat at the table, every movement seeming to be of utmost importance. She took out her key, turned it in the lock and slowly opened the lid. In the act of reaching into the little space, her hand froze. The sketch that had been teasing her with its presence, which she had lately screwed into a ball, was missing. The small shelf was empty. Slowly, not believing it, she searched every drawer

and shelf of the desk. The sketch was gone. Laura jumped up and hurried over to the fireplace. She picked up the poker and thrust it into the ashes remaining from the evening before. They crumbled to the consistency of sand so that she could not tell if a paper had been recently burned there. She had not done so herself—she was certain. Someone has opened my desk, she thought. Was it locked this morning—yes, certainly, for here are the keys … my journal! She slid open the secret drawer and took out the book, testing the brass catch—there was a trick to opening it, but another could solve it with patience. But her desk? Could someone have tampered with it? Laura carefully turned the desk around on the table so that the light fell upon it from the window. She could see no scratches there. The spare key was carefully concealed in her bedroom at St Austell. It was still in its hiding spot when she last left the place, a month before, she was sure. She heard a rushing sound in her ears, felt her heart bounding in fright. I am mad, she thought. I do not recall even moving that sketch. If it were not for my other errors, I would be quite sure. She looked vacantly around the room. Mr. Templeton does not exist, she thought. I have created him and believed in him. Even more, I thought him less false than anyone I have ever known. Her lips felt bloodless, her temples buzzed. Dizzy, she leant her forehead against the cold glass. She heard a groaning sound, coming it seemed from her own lips, as she staggered to the bed and fell, face forward upon it, her hands to her head.

CHAPTER 19

Friday 26th September I feel such numbness in my head, distressed beyond telling by the disappearance of my sketch. Sarah fetched my breakfast for I was not ready to face my family. For what motive would a person enter my room and steal the drawing? Who even knew of its existence? Why would that sneaking

thief go through my desk in hope of finding something of value and choose that screwed up piece of paper? I would not have discarded it myself and forgotten. Surely? My last hope for belief in my own sanity lies in hearing from my Aunt Fielding that Mrs. Gurdon has recovered and recalls introducing Mr. Templeton to me. Meanwhile, it will refresh me to visit the Johnson household

and put my worries aside for an innocent diversion.

SIR RICHARD HAD DECIDED TO accompany the ladies to the viewing of the smallest Johnson, and they walked, for the vicarage was scarcely half a mile away. Their visit reached its climax when a servant carried in little Harriet and placed her in her mother’s lap. A sturdy mite, the babe thrust out her plump little arms towards the visitors, with every expectation of a warm reception. The proud mama held the child standing up, straightened her dress with one hand and turned her slightly side-on the better to admire her herself. While Sir Richard and Elspeth were full of praise, Laura was unable to speak at first. In her mind’s eye, she could not rid herself of the picture of little Susan, dirty and discarded. She had felt pity for Susan, yet had not reached out to touch her, as Jane Woodruff had done. Now there was a sensation along her arms, as though her skin ached with the desire to touch this pampered child. “She is beautiful, Mrs. Johnson,” she said. “God is very good to me.” The mother paused. “Would you like to hold her?” “May I?’ The servant lifted the babe from her mistress’s lap and deposited her on Laura’s. The child pulled herself upright, put her little arms around Laura’s neck and laughed into her face. Sir Richard moved his chair close to Laura’s and reached out to touch the baby’s hand, which at once curled around his finger. He said some baby nonsense to make her laugh again. Elspeth regarded the domestic scene with a certain pleasure until she saw Mrs. Johnson’s eyes on her, and adopted an obvious air of nonchalance. Their eyes met in complicity. At that moment, Laura was aware of her

cousin’s closeness, of his face not twelve inches from her own. Raising her eyes, Laura saw the interest she and Sir Richard provoked in the other ladies, and at once relinquished the babe to the nurse. Mrs. Evans hummed a lullaby all the way to the manor house, frequently squeezing Laura’s arm against her side. As they entered the hall, Sir Richard picked up the letters and leafed through them. “A letter for you, Laura!” He handed it to her before Elspeth had a chance to react. Laura turned it over, reading the direction, and caught her breath. “Aunt Fielding!” “I do not wish you to hold unsupervised correspondence at this time, dear Laura,” said Elspeth, looking suspiciously at the baronet. “You will allow me a chance to read it, Laura?” Laura smiled in a way that hinted at consent and put the letter in her coat pocket. Elspeth hesitated, then began to glide upstairs. “Come with me, my love.” When her sister turned at the landing, Laura slipped outside, just before the footman shut the great door. Fingering the concealed letter, she went quickly around the corner of the house and into the forest. She stopped and looked back, saw that no one was following her, and took out the letter. It was thinner than those she was accustomed to receive from her aunt. Her hands trembled as she began to open it. No … not yet. I must go to the top of the hill, where Elspeth cannot reach me, she thought. She reached the summit quickly, sat on the seat, and, still catching her breath, slipped her finger under the seal, breaking it. She unfolded the letter, written on one sheet, which formed the envelope. It was very short and a chill moved along her arms when she knew the reason.

Thursday 25th September My darling Laura, I have suffered a bitter blow. Mrs. Gurdon, my dearest friend, has this morning passed into the hands of her Maker. I was not vouchsafed the opportunity to say my goodbyes. Your uncle took me to see her and we learned the sad news before we entered the house, as the footman was plaiting the black bands upon the knocker. The

poor lady was very ill in Lyme, as you know, and expressed a desire to come home. She was carried along in gentle stages, only reaching her home yesterday. Mrs. Gurdon had at least the comfort of seeing her husband’s face last of all, before she fell into a seizure and never again opened her eyes. You would have pitied Mr. Gurdon if you could have seen him today. Poor gentleman,

even in his grief he would not let us leave without speaking a few words to me. Pray for her and for the solace that only Our Saviour can deliver to her family and her friends. I close now as your uncle’s agent is leaving for Devonshire on business and can deliver this letter for me with all speed. Your loving aunt, M. Fielding

Laura sat unseeing and unfeeling for a few moments. The

one person who may have been able to prove the existence of Mr. Templeton was, against all chance, no more. The weight of sadness slowly spread through her, a heaviness in her bosom, an ache in her throat and darkness in her mind. The view before her seemed foreign. She shivered. I am a stranger here, she thought. I look at this familiar scene as through glass. In the distance, the fields and woods seemed blurred, only the rocky prominence still stood in jagged clarity. She put her hands to her head. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a servant’s livery—Jonathon! She turned and he was gone. As though her ears were blocked, she heard dimly the sounds of his hurried footsteps. I have not spared a thought for my aunt’s loss, she thought. I will pray God to aid her. I pray God to aid me. The chill of the day slowly crept into her, and she felt colder and colder. At last she could see the view no more, even the trees about her seemed shadowy, as her tears cloaked the ground about her. She leapt up and turned to the opening of the path, to find the tumbling mist following her, falling down the hill around her feet. Halfway down the path, she met her cousin. “Laura! Why did you not come in sooner?” “How did you know?” “Jonathon told me where you were. You know the mist falls suddenly here.” “Oh!” She looked around, as the mist rising around their legs, rolled down the hill. “I thought … I thought it in my mind.” “Nay—you are just distracted.” He squeezed her hand and drew it into his elbow and began to lead her down. “Bad news, Laura?” “Mrs. Gurdon is no more.” Sir Richard patted her hand. “Had you hoped for news of …?” She leant her head towards him. “I hung on to a thread, Richard. I have been greatly in error, and know not what is to become of me.” “Nay—it is not so bad as that.”

“I found something missing from my desk— which I always keep locked.” “What has been taken?” “Only a sketch. I wanted to look at it again and it is gone!” “Perhaps you discarded it or left it somewhere.” “I never would have left it for another to find. Perhaps I burnt it.” He sensed her mounting fear. “No ill will befall you, Laura.” “How can you promise that, Richard?” “Through the recommended prescription, my dear … marriage. I will never abandon you or send you away.” She laughed a little—mirthless and embarrassed. “That is too much sacrifice altogether. You would tie yourself to me from a sense of chivalry?” “Think you that I have nothing to gain?” The clammy chill of the mist thickened around them, as they stood facing each other, silent for a moment. He took her hand. “I can be happy as your husband, Laura. We know each other very well.” He grimaced in selfdeprecation. “We take little risk of unhappiness.” “You are too good to me, Richard.” “Laura,” he said, “you are not permanently … ill, and if you did prove to be so—well, we would face it together.” Together, she thought. Sir Richard looked at the damp, spongy grass. “I would kneel to you, Laura, but …” “Do not be so silly,” she said. “Then imagine it so, dearest Laura.” A look of utter solemnity came over his features. “Laura—loveliest of women—will you do me the great honour of consenting to be my wife?” Laura looked at him, his face more dear than foolish these days. She glanced towards the house where her sister awaited her. Perhaps she would crouch in wait for all the rest of Laura’s life. Perhaps I will descend into madness altogether, she thought, and pass all the years to come in the company of lunatics.

The alternative arose before her of an eligible establishment, a kindly husband and the chance to hold her own child in her arms. “Yes,” she said. “Yes?” He reached out his arms as if to enfold her. Fear leapt up. “Pray let me think, Richard.” “Take all the time you need. You are tied to nothing, dear Laura. Only I am tied to my promise.” “That is too much, Richard.” “No, no, you need a little time to be used to the idea and you will see its blessings as I do.” He offered her his arm again and they entered the house.

CHAPTER 20

MRS. JOHNSON ENTERTAINED ANOTHER CALLER after the baronet left with his cousins. Mrs. Woodruff was denied a glimpse of little Harriet, asleep after the earlier excitement, but was favoured instead with the tale of how the baronet leant close over Miss Morrison while they admired the babe. “Of course, we have long expected this match in the district.” “How very interesting!” said Mrs. Woodruff. Mrs. Johnson leant forward to confide, “I always suspected his heart was taken, for naturally he could have married any young lady hereabouts.” Mrs. Woodruff could not be expected to be pleased with this statement but chose to disregard it, saying only, “Miss Morrison must be all of thirty!” “As one ages, one becomes less romantic in one’s views, don’t you think?” “Indeed,” said Mrs. Woodruff. “I hope they will be very happy.” “There is no greater recipe for marital happiness than obliging one’s family.” A little frown of distaste crossed the lady’s face. “Passionate attachment is not the best foundation for matrimony.” Mrs. Woodruff made a hollow little sound of polite laughter. “Oh, yes! Romanticism is nothing but nonsense!” She made haste to finish her tea. Mrs. Woodruff went home to scold her daughters on their inability to snare a lonely, bumbling bachelor, while his gawkish old spinster of a cousin snatched him up by the simple expedient of gurgling over a baby. As had happened before, the young ladies did not take kindly to this chastisement.

Miss Evalina declared, with some justice, that she had done her very best to charm the baronet into loving her. “Time has stood still for me—it was torture holding onto his arm and gazing at him prettily while he bored me to distraction!” “Sir Richard is the foremost gentleman in the neighbourhood.” “He is a dolt and blockhead. I am very glad he will marry someone else.” “Take your hands off your hips, girl! How dare you defy your mother!” The girl altered her disrespectful posture, but did not change her point of view. “I might have married him before …” Evalina paused, blushing. “Before what?” “I … at first I thought him only shy. I thought I could make him fashionable.” Her sister Jane could not stifle her laughter. “He is too much a fool!” Evalina burst into tears, spun on her heel and left the room. Mrs. Woodruff fell back in her chair, red-faced with shock. Jane ran over to her mother, knelt at her feet and began to fan her. “Such disrespect from my own daughter! Your father has set his heart upon her marrying him.” “Dear Mama, did you not say Sir Richard seemed likely to marry Miss Morrison instead?” “But if he should offer for Evalina, Jane? What then?” “If Evalina is determined not to have him …” “I will not force her, but is it asking so much that she oblige her parents in this one matter? Oh, she is merely in a pet because I scolded her.” “Perhaps Sir Richard would be happier with his cousin, and she with him. Evalina is very young still.” “As you are not, Jane!” “It may be that Evvy will marry before me—what else is to be done? I cannot always stand in her way.” “You were admired when you played the

pianoforte at Oakmont. Perhaps …” her voice trailed off. “Mama, do not take that path, I beg you.” “Do you enjoy seeing your younger sister take all the beaux? If Evalina marries first, our acquaintances will think we have given up all hope.” “Let them think so. I have not given up hope; and I do not begrudge my sister her admirers.” “Are you determined to disoblige me, still?” “Nothing has altered, dearest Mama. I will never marry without your approval and Papa’s, but I beg you not to coerce me to marry against my will.” “Go! Go! I do not want to look at you!” Jane left the room, and was shortly to be seen in coat and bonnet, walking out towards the little wood of chestnuts at the side of the garden. Her mother sat for some time in a cheerless mood. The sounds of play roused Mrs. Woodruff at last and she went to the window to watch her three younger children playing at cup and ball on the lawn with their governess. Little Robert saw her first and missed his ball, which fell to his feet. He waved and his sisters stopped their game, all looking uncertain at the sight of their very solemn mama at the window. The governess looked nervous, perhaps fearful that she had somehow displeased her employer. Mrs. Woodruff, whose thoughts had been far from them, suddenly noticed their concern and smiled, blowing kisses to the little ones. From the sight of a hat appearing to bounce along the top of the hedge, the lady saw that a gentleman was riding up the drive and she went hastily back to her chair to compose herself with her work. What if it were the baronet, come in the hope of seeing Evalina? The visit could hardly be less timely, for Evalina would either hide herself all day with the sulks or appear with red eyes. Despite her agitation, Mrs. Woodruff presented a calm and complacent picture when the servant opened the door to announce Captain Morrison. To the captain’s queries after her family, the lady reported that her husband was in the town, her elder daughter out walking and Evalina unwell. The captain enquired most kindly after Miss Evalina, showing such a gentlemanlike concern for the young lady’s health that Mrs.

Woodruff felt very well-disposed towards him. Through the long window, she spotted a glimpse of Jane’s grey cape and was able to work out her direction. “I see Jane has taken the longer path through the wood. That little gate on the other side of the lawn leads into a shorter way. It joins with the other path in a hundred yards.” The captain accepted this information with a polite interest that made her wonder at his denseness. “You may wish my daughter to show you the plantation—there is a grove of young trees on the far side of the wood.” Light penetrated her visitor’s mind at last; he took the hint, leaving through the door she opened for him. She moved back a little from the glass to watch unobserved, as the captain raised his hat to the governess, dawdling to call some advice to the children on their sport. The little boy handed the captain his toy and the captain obliged by missing the ball entirely to the great glee of the little ones. “Hurry yourself, sir, or you will miss Jane entirely!” Mrs. Woodruff murmured. At last the captain passed through the little gate and she watched as he walked around the turn in the path and out of sight. The next moment, one of the children cried out, “Evvy! Evalina! Look at me!” Mrs. Woodruff was astonished to see her second daughter run across the lawn, ignoring her little sister altogether, to pass through the gate and hurry as far as the turn in the path, where she paused for a moment before she, too, disappeared. Mrs. Woodruff considered following Evalina, but dismissed the idea at once. Not only was she quite incapable of catching her, but the picture that arose in her mind of one Woodruff female after another chasing the captain, or each other, through the woods, deterred her. The captain slowed his pace, as he contemplated the meaning of Mrs. Woodruff sending him to view the plantation with Jane. Did I overdo my praise of Miss Woodruff’s pianoforte performance? he thought. I have not paid her any great attention, surely? He felt a little

ashamed now, of his motives for that attention. He heard a sound behind him, the cracking of a small twig, and stopped. Silence filled the woods as he listened for another sound, before slowly turning to see who followed him. At the turn in the path she stood, with flushed cheeks, her dusky curls spilling from the sides of her straw bonnet. “Oh, you are here, Captain Morrison!” Evalina said, half-breathless, half-laughing. “Indeed it is I, Miss Woodruff,” he replied. Deliberately, he placed his stick beneath the remnant of his arm, and swept off his hat, bowing low. He straightened and she laughed still, then opened her hands, in their pale blue gloves, to let fall two small pieces of stick. Edward looked at them significantly and then at her, and she stopped laughing. Walking slowly back to her, he stood a foot away, while she looked up at him, the sparkle in her fine black eyes fading into seriousness. He picked up her small, gloved hand, found it trembling and pressed it to his lips. He did not let it go, but held it against his chest, encased in his. He could not bear to let it go. If he did so, Evalina would fade before his eyes, her liveliness melt into shadow, her warm beauty cool, her passion turn into a tease. She would prove to be an apparition—a product of his tortured hopes. Am I mad? he thought. How can she love me? Yet her dark eyes were alive with a passion she could not assume and he could not misread. His very blood responded with a jolt of urgency. “Evalina … Evalina … Evalina,” he said. He let out a laugh, cut off, and turned his head away, but she had seen the brief moment of doubt. Evalina wriggled her fingers so that he relaxed his hold and she pressed her hand flat against his chest. Her fingers explored the hardness of his chest, sliding along towards his left shoulder. How she read his fears—and she was but a girl! He took her hand again. “I loved you the moment I saw you,” he said. In truth he had wanted rather than loved, but that was then.

“You looked so cross,” she said. “Forgive me.” “I knew how I appeared—so inconsiderate of your feelings in staring.” “All the world is thus. And I have had enough of the world’s pity.” “Then I shall give you none.” They looked at one another. Humour lit his eyes. “What will you give me instead?” “Everything else.” Evalina wanted to laugh, to turn it into a joke, but solemnity overwhelmed them both. She looked at his mouth: it was serious. In the clear green of his eyes, she saw that here was an entire person of whom she knew almost nothing. She leant towards him, raising her face to him, watching his mouth, moving as though towards a kiss. He glanced quickly away up the path. “I must first speak to your father,” he said. “Why must you?” A little temper flared. “This is too old-fashioned of you altogether.” He gestured to the path and they began to walk. “I must because I am not what he has in mind for you, his favourite child.” “Jeremy is his favourite child, of course.” “Jeremy is favoured because he is the eldest son and his heir. You are his favourite, not as a matter of course, but because you are as you are.” “And what am I?” He looked at her upturned face. “Bewitching.” She was satisfied. “Papa admires you tremendously. He read out every word about you from the newspaper, long before he thought he might meet you.” “He praised me as a soldier does and would have praised a private with the same warmth—but never given him his daughter. Pray trust me … dearest Evalina.” They walked on, chancing to take quite the wrong direction, and failed to meet Miss Woodruff, who returned to the house alone.

CHAPTER 21

ON THE EVENING OF THE next day, Sir Richard sat in solitary state in the dining hall, looking into the shadowy room. He did not enjoy his port half so well alone, and wondered where Edward could have gone. It was pleasant to think of Laura, awaiting him in the solar or drawing room every evening from now on. He was not fond of travel, and, as things stood nowadays, she would cling to home, needing the protection of her husband and his position to shield her from the dangers that threatened her sanity. Safe within the walls of Oakmont, she could draw to her heart’s content and take her daily walk in the pines. Perhaps he would walk with her for it would not do for Laura to be overtaken by melancholy alone upon the hill! She might have a friend such as Miss Woodruff calling on her. He recalled those moments when Laura held Mrs. Johnson’s babe and they doted upon it together, and raised his glass to the banners. Behind him, Michael rolled his eyes ever so slightly. At least there were no ghostly visitations when his master was at home, but sometimes the baronet seemed as peculiar as Miss Morrison. For a moment Michael pictured the two married, as gossip predicted below stairs in every house in the district. He imagined their children, overgrown scrawny objects, inheriting all their parents’ worst features and taking some of the gloss off Michael’s status among his peers. Despite his fondness for Miss Morrison, he hoped that Sir Richard would choose the lovely Miss Evalina Woodruff. Yet she seems the type who would be always ringing the bell, he thought. Michael’s musings were interrupted as Sir Richard rose and thanked him kindly for his attendance, as he always did, so that Michael was filled with remorse for his disrespectful thoughts.

Passing through the gallery, Sir Richard met the captain, just returned. “Edward, wherever have you been?” he asked. “I called upon the Woodruffs and they asked me to dine with them.” “You are in uniform—where is your gold lace?” “I may not wear full uniform except on the most formal occasions, as you know, Cousin.” “Miss Evalina would tell no tales. Was she much taken with your medals?” Edward looked at him oddly. “Why think you of her first, Richard?” “I think Miss Evalina would fancy a military man, as many ladies do.” Edward laughed—he could not help himself. “Perhaps she was taken with something in my appearance,” he said. “You are a handsome fellow! Now, I imagine a man who wanted to win the eldest Miss Woodruff must display his perfections in less worldly ways!” The baronet moved towards the drawing-room door. “Wait a moment, Richard,” said Edward. “Do you think that I might want to marry Miss Woodruff?” “Nay, Edward. Why do you make so much of everything that I say?” “Richard, I am very much afraid you are thinking of Miss Evalina for yourself.” “Miss Evalina!” said Sir Richard. “I never cared for her, nor she for me. Her parents may have pressed her into an alliance, but it is not in my nature to marry under those circumstances.” “No—you are an excellent fellow.” Sir Richard put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder and said, “I think you should know that I’ve made your sister an offer of marriage.” “Laura?” “Laura, of course.” “And?” “She asks for a little time, Cousin, but I believe this offer is more welcome than the first.” Edward grasped his hand. “This is the perfect outcome for us all.”

Sir Richard wrinkled his nose in selfdeprecation. “She’s not taken me yet, Edward.” He straightened and said, with touching formality, “If Laura does me the honour of becoming my wife, you have my solemn promise to place her health and happiness first, above all else, for the rest of our lives together.” Edward could not but be grateful and expressed his feelings in the way best suited to him—he was not a sentimental man—yet the discovery that the troubling care of his beloved sister was likely to be placed in such careful hands, moved him almost to tears. “I scarcely know how to thank you, Cousin, and most fervently hope for a happy outcome.” Sir Richard clapped him on the shoulder and they moved into the drawing room. Edward stood on the hearth, facing his relations. Laura was seated on the sofa by Sir Richard, while Elspeth leant back in her armchair. “You seem very serious, Edward,” said Elspeth. “You will understand when you hear what occupies my thoughts.” They all stared at him. Elspeth flapped her dainty hands. “Well?” “I have made an offer of marriage to Miss Evalina Woodruff and am happy to say that she has accepted me.” There was a moment’s silence. “Miss Evalina Woodruff?” asked Laura. “Indeed yes. Why do you say Evalina in that emphatic fashion?” Laura rose. “You took me by surprise, that is all. Let me congratulate you.” She kissed his cheek. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, dearest Edward.” Elspeth, not to be outdone, stretched forward her hands to him and he came to her, took one of her outstretched hands and helped her to rise. She kissed him on both cheeks. “That is wonderful, Edward. Forgive us our surprise. I believe a courtship was never conducted so

secretly nor so swiftly!” “Indeed, Elspeth, I went to Lewton Hall yesterday, with the intention only of enjoying Evalina’s company. However the chance arose …” Edward was brought up short by a flash of purest excitement, on recalling the sight of Evalina in the woods, beautiful, beguiling Evalina, all but offering herself to him. He saw that his relations looked at him in silence. “The chance arose.” “There is nothing like a naval man for speed of action!” exclaimed the baronet. “How I admire you for it!” “I have learned that opportunities passed up may never come again.” Sir Richard nodded. “This is splendid news, Edward.” “I knew I could not presume upon the colonel’s approval.” Elspeth fired up. “You—Captain Morrison— could not presume?” Edward dropped his cousin’s hand and turned, surprised at her sharp tone. She continued: “What are the Woodruffs to the Morrisons—the oldest family in the district? Colonel Woodruff dare not aspire higher than a Morrison for his daughter, surely?” “My situation in life lends me eligibility, Elspeth, but it is not easy for a military man, such as the colonel, to give his favourite daughter in marriage to a man who is …” “Monstrous, Edward!” Elspeth put her hands over her ears. Laura touched Elspeth’s arm. “Do not be angry at such a moment as this. Let Edward explain himself.” Elspeth uncovered her ears and sank into her armchair. “Do not imagine I will be demonstrating gratitude to a Woodruff,” she said. Ignoring her, Edward said, “When one has given over one’s life to the protection of the realm, then duty to the King and to the realm becomes all in all. When I was in active service for his Majesty, I felt for those retired as unfit for naval life, not only pity but a certain contempt … no, that is too strong a word … one feels a certain disregard for them.” “How cruel, Edward,” said Elspeth.

“We save our tender feelings for private reflection on those we love at home; on board ship our friendships must be more robust.” Laura said, “Yet the colonel admires you.” “For what I was in the past, perhaps. When I spoke to him this morning, I feared he would object, but he did not—I believe Evalina was there before me. I hope you are happy with my choice?” “You have not known her long—what can you know of her character?” His eyes lit up with a private pleasure. “From the first moment, there passed an understanding between us.” “How romantic!” said Elspeth. “Love at first sight!” said Sir Richard. He began to laugh. “What did you tell me on the very night before you met Miss Evalina?” “I really don’t recall,” said Edward, with a flush on his cheeks. “You said that there can be no such thing as love at first sight.” “Did I? What a piece of arrogance on my part.” Laura wondered if it were in relation to her that Edward had made that dismissive remark. And what a business Elspeth had made of how little she could understand Mr. Templeton’s character. “Such objections do not apply to my brother,” said Elspeth. She opened her fan and, over it, looked at them, each in turn. “I so want to see you all happy, my dears!” “Do not forget yourself, in the promotion of marital bliss, Elspeth,” replied Laura. “Myself?” cried Elspeth, as though referring to a person of whom she had never had a thought in her life. “I shall be married in six weeks,” said Edward. “So soon?” “Some relations of Evalina’s set off for India in December, and Mrs. Woodruff is eager to bring the wedding forward.” “India! What an adventure!” She shuddered. “Where will you live, Edward?” she asked.

“Evalina is much taken with the cottage.” “Wintern Cottage?” asked Laura. It was Edward’s house, of course. Always she had known he may live there some day—had welcomed the thought. “Yes, I believe you showed her a sketch of it.” Had she been looking at the drawing as her possible new home even then, Laura wondered. Now she will be mistress there, not I—the dependent spinster. “The principal rooms are very small,” said Elspeth. “How will you manage?” “I have lived in quarters very much smaller, but Evalina must be properly accommodated, of course. I will add to the building—throw out a wing on the west side and lay out the grounds anew.” “It will not be so much a cottage when you have finished with it, Edward,” said Laura, endeavouring to conceal a certain sadness. “No, indeed.” He looked at Laura keenly. “You do not regret the loss of it, Laura? Since Aunt Morrison passed away, you have no use for it, I think.” “No, indeed I would not.” Laura needed no reminder that, as an unmarried lady, she couldn’t reside anywhere respectably with only servants for company. Her eighteen-year-old sister-in-law would be considered an adequate chaperone—due to no more than marriage. “Of course, you will be often with us.” “Thank you.” “Evalina has asked me particularly to tell you that there will be no changes to your own room without consultation.” “Please thank her for her thoughtfulness.” Laura tried to fix a smile to her face. Already Evalina assumed the right to be generous about Laura’s own room, in which every article of decoration had been chosen for Laura’s own pleasure and purchased with her own money. All could be swept away, in a few words from Evalina. Edward sensed that Laura tried to assume a look of unalloyed pleasure and suffered a pang of guilt. Overcome by passion, he had seized at happiness, with barely a thought for the future, let alone his sister’s predicament. What man would not—seeing that delectable

creature saying, without words, I am yours. Realising that she seemed to care only for herself, Laura gave Edward a look of wry affection. She knew something of the pain he had suffered; had wept over his fevered ravings, understood that he was not yet accepting of his disablement. To lose his affianced bride must be painful for any man, but to lose her in the way Edward did—cast aside as repulsive—was a blow from which he could scarcely be expected to recover. For how else could one see it? No one deserved happiness more than he. It was small wonder he seized at the chance when a lovely young girl fell in love with him. Sir Richard was giving orders for a bottle of the best champagne to be brought up from the cellar. There must be jollity before Laura could creep away to her room. The candle cast a small circle of light upon the page, upon Laura’s hand and the pen. Beyond it, her bedroom was all shadows, pressing in around her.

Saturday 27th September, 12 p.m. How blind I was when Evalina prattled constantly about Edward when she sat for me. I thought her more engaged with the idea

of his doings than with the man he is. She has scarce met him above five or six times. Does she even begin to comprehend his nature? Yet why should either of them care? Matrimony is a game of chance and they begin with joy.

Laura laid down the pen and thought for a moment, before beginning again.

I watch Richard now, even when I am hardly aware of it. Less and less do I see his

defects as more and more I appreciate his strengths. How kind he is to Elspeth. He overlooks her shallow deceptions, while her cruelties slide off him, leaving only a momentary hurt. In the past I have joked privately that it is his tortoiseshell of foolishness that makes him so immune to her little darts. How superior I have been!

Through the window, Laura saw that there was no moon and the night lay upon the forest with impenetrable sombreness.

Perhaps I can be quietly content as Richard’s wife. He would remain much engrossed in the management of the estate, in fishing and attending to his parish duties. What a feast awaits me in the library! And I might have any new book that I fancy. How rarely do I know the delight of cutting the pages myself and being the first to enjoy the fragrance of a new book!

I shall have the power to order the carriage and drive off on a whim. The prospect of being left to myself in the daytime has no fears for me—I have passed so much time these past several years in wearisome company. Tomorrow I will accept Richard’s kind and generous offer and consent to be his wife.

No other path lay open to her; Laura knew herself fortunate in having that degree of choice. Still, she could not prevent a dark dull sorrow from settling in her. She picked up one of the pillows plumped for her comfort and hugged it to her, before throwing it back onto the bed. Outside the window, beyond the light of the candle, she could just make out the pine forest—a vague black murk. She peered up, seeking

a star, but saw not a one.

Yet how I have craved the companionship of one who could make me laugh, of one whose own quick parts and delight in the oddity of others would ensure that he understands me and I him—even while we may ourselves be seen by others as oddities. Some wise man said, “What we eagerly wish for, we easily credit.” My craving for understanding and love was

sufficient for me to conjure it from the ether. Yes, I conjured Mr. Templeton from the very air and, though I met him but in my imagination, the loss of him has brought me as much grief as if he truly lived.

Laura rose and walked into the shadows around her bed, where the white coverlet gleamed faintly below the looming oak bedhead. Again she drew comfort from the familiar feel of the white embroidered flowers, tracing the stems of its pattern of blooms, invisible in the shadows. Holding the white silk of the bed-curtain against her cheek, she let it slide across her skin. Her head against the twisted oak of the bedpost, she rested her face in the curtain. Pain rose up in her throat, a hard, unyielding tightness, a tearing, so that she opened her mouth in a silent scream. She silently wept, until the curtain was wet in her hands, until she lacked the strength to stand. She curled up on the bed, hugging her arms around her.

CHAPTER 22

SUNDAY PASSED AND LAURA DID not take the opportunity to tell Sir Richard of her decision. Dull Oakmont was enlivened by a spirit of excitation, which only emphasised her feeling of aloneness. Happier than she had ever seen him, Edward left immediately after church to take breakfast at Lewton Hall. Elspeth expected Lady Clarydon to visit the next day and was in an absurd flutter of anticipation. Worst of all was Sir Richard’s excitement, apparently brought on by his cousin’s engagement. He asked Elspeth to play a love song, which she did, the pair of them singing a duet—to Laura rather than each other. “Another, Cousin?” he said. “One must suffice—remember it is Sunday,” said Elspeth. In the library, Laura had found a copy of The Minstrelsies of the Scottish Border. Thinking to find relief in Scott’s lyrical words, she tried to lose herself in its pages. The evening passed with agonising slowness, and every time she looked up, Laura found her cousin’s eyes upon her. It was a relief to escape to bed. Mrs. Evans was in a constant flutter the next morning, taking trips to the window to gaze out along the road, and checking in the mirror for any deterioration in her looks that may have taken place in the previous fifteen minutes. At about two o’clock, the rumble of coach wheels upon the gravel gave her hope. Her lace-work was thrust aside and she leapt up with all the energy she could be presumed to possess, and called to Laura to abandon her sketching. Sir Richard joined them in the hall and the footman threw open the great oak door, so that they witnessed the arrival of a large peacock-blue carriage, with a gold coronet upon the

door. “A barouche-landau! Nothing but the best for Lady Clarydon,” said Sir Richard. “It is the very latest design and exquisitely comfortable,” said Elspeth. Her ladyship’s footmen, well-matched in height, resplendent in livery of the same blue as the carriage, leapt down. One opened the door, the other pulled down the step. Laura then beheld the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, descending from the carriage. “Everything pertaining to the countess is perfection!” said Elspeth. Lady Clarydon was of middle height, with an excellent figure, and beautifully attired in a velvet coat trimmed with fur. Black curls escaped her bonnet to frame a face of perfect loveliness. As she glided up the steps, Elspeth glided too, as though drawn by a magnet through the doors to greet her. A most beguiling smile curved her ladyship’s lips as she leant forward to place them upon Elspeth’s cheeks, first one then the other. “My dearest Countess,” trilled Elspeth. “My perfect darling Mrs. Evans,” replied the countess. She turned to Sir Richard, who stood gaping in the rear. Elspeth said, “Dear Countess, may I present my cousin, Sir Richard Morrison? Sir Richard, this is Lady Clarydon, the Countess of Clarydon.” He bowed and welcomed her to Oakmont. “How I have longed to know you,” she said, her fine dark eyes glowing. “Dear Mrs. Evans has told me everything about you.” Sir Richard stammered his way through a long reply. Next, it was Laura’s turn to accept the salutations of the lady. Her ladyship had that happy knack, possessed by few, of making each person to whom she spoke feel singled out as the most delightful acquaintance in the world. For the moment, Laura was quite as dazzled as Sir Richard. Just then, the baronet spotted another lady looking from the carriage window, vainly seeking assistance to get down. She began to descend alone.

“Michael! William! What are you about?” The baronet’s menservants rushed to do the duty that the countess’s had neglected, and the lady slowly mounted the steps. The countess’s fellow traveller was a lady of about five and thirty, dressed in an unfashionable coat, her hair obscured by the large cap she wore beneath her black bonnet. Her plain face wore a tentative expression. The countess let go of Elspeth’s hand, and indicated her friend with an elegant gesture, smiling that wonderful smile. “This, my friends, is my particular companion, whom I never allow to leave my sight, my dear Mrs. Bell.” Sir Richard bowed as gallantly to her as to her dazzling employer. Laura greeted her kindly, and Elspeth led the way to the drawing room, giving orders for tea and cake to be served. Mrs. Bell sank onto an upright chair. As she removed her gloves, Laura noted the mourning ring on her wedding finger, inset with a lock of grey hair. Even as Laura looked at the lady, her complexion seemed to grow paler. “Mrs. Bell, I fear you are ill,” she said. “Indeed no … how kind,” the lady replied. “Naples biscuits—you spoil me, Mrs. Evans!” said Lady Clarydon. She put a biscuit near her delicate nose and inhaled its scent of roses. Travel seemed not to have exhausted the countess: she flirted, amused, enchanted her audience, until Sir Richard all but begged her to stay as long as she liked. “I cannot find words to express my regret, Sir Richard,” said Lady Clarydon. “I dare not stay as my relations expect me for dinner.” “I am most disappointed,” said the baronet. During the conversation that followed, Laura noticed that Mrs. Bell drank barely half of her tea, and left her cake after attempting only a nibble. “Had we more time, my poor Mrs. Bell would have enjoyed a tour of the house,” said the countess. “She delights in things Medieval.” Sir Richard, tearing his eyes from the enchantress, noticed Mrs. Bell’s pallor.

“My dear lady,” he said. “Are you well?” “Sir Richard is as gallant as dear Mrs. Evans has described him,” said the countess. “Mrs. Bell, do you wish to lie down?” asked Laura. A flash of annoyance showed in Elspeth’s eyes at this usurpation of her role. She turned to her friend. “What think you, Countess?” “My dear friend does not seem able to travel.” “Mrs. Bell will be welcome to stay with us, Countess,” said Elspeth. The countess was easily persuaded, and Laura escorted Mrs. Bell to a guest room, sending for Sarah to attend her. The lady was concerned to be the cause of this slight trouble. “You are very welcome here, Mrs. Bell,” Laura said. “We will nurse you back to health. You must not think of leaving until you are quite well.” Within an hour, the peacock-blue carriage had whisked its elegant owner away. Sir Richard wandered off with an absent look on his face, while Elspeth sank upon the sofa. “How can I fill the days until my friend returns?” she asked. “As you did before you knew her, Elspeth,” said Laura. “You have no appreciation of fineness, Laura.” “I own her ladyship to be very pleasing: she is beautiful, beguiling and amusing. It is small surprise that you take pleasure in the friendship.” “That is all you have to say!” “It seems a good deal to me,” said Laura. “I have not had the opportunity to plumb the depths that lie beneath the enchanting exterior.” “The countess is perfect in every way,” said Elspeth, firing up. “Then she is unusual indeed.” On enquiring from Sarah, Laura found that Mrs. Bell had fallen asleep, and she went up to the solar to sketch by the

window in peace. Before long, Elspeth followed her and began to fidget with her sister’s pencils. “You are muddling my arrangements,” said Laura. Elspeth sighed. “It is bliss to be so distinguished by the countess.” “She was careless of Mrs. Bell when she arrived. Her servants should treat the lady with more respect.” “You amaze me, Sister! The drab creature has nowhere else to go and the countess is very kind in offering her a home.” “Mrs. Bell must be a useful guardian of her ladyship’s reputation, jaunting about the country as she does.” “But so dull! The silly woman married a penniless curate, who carelessly caught cold and died, leaving her without a farthing.” “Those poor curates should leave marriage to the better equipped.” “I agree with you absolutely,” said Elspeth. She looked out along the empty drive, letting her shadow fall across Laura’s work. “Elspeth, pray move …” “Her ladyship is so delightful in her condescension: one feels quite her equal!” “When we meet again, I shall treasure the delight of being treated with courtesy by one so far above me.” “Sarcasm is most unbecoming, Laura.” “It would pass for a higher form of wit were I only a countess,” said Laura. “You are in my light, Elspeth.” Edward returned in time to join his relations for coffee in the drawing room. How solemn Oakmont appeared, after the pleasures of Lewton Hall, and the company of his beloved. He was not presented to Mrs. Bell, who kept to her room. Elspeth was suffering the keenest regret on the brevity of the countess’s visit, only comforted by the thought of her friend’s return. Sir Richard was full of ponderous humour, to which Laura seemed incapable of making an answer.

“How dull you all are!” said Edward. “I hope this will cheer you: you are all invited to dine at Lewton Hall tomorrow.” “Delightful,” said Elspeth. “If only we could have presented the countess.” “Edward and his future bride must enjoy prominence on the occasion,” said Laura. “This will be a small family celebration,” said Edward. “On Wednesday I leave you for a few days to attend to business relating to my marriage.” Before retiring, he found a chance to whisper to Laura, “Have you answered my cousin?” “No—not yet.” “But it will be in the affirmative?” “You need not fear, Edward,” she said, bitterness creeping into her voice.

CHAPTER 23

IN THE MORNING, MRS. BELL came downstairs for breakfast, to the alarm of her new friends. She insisted she was quite well, and valiantly bit on a slice of toast. There was but one topic that aroused her from her lethargy. “What think you of my banners, Mrs. Bell?” said Sir Richard. “Oh,” she said. “I think them wonderful.” “They are very old,” the baronet said. Elspeth came to his assistance. “From their condition, one can see that they were, at times, used as weapons. Our ancestors were so very practical!” “Surely not!” said Mrs. Bell. Sir Richard said, “Nay, my cousin is teasing. The banners were treated with greatest respect in early times.” He turned to Mrs. Bell. “The damage you see is due to their antiquity.” Mrs. Bell silently gazed at the venerable tapestries. “There have been attempts at repair,” said Sir Richard. Mrs. Bell saw fit to give her opinion. “Such endeavours can do more harm than good.” “Just as I always fear!” said Sir Richard. “My sister believes it is time to bring the banners down,” said Laura. “You would not destroy my banners, Cousin Elspeth?” said Sir Richard. “Never!” Elspeth laughed. “I would have them carried with the greatest respect—to the attics.” Sir Richard looked at her in reproach, and Spotty waddled over to nudge him. “You know my sister still teases you, Sir Richard,” said Laura. “Oh!” he said. “Yes, indeed.”

Mrs. Bell cast a look of awe on the pennants. Sir Richard noted her expression. “They are more than a little shabby,” he said. “The genuine articles?” “The very pennants carried out in defence of the Queen of England!” said Sir Richard, putting his hand to his heart. “The very same?” “We are of the one mind, I see. Some day I shall commission copies.” “And these …?” “The originals! You may be sure they will not reside in the attics. They will be preserved in a display case.” Mrs. Bell soon retired to bed again, in the care of a chamber maid, and the family separated, to their own occupations. Laura went for a long walk all around the park and gardens, with Jonathon trailing behind. She visited the home farm, resting on a seat outside the manager’s cottage, and enjoying the childish pleasure of a glass of fresh milk. If Jonathon hoped to return to the house, he was disappointed. He had no time to ask for a second tankard of ale, before he had to follow his charge over field and stile to the far edge of the estate, where the ground dropped away into the valley. Only the pine forest was neglected in the tour. Laura returned with barely time to dress for the celebration. “What have you done to Jonathon?” said Elspeth, coming into her sister’s room. “He is good for nothing.” Sarah turned her head away to hide her smile. “I did not ask for his company,” said Laura. “You have made sure it was necessary.” “I am sure the exercise is healthful. Pray let me dress.”

Tuesday

30th September, 10 p.m. It was a relief to dine at Lewton Hall, with the Woodruffs all in an excellent temper. Evalina’s portrait was on display in the dining room. Her family’s pleasure in it gratified me. On our return, I entered my cousin’s carriage, finding Elspeth had spread her small self in the middle of her seat. There was no choice but to sit with Richard —Edward was on horseback.

It was near dark inside the carriage. I was too much aware of my shoulder bumping against Richard’s with every sway of the carriage. Elspeth was silent, feigning sleep, and I could barely make conversation, for awareness of our interesting situation. The question hangs heavily between us. I knew the answer must be “yes”, and he did too, for all his modesty. The silence between us

expanded, filling out like a blanket of mist. I cannot speak it— not yet. On our return, Elspeth spoke to my brother in the hall, and Edward drew Richard aside and they all went into the library. What are they up to now? I was only happy to escape them.

On Wednesday, Laura faced Mrs. Bell across a deserted breakfast table. “The captain left at first light to attend to his business affairs.” Mrs. Bell nodded. “Sir Richard has gone shooting with the colonel and Mr. Woodruff, I believe.” “Oh.” “How would you like to occupy your time today?” Mrs. Bell looked as though she had no way to

determine such a thing. “Shall we take a short walk?” “I would be delighted.” “When you are completely recovered, I can offer a fine view of Dartmoor crags. It is quite steep, you know, up through the pine forest, but worth every step.” “I would like that very much.” They wandered out in the flower gardens. “Let me know if I outpace you with my great limbs,” said Laura. “How my mother despaired over their ferocious growth.” “You knew her?” There was a glimpse of wistfulness in Mrs. Bell’s eyes. Laura indicated a bench, and they sat there, among the fading foliage of autumn. She said, “My mother died when I was a child, but I remember her very well. Did you not know your own?” “She did not survive my birth.” “Were you the only child?” Mrs. Bell nodded. Laura did not like to ask who had remained of the family, but Mrs. Bell surprised her by volunteering the information. “My father was much attached to his classical studies.” “One can learn much from a scholarly parent,” said Laura. “The day would pass and I would see him only at meals.” “My father too withdrew himself from his children—from grief, I believe. We fell to the care of our aunt.” The other lady smiled, as fellow feeling lit her expression with softness. “Then you married Mr. Bell!” Laura said, attempting to shake off the glum mood that seemed to threaten them. “My father arranged it all, and appointed Mr. Bell as his curate.” “Oh?” Laura began to doubt the poverty of this parson who could afford to pay a curate. As though she read those thoughts, Mrs. Bell

said, “There was no money. We lived with my father, who was Mr. Bell’s good friend. They were closeted together all day over their books.” What an odd business marriage can be, thought Laura. “They died within six weeks of one another,” said Mrs. Bell. Like a devoted old couple! Laura thought, amazed. “You are very kind to listen to me,” said Mrs. Bell. “It is no hardship, I assure you.” “I have never spoken so much about myself in my life.” “Can you not confide in the countess?” Mrs. Bell gave a small laugh of selfdeprecation. “I … try to amuse her but still … she finds me tedious, I know.” After a quiet morning, the three ladies gathered in the drawing room before dinner, awaiting the appearance of the baronet. “Sir Richard is never so unpunctual,” said Laura. “He will be down shortly,” said Elspeth. “He has not long been home.” Five minutes later, the baronet hastened in. “How late you are, Sir Richard,” said Laura. Sir Richard blushed, bowing several times. “I do beg your pardon, Cousin.” “It is of no great matter. If you enjoyed the colonel’s company, I am happy.” “What? Oh, yes.” “Tell us of your achievements today.” “What!” he said, his eyes sliding away from her. “How fared you in the game of strategy and chance?” “What do you mean, Laura?” Elspeth sighed. “My sister asks you how many birds you shot in the colonel’s woods today.” “None.”

“You poor love! Let us go into dinner,” said Elspeth, rising from her seat. “How did your host fare?” said Laura. “I … didn’t go to Lewton Hall today.” “I thought it was a settled thing.” “Laura, can you not leave the subject alone?” said Elspeth, giving the baronet a gracious nod as she took his arm. “I am sorry if I appear to pry,” said Laura, trying not to feel offended. “Not at all,” said Sir Richard, turning his head towards her, but not meeting her eyes. “I will explain myself in due course.” “You need do no such thing, Richard. It is no affair of mine. I was merely making conversation.” Even the back of Elspeth’s head had a selfsatisfied look, Laura thought. Day succeeded day in slow procession. On Thursday morning, the three ladies sat together in the solar. Mrs. Evans had expressed delight on seeing Mrs. Bell so much recovered. “How sorry you must be to have missed visiting her ladyship’s uncle,” she said. “I am passing my time perfectly pleasantly here, I thank you,” said Mrs. Bell. “This is not so fashionable as some of the places you visit with the countess—but we are family and accustomed to its defects.” “Your sister showed me the principal rooms this morning and I am delighted with their preservation.” Elspeth looked surprised and moved to a new topic. “We are very dull at Oakmont; it is ever so.” Mrs. Bell was silent, for the only answer that occurred to her was that she liked dull places but that did not infer a compliment. There came the sound of wheels on the drive, not rumbling upon it so much as scattering the gravel. Elspeth rose and looked out of the window. “I am seized by the headache,” she said. “I shall go to my room.” Laura followed her to the window and saw

Mr. Woodruff’s curricle bowling up to the front door. “You might overpower the sensation, Elspeth. It is your fault, surely, that he is here.” Elspeth blew her a kiss from the doorway and hurried away. In her room, she reclined upon her sofa, quickly becoming engrossed in a novel detailing an adventure in Poland. Despite having read the tale several times over, Elspeth found that it exerted greater fascination upon her imagination than the visitor just arrived. Laura did her best to entertain Mr. Woodruff, but the young man was difficult to provoke into conversation. He did express a concern that Mrs. Evans was prone to ill-health, and Laura comforted him by pointing out that her sister was in mourning, her husband having only passed away within a twelve month. “Already I see signs that my sister rallies a little,” said Laura. This pleased him to an unwarranted degree. “Mrs. Evans has an affectionate nature, I believe,” he said. Laura, wanting to laugh, said, “She was of great comfort to Mr. Evans in his declining years.” “He lived to a ripe old age—near ninety, they say.” “He always said his wife kept him young.” Mr. Woodruff may have been provoked into thoughts that did not bear expression in the company of ladies, for his mouth opened and closed again in silence. He sat there, with his hat upon his knee, and filled the occasional silences with the flapping of his gloves upon its crown. No other subject seemed capable of eliciting much speech from him. He jumped up and departed as soon as fifteen minutes had passed, and politeness was satisfied. “Think you that the gentleman came to see us?” said Laura. Mrs. Bell thought over this question seriously. “He cannot have intended to call upon me,” she said. A note arrived for Laura from her sister, and she excused herself. She found Elspeth at the window of her bedroom. “He has gone out then,” she said.

“Did you send for me to confirm what you see from your window?” “That odious boy!” Elspeth shuddered. “No, I want to know where Richard has gone.” “I believe he has gone with his steward to Oakridge Farm. They will look at a tree that his tenant wishes to cut down.” “You cannot mean that ancient oak? It lends the lane a picturesque look.” “That is true—I have often enjoyed its gnarled appearance.” “My cousin must refuse. These tenants begin to think a place their own.” “The Gothic charm of a diseased tree is of little use to a farmer. It casts such heavy shade that he can scarcely use the garden for vegetables. It cannot survive much longer in any case.” “These people never cease to impose upon my cousin with their complaints.” “Richard is not the species of landlord to care more about the artistic appearance of a small corner of his estate, than about the welfare of a farmer with eight children.” “George Browning has sons enough to cut down every tree in the neighbourhood.” Laura laughed. “Fortunately my cousin is not so indulgent as that!” Elspeth returned to the sofa and arranged herself attractively. “Have you answered him, Laura?” she said. “If you do not leave this matter to me, I will refuse him. There! I am decided.” Laura turned on her heel and went to the door. “Dearest, you mistake me. It is only care that caused me to interfere.” “We shall quarrel, Elspeth, if you harass me in this matter.” “How could I quarrel with my own beloved sister?” “It seems impossible, yet you will do it.” “I insist that you accept his offer this evening.” “Then the answer is no.”

Laura left the room, and spent some minutes on her own, walking up and down to work off her irritation. When Laura returned to the solar, she found Mrs. Bell in a pensive state. Leaving her guest to her thoughts, Laura opened her workbasket and took out her embroidery, a long piece of white silk, the border of which she was ornamenting with a Grecian pattern in emerald green. “That is a lovely pattern, Miss Morrison.” “Thank you, Mrs. Bell. I certainly liked it very much at one time. Familiarity has somewhat robbed it of its charm.” For the first time, Laura was gratified to hear Mrs. Bell’s laugh. Laughing herself, she said, “Would you like to copy the pattern?” This offer was happily accepted, and Mrs. Bell copied the design into the notebook she took from her basket. That done, she put the book away and resumed her own work. In a few moments, Laura became aware of Mrs. Bell’s eyes on her and looked up. “You seem agitated, Mrs. Bell. Has something upset you?” “No.” Yet Laura saw that her companion was oddly excited. “I wish,” said the lady. “I would like … to be granted the honour …” “You have only to ask,” said Laura. “Thank you.” The next words came out in a rush. “The honour of working … the new banners.” “The Morrison pennants?” Mrs. Bell nodded, her eyes filled with desperate hope. “It would be the work of many months, madam.” “I would take the greatest care.” “You are not to feel you owe Sir Richard any recompense for his hospitality. He delights in being of service.” Mrs. Bell’s eyes opened wide in her surprise. “Recompense? No! It is for my own enjoyment. How selfish

that sounds.” “It is a strange style of selfishness,” said Laura. “You must tell Sir Richard at once!” Mrs. Bell blushed. “I—address the baronet myself?” Gracious! thought Laura. There exists someone who is afraid of Richard! “Shall I ask him?” she said. “Might he allow me …?” “I can safely say he will be delighted.” Laura was perfectly correct. On hearing of Mrs. Bell’s wonderful offer, the baronet was in transports of joy, and hurried into the solar. Standing before her chair, he said, “My dear lady, am I to believe what I hear? You will honour me by beginning the new banners?” “I … honour you?” said Mrs. Bell, her cheeks reddening. “It is not I who does the favour.” He drew up a chair close to her. “You are not to feel sorry for me. I can find accomplished needle-women for the work.” “They have not my veneration …” “For Medieval times?” She nodded. Sir Richard jumped up, upsetting a little table. “Oops!” he cried, and caught the edge of it just in time. He sat down again, his shoulders suddenly sagging. “It will be too great a task.” “I can barely begin before the countess returns.” “I can collect it from you—if you must leave.” She nodded. “You must promise me to send the work unfinished if you tire of it.” “I will not tire of it.” Laura found them in the dining hall, watching as two footmen lowered one of the banners to a table placed beneath it. The family Bible was brought from the library, that the exact colours of the crest might be ascertained, the pennants being sadly faded. Mrs. Bell began to take careful

measurements, and counted the stitches in the bottom row. Sir Richard met Laura’s eyes. “Veneration, like my own!” he said. “We will not be able to match the wools in the village,” said Laura. “No! We must go to Exeter tomorrow.” Mrs. Evans entered, having recovered her spirits, and expressed amazement at the proceedings. “Do you not fear the ghost—she might visit us in displeasure,” she said, with a sidelong look at Laura. Sir Richard replied, “There is no ghost, my dear cousin. Have no fear.” Mrs. Evans laughed and kissed the air in her sister’s direction. She gave the baronet her hand to kiss. In a flutter of white lace and waving fingers, she disappeared upstairs, to begin the complicated procedure of dressing for dinner. Laura left the dining hall, determined on a quick walk in the meadow. Her shadow appeared behind her— she felt his presence. “Jonathon! Leave me!” she said, and glanced over her shoulder to see him standing there, his hands opening and closing in inarticulate entreaty. She turned again and ran up the stairs, brushing past her sister, closing and locking her bedroom door behind her. She stood for a long time at the window, staring sightlessly out at the forest. At last, Laura rose and went downstairs, finding Sir Richard alone in the library. He jumped up on seeing her. “I thought you were dressing for dinner, Cousin.” Laura crossed the room to him; stood before him, not knowing what to say. He took her hand. “I hope you’re not shy of me after all these years, dear Laura.” “Richard, I need to know if … your wishes are unchanged.” “My wishes?” His head poked forward in a puzzled exploration of her countenance. “Can you mean my wish for us to spend all our days together, in harmony, as one?” “Well, yes.”

He dropped clumsily to one knee and seized her other hand, holding hers in both of his. His forehead was still rumpled, in surprise, she thought. “Laura, my dear and beautiful Laura, will you do me the honour of consenting to be my wife?” She laughed almost, in a muddle of embarrassment and relief, mingled with a kind of astonishment that her life had brought her to this. “I accept with gratitude, Richard.” “Nay—be not so formal with your old friend, Laura.” He beamed his most foolish smile and clambered to his feet. They looked at one another, and knew themselves to be, in some way, happy.

CHAPTER 24

AN EARLY FROST HAD RIMMED the edges of the glass, and Laura burrowed deep beneath the covers, not ready yet to brave the wintry chill of her room. The chamber maid had lit the fire, and Jonathon helped her to move the writing table close to it. Wrapping herself warmly, Laura made the effort to rise. An early start was essential for this was the day they were to go to Exeter, but she had not yet recorded her action of the previous day. She sat at the table, with a cup of hot chocolate at her side, and opened her journal.

Friday 3rd October Yesterday I took a step — irrevocable I feel—that should at least decrease my unhappiness. I shall be at the beck and call of another woman no longer. I shall live in comfort all

my days. Many women have fared much worse.

Laura took a sip of the chocolate, warming her hands around the cup.

Today I go to Exeter with my cousin and Mrs. Bell. Elspeth will not accompany us, for she has arranged to spend the morning with the Woodruff ladies. She is laying plans for a dance. How pleasant it will be to spend the day so far from my sister—and from

Oakmont, I must confess. She has given me a list of items to buy. For a wonder, it contains mostly things for me. I will find green trimmings for my new ball gown—I will know them when I set eyes on them. I am to seek also a fine white muslin and a length of wide lace, and as it comes from Elspeth’s purse, I do not complain. For my sister, I am bid to find black lace, rather heavy, and the very

palest lilac satin—in imperial lustre, if I can find it. For Mrs. Bell, a small gift— perhaps a brooch, or an ornament for a bandeau. Already Elspeth has sent word to Mrs. South in the village informing her that we need her services with the needle. What a way to get the gossips busy!

About to slide her journal into its special place in her desk, Laura hesitated. The book would fit in the bottom of her basket, bound in a scarf to keep it from prying eyes. It would travel to Exeter with her. On her return from Exeter the following evening, Laura put

down her impressions of the day before going to bed.

Friday 3rd September, 11 p.m. Our journey passed pleasantly enough. I was amused at how much Richard and Mrs. Bell found to say about all the banners, pennants, flags and escutcheons of their acquaintance. I always look forward to the view from the hill when we approach Exeter. I was alone in my enjoyment of the sight of the trees fanning out along the roads: my companions

only had eyes for the Medieval walls of the town. Richard was delighted to have a new listener to his perennial lament on the pulling down of that narrow old East Gate. Mrs. Bell shares his notion that the inconvenience of holding up rows of carriages and carts is not worth considering. Richard went off on some business of his own, while Mrs. Bell and I carried out our commissions at the various

linendrapers. The wools and tapestry were easily got at Bellows, as I knew they would, and I found my muslin there too. This speed was fortunate for my sister’s “palest lilac imperial lustre” was not to be found. I purchased instead a heavy, shimmering lilac plain satin—since she placed much emphasis on the word “palest”. We went on to Gibson’s in search of lace and my sister’s ribbons. I had the pleasure of

making Mrs. Bell laugh with my wicked impersonation of Elspeth saying, “Gibson’s is the only place to be considered for ribbon.” Only after my sister’s exacting requirements were met, did Mrs. Bell seek my opinion. Lady Clarydon, “the most generous lady upon earth”, had sent her two pounds, all of which was to be devoted to the materials for a ball gown. My friend had not quite been given carte

blanche— the dress was not to be black. “I believe my attire has wearied her,” Mrs. Bell said. Does not the countess understand that ladies as poor as this must choose the most serviceable of garments? Mrs. Bell had decided that white would serve her best for such a garment. Fortunately she had seen the very thing she wanted, a satin heavy enough to be lasting, and we

hastily repaired to the hallowed Gibson’s again, to purchase it. We found my cousin was awaiting us, his business completed. We all enjoyed a pleasant luncheon of cold meats, pickles and raspberry fool. We then went in search of old walls, old bridges and old anything at all. I could not interest my companions in the distant view of the Haddon Hills, for they were intent upon

examining the old city wall in front of their noses. On the way home, Mrs. Bell was exhausted by so many exclamations of delight, and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. Richard and I spoke little and quietly, so as not to disturb our friend, but every now and then, Richard would look at me with an expression that demanded an understanding, even a secret smile, and I

found it difficult to oblige. Custom would inure me to this intimacy, surely, yet how many such tiresome looks will pass between us in future, as we rattle along together in the same carriage, so to speak— forever?

CHAPTER 25

THE CAPTAIN STOPPED FOR A brief moment, overlooking the harbour, before turning along a road that climbed the hill to Wintern Cottage, perched above the little town of Fowey. Every shore leave, he had come home to experience the same pleasure at the sight of its lime-washed walls. The shutters were open, and he watched as the housekeeper leant from an upstairs window, shaking the dust from a coverlet. She draped it over the windowsill to air; and only then saw the carriage stopped outside. Her face lit up and she disappeared from the window. A moment later, she opened the door and he ducked his head to enter the passage. “Captain, ’tis good to see you.” “And you, Miss Pitt,” he said. “I see you hard at work already.” Edward completed a quick inspection of the cottage, discussing Miss Pitt’s requirements for showing it at its best. He ordered a simple dinner and left to arrange a meeting with his man of business, to set in motion the drawing up of the marriage contract. His affairs were not complicated and it would be the work of two days for the attorney to have the papers ready for him. His attorney recommended an architect capable of designing the improvements to the cottage. On Thursday the architect arrived at Wintern, and Edward outlined the basis of his plans. It took the captain less than half an hour to realise that the man was incapable of understanding his client’s ideas, insisting on grandiose schemes that would put unnecessary strain upon his purse and ruin the charm of the cottage into the bargain. The man left in a huff, and Edward wondered for a moment what to do next. He had arranged to dine with his friend Mr. Jenner the next day, but thought he may as well pay him a

call meanwhile. Jenner lived but four miles away and would be likely to know of the right fellow to put Edward’s ideas into tangible form. After a quick luncheon at the cottage, Edward set off to walk along the line of the ridge of low hills, towards his friend’s estate. The air was brisk, but his fast pace kept him warm and he covered the distance in no time, with barely a limp. The walk brought back memories of running about those fields and lanes as a boy, when spending part of his school vacation at Hillcrest House. He crossed a final field and passed through a gate into the grounds of the house. Passing the stables, he could not resist a look inside. There he saw a familiar figure, clad in an old brown jacket, his hand upon the neck of a horse, which nuzzled at his other hand. “Jenner, my friend!” As the gentleman turned, the sun coming in at the door lit up his head of orange hair. He strode over. “Morrison, you are a day early! How good it is to see you.” They shook hands and Jenner looked into Edward’s face with open pleasure. “What has happened to you? I see you are your old self again!” “My old self and more. How is Mrs. Jenner?” “Wonderful! You will see her in just a moment. What is the hour?” He pulled out his watch. “Ah! Time to take tea—and I have not changed my coat.” He looked down and brushed some straw from his breeches. “You, at least, don’t mind our unfashionable ways.” “No—and a day in my sister’s elegant company will soon remove any contagion.” “You insult me, sir!” said Jenner, laughing. “Is my bad influence so mild that Mrs. Evans can cure you in a day? Have a care, or I’ll don my father’s old wig and order dinner at two o’clock.” Laughing, they entered the house through a side door that brought them into an area where cloaks and boots were stored. Here Mr. Jenner donned a smart coat and waistcoat, and they went into the hall. A nurse appeared, carrying a babe, while leading a little boy by the hand. Jenner scooped up the child and carried the

squealing bundle under one arm into the drawing room. “Cecilia, see who is come!” he said. Mrs. Jenner had none of the polished, seductive charm of an Elspeth, let alone a Lady Clarydon. She had only the recommendations of a pleasant countenance and a warm, lively interest in those around her. Struck immediately by the change in Edward’s demeanour, a happiness that softened his features, she wanted at once to know the cause. In truth, they were not so far from Fowey for her to have missed hearing of the captain’s enquiries there. For a gentleman to see his attorney was not especially significant, but combined with a meeting with an architect, it was enough to set tongues wagging. Edward could not resist the chance to publish his happiness at least among these good friends. He told them of his engagement—a private matter at that stage— and accepted their congratulations. He asked for a recommendation to a professional man to draw up the building plans. “Who recommended Bradley? The fellow is completely useless!” said Jenner. “Let Mr. Waite be your man. Ten times the other’s sense, at half his fee.” When they insisted on lending Edward their carriage for his return to Wintern, he accepted, for the walk had tired his leg more than he expected. Jenner had too much discretion to ask of the matter on which Edward had written for his advice. However, Edward felt that his friend’s old confidence in him, when troubled in the past, deserved at least a mention of the topic. Waiting for the carriage, they walked along the drive together. The captain said, “I must thank you for your excellent advice about my sister. I am happy to say that the entire matter seems to be happily resolved.” “That is excellent news.” They stood by the gate, hearing in the still afternoon the carriage wheels start to move in the stable yard. It occurred to Edward to ask his friend for an opinion on the strange incident, when Laura thought another man in the Hollow to be Mr. Templeton, yet it would be a betrayal of his sister. Instead he fell into the age old

ruse. “Do you know, Jenner, something odd happened to someone I know.” “Oh,” he said. “Odd fellows, aren’t they? The ones we know, I mean.” “Indeed—some more than others,” said Edward, giving him a teasing frown. “What would you think, Jenner, of someone who … had formed an immediate attachment, as sometimes happens.” Mr. Jenner grinned and said nothing. Edward continued, making heavy weather of it; he preferred silence, as a rule, to telling half-truths. “A few days later fate separated the pair. If … this person should one day catch sight unexpectedly of a … stranger turning towards him … and be convinced it was the same—” “Wait,” said Jenner. “You will tell me she bore no true resemblance to the beauty engraved upon his heart. Perhaps something in her figure or her air was enough of a reminder.” “How did you know?” “You must be the dullest fellow alive if you have never heard of that before. It is not madness, but love—the result of going about with half of one’s brain engaged elsewhere.” Sheer relief at the obviousness of this explanation made Edward laugh. The carriage was rumbling towards them. They parted, Edward boarding the carriage, while Jenner waved, chuckling to himself. Edward returned to dine alone once again, at the cottage. The solitude was no hardship, for he took back with him all the warmth of the good wishes of his friends. He met the next day with the new man suggested by Mr. Jenner as the best qualified to assist with the plans for the cottage. The meeting was more than satisfactory, for Mr. Waite had less pretension about him than the other man, and more of an ability to sympathise with the wishes of his client. Meanwhile he was able to come up with some good ideas of his own on the spot. Edward left him taking his measurements and went back into Fowey to see the attorney. The papers were drawn up just as he had

agreed with the colonel. Evalina’s modest fortune was to be invested, with the principal held in trust for any children they may have, in the same arrangement that had worked well for Edward and his sisters. His mother’s jewellery was to come to Edward’s wife, after his sisters first selected something for themselves, in accordance with a wish the lady had made known long ago. A pleasant family dinner with the Jenners closed a satisfactory three days, and Edward could look forward to driving back to Oakmont the next day.

CHAPTER 26

LIFE AT OAKMONT 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.

CHAPTER 27

THE CAPTAIN RETURNED TO OAKMONT 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.

CHAPTER 28

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”.

When darkness long has veil’d my mind, And smiling day once more appears;

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.

Then, my Redeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears.

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

Straight I upbraid my wand’ring heart, And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part; Or harbour one hard thought of Thee!

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? 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.

CHAPTER 29

MRS. EVANS 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.

CHAPTER 30

TWO DAYS BEFORE EDWARD’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.

CHAPTER 31

THE NEXT MORNING, LAURA WAS awaiting Mrs. Woodruff and her daughters, who would call for her to come with them on a drive. Laura went upstairs to ask Elspeth if she had any commission for her in the village. She passed through her own room and tiptoed into their shared dressing room, not wanting to disturb Elspeth if she was still asleep. The door from the dressing room into Elspeth’s bedroom swung silently ajar on oiled hinges, and Laura heard her sister’s voice. “Her pride will never let her admit it, but I saw how she enjoyed her success last night.” The countess could be heard to giggle and Laura flushed, in the dimness of the little room. She was about to creep out but was arrested by the shock of her sister’s next words. “The physician unearthed by my brother is full of praise for the state of matrimony.” She betrays me! thought Laura. “He has the highest credentials, having trained with Pinel, in Paris, you know.” “Monsieur Pinel, indeed! Is he not in a rage for treating lunatics with kindness?” “It seems she does not require chaining up, for marriage to our dear Turtle would cure her ills.” There was more laughter. The countess said, “In what way is that happy state to cure your sister of her fancies?” She knows! A flood of heat rose to Laura’s face. She feared to move lest she betray her presence. “Fancies, indeed!” tittered Elspeth. “How very kind you are, my dear, dear Amelia.” Dr. Mellbone opines that the loneliness of my sister’s life has produced a state of … what did he call it? … Alienation of Mind. How scholarly that sounds.”

Both women giggled. “Go on.” “It seems the happiness of obtaining that worthwhile object—the husband—will cure her of her delusions.” “You still do not tell me how, my love, but I know the masculine mind well enough to guess. Not a man amongst them thinks we women can keep our sanity without their attentions in … private!” Both the women subsided into laughter, until Elspeth said, “One can only hope the gentleman is … suited to his task.” “It is a pity she did not marry the earl,” said his lady. “He is very … robust in the delivery of sanity to a lady.” The scandalised note in Elspeth’s laugh seemed all pretence. After a moment or two, she said, “My adored old husband deserved the highest praise for his efforts, but I know not that I have received, in full, the husband’s cure for madness.” “You alarm me!” “Should I begin to show signs of derangement, my dear, I hope you will be kind enough to dispatch me.” “I shall buy the dearest little pearl-handled pistol for the very purpose—unless you would prefer to borrow the earl as insurance?” “That is a generous offer indeed, but I am of too delicate a constitution to survive his cure.” “Of course—the pistol it must be.” Had she held the dainty weapon, Laura felt she could have pulled the trigger herself. Quietly—for she could not bear them to hear her—she tiptoed to the door at the side of the room, which led into her own chamber. There she sank into her armchair to brood on what she had heard. Her feelings were in turmoil. She recoiled from her sister’s betrayal—not only in revealing, but making a joke of what was to be a family secret. After this, can I reside with her? How can I live with her barbed references to the past? With the knowledge of her treachery? I cannot leave Oakmont with her—I cannot. I am mortified. What choices do I have?

Can I live with Edward? Will my brother, too, tell his beloved of my misadventures? Will they laugh over it in secret? The picture arose in her mind of the enchanting young Evalina, eyes opening wide, as she heard the story of her sister-in-law’s madness. My God, no! Only Richard does not judge me. She hastened downstairs to find her brother in the hall, about to go out. She caught his arm. “What is it, Laura?” “I am ready, Edward. I wish to sign the contract now—at once.” His eyes sparked at the news; he doffed his hat and threw off his cloak, embracing Laura. “This is wonderful,” he said. “I will send my own servant for the attorney.” “Michael!” he shouted, though the footman stood but ten feet away. “Yes, Captain.” “Tell Griffiths to come at once—he will take my horse on an urgent errand.” He went into the library and Laura followed him. “Is all this necessary, Edward? Why wait for the attorney?” The captain looked up from writing his note. “All will be done according to form, Laura.” Two minutes later, Griffiths was riding at full speed to the town, while servants were sent in search of the baronet. Laura, at the eye of the storm, was still and silent. The occasion was celebrated with Oakmont’s best wines at dinner. The evening passed. Laura smiled, laughed, looked suitably modest during the gentlemen’s speeches in her praise. Locked within her were other feelings; she knew not what they were. She intended never to name them. After the ladies went up to bed, the two men stood side by side outside the great door, looking at the moonlight. “Tomorrow, you are to be wed,” said Sir

Richard, putting his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “The weeks have flown since you threw us all into confusion with your announcement.” “Indeed they have.” Edward turned to his cousin. “When are you to follow me to the altar, Richard?” “Ah! When? Laura has promised to name the day very soon.” He did not meet Edward’s eyes, as he laughed self-consciously, saying, “Then I will be the happiest of men!” Edward was silent, puzzled by something in his cousin’s expression—his beaming smile looked rigid and his forehead creased with a slight frown. Sir Richard cleared his throat and said, too loudly, “I cannot tell another bridegroom that I am the happiest! Ha! Ha!” Edward put his hand on Sir Richard’s shoulder. “My dear fellow, you do not …?” His voice trailed off. “Not in the least!” Sir Richard blushed. “At least, I don’t know what you were going to say.” The captain could not speak for a moment. Then he said, “I cannot express my gratitude to you.” “Nay … nay … Speak not of gratitude. Let us pay full honour to Laura.” Edward nodded. “Then good night, Richard.” “Yes, indeed. Good night.” Edward went back into the house and slowly mounted the stairs. His question hung in his mind as it had hung in the air between them. Instinctively he felt that Richard regretted his engagement. Yet there could be no withdrawing from it—the gossip would be the destruction of what was left of his sister’s pride. Damnation, he thought. We pushed them into it. I always believed that Richard loved her—in his quiet, passionless way. He went into his room and stood musing as his valet, half-yawning, helped him off with his coat. “Go to bed now, you poor fellow. I meant to tell you not to wait up for me.” The servant hung up the jacket and left the room. Edward stood at the window and stared out into the night.

What a success Laura had been at the ball! It was plain that all in the district were eager to see her installed as mistress of Oakmont. He thought for a moment about Laura’s past predicament. Ever since she was got away from Lyme, nothing untoward had occurred. The servants thought she saw a ghost—but it turned out that she was merely musing. She mistook Mr. Woodruff for Mr. Templeton in the Hollow—and Jenner had explained that as commonplace. Elspeth had mentioned a sketch that Laura had forgotten she had torn up, or some such thing. Yet he was beginning to see that Elspeth was swayed by motives of her own. No, he thought, in Lyme, Laura’s sense of what is real abandoned her; but here at Oakmont, she is safe. Edward looked out on the sloping meadow, silvery in the moonlight. All is well, he thought. Before his eyes, his favourite image of Evalina arose—of when he saw her in the woods at Lewton Hall. How his heart had leapt at the sight of her! Young, beautiful and ardent as she was, she loved him. Before he encountered her, his laughter had become hollow and his feelings worn out. Now she gave him back all the pride and optimism he had lost in the war. Not one marriage in twenty, he believed, began with such a passionate yearning to be together.

CHAPTER 32

JANE WAS DRESSING FOR HER sister’s wedding, with a maid putting the last touches to her hair, when she heard the stone rattle on her window. Her brother stood in the shrubbery below. She opened the window. “Jane, Jane!” he called, in a dramatic whisper. “I can’t bear to miss Evvy’s wedding. What will the old brute do, think you?” “He waits only for your apology, you silly boy,” she said. “What? He won’t thrash me, then?” “You fool! You almost broke my mother’s heart.” His face fell. “God, yes—Mother. It’s been simply awful, Jane. I had to work at a desk all the livelong day.” “Go around to the front door, Jeremy. Someone is sure to see you.” She shut the window. The colonel sat in an armchair, gazing at the fire. The same thoughts went round and round in his head. How can I take pleasure in Evvy’s wedding without that fool of a boy by my side? Ungrateful cur! At his age, did I have my hand out for money from my father? No! Did I speak to him with disrespect? No! Life’s not the same—there’s no pleasure in it without him—my heir. Poor boy, working at a desk for a barrister!—Well, he deserves worse! The wretch! “Father!” The colonel looked up. His son stood in the doorway. “I’ve come to say I am very sorry, sir, for the way I addressed you.” The colonel did not reply; his chin wobbled a little. Jeremy advanced a few steps. “I spoke in a

disrespectful manner, sir, and I hope you can forgive me.” The colonel swallowed. “Do you own yourself to be wrong in your views?” “I should never have spoken to you in that manner, sir, so bold and impertinent and in the presence of others. For this I beg your pardon.” The colonel grunted. “And?” “Well, I have much to be grateful for and I haven’t always expressed it well—or perhaps at all. I thank you, Father, for everything.” “And?” Jeremy paused. How quickly it might all be over if he agreed. Yet—would it be fair to Jane? He must have known his next words could throw all away. Could he risk being back at his desk, toiling dully six days a week, hoping one day to find himself on his feet in court—making speeches instead of copying them out; being quoted in the court records instead of combing through them? He took a deep breath. “Jane has been in love now, these four years. I don’t see how she can be happy with anyone but this missionary fellow.” He waited for the explosion of rage but it didn’t come. Instead, his father said, “I don’t want my child marrying a man who goes among the heathens, trying to bring ’em to our ways. If he were an officer, now, or a highranking official, that would be different.” He slumped tiredly. “She’ll wear herself out and die of a fever. But every six months he writes me the same letter, and every six months she refuses to repudiate him. I am tired of it.” Jeremy stared. “You mean …?” “If she wants to be a fool, I’ll stand in her way no longer.” Jeremy beamed. “May I see Evalina married today?” “Not in those clothes, young sir. Go and dress yourself properly for church—your room is just as it was.” The wedding took place in the little church at Lewton. Sir Richard was groomsman, and, in his stooped plainness, it must be said that he offered a contrast in the bridegroom’s

favour. When the bride took her place by his side, Edward touched her hand and found it shaking. Evalina could not raise her eyes to his, but he knew she was happy despite her nerves, and a joyful smile lit his handsome features. The vicar faced the congregation. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God …” Laura’s own feelings were somewhat numb. She was happy for Edward, certainly, but the occasion reminded her too sharply of her recent promise, signed and sealed. All too soon, she would stand before the altar in the church at St Austell, but with what feelings? She noticed that Mrs. Bell, seated beside her, fumbled in her reticule, bringing out a handkerchief. Laura saw the tears in Mrs. Bell’s eyes. Was the lady recalling her own marriage, celebrated quietly, perhaps, in an empty church, with bride and groom in their faded best? Laura gave herself a silent reprimand for mawkishness. After a breakfast for the relations at Lewton Hall, the newlyweds departed, white ribbons fluttering on the carriage. With many compliments and good wishes to her new relations, Elspeth signalled their departure. There were four ladies in the barouche, the countess and Elspeth on the forward-facing seat. There was room for one more between Mrs. Bell and Laura. The baronet gulped on imagining himself seated between those particular ladies, and climbed up onto the box instead. “Would you wish to take the reins, Sir Richard?” said the coachman. “Indeed I would. I haven’t driven a coach in I don’t know how long.” Sir Richard hoisted himself up on the box beside the coachman and conveyed the ladies back to Oakmont. Over the next two days, the mood deadened at the manor. On Sunday they dined in heavy solemnity. Even the countess could not expel the air of gloom that had settled over the household, particularly infecting the baronet and his intended.

In the drawing room, her ladyship had a quiet conversation with Mrs. Evans. “Let us away to Clarydon, my dear.” “There is something ill in the air here, I know. It was always the dullest place on earth.” “I will hear no criticism of Oakmont. But my poor Ding Dong weeps into her cup of morning chocolate; I can hardly bear to look at her.” “Can you not send her away?” Elspeth looked around to make sure she was not overheard. “I dare not risk taking my sister from this place.” The countess laughed. “The barnonet’s neighbours all but wiped the floor with their foreheads before her at the ball.” “Yes, but do you not see how she cringes at his slightest touch on her hand.” “A change of scene is all she needs.” “You think so?” “Of course. A day or two away from him and she will set the wedding date at once.” When the baronet joined them, Lady Clarydon invited the whole party to come with her to Clarydon Castle, where his lordship was suddenly awaiting her with impatience. Elspeth clapped her hands. “I am sure my sister is honoured to be included in the invitation, your ladyship.” She looked significantly at Laura. “I have heard much of the beauties of the place,” said Laura, feeling little desire to see them for herself. “You will be drawing to your heart’s content,” said Elspeth. “There is nothing like a change of air to enthuse one to … who knows what?” Laura did not reply. “We will be a small party,” said the countess, “but there will be amusement enough.” “It is not often that the baronet can be lured from home,” said Elspeth. “I shall be very honoured to accept the invitation,” Sir Richard said, surprising himself and the ladies.

“Then all are agreed,” said the countess. “We ought to farewell the Woodruff family before we go,” said Laura. Mrs. Evans blew her a little kiss. “You go to them, my love. I shall write them such a letter as they will think a visit superfluous,” she said. At Lewton Hall, Laura found the household in feverish preparations for departure. The mysteries of the letter from India, and Mr. Woodruff’s brief banishment were revealed. A new Jane Woodruff greeted Laura: her face was lit up with joy. Her every movement, graceful as ever, was alight with a youthful optimism that had seemed lost. “I have at last what I have prayed for!” she said. “I would have liked to tell you of my attachment before but all such confidence was impossible, with my father’s opposition.” “I would not expect to hear of a matter so private.” Laura smiled. “I cannot pretend to having had no curiosity at all.” Jane laughed. “I never thought to see Jeremy defy my father—and on my account.” “You will not be here when I return—in three or four months.” This was the closest reference she had yet made to her own marriage. “I leave in two weeks, as a lady of my mother’s acquaintance is rejoining her husband in Calcutta and will be able to chaperone me on the voyage.” “So soon?” How Laura had relied upon Miss Woodruff’s friendship! “When will you return?” “Mr. Preston has no expectation of returning for at least six years. We will then go to the north, to the parish held for him there.” “Oh.” Laura felt a soft, dark sadness settle upon her. “I will miss you,” she said. “I think you will find pleasures to fill your days very well but I will miss your society.” “One cannot have everything,” said Laura. “That would not be good for us. Yet to have the love of an excellent man must compensate us for the little losses.”

“How true,” said Laura.

CHAPTER 33

The first thing he knew was the reddish light of the sun through his eyelids and he winced at the sharpness of it. “Captain?” He made a great effort and his eyelids flickered. “Hurry! He wakes.” Edward became aware that the clamour had died. In the hush came the eerie scraping of metal on metal. He opened his

eyes. His vision blurred. Who was that among the crowd of men? He blinked, and saw a midshipman, young Bedford, had his hands halfcovering his face, as his shoulders heaved. Edward could not think straight. Was that strange pain in his arm? He turned to see and felt hands clasped firmly on the sides of his head, preventing him. He forced his eyes up, wincing against the

sting of the sun, and saw the tricolour flapping still at the top of the mast. “Lower it.” “Lower the frog ensign!” cried the boatswain. Edward watched its descent, smiling slightly at the cheer that went up. His eyes watered at the effort of staying open as the flag of His Majesty’s Navy was hoisted up. A great roar went up, echoed by the crew who watched from the Capricornia

alongside. He

was drifting away from them, eyes closed. “Mitchell?” he said. “Yes, Captain. I am here.” “Tell Charlotte …” “You can tell her yourself.” Mitchell’s voice lacked conviction. The fumes of whisky stung Edward’s nostrils. He felt the bottle placed at his lips, and the spirits poured half in, half out of his mouth. He gagged. “Lift his head more,” came the

surgeon’s voice. Edward felt his head raised a little and his mouth filled with whisky, and again, and again. “Is it good and sharp?” said the doctor. “Aye, it is.” The captain felt pressure more than the ache of the tourniquet tightening around his bicep. He was beyond pain. The bottle was withdrawn and Edward opened his eyes a crack. The boatswain, he thought, he couldn’t be sure,

lifted the leather gag, and it was between Edward’s teeth. He bit down. He felt the weight come down on the right side of his chest, as Mitchell knelt on him. For a second, he looked up, at a blurred view of the sun glinting on the knife. He screamed and his voice came out not muffled by any cloth. A rasping sound. He screamed again.

He was half-sitting in the bed, sweat dripping from him. “Edward, what is it?” “What? Who?”

He felt her arms go around him, as she knelt in the bed. Evalina! “My God—I haven’t dreamt of it in months.” Unthinking, he touched the healed stump of his arm. “Evalina! Forgive me.” “You ask forgiveness for having a nightmare, Edward!” She had drawn him close to her, so that some of his weight was taken on her slender frame. “I must have given you a dreadful shock, my darling girl.” “I am not a baby, Edward.” “It is my duty to protect you from fear, not to create it.” “Hush.” She stopped his lips with her own. “What was my fright to what you must have felt.” “It was nothing much,” he said, beginning to laugh. They collapsed back upon the pillows. “Do you know Fanny Charman asked First Lieutenant Mitchell about … that day and he said you did not even cry out. This has made a splendid impression upon her.” He laughed then, in earnest. “You know that I was gagged.” “Of course I do, but don’t imagine that I told Miss Charman so.” She smiled to herself in the darkness. Some day she would tell Edward of the conversation she had with her father, after they first made the captain’s acquaintance. She had asked the colonel if he thought the captain very brave. He had said “Bravery is nothing. Courage is the thing. When you are afraid and still you do not flinch—that is courage.” She asked him then did he think the captain had been afraid when he knew that the surgeon must remove his injured arm. “Are you mad, Evvy? He has a brain! Still, I heard that even as they prepared the knife, he smiled at the lowering of the French flag.” Silly Papa, she thought. He should not have talked so of Edward if he wanted her to marry the cousin. “Edward?” she said. “When will Laura marry your cousin?” “Soon. I hope.”

“Do you think they will be as happy as we are?” “Nobody else can be so happy.” She laughed, gratified, and kissed him. She snuggled into his shoulder and felt her eyelids droop. In a matter of a moment or two, she slept. Edward lay awake for a little longer. Throughout the war, he would leap across to another deck, sword raised ready to strike, feeling no fear of the weapons in the hands of his foes. He felt only a gulp of surprise when he saw the French sailor come from behind with cutlass raised. Yet that terror, when he swam out of unconsciousness to see the surgeon’s knife glinting, was something he had wanted to keep from Evalina. Almost without knowing it, he had feared the lessening of Evalina’s love should she discover him capable of fear. He wished there could be such happiness as this for his sister. That she should have the joy of discovering the depths and secrets of someone drawn to her by fate. He deliberately drew up the memory of Laura in tiara and lace, at her loveliest, admired and respected by all. He felt sure that she would come to love Oakmont with much of the fervour felt by her husband to be.

CHAPTER 34

LAURA FELT THE THRILL OF escape, when the party left the stultifying air of Oakmont, bent upon adventure. Mrs. Evans had decided that Laura and Mrs. Bell would travel in the baronet’s carriage, while she occupied the barouche with the countess. The journey was to be broken into two days owing to their late departure. At Exeter, they halted to buy more materials for the banners. The purchases completed, the baronet suggested a short walk, then a luncheon, before they continued their journey. The ladies accompanied Sir Richard into a lane off High Street, where he pointed up to a carving high on the crumbling wall of a house. The countess seemed unable to share his excitement as she studied the broken emblem. “Do you not see?” said Sir Richard. “This is the bottom left-hand side of the Morrison crest! This place once housed Sir Belvedere Morrison—younger brother of Sir William. He was a knight attendant upon the Queen!” “Oh yes!” said Mrs. Bell, breathlessly. “I see it!” “What a clever little love you are!” cried Lady Clarydon, glancing at Elspeth, who smothered a laugh. Mrs. Bell seemed not to hear her, and Laura was struck by the glowing expression in the lady’s eyes. She noted that the target of Mrs. Bell’s gaze was not the broken masonry but Sir Richard himself, as he used his stick to sketch in the air the missing parts of the crest. He caught that look—indeed he could hardly help doing so—and returned it with an expression much like fervent admiration. The entire group fell silent. He lowered his arm absently, coughed and tore his gaze away. With a satirical look at her friend, Elspeth said, “We thank you for the wonderful history lesson, Cousin!” “Fascinating!” said Lady Clarydon. “You have

put me in mind to investigate the dear earl’s relics, Sir Richard. I am sure Lord Clarydon will be delighted with such advice as you might give him in digging up the more … elusive clues to his family’s past.” Elspeth had to turn away, as she could not keep her countenance, but Sir Richard, quite unaware of her ladyship’s mockery, thanked her warmly. A brief look of resentment, which passed over Mrs. Bell’s face, did not escape Laura’s notice. “Shall we continue our journey?” said Elspeth and, in silent assent, they walked back to the inn. Elspeth and the countess were arm in arm in the lead, their heads together while they giggled. Laura took the baronet’s arm, and Mrs. Bell, avoiding all eyes, trailed in the rear. Laura could do nothing to lighten the strained atmosphere in Sir Richard’s carriage. Mrs. Bell gazed through the window, having seemingly resolved not to look in the gentleman’s direction. From the baronet’s expression, Laura surmised that he felt remorse for his unguarded moment. In fact, Sir Richard felt guilty of a serious dereliction of duty owing to his betrothed. His solution was to not look at Mrs. Bell at all, and to frequently smile and nod to his cousin. Laura’s expression he felt unqualified to read—alternately he thought her sad, puzzled, irritated and, once or twice, wryly amused. In fact, he read her correctly. One feeling tumbled upon another and she had not the strength to pretend otherwise. She looked sidelong at Mrs. Bell’s profile, for she stared fixedly out of the window, tension showing in her cheek. What is to be done? Laura thought. Can they be in love? Everyone is falling in love around me. She gave a hollow laugh, and Sir Richard chuckled quietly in encouragement. Mrs. Bell’s eyes flickered over to the baronet, their eyes briefly met and Laura caught a kind of terror in the gentleman’s look. This is horrible—madness! thought Laura. All three stared fixedly out of the windows. The air was thick with emotion but at least Laura could refuse to look at her travelling companions. After ten minutes or so,

in spite of herself, she turned her head back to look at them, and saw that Sir Richard’s gaze had moved to Mrs. Bell, who did not return it, yet slowly a deep blush spread over her cheeks. They halted in Honiton, where they were to lodge overnight at the inn. The party settled into a narrow, draughty room, while they waited for refreshments. Lady Clarydon yawned and Elspeth followed suit. Sir Richard opened his mouth to speak, failed and picked up the newspaper. The ladies made the occasional innocuous remark, until Sir Richard cried: “Here it is!” He pointed to the announcements of marriages in his newspaper.

Lately, Captain Edward Morrison, son of the late Reverend Augustine Morrison, former vicar of St Bartholomew’s church, Oakmont, in the county of Devonshire, to Miss Evalina Woodruff, second daughter of Colonel Francis Woodruff,

ret., of the 25th Regiment of Foot, of Lewton Hall, Lewton, Devonshire.

“Very satisfactory, Richard,” said Elspeth. “There’s an editor’s note!”

Readers will be gratified to discover that the bridegroom is the same Captain Morrison who was decorated by HM The King and celebrated by the British Public for his heroism in the defence of the HMS Capricornia.

The captain suffered grievous

injury but it will surprise none to hear that he has fought his disablement with the same courage that characterised his naval career. On behalf of the many readers who wrote to The T i m e s on the occasion of Captain Morrison’s triumphant return to Britain, the editor expresses congratulations and earnest wishes for every happiness to Captain and Mrs. Morrison.

He looked around in delight. “What do you think

of that?” “Let me see it for myself, Richard,” said Laura, coming to the table. “It’s wonderful, Cousin,” said Elspeth. “What think you, Countess?” “It will be the talk of drawing rooms all over our great country.” “I fear none of you will wish to know me now you are to be famous!” Everyone laughed; it was their first moment of cheer since Edward’s wedding. Buoyed by this pleasant diversion, they sat down to dine. Her ladyship had ordered a good array of dishes and they ate well. “My friends,” said the countess. Every face turned to her. “I have heard from the earl and he particularly desires me to call upon a friend in Lyme before we carry on to Clarydon Castle.” Laura felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “My dear Countess!” cried Elspeth. “Impossible!” The countess gestured to the maid. “Pray serve some of that excellent pie to the gentleman.” The girl folded her apron in her hands and picked up the hot dish to take it to the other end of the table. “We were … um … eager to see Clarydon Castle,” said Sir Richard. The countess looked from one to other of them. “Are you equally prejudiced against the place, Miss Morrison?” On hearing the name, the maid serving them almost dropped the dish of pie as she lowered it to the table, and cried out as the hot vessel burned her hand. Elspeth said, “Clumsy girl! Know you not how to attend to your betters?” “Sister!” said Laura. “Do not be so hard upon her.” She turned to the servant. “Are you hurt? Let me see it.” “Miss Morrison is the soul of kindness,” said the countess, as the girl approached Laura. Laura laughed at the awed look on the girl’s face. “I am not very famous!” She turned over the injured

hand. “You have burned yourself. Find my maid, Miss Sarah Jones, and tell her I wish her to tend you. She is very skillful for one so young.” “Thank’ee, Miss.” “Off you go then.” Taking action on this small matter somehow gave Laura courage. As soon as the meal was over, she excused herself, went to her room and wrote a letter to Sir Richard.

My dearest Cousin, I write knowing I will astonish you and perhaps cause you pain. You made your generous offer on account of the compromising position in which I placed myself in September. We entered our understanding for motives that can no longer hold true. I am

now quite convinced that my illness was of a passing nature. You have noted, I am sure, my reticence in the past weeks. I have come to see that happiness does not lie in the direction of our marriage. You are the very best of men, Richard, and I hope you will always be my friend, but I beg you to release me from an engagement that can serve the interests of neither of us.

God bless you! With deepest obligation, Laura

In the parlour, Laura found the party seated in discomfort upon the heavy benches by the fire, while Lady Clarydon presided from the only armchair. In Laura’s absence, they had fallen in with the countess’s plans. Again, Laura found her movements arranged for her. Of all the party, she would be likely to have the strongest objection, yet no one thought seriously to consult her. Her pride revolted at the opportunity placed before the people of Lyme to laugh at her again, though it would most likely be behind their hands when she was under the countess’s protection. Sir Richard bade the others goodnight rather early, and Laura made haste to follow him. Coming from the parlour, Laura found the passage was dark. She made out the figure of her cousin, silhouetted against the light cast by a lantern. She called softly, “Richard!” He turned and she could not see his face in the dimness. He walked back to her and she handed him the letter. “Laura, what …?” he began to say. She placed her fingers on her lips and looked back at the sitting-room door. She spoke in an urgent whisper. “Not now, Richard. Pray read it and wait until we can speak alone.” He nodded slowly. “Do not speak of it before my brother and sister, Richard!” He reached for her hand, but she withdrew it before he could grasp it. “No.” Muffled conversation echoed in the passage,

perhaps carried up the stairs or from their sitting room. “Good night,” she said, and he heard the silken wavelets of her skirt swish by him as she hastened away. Sir Richard stood there. Some member of their party was coming—he heard the sound of the parlour door. It opened and, in the light spilling into the passage, he saw Mrs. Bell barely five paces from him. Coming into the dimness of the passage, she did not see him and turned to close the parlour door. He held his breath, frozen, then hastily put the letter in his pocket. The slight movement revealed his presence and she stopped; then took a step in his direction. He reached out his hand to her. She did not speak, but scurried away, only the fringes of her dark shawl tapped against his hand as she passed him.

CHAPTER 35

THOUGH SHE WOKE EARLY TO the bustling sounds of an inn, Laura waited until she was sure that the others would be assembled for breakfast before entering the dining parlour. She took her place and accepted a serving of toast before darting a look at Sir Richard in order to read his expression. With crumpled forehead, he shook his head. Laura raised her eyebrows slightly, to indicate that he must be more discreet. No doubt he felt he was being very subtle, but not subtle enough for Elspeth, whose eyes narrowed. She darted a suspicious look at Mrs. Bell. The wretched woman was blushing! When they prepared to enter the carriages, Mrs. Bell was handed into the countess’s barouche. “I have missed you terribly, my Ding Dong Bell,” said Lady Clarydon. Laura felt a sense of relief that the tension of yesterday might not be repeated, with Mrs. Bell in another vehicle. “I will travel with you, if I may, dear Richard,” said Elspeth. Just as Sir Richard handed Elspeth into the carriage, Laura heard a voice behind her whisper “Miss … Miss …” Laura turned and recognised the maid who had attended their party at table the night before. “Oh, it is you,” she said. “Is your hand a little better? It was very painful, I am sure.” “Thank’ee, miss. You was kind to me—you asked mistress not to work me too hard today.” “I am very happy if she has heeded my request.” The girl quickly looked over her shoulder before whispering, “I knows about the letter!” Laura looked at her in astonishment. “What

letter? I’m afraid I do not understand you.” Could the girl have seen her pass the letter to Richard? she wondered. The girl’s eyes narrowed. “You do know! I want to tell you that I’ll never tell, not never.” “You have confused me with some other lady,” said Laura. “It were you as writ a letter to the gen’leman a few weeks past!” So she does not refer to last night, thought Laura. Elspeth lowered the carriage window. “Let us be off, Laura.” “Wait, Elspeth. I wish to understand what this girl is saying.” Laura walked a few paces away and the servant girl followed her. “You say I sent a letter to … a gentleman?” “Yes, but don’ be afeard. I’ll tell Jem … my sweetheart, not to say nothing to no one.” “I wrote no such letter.” The girl bristled. “I were trying to help. He were told not to tell no one or he’ll lose his place.” “What?” “He were give the letter to carry.” Elspeth called loudly and Sir Richard came to escort Laura to the carriage. “I am sure you mean well,” said Laura. She took Sir Richard’s hand and he assisted her into the carriage. He followed her and took his place. Elspeth gave the servant girl a withering look before she pulled the blind up. “Let us go at once, Richard,” she said. He rapped his stick on the roof of the carriage and they started off down the road. “What has that wretched girl been saying?” Elspeth asked. Laura merely looked perplexed. “Well, Laura? Answer me, pray.” Laura took a deep breath and said, as calmly as she could, “She claims I sent a letter to … a gentleman.” “Oh, Laura, how could you?” “You asked me what the girl said and I’m telling you. Of course I did not write such a letter—as if I would!”

Elspeth looked at her doubtfully. “I do hope …” “Elspeth, I know, with absolute certainty, that I would never have conducted a clandestine correspondence with any gentleman who was neither related nor engaged to me. It would go completely against my nature to do something so improper.” “That is true, I believe,” conceded Elspeth. “Thank you.” “The horrid girl probably made the story up overnight, thinking you’d pay for her silence.” “That will be it,” said Sir Richard. “She did not ask me for money.” “That does not mean she did not hope for it,” said Elspeth. They rode along in silence for a time. Laura thought over the brief incident the evening before. “At dinner, the girl seemed surprised at hearing my name.” “Why would that be?” said Elspeth. “She has a sweetheart in service somewhere hereabouts—Jem is his name. If he is in Lyme, he may have heard something of me,” said Laura. “Perhaps he is employed at the inn, if he was asked to carry a letter …” said Sir Richard. “There was no letter, Cousin,” said Elspeth. “Oh yes, I was trying to be of assistance.” “Of course you were.” Elspeth smiled condescendingly. The chill in her tone reminded him of the low value she was accustomed to place on his assistance. Laura was watching Elspeth carefully. The memory arose before her of young Mr. Woodruff furtively handing her sister a note as she got into the carriage that day. She recalled the way Elspeth covered it with her shawl before slipping into her reticule. At the time, Laura thought it a love letter and had felt sorry for him in advance of the reply. Now she wondered. “Why are you looking at me in that way, Laura?” said Elspeth. “I think of letters—of who might write them and why.” “You have been imposed upon, Laura.”

“People do sometimes write secret letters.” Elspeth laughed, yet Laura felt unconvinced. “There was truth in her looks,” said Laura. “My dear, it is her cunning. These people have no scruples when it comes to parting the gullible from their money.” “Or perhaps the letter is an embellishment of the story by her admirer,” said Sir Richard. “Well thought!” said Elspeth, giving Laura a triumphant look. She glided on to another subject with a laughing reference to future letters that might pass between people close to her. This hint about the coming wedding produced so dismal a response that Elspeth began to be more than a little frightened about the match. She wondered at the wisdom of their party going to Clarydon Castle, or Lyme, or indeed anywhere at all, in the company of Mrs. Bell. Laura felt a surge of anxiety, and pressed her hand to her stomach as the carriage turned into the road that descended to Lyme. There was a lurch of the carriage when the coachman applied the brake and she braced herself against the cushions. “Are you well, Laura?” asked Sir Richard. “Yes, perfectly,” she said. Sir Richard gave her one of his puppy looks and she knew he understood her. “I will take you down to the Cobb when we arrive,” he said. “You will feel better then.” “I shall enjoy that.” Elspeth was all coyness. “I am not well enough to accompany you, Cousin,” she said. As they came down the steep little street, Laura was all but overwhelmed by thoughts of … no, no, she told herself. I will not think of him. Their carriage pulled up behind the countess’s, near the bottom of the street. “The Three Cups! You have your wish, Elspeth,” said Laura. “Her ladyship cannot be expected to stay at the Lion,” her sister replied.

The baronet jumped down and turned to hand the ladies out. As Laura stepped down into Lyme again, her anxiety was swept away by a sense of excitement. The salty wind blowing up from the sea lifted her spirits at once. A young idler gawked at her—mouth round with surprise, but he dropped his gaze at once when she caught his look. Lady Clarydon was entering the inn and a voice could be heard calling, “Quick now, George—’tis the Countess of Clarydon!” The landlord hurried up from the cellar to join his wife in bowing the party in. They were ushered up to the largest set of rooms in the place. After refreshing themselves, they reassembled in the wide, low sitting room and the countess ordered their dinner. “Miss Morrison and I will take a turn out to the Cobb,” said Sir Richard. “Who will join us?” “I am by no means up to such an adventure,” said the countess. “Nor I,” said Elspeth. Mrs. Bell began to rise. “You wish to walk out, Mrs. Bell!” said Elspeth, seemingly astonished. “How can you be so cruel as to desert me, my own?” said the countess. She turned to the baronet. “I must deprive you of my dear Mrs. Bell, Sir Richard. I find I cannot do without her.” Mrs. Bell blushed and sank down into her seat. Elspeth came over to Laura and adjusted her yellow scarf. “Really, Elspeth, I am not five years old!” said Laura. “I delight in seeing you at your best, my darling. I hope you will not walk out on the Cobb, Dear Heart. It may be damp, even though the day is fine.” Laura rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mama,” she said. “You cannot make me angry, my love.” Then, as though she were planting a kiss on her sister’s cheek, she leant up and whispered, “Pray, do not be so odd and cold to my cousin. I beg you to set a date for your marriage this afternoon.” Laura extricated herself. Elspeth took both her sister’s hands and surveyed her appearance. “How very

well you look in this coat, my darling.” With narrowed eyes, she silently mouthed the words, “Do it!”

With trepidation still, Laura stood at the top of the stairs. The town was the scene of her final humiliation two months before. Sir Richard patted her hand, where it rested on his arm and she managed a strained smile. “They bundled me down the stairs at the Lion, like a criminal, Richard,” she said quietly. “Things will be different, now. You saw how the countess was received here.” “I am safe in the inn, yes.” “Put them in their place with one of your famous set downs.” She laughed. “Am I really so fierce as that?” “You are dreadful.” “Excellent.” They descended the stairs to the street, where Laura felt glad of her warm coat, for the wind was cold. Sir Richard’s coachman hovered near the door. “What ho, Jenkins!” cried the baronet. “How is old Betsy? Did you take a look at her leg?” “Aye, Sir Richard, and I don’t much like the look of it.” “Well, ask the fellow at the stables for his opinion. Two heads are better than one.” They walked back into the street and Laura sensed a difference since her departure from the place—a few people stared then turned their heads away, that was all. “This is not so bad,” said Sir Richard. They began to follow the path around to the Cobb. The sea was a splendid greenish-blue, with white caps racing along in the bay beyond the breakwater. The stiff breeze caused Sir Richard to clamp his hat down firmly on his head, while Laura tied her scarf over her bonnet. Sir Richard smiled. “I do like that yellow scarf, Laura. How well you look in the wind. Your eyes are taking on a splendid lustre.”

“No doubt my nose will follow their example before long!” Laura looked out along the deserted breakwater. “Shall we dare Elspeth’s anger and walk along it?” asked Laura. “Let us take the lower walkway,” he said. At the point furthest from the shore, no one was about; and they stopped near a spot where a coil of thick rope lay. Looking into the bay, Sir Richard signalled the beginning of a speech by humming and hawing. At last he began. “I have read your letter, Laura, and find I cannot give way to you.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the water, continuing, in a low rumble, to deliver what seemed a practised speech. “All in the neighbourhood around Oakmont expect that our marriage will take place. We will be exposed to gossip if the match is broken off; I will be censured, and you, especially, may feel some damage to your prospects.” “What prospects are those, Richard?” she said. “Let us face the truth, and that is that you have been my … only worthwhile suitor all these years. I shall recover.” “Nay, Laura, dear, I cannot let you take this step.” His glance slid away across the waves. They stood side by side, Sir Richard looking far away onto the watery vista. He frowned and his jaw tightened. “I am determined to be your husband and to make you happy.” Laura felt her heart sink at the thought of starting their life together with this dogged determination. “How shall I make you happy, Richard? I feel the deepest disquiet when I think of our future together. Treasured friend though you are, you will regret it, I feel.” “What should I regret—after wanting this union for so long?” “Oh, Richard!” The distance still held her gaze. “You have said that it is time to abandon dreams.” “Can we not trot along together in harness and be happier than when we pulled our carts alone?” An image of the two of them trotting along and pulling a cart behind them made Laura smile, in spite of the awkwardness of their situation.

Sir Richard took her hand. “Name the day, my dear, and all your troubles will be done with.” He took a step to one side, stumbling slightly on the ropes. Laura caught his arm, saying, “Have a care, Richard.” She looked everywhere but at him, and the silence between them was filled with the screaming of gulls and the impatient slap of waves against the breakwater. In this place, the danger of her frailty of mind seemed blown off by the salt wind. Here she felt her fears for her sanity loosen their sinewy hold on her mind. There would be advantages in this marriage, she thought. Yet I would pay a price for them. What will it cost me—and him? This she felt even without facing the evidence that Sir Richard was falling in love with someone else. Pure gallantry had him determined upon a course that was now so little adapted for his own happiness. “Dear Richard,” she said. “I have treated you cruelly and selfishly in entering into this engagement, and hope that you will forgive me.” “Laura—do not speak so.” “I beg you to release me.” She could say no more. “Be truthful, now, Laura. Do you do this only for my own happiness? Do you imagine I have been so dishonourable as to consider another while engaged to you?” She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “You consider another? No, Richard. There is no more honourable man than you. Should I ever marry— unlikely as it seems—it cannot be to a better man.” Laura noted a curious lightening of his expression, and sensed that a ripple of relief washed over him. He said, “You shall be free and I shall not.” “That is too much altogether! I do not accept it.” Her tone was calm and firm; she felt in control for the first time in weeks. “Then it shall be as you wish.” He offered her his arm, indicating the way back

to the inn, but she shook her head. “I wish to be alone for a few minutes, Richard. Do you very much mind?” “Not at all. I shall go to the stable and take a look at Betsy.” With a vague feeling of anxiety, Sir Richard left Laura and went back towards the inn. His concern about leaving her alone was not for her mind—somehow he felt sure that all was well in that regard—what he feared was Elspeth’s anger. He went instead to find his coachman, Jenkins, in Betsy’s stall, binding up her leg while an ostler held her head. Another fellow lounged against the horse box. “Hullo, Jenkins, my good man!” Sir Richard boomed out in a jocular tone. “Hullo, sir,” his coachman said. “Betsy’s leg’s astrained, Sir Richard, that’s all, I think. She’ll need a few days rest.” “Excellent,” said the baronet, and turned to the man holding the mare’s head. “Are you in agreement?” “Yes, sir, but I axed Jos Creeley here to come and have a look-see. He agrees.” Sir Richard turned to the other man. “Very kind, I’m sure.” He pulled out his purse and handed the man a coin. “Thank’ee, sir.” At the sight of the baronet’s purse, a stable boy moved out from the shadows, looking as wise as he might. “You are young Jem, I suppose.” “No, sir, if you want Jem—he’s far off at Mr. Whichale’s.” “Hold your tongue,” said Creeley. “At Mr. Whichale’s, you say?” said Sir Richard. He vaguely felt the peculiarity of the coincidence; then shook his head. “It was just a name that popped into my head. I’m more interested in my horse.” “I’ll be off. ’Tis a busy day at the Lion,” said Creeley. Meanwhile, Laura stepped onto the top of the Cobb, turning

her face into the salt wind. She went sure-footedly along the top of the breakwater, until she reached the furthest point from land. Wind whipped her skirts about her ankles. Salt tingled on her lips and her eyes shone. Laura gazed out at the splendours of the sea. It was the first time she had been alone, out of doors, in two long months. Every final doubt in herself, every irritation at the imprisonment of the past weeks, seemed blown out of her by the tangy wind. They tried to tell me I was crazed, she thought. They almost drove me mad. She looked back to the place by the Assembly Rooms, where she dreamed she stood in the wind that day with Mr. Templeton, marvelling over the way the sun lit the backs of the waves. She thought of the letter. Perhaps it was not such a perplexing mystery. If the gossips invented a tale of clandestine correspondence, the destruction of her reputation in Lyme was explained. In any case, she thought, it would make no material difference to her life if Mr. Templeton proved to be real. He had taken himself beyond her reach anyway. Looking again at the surging sea beyond the bay, Laura knew her tears were already shed. She felt at last free of pain; she felt free.

CHAPTER 36

ELSPETH LOOKED UP EXPECTANTLY AS Laura came back from her walk; then frowned. “Where is my cousin?” she asked. “Richard has gone to the stables to look at his lame mare.” “He might have waited upon me first.” “You make him sound like a neighbour, returned after a long absence.” “I want to hear the news from you both,” said Elspeth. Laura did not reply, but went into her bedroom, locking the door. Once inside, she sank upon the edge of the bed, absently untying her bonnet and placing it beside her. Slowly, she unbuttoned her coat, sorting out her feelings, because her relief at ending the engagement was tempered by her dread of the coming conflict. She heard Elspeth’s tap upon the door, tentative at first, then more insistent. The handle turned uselessly for the door was locked. “Laura, pray unlock your door, dearest. I would speak with you.” “Not now, Elspeth. I wish to be alone.” “This is your sister, Laura.” “I know this, strange as it might appear. Please leave me.” The handle rattled, softly, persistently. Laura smiled, imagining her sister longing to call out loudly, only held back by her fear of others’ curiosity. The rattling stopped, to be replaced by Elspeth’s sugary whispers. “I am in an agony of fear over you, dear. What are you doing?” Laura went to the door and said, “Pray do not take on, Elspeth. I wish to have a few minutes to myself.” “Very well then,” sniffed Elspeth.

She was offended. Good, thought Laura. If I am in luck, she’ll not speak to me for hours. Sarah tapped on her door a little later and was admitted, with her mistress’s pressed dinner gown. Preparations for the evening had begun, and Laura knew she was safe from Elspeth’s interference for a time. At dinner, Elspeth found Sir Richard nervous, and Laura suspiciously light in mood. She made an elegant little grimace to Lady Clarydon. It was clear to her that a rupture had occurred between the engaged couple. After dinner, she secluded herself in her room and wrote to her brother.

Dearest Edward, I beseech you to come to us with all haste for disaster has overtaken our family. The case may not be altogether lost if you— the moral head of the family, given the weakness of the titular holder of that office— come to save all. Terror on the face of

the odious Bell woman leads me to conclude that she is to blame. Beg a thousand pardons for me from my dear sister, Evalina. Convey to her my deepest apologies. But come, Edward! In tears of agony, your loving sister, Elspeth.

With cold dignity, the lady handed the letter to the baronet, saying, “Will you kindly arrange for this letter to be sent express, at once, to my brother’s house in Cornwall?” The lady’s tone struck a chill in Sir Richard’s heart and he hurried downstairs, casting many a worried glance upon the letter. The next morning, Laura awoke feeling at once a lightness of spirit. She had no view of the sea from her window, but nevertheless sat at her desk, wrapped in a warm shawl, working on her old drawings of the sea. The sense of

missing elements teased her no longer, and she used her colours to put a hint of yellow in a black cloud, a glitter on the top of a dark wave. Engrossed, she found time went by quickly and she had to hurry to be ready for breakfast. As Laura entered the dining parlour, the rest of the party, which had assembled already, turned and stared at her. The countess said, “You are in good looks today, Miss Morrison. The air in Lyme agrees with you.” “Is it the air that brings about this change, Laura?” said Elspeth. “I was not aware that I was any different.” She had no way of knowing how the sense of deliverance within was reflected in her manner, her eyes, her every movement. Elspeth looked from her sister to the baronet, where he sat, his eyes shifting about, and fixed upon Mrs. Bell. “What think you, Mrs. Bell? Are not my sister’s looks out of the common today?” Mrs. Bell swallowed. “Yes,” she ventured. “In what way do her looks please you, Mrs. Bell?” “You tease our friend, Sister,” said Laura. “Yes,” said Sir Richard, with a sharpness that took Elspeth aback. “Let us leave it that Laura looks very well.” Elspeth gave him a look of incredulity; then smiled sweetly. The countess said, “There is to be an Assembly on Tuesday. Miss Morrison will steal all the attention with these wonderful looks.” “I faithfully promise to share the gentlemen,” said Laura. “I thank you for the favour,” said Elspeth. “I must find some lace to trim my new silk—I am not at all content with it. After breakfast, let us away to the haberdasher’s and see what we can find.” “You will join us, Sir Richard?” said the countess. “No … no,” he replied. “No?” said Elspeth.

“I regret that I am called away on business this morning,” said the baronet. Elspeth looked at him in plain disbelief. “I will not ask what business so strangely comes your way so far from home, Sir Richard.” The baronet shortly made his excuses and left them. Elspeth watched from the window as he went around to the stables. “I wonder where he is going,” she said. Far away from you, thought Laura. She laughed to herself dryly—and from me. She could not imagine there was a woman present with whom he felt at ease just now. Perhaps he even feared Mrs. Bell’s society. How fortunate he was—by virtue of being a man, he could leap upon a horse and gallop away alone. He could clatter along paths that afforded him a new view at every turn; then put his feet upon the fender in an inn somewhere. “We shall pass a very pleasant morning by ourselves,” said the countess. “What will you wear to the ball, Miss Morrison?” “My white gown with the emerald silk overskirt.” “Delightful! I rather fancy you in a turban, with a delicious green feather. What think you?” “I am in the mood for novelty—so I will say yes!” said Laura. “Let us go on the hunt!” said the countess, getting up from the table. Seeing Mrs. Bell rise, Elspeth said, “You too, Mrs. Bell? I hoped you would make out the pattern for that little piece of ribbon embroidery I showed you.” A quick glance at the countess’s expression confirmed for Mrs. Bell that it would be in her interest to please her patroness’s friend. She picked up the fashion magazine and her workbasket and settled at the table. At the bottom of the stairs, the landlord bowed the three ladies out, shooing an urchin off the step. They briefly viewed the sea; then set off up the street to the haberdasher’s. As they went off, all arm-in-arm, Laura felt the difference from her treatment in September. Lady Clarydon was well known in the little place, having

accompanied her husband on his visits to take the seaside cures, and they were acknowledged with bows and bobs. Material for a turban was discovered, as were feathers. Lady Clarydon insisted upon buying a pair of gloves for each of her friends—elegant white kid for Laura to do justice to her attire at the Assembly, and sky blue for Elspeth, to match her eyes. Elspeth discovered her allimportant lace. Leaving the haberdasher to wrap up their purchases, they set of for Swan’s, where Elspeth hoped to find the latest novels arrived. “I must discover if Mr. Swan has Mrs. Debell’s new book,” said Elspeth. “I hear it is to be full of horrors.” They soon discovered the precious volume, being unwrapped at the very moment they entered the library. Already Mr. Swan had a list of ladies awaiting the thrilling tome, but the countess preceded them, as a matter of course. “I’m terrified already!” she said, as they went into the street. They paused for a moment near the sea wall, where the stiff breeze caught at their bonnets and blew their skirts about. Lady Clarydon held her hat with one hand and fumbled with her disobedient skirt, squealing with laughter. “Is this not the greatest fun, my dears?” she said. Laura turned away and looked across the pallid and choppy harbour. In the distance, she made out a fisherman standing on the lower level, coiling up the thick rope that lay there still. Suddenly it spun out through the air, until it splashed, with a small spray of foam, near a fishing boat. “What interests you, dear Laura?” said Elspeth. “Just a rope, snaking through the air.” “You have the most peculiar taste, my love,” said Elspeth. “I must say this wind is frightful!” “The seaside is nothing when there is no wind!” declared Laura. “Such fun!” said Lady Clarydon. “What a trio of frights we must look, all blown about.” Just then, a young officer in the blue uniform of the Royal Artillery appeared, striding towards the lane that

led along the side of the Assembly Rooms and onto the path around the bay. His eyes registered first an admiration of Elspeth, then widened in a startled homage to the beauty of the countess. His glance almost slid past Laura, but he caught her eye and paused. She wondered for a moment who he could be, then remembered her introduction to him at the Assembly on her last visit to Lyme. “Why, Mr …. Reece!” She quickly took in his rank. “Lieutenant Reece, good morning.” “Good morning, Miss Morrison. I hope you are well?” The other ladies looked at Laura’s acquaintance with interest. A little below Laura’s height, he had an excellent figure, well displayed in his regimentals. His hazel eyes shone with health and with warm interest as he exchanged pleasantries with Laura. Glancing at the countess, Laura surmised that she would be happy for an introduction. “Lady Clarydon, may I present Lieutenant Reece? This is the Countess of Clarydon.” He bowed, gentlemanlike but naturally—with no worldly flourish—as Laura recalled thinking when she met him at the Assembly. “Let us take a walk to the church,” said the countess. The lieutenant declared this to be exactly what he desired. Laura made way for the other ladies to each take an arm of the young officer, and followed them. The lieutenant spoke of his meeting with Miss Morrison, halfturning to say, “You owe me a dance still, madam, and I shall by no means release you. Pray stand on notice of it, next time we meet in a ballroom.” Over her shoulder, Elspeth gave her sister a glance of pretended disapproval. “I hope you have not been cruel to this gentleman, Laura.” “Oh, she is not to be blamed,” said Mr. Reece. “The lady who accompanied her was taken ill so Miss Morrison had no choice but to desert us.” He stopped walking and faced her, the others turning too so that they stood in a group. “How thoughtless of me, Miss Morrison,” he said. “I did not enquire after your friend. I hope she is well?” “Mrs. Gurdon? No, I am afraid … I am sorry to

say that Mrs. Gurdon has died.” He saw at once that she felt pained by the reminder. He gently extricated his right arm and extended his hand to her. “Pray accept my condolences, madam. I see that the lady was a valued friend.” “Thank you, sir. Mrs. Gurdon was my aunt’s neighbour. They were the best of friends.” Elspeth gave a half-sob. “Our aunt is stricken with grief. The loss of such a friend can almost rival the death of a sister.” “Indeed.” Distracted by the memory, Laura began to walk ahead, without further comment, momentarily forgetting the countess’s right of precedence. Elspeth looked affronted and called, in a loud whisper, “Laura!” Her sister, several paces ahead, did not hear her but the countess did. “Do not fret, my dear Mrs. Evans,” she said. “Your sister is thinking of her old friend. Let her have a few moments away from my nonsense.” “You are very good.” “I very much like to be thought so.” The lieutenant bowed and the two beauties each took an arm again, as they walked on some way behind Laura. The party stopped to admire St Michael’s church, which Elspeth could barely refrain from disparaging; the congregation here held no fears for her now. They turned back, the countess and Mrs. Evans quite enraptured with their new companion, and Laura was free to indulge her own thoughts. Mr. Reece’s reminder of their introduction had brought Mrs. Gurdon back to mind, and details of the ball returned. She tried to remember what Mrs. Gurdon said of young Mr. Reece. She recalled he had created a buzz of interest when he entered the Assembly Room. Oh, yes! “I was surprised to see you appear before us in regimentals, sir!” she said. “Why? I have always had a yearning for the military life. I join my regiment shortly and have only time to stay one night with my uncle and aunt.” “You are to be praised for your devotion to them.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Whichale love me as their own son, I would say.” It came back to Laura. It is as they said, she thought. I must indeed have heard the name of Mr. Whichale at the Assembly. Everyone was talking about Mr. Reece. I forgot because—well, I just forgot. “My Aunt Whichale has an affectionate nature,” said Mr. Reece. “Her two daughters are both well-married and far off. Mrs. Whichale misses them sorely, as does their father, and I must do to fill the breach.” “I imagine you serve that purpose very well indeed,” said the countess. The young man bowed, his face expressing that gratification that the countess’s smiles always produced. “Are there grandchildren? Does Mr. Whichale perhaps have a little grandson?” asked Elspeth. “Yes. He is immensely proud of the little fellow, though he sees him little. I imagine the lad will inherit Longpan one day.” Elspeth pulled a little face; she would not quite say aloud what a pity it was. “I do not repine,” said Mr. Reece. “Since his inheritance of my great-uncle’s estate, my Uncle Whichale has been kindness itself—he has been so generous as to purchase my excellent commission,” he said. “What an exemplary uncle!” said Elspeth. Laura too was surprised. She had asked Edward no questions about the details of Mr. Whichale’s establishment. His estate must be much greater than I imagined, she thought. For a gentleman with grandchildren of his own to buy a nephew an expensive commission presumed a generous income indeed. Unless, of course, there had been provision in the will of the old man; that was a likely explanation. “I tell you nothing you will not hear in the town,” Mr. Reece said. “It is common knowledge hereabouts that there was a quarrel between the old gentleman and my grandmother, his sister, long before he died. My branch of the family expected nothing from him but my uncle says I must not suffer for that old quarrel.” Suddenly the picture came to Laura’s mind of

Mrs. Gurdon, seated in a corner of the ballroom with two or three elderly chaperones. Laura could even bring to mind the old lady’s humorous tone of voice as she said of Mr. Reece: “He has a dreadful, rich old uncle, my dear, who, these ladies say, must surely alter his will in favour of this wondrous youth.” Her whimsical look had made Laura laugh and Mrs. Gurdon had said, “I don’t know that old gentlemen place the same value upon a young man’s shining eyes and courtly attentions as old ladies do. The uncle is quite the hermit, they say, so I know not what is the source for that story—I imagine it is all imagination.” Half an hour later, all thought of this trivial piece of gossip had been driven from Laura’s head when Mrs. Gurdon was suddenly taken ill. Laura had sat with her friend for some time during the next day or two, and had the satisfaction of seeing her much improved. After a few days, they had taken that walk together—the last the old lady ever took in her life. Laura looked at the young officer as he chatted happily with his new acquaintances. He felt her glance, which conveyed a sudden uncertainty and he smiled with a candid sympathy in his expression so that Laura knew at once that he had heard something of her story. The countess invited their new friend to join them for refreshments. “Your ladyship did not eat a proper breakfast!” said Elspeth. “Never mind that! Will you come, sir, or do you dare shun us?” “Indeed I do not dare, your ladyship.” They discovered Mrs. Bell occupying a chair by the window, where she worked at her tapestry. On the table lay a sketch of how Mrs. Evans might put together the embroidery she wanted. “How clever you are, Mrs. Bell,” said Elspeth. “I shall be eternally grateful.” “Mrs. Bell is prodigiously accomplished,” said the countess. “She works now on a banner with Morrison crest—as a favour to my cousin, Sir Richard,” said Elspeth. “I made Sir Richard’s acquaintance some time ago at my uncle’s house,” said the lieutenant. “He interested himself in my uncle’s project of restoring the old

house.” “My cousin is famous for his attention to these matters,” said Elspeth. “Your family name is of some renown,” said the lieutenant. “I saw the announcement of Captain Morrison’s marriage in the newspaper yesterday. The landlord at the Lion read it aloud to those at breakfast in the public dining room.” “We are very proud of our brother, sir. Are we not, Laura?” “Indeed.” “What can you tell us about your regiment? Have you met many of your brother officers, yet?” asked the countess. Mr. Reece obliged them with an entertaining story of his first encounter with some excellent men, seemingly his firm friends already. What a charmed life he leads, thought Laura. They could not detain the young man as long as they may have liked, for he made his excuses on the grounds of the duty he owed to his aunt. He bowed and left them. The door cut off their view of the young officer, and Elspeth collapsed upon the sofa with a cross little sigh. The countess leant back in her armchair and wordlessly stretched out her hand for her novel, which Mrs. Bell jumped up to fetch. It was plain that good humour had disappeared with their charming guest.

CHAPTER 37

AT LAST THE BARONET RETURNED, opening the door slowly, and edging his long frame into the room. “Sir Richard, we have been waiting for you this age,” said Elspeth. “I am very sorry,” he said. “You might ring the bell, cousin,” said Elspeth. “I am desperate for a cup of tea.” “Most gratified to be of assistance,” Sir Richard said, bowing twice. Lady Clarydon ordered refreshments from the servant, while Sir Richard inched his way across the room to Laura. “What an interesting drawing, Cousin. Is it the little beach here?” Elspeth curled her lip. “It is not Grosvenor Square.” They took tea in a frozen representation of civility, with Lady Clarydon not inclined to counterbalance Elspeth’s ill-humour. For the next hour, the baronet sat with the newspaper unread before his eyes. Elspeth’s needle stabbed in and out of her embroidery. The countess yawned over her novel, while Mrs. Bell bent her nose close to her tapestry. Laura turned her chair so that her back was to them all, and occupied herself with her more wholesome task of representing nature. The minutes crawled by until it was time to dress for dinner. Sarah had prepared a gown that had been laid aside these last weeks, white muslin, apricot-coloured embroidery down the front of the skirt, and on the sleeves. In her mistress’s hair, Sarah wound a cord of twisted gold and orange silks.

“Oh, Miss Laura, you are so beautiful tonight.” “You have armoured me splendidly for battle.” Sarah giggled. “You are yourself again, madam.” “Indeed I am!” In her finery, Laura entered the parlour, only to be brought up short by the distinct air of stilted manners in the room. The three ladies were ranged stiffly on a semicircle of chairs in front of the sofa. Mrs. Evans brought to mind a bird of prey, with her erect posture and concentrated stare. The countess wore a mask of fashionable hauteur, through which shone a freezing glimmer from her eyes. Mrs. Bell’s shoulders drooped; her entire body seemed to be collapsing, as though held upright only by her corset. Her eyes, too, were bent upon the gentleman, but in a mute plea. Before them, Sir Richard sprawled like a broken marionette upon the sofa. They all turned to Laura, and the baronet struggled upright. “Laura! You look very er …” His voice faded. “She is the belle of the evening!” said Lady Clarydon. Elspeth looked at her sister, her smile sour and reluctant. Mrs. Bell made a tiny coughing sound. “Lovely … lovely,” she said. Sir Richard grinned, as lopsided in his smile as in his body, and belatedly rose to his feet. “Laura, I cannot account for your blooming so,” said Elspeth. “There is something in her air that quite delights me,” said the countess. “Pardon me, Cousin, for not rising at once,” said Sir Richard. “You took my breath quite away.” “You are perfectly forgiven, sir.” Laura came to the sofa and sat at one end, while the baronet sank down on the other. “Have you had a pleasant morning, your ladyship?” she asked. “Thrilling. As you have too, Miss Morrison, unless your looks deceive me.” Laura noticed Mrs. Bell shrink back into her

chair, her mouth drooping, and turned back to the countess. “I must thank you, your ladyship, for it was your inspiration that brought us here, where the sea and the wind have made me quite my old self again.” “The elements were not so beneficial to your health when we were last in Lyme,” said Elspeth. “Nor to yours, my dear sister,” said Laura. “You were sickly as I recall.” Lady Clarydon laughed. Sir Richard rubbed his forehead, and glanced at Mrs. Bell. For a moment they stared at one another, confused and fearful. Silence fell again. Sir Richard began to draw his watch from his pocket, but his courage failed him and he put it back. The seconds ticked by. Suddenly, the door to their apartments was thrown open. They all turned to see the captain, his cape billowing out as he entered the room. He took off his hat and tossed it onto a chair. “Everyone is alive and well, I see.” “Edward!” cried Elspeth, reaching out her arms to him. Laura went to help him out of his cape. Edward kissed her cheek and said, “I see you dressed for celebration. Have you named the day?” Laura leant towards him and said, “Hush! I celebrate my own recovery.” “How well and happy you look, Edward,” said Elspeth. “I trust you left our darling Evalina in good health.” “I did, Elspeth.” He crossed to Elspeth’s chair and kissed her. “Mrs. Morrison extends her compliments to you all.” There was a murmur of pleasure from the company. The servant entered to announce that dinner was served. “You have timed your arrival well, Cousin,” said Sir Richard, with heartfelt sincerity, and they all followed Lady Clarydon into the dining parlour. Marriage certainly agreed with the captain. To his usual brisk and matter-of-fact air, there was now an element of complacency that helped to dispel the

awkwardness of the party. He dominated the conversation, since they all had little to relate, discussing his domestic details with a relish Laura would never have predicted a few months before. The countess had the discretion to retire early, followed by her companion. The captain stood by the fire, his sisters and cousin seated around him. “So, Elspeth,” he said. “What is the disaster that brought me here in a haste uncomplimentary to my wife?” “Laura has had the immodesty, the ingratitude to break off her engagement to Richard.” He turned to Laura. “Is this so?” “Richard and I will not marry.” Elspeth burst in again. “A gentleman would have refused to release her.” Sir Richard was cut to the quick. “As a gentleman, how could I refuse to release a lady from an engagement?” he said. Laura said, “Richard is in no way to blame.” Edward leant against the end of the mantle. “Why have you taken this step, Laura?” “I was sensible of the honour and advantages Richard offered. I love him dearly, but as a sister does, and know I could not make him happy as a wife.” Edward looked at Sir Richard, half-expecting to see a look of pain on his face, but Sir Richard nodded in a sympathetic way. “You too have altered your inclination, Cousin!” he said. “No! No!” cried Sir Richard. “I have never wavered in my intention.” “Your intention, only!” said Elspeth. “I would prefer an avowal of your continuing attachment to my sister.” “I … I have ever …” Sir Richard looked at Laura, in appeal. “You have ever what?” cried Elspeth. “Ever held Laura in … highest esteem …” He trailed off.

“You never could tell a lie, Richard,” cut in Laura. “That is one of your many fine attributes.” “You might stay out of this!” said Elspeth. Laura jumped up and stood facing her, saying, “It does not concern me, perhaps?” Elspeth looked at her in disdain. “You have created a problem for others to solve.” “You are ridiculous, Elspeth. You seek to force this marriage upon us for reasons of your own.” Elspeth at last dropped all semblance of loving concern. She spat out: “You have been unmanageable ever since we left Oakmont. How stubborn you were to listen to that silly letter business.” “What letter?” said Edward. Elspeth paused. “A horrid slattern at the Honiton Arms claimed that Laura wrote a letter—to a gentleman.” Edward looked surprised. “What is this, Laura?” Laura walked to the other side of the fireplace and stood facing him there. He saw, for all her anger, that she was quite herself within. “As we left the inn, the maid who had served us at dinner claimed she knew some great secret about a letter I had written.” “It would be no surprise if there was such a letter,” said Elspeth, with a nasty edge in her voice. Laura did not look her way. “I am inclined to agree with Elspeth,” she said. “But only on account of the girl’s incredulous expression when I denied it.” Elspeth patted her lace collar. “My poor, poor Laura,” she said, her voice purring. “Are you the best judge of what exists and what does not?” “Elspeth!” cried Edward. Laura scarcely heard him, overwhelmed by a surge of fury and disgust for her sister. “How you have enjoyed poisoning my mind with insinuations these past weeks!” Elspeth gave a little shrug. “One was hardly required to be inventive.” “Silence, Elspeth, lest you do harm that cannot

be undone!” said Edward. “It is merely the truth, which Laura so values in my cousin.” Laura said very quietly, “I did not know you to be so evil as this.” Elspeth smiled, smoothing the silk of her gown. “Who wrote the letter, my poor deluded one—the countess? Mr. Woodruff perhaps?” she said. The other three stared at her, appalled, while she continued to smile. Laura said quietly, “I note your constant ridicule of every suggestion that the letter materially existed.” “You are imagining things again!” Laura looked at her coolly, with a calm masking her pain. “No, Elspeth, I am suspicious.” “A lady does not interest herself in unseemly letters.” “Ah, but you do, Elspeth.” “How dare you!” “Why did Mr. Woodruff hand you a letter so secretly that day, after his family dined with us at Oakmont?” “He carried a letter to my housekeeper and brought back her reply. Why should I waste the expense of postage when Mr. Woodruff was to pass through St Austell?” Laura looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t believe you, Elspeth. I believe you sent a letter, under cover to your housekeeper, intended for someone else.” Elspeth blushed furiously and all but shrieked, “Do you hear her, Brother? Do you hear how she insults me?” Edward shrugged slightly. “Why do you not answer the charge, Elspeth?” “If a respectable widow cannot write to her own housekeeper, to whom may she write?” “Then why did you accept the parcel so secretly? You tried to hide it from me in your shawl,” Laura said. Elspeth leapt to her feet and rushed at her sister, her hand raised to slap her. Edward reached out and

seized her arm. “This is more of her nonsense, Edward,” cried Elspeth, struggling to pull out of his grip. “Laura is harking to her invented friend once more.” “You connect that matter to your letter, not I,” said Laura. “Why—” Laura broke off and an expression of incredulity came over her face, and the men saw that she looked at the lace, which had come loose from her sister’s neck. “What is that?” Laura said. A chain that had been concealed beneath Elspeth’s bodice had come out in her struggle with Edward. On the end of the silver strand was a small brass key, with an ornate handle. Elspeth grabbed at it with her free hand. “My key!” said Laura. “That is the other key to my desk.” “No—it is mine,” said Elspeth. Laura was shaking her head. “I cannot believe you capable of this. You have stolen the key to my desk.” “It is not yours.” “That is why you sent to St Austell so secretly. How did you know where it was?” “I didn’t!” “Did you bid Mrs. Gooding ransack my room?” Elspeth struggled to maintain her look of disdainful amusement. “You did, I know it!” said Laura. “Give me the key, Elspeth,” said Edward. “It is mine.” Her blush was fading, to be replaced by two bright spots of anger in her cheeks. “We can prove that by trying to open Laura’s desk with it,” said Edward. Elspeth undid the chain and gave the key to her brother, who dropped her arm to take it. “You need not take the trouble—it is Laura’s,” she said. “But I had very good cause to do what I did.” Laura was almost faint with horror. She reached out to support herself against the mantle. “You have read my journal!” “I had to understand your mind.” “You took that sketch.”

Elspeth looked on the point of denying it, but her shoulders slumped a little. “I did not wish you to be reminded of your humiliation.” “No, Elspeth, you wished to drive me mad.” “How can you be so unkind?” Elspeth put her handkerchief to her eyes. “I am unkind? Not satisfied with taking one sketch, you tore the sketch of Mr. Templeton from my book and put it in the same place—to drive me crazy with doubt.” “No … no … no.” Laura sank onto a chair. She said, faintly, “You have ransacked more than my room—my journal, my sketches, my mind—my life.” “You exaggerate, Laura. I only wished you to put the past behind you and marry my cousin.” Laura ignored this. “Why do you hate me so?” she said. “I don’t hate you but how can I enter the level of society that I deserve encumbered by you?” “What?” “You stand in my way with your eccentric doings.” “Elspeth, that is unjust,” said Edward. Elspeth flared up. “Why is Laura never called upon to make sacrifices?” She turned again to her sister. “You think marriage to Richard would be irksome!” She waved her hand in the direction of the despised baronet. “At least he is young … ish, and in good health.” Laura stared at her sister, incredulous and shocked. “It was your own mistake to marry for the wrong reasons. Why do you wish it upon Richard and me?” “I am not free until I am free of you.” “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.

CHAPTER 38

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

Friday 31st October, 1806 I am determined to do whatever I can to avoid another disgraceful scene such as took place last night. There will be no outward demonstration of my anger towards, and deep disappointment in, Elspeth. I have also resolved to resist the

temptation to look back over my journal to find all the passages that refer to my sister. She has read ill of herself, no doubt, and of her noble friend, but she did so of her own accord. On the intimate passages concerning my private feelings, I will not dwell. My wish is that Edward will take me at once to Cornwall.

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.” She knew not how to break the silence that fell again between them; both stared out at the sea. Then he said, “Will you think me impertinent if I ask you to look at a letter in my possession?” “A letter!” “I want to know if you recognise the hand.” She looked up at him, her amazement answer enough. He withdrew his pocket book from an inner recess of his coat, and opened it, while she watched every

movement. He took out a letter and held it to her, folded to reveal the beginning.

How surprised you must be, sir, to receive a communication from one who has no claim upon you …

“I do not recognise this hand.” “It is not yours?” “Certainly not! Nor do I recognise it.” Not Elspeth’s hand, either, she thought. She handed it back. He turned the letter over and showed her the farewell.

Your obliged and grateful friend, L. Morrison

“Someone has written to you, in my name!” “Will you read it? I believe it may purchase some pardon for my silence.” Laura only nodded and unfolded the letter,

holding it firmly in the breeze that blew up from the sea.

How surprised you must be, sir, to receive a communication from one who has no claim upon you. I pray you, read on, and I believe you will make allowances for me. What I write now, I could not have told you before because we were not on such terms as to make this seemly. When I was but nineteen, I entered an engagement with a naval officer, who had still to build a

fortune before we could marry.

“I did no such thing!” Laura said.

His ship was captured and all aboard taken prisoner. At last messages came to their loved ones from other officers belonging to his ship, but not from the one whose fate was to be linked with my own. All we heard of him was that his rebellious spirit in captivity led him to be separated from his

fellow officers, who finally gave him up for dead.

“This is all lies!” said Laura.

Unexpectedly, after an absence of ten years, he has returned to England, having been released from captivity. I found him at my sister’s rooms after our last meeting. He has come to claim me as his bride. He made no communication with my family after his release, wishing to give me the opportunity

to see him before I renewed my promise. He does not hold me to it, but I find I cannot desert him. He has suffered too much, is grievously crippled, being lame and having lost an arm. I have not the heart to abandon him. You may think me presumptuous to imagine that our brief friendship is any impediment. I can only beg you not to reply, not to come to me again, for I must give up all thought of our

friendship in these new conditions. Pray believe that I cannot bear up under such a meeting. If I am mistaken in the direction our friendship might have taken, I know you are too noble to expose my vanity. If I am not mistaken, I humbly beg your forgiveness. Your obliged and grateful friend, L. Morrison

“I never imagined such a letter as this!” she said. “You knew of it?”

“I first heard a story that I had supposedly written a letter to a gentleman, only on Wednesday. I knew not what to make of it.” “Does this dispel the mystery?” “I understand now why you left without communicating with me but not why someone wrote it.” Laura looked at him at last. “You believed the letter, when you received it?” “Why should I not? Yet, I could not make up my mind to accept it at first. On the one hand, gallantry demanded that I accede to your request, yet on the other I wanted to be sure that you knew my intentions were serious.” She laughed involuntarily. He blushed. “This is but our fourth meeting.” “I do not laugh at you.” “I wrote you a letter, intending to find some way to get it to you, without showing myself. I began to walk along the cliff path …” “It was you!” “Yes, indeed it was. I saw you in the distance, helping a crippled man to rise.” “My brother!” “I know that now. At the time I could not bear to meet you, but turned tail and quickly hid in the high gorse near the path. In less than a minute, I was out of sight.” “You cannot know how Edward teased me.” “I cursed myself for a fool when I saw the announcement of his marriage in the Times on Tuesday. You had even told me that you had a brother wounded at Trafalgar.” Laura began to laugh, and he with her. “And I thought you a clever man!” she said, with a teasing frown. “At the time of your brother’s return to England, I must have read something of his story. Yet Lord Nelson’s death dominated the news, among other tales of heroism.” “My brother’s relations sometimes forget that he was not alone at Trafalgar.” Mr. Templeton laughed. “On Tuesday, I saw the announcement of Captain Morrison’s marriage, and the

name seemed to leap from the page. I asked a friend who always recalls these things, and he told me how your brother lost his arm. At once I thought of the man whom I saw upon the cliff. Two such naval officers in your life seemed an unlikely coincidence, even without the sharing of the family name.” There was a squeal of children’s laughter, and they both turned to see a party of ladies and gentlemen, with several offspring approaching. Mr. Templeton indicated the path along the bay, and they walked in that direction. “What thought you of the letter then?” said Laura, once they were alone. “It was beyond belief that you would invent such a tale and take the risk of writing to me—just to be rid of me. It would be far better simply to refuse me. Incredible as it had seemed in September, I began to wonder if the letter was a forgery.” Laura looked away at the sea, sparkling in the sun. She wondered if Elspeth had a part in this. No—she would not sink to forgery. Mr. Templeton took her hand and briefly held it. “I came back to this place to seek an example of your handwriting.” He drew her arm through his and they walked slowly along the path, both turning over the same question in their minds. “Who of your acqu—” “Why would anyone—” They laughed. “Pray continue, Miss Morrison.” “I cannot understand why anyone would want so much to part us. Who even knew of our friendship?” she said. “For two days I have been speculating on the writer’s motive for preventing us from ever communicating again,” he said. “What could anyone have stood to gain?” “Indeed I know not.” They turned and strolled back towards the inn, where Laura spotted her cousin standing with Mrs. Bell, both looking around for her in some anxiety.

Mrs. Bell saw them first. “Sir Richard, there she is, with the gentleman whom we saw just now!” “They are coming this way. Let us hurry inside,” he said. “Who is that gentleman?” “Hush!” he said, putting his finger to his lips, and waggling his eyebrows. She looked up at him, curiosity mingled with delight at the intimacy of his gesture. “It is a long story,” he said. He ushered the puzzled lady through the door and up the stairs. He put his hand over hers, keeping it on his arm for one moment longer. “Let us keep a secret, Mrs. Bell. It will be for only a moment.” She looked up at him, and he smiled into her eyes in a manner that set her cheeks aflame. They entered the sitting room to see a discontented Mrs. Evans sitting very upright, while the captain stood near her. From their rigid stance, it appeared that they had not made up their quarrel. The countess was calmly at work upon her embroidery. “Where is my sister, Sir Richard?” demanded Elspeth. “I particularly wished you to attend to her safety.” “She will be with us directly, I believe.” Elspeth went to the window and looked down into the street, seeing her sister on the arm of a gentleman. All that she could see of him was the top of his hat. “Who is that man with her? At least he seems real enough.” Sir Richard merely nodded, suppressing a smile. Footsteps were heard upon the stairs, Elspeth’s hands flew to her hair to adjust her cap. The door opened and Laura entered, accompanied by the gentleman her sister had seen with her. “Countess,” said Laura. “May I present Mr. Templeton?”

CHAPTER 39

THERE WAS A MOMENT OF bewildered silence. Laura watched her sister as she said the name, and noted the incredulity on Elspeth’s face. She had turned to Edward, lips parted, and her eyes widened with an expression too amazed to be feigned on the instant. The captain looked first astonished, then wondering—his keen mind thrown into questioning at once. Even the self-possessed Lady Clarydon was put out of countenance; she took a moment to put her embroidery aside, before greeting the gentleman. After the first business of introductions was over, Elspeth had to acknowledge to herself that Mr. Templeton was very much the gentleman and that he seemed to regard her sister with considerable respect and friendliness. He was just like Laura’s description of him, matching all the particulars of height, colouring and pleasantness of countenance. The only aspect that Elspeth found difficult to forgive was the fact that he was no figment of her sister’s imagination and that she, Elspeth, had spent some weeks in the wrong. “I owe you an explanation, Mrs. Evans, for my failure to attend upon you in September,” said Mr. Templeton. “You are here now, sir. What more can be required?” “I humbly beg your pardon. I would have presented myself to you had I not been misled as to the welcome I might expect.” “How could that be?” said Elspeth. Mr. Templeton turned to Laura, a question in his eyes, and she answered. “Elspeth, that letter, over which we have puzzled, is real. While it is full of falsehoods, it has procured Mr. Templeton’s pardon in my eyes.”

“May I see it or do I intrude?” said Edward. The letter was read aloud and passed from hand to hand. All were agreed that someone, perhaps unknown to them, had some benefit to gain from keeping Laura and Mr. Templeton apart. However, they were at a loss to understand what that benefit might be. Elspeth said, “Until the person who wrote this letter comes forward to enlighten us, I suggest that we put this distasteful business from our minds.” “No, indeed!” said Laura. “I have turned over this mystery in my mind these two months! You cannot know what strange fancies have occurred to me, Mr. Templeton.” “Am I to hear them?” he asked, smiling. She laughed, looking rueful. “The first was that you had been waylaid by robbers,” she said. “It seems foolish now but I could not explain why the ostler here would deny you took a horse from the stables to ride to Charmouth. I thought he had been in league with the rogues.” “It was my own horse, which I rode from Charmouth and back again—but I handed him over into the care of the fellow in charge here while I went in search of you.” “So he did lie to me.” “He was an insolent fellow,” said Edward. “He has a sly look,” said Sir Richard. “When did you see him, Richard?” asked Laura. “The stableman, here at the Three Cups, sent for him to get his opinion on Betsy’s leg.” “There was no excuse for him to behave as insolently as he did!” said Laura. “I have never understood how he could have known about Mr. Templeton, let alone formed an opinion about him.” “You forget the very great interest that the lower orders take in the lives of their betters,” said the countess. “I doubt not that every servant in the inn knew that the young lady staying with them had made an interesting acquaintance.” “How very right you always are, my dear!” cried Elspeth. “Yet it was the oddest thing, for Laura spent all of two hours in Mrs. Gurdon’s rooms, talking to her and Mr.

Templeton.” She looked at the gentleman with the slightest hint of inquiry. “That is true,” he said. “I enjoyed a long and fascinating conversation with your sister on the day that Mrs. Gurdon introduced us to one another.” “Yet the inn servants knew nothing of you,” said Elspeth. Laura said, “Do you forget the noisy party of young men in the public rooms who occupied all of the servants’ attention.” “That’s correct,” said Mr. Templeton. “I recall that Mrs. Gurdon had to send her own maid down to the kitchen to fetch our refreshments.” “So,” said Edward. “We are left with only the ostler behaving in a knowing fashion towards my sister.” Edward seized up the letter and turned it over. On the back the original direction had been blotted out clumsily, and “Charmouth Inn” written below. “Mr. Templeton, was the letter delivered by a young man, perhaps an ostler?” “No, he was a boy of eleven or so, a fisher-lad from the smell of him.” Laura and Edward said together, “Tom!” “I did not ask his name. I gave him a penny and he ran off a few paces, before turning to call out an impudent remark.” “It is Tom, certainly,” said Laura. “The poor little fellow who was injured?” said Elspeth. “He was injured? How?” asked Mr. Templeton. Laura felt a sick anxiety that twisted in her stomach and her cheeks paled. The captain answered, “The boy Tom was badly beaten on the cliff path when returning from Charmouth.” “By whom?” “The surgeon informed me that he set the parish constable on the trail of the assailants when he saw the condition of the child. The constable found no trace of them and concluded they had fled the district.” “When did you receive the letter, sir?”

“On the Wednesday—after I returned to Charmouth.” “The tenth of September,” said Laura, her voice dull. She could not bear the notion that Tom’s beating had something to do with her after all. She bit her lip. Mr. Templeton rose and stood before Laura’s chair. “Miss Morrison,” he said, gentle and serious in his manner. “Yes?” “You are not in any way to blame for what has happened to this child,” he said. “No one would think Laura is to blame!” said Edward briskly. “I would like to speak to this boy Tom. Who will come with me?” “I will, Edward,” said Laura. Sir Richard and Mr. Templeton had both risen and turned to her in surprise. “No, my dear,” said Edward. “I meant who of the gentlemen.” “But Edward …” “Laura, I confess that at first, I did not pay you the respect of trusting your judgement.” “That is done with,” said Laura. “You have suffered unpleasantness, to which my sister ought never be exposed,” said Edward. “I am determined to come.” “Laura, remember who you are,” said Elspeth. “Forgive me, Elspeth, if I do not consult your opinion just now.” Elspeth sniffed but Laura was long immune. She said, “I have the keenest concern for the boy’s safety. He knows me and may be less alarmed in the presence of a lady.” “I feel it unseemly.” “I shall come, Edward, for this whole mystery has involved me in acute misery.” Mr. Templeton smiled as the two faced each other, their assertive bearing identical, their striking green eyes reflecting determination. He said, “Miss Morrison is so peculiarly concerned in the affair; and has the protection of three gentlemen. I feel she has a right to accompany us.” “We must bow to the views of a man of the cloth,” said Elspeth, sarcastically.

“Well …” said Edward. “Come, Cousin!” said Sir Richard. “’Tis a waste of Laura’s good brain to leave her behind.” “Very well, then.” “Ought we consult the mayor, Captain, or the magistrate?” said Mr. Templeton. “Let us see if we can find out who gave the letter to Tom, without unfolding the story to others.” Laura led them directly to Tom’s dwelling in Fish Lane. Through the crack in the doorway, they faced the same dirty creature whom Laura had described. In a flash, the woman tried to slam the door, but the captain had wedged his foot in the way. She leered at them, and pulled at her ragged cap, thrusting her greasy locks beneath it. “Good mornin’ to you, sirs,” she said. “And madam!” Sir Richard took Laura’s arm and drew her behind her brother, whence she watched over his shoulder. “We wish to speak to you,” said Edward. “I’m a respectable widder.” Her insinuating tone produced a look of near revulsion on the captain’s face. “We can speak in the street, if you wish, but I suggest that you oblige us with a conversation with your son.” “He ain’t here.” The production of Edward’s purse was sufficient to purchase a degree of cooperation. “What do you fear?” he said. “Your son will be in no further danger by telling us what he knows. I am the lady’s brother.” “You’ll go away in your fine carriage and leave us poor folk to take our punishment.” “So Tom’s beating was in relation to the letter he delivered to Charmouth?” “’Tis you who ordered it—you or her.” She darted a snarling look over his shoulder. “Why should I commit such an evil act?” he said. “You didna want it known your sister was writing to the gen’leman—and ’im a parson too!—so my poor boy was a’beat up.” “Did the ruffians make some reference to the letter?”

“Aye, they did. They said Tom must say there never were no gen’leman.” The four looked at her, dumbfounded. Laura stepped out from behind her brother. “Do you say, madam, that Tom was instructed to spread the story that the gentleman did not exist?” The woman tried again to close the door. “I niver said it!” “I am the man to whom he gave the letter!” said Mr. Templeton. “I feel responsible for ensuring your son’s safety.” Her fear was obviously mounting. “Pray don’t fear us. We can offer you protection,” said Sir Richard. “Let us help you—and your boy,” said Mr. Templeton. “I have satisfied myself that the letter was not written by Miss Morrison.” “Don’t tell such stories.” “It is true,” said Edward. “The letter is a forgery, and it seems your son was cruelly beaten to force him to deny what he knew.” “He won’t go to prison?” “Of course he will not. He has committed no crime.” She gazed up at him wordlessly, her fear palpable. Sir Richard said gently, “I see now that you have judged rightly in fearing further danger to the boy.” She began to weep, silently and pitifully. “He be all I got!” She stepped back from the door and they entered. A pace behind her, propped upon his crutches, was Tom. The leg must have still been weak but the splints were gone. Gone, too, was his impudent grin and eyes sparkling with mischief; fear seemed to have diminished his rebellion. “Will they come for me, sirs?” he asked. Sir Richard answered him. “I think it unlikely.” He turned to the mother. “But have you some place of refuge to which you might flee?” “Where can we go—the likes of us?” said his mother. “I can provide transport for you both, and a safe

haven in Devonshire, until the criminals are brought to justice.” “Devonshire! I ain’t never been so far off.” “You can depend upon Sir Richard’s protection,” said Laura. The fisherwoman scratched her head; then rubbed her nose, and at last, agreed that she could not stay where she was. “Thank’ee, sir. I will go,” she said. Mr. Templeton turned to Tom. “Your part is to tell us all that you know of the letter. Who gave it to you?” “’Twas Silas Creeley—ostler at the Lion.” “I knew it,” said Laura. “He was bound to be involved.” “Shall I fetch a cart and driver?” said Mr. Templeton. “Yes,” said Edward. “If you will make the necessary arrangements, I will stay here—this poor woman is frightened out of her wits.” “I shall write at once to my steward, giving him instructions to find them a snug corner in a barn for a few days,” Sir Richard said. Under the captain’s protection, the mother and son packed up their possessions into two bundles. Laura returned with Sir Richard to the inn, where he would write his letter and instruct a servant to accompany the pair. Meanwhile Mr. Templeton procured a cart. The two men watched as the cart drove away up the street, with Tom and his mother crouching down in a pile of straw. “I hope we are overly cautious,” said Mr. Templeton. “I could not answer to my sister if the boy received further harm at the hands of these ill-doers,” said Edward. The gentlemen returned to the inn, where all were agreed that the discoveries in Fish Alley hardly provided the key to the mystery. Over an excellent dinner ordered by the countess, every aspect of the case was canvassed, without a plausible explanation coming to light. “The gossip had the effect of driving us from the

town,” said Mrs. Evans. “How very unpleasant,” said Mr. Templeton. “Did you depart the district when you received the letter, Mr. Templeton?” asked the countess. “Yes—after seeing, on the cliff top, what I took to be confirmation of the letter, I hurried back to the inn and prepared for departure. I rode away from Charmouth within the half hour.” “So they drove you from the district too. It seems likely to be the object.” “Why spread the rumours though? What did this person think that Laura might do?” said Sir Richard. “Or know,” said Mrs. Bell quietly. Everyone stared at her and she coloured. “I am so sorry—a private matter.” “What did you say, Mrs. Bell?” asked Laura. “I’m excessively stupid.” “Did you not say ‘or know’? Did you suggest that the deceiver was worried about what I might know, rather than do?” “You speak nonsense, Mrs. Bell,” said Elspeth, her lip curling. “It is plain that my sister could know nothing of such immoral doings.” “I say, Cousin,” said the baronet. “That is hardly the tone to take with a lady.” “I beg your pardon, Sir Richard?” Elspeth said icily. “I … I think you spoke in haste, perhaps, and were unwittingly discourteous to Mrs. Bell.” Mrs. Bell spoke up. “I am not in the least offended.” “You see no harm has been done,” said the countess, blowing a kiss to Mrs. Bell. “You are kind, Countess,” said Laura. “However, Mrs. Bell is too generous. I apologise on my sister’s behalf.” All of Mrs. Evans’s suppressed fury could not quell Sir Richard’s smile. Meanwhile, Laura, in particular, puzzled over Mrs. Bell’s suggestion. Could it be that she knew something to endanger the plans of the forger?

CHAPTER 40

SUNDAY OBSERVANCES OBLIGED THE PARTY to suspend their investigations. Laura found her consequence had risen greatly in Lyme, when the countess linked arms with her and they entered the church together. The tall gentleman, who entered a moment later, was seen to take a place behind the countess’s party, all of whom turned and bowed cordially. The landlady of the Lion whispered his name to her neighbours. “He is Mr. Templeton, a clergyman and a very respectable man.” “That is Mr. Templeton!” “Oh, yes. He is lodging with us. I had it from the vicar that he holds a valuable living, at a place called Westmere.” “A widower, perhaps?” “Oh, no! He was a Cambridge Fellow until two or three years back. He has never married.” She smirked. “Yet.” Her friends laughed quietly. “Did you mark the warmth of his greeting to the tall lady next to Lady Clarydon?” “That is Miss Morrison.” “Miss Morrison! I wish I had known she was under the protection of a countess.” “None of us did, my dear.” “How intriguing it all is!” At the end of the service, her ladyship’s party was ushered out of the church with great respect, the vicar bowing low over the countess’s hand. She was in a mood to receive the homage of those who claimed previous acquaintance with her. Mrs. Evans remained by her side, the rest of her party gathered nearby. Laura and Mr. Templeton laughed quietly over the foolishness of their fellow creatures.

“How my star rises as they fall at her ladyship’s feet!” said Laura. “That you should suffer so—who deserves respect and homage above all,” he said. She looked away, with a half-laugh of pleasure. “Who is this Laura Morrison who has earned such praise?” she said. “I do not recognise her!” He said, “You will come to know her, by and by, if I have my way.” Then he indicated Edward. “Your brother has made a new acquaintance.” A gentleman, of forty or so, had introduced himself to Edward. As magistrate, Mr. Grahame took it upon himself to thank the captain for the interest he had taken in September, to deal with an injustice that occurred in Lyme. “Unfortunately, the parish constable was not able to take the ruffians in charge,” he said. “However, it was very good of you to bring the matter to our attention.” “Not at all, sir. I feared only that interference would seem impertinent in a stranger.” “We are very friendly here, in Lyme, especially when we are honoured by the presence of one of our nation’s heroes.” Mr. Grahame bowed. Edward demurred but Mr. Grahame would have none of his modesty. Edward then said, “As it happens, I was hoping to consult you as soon as may be.” “Oh?” “I am exceedingly puzzled by a strange letter, just come to light, which may bear upon the unpleasantness in September.” “Then I am intrigued. I will be happy to give you my opinion—unless you prefer to report to the constable?” “This is a matter of some delicacy.” “You may rely upon my discretion. I shall wait upon you tomorrow. Is ten o’clock too early?” Edward laughed. “I have yet to accustom myself to the late rising on land. Ten it is.” The countess’s party walked back to the inn, with the Morrisons in a very much better mood than after their last attendance at St Michael’s. Breakfast awaited them and they did full honours to toast, eggs, ham and tea.

Wiping his mouth and putting the napkin on the table, Edward leant back in his chair. From his thoughtful expression, it was apparent that some particular thought had come to mind. He said, “Mrs. Bell, yesterday you suggested that my sister may know some fact that threatens our forger.” Mrs. Bell hesitantly began, “I have only observed …” “Come, come, my dear,” said the countess. “You must tell us now!” Mrs. Bell continued. “Have none of you noticed at times, that one person may make a trifling remark that seems to have significance to someone else?” Laura was intrigued. So often relegated to the background by a combination of shyness and her inferior position, Mrs. Bell was, of course, an observer. She no doubt must have learnt much of others by watching and listening. Mr. Templeton said, “Do you mean that this trifling remark can have significance of which the speaker is unaware because they are not privy to the hearer’s thoughts?” “Yes!” said Mrs. Bell, delighted to be understood. “Is that all?” said the countess. “You disappoint me, my dear.” “I am sorry I cannot provide the key to the mystery.” “Perhaps you are right,” said Laura. “Although I cannot imagine what the trifling piece of knowledge would be.” They passed their Sunday in the usual occupations—the ladies sewed and yawned, Edward and Sir Richard read the papers and yawned. Elspeth insisted upon some exercise. She would never have said so, but this was not to be a search for pretty scenes to admire, but an exhibition of their family success and consequence. Along the few principal streets they went, attracting the right sort of attention. Laura thought

of it as a parade—an elegant form of thumbing their noses —and only happiness kept her from feeling embarrassed. The countess and Elspeth walked arm in arm, their enjoyment of the admiration of the gentlemen of Lyme, spiced with their whispered witticisms at the expense of these admirers. Elspeth was enjoying herself too much to look behind her. In the rear, Sir Richard and Mrs. Bell walked arm in arm, occupied in a search for Medieval specimens. Laura walked with Mr. Templeton and her brother. The other two made an effort to include the captain in their conversation. Yet they had so much to discover about each other, that they did keep forgetting him. Edward had thoughts of his own to keep him entertained. He almost wished there had been neither letter nor a mystery to untangle, for it kept him from Evalina. He counted the long days that must elapse before he could see her again. The delay in trying to solve the mystery would have made it the longest day in Laura’s life, were it not for the company of Mr. Templeton. Quite early on Monday, Mr. Templeton took breakfast with them as arranged. The fugitives were certainly in Devonshire by now, and it was time to take action. Laura felt cheated, as the gentlemen went without her to meet the magistrate downstairs. The door had no sooner closed upon them, when she recalled a question she wished to put to Mr. Templeton. When the servant entered to remove the breakfast things, she asked if Captain Morrison was available. “No, miss. The captain went out with Mr. Grahame.” Running to the window, Laura saw three men emerge in the street. She tapped her fingernails on the glass but they did not hear her. She watched in frustration as they walked away up the street. “What do you there, Laura?” said Elspeth. “Can you not bear to let … the gentlemen … out of your sight?” “I thought of something I wished to say to … my brother.”

Elspeth tittered. “I imagine your friend will come back this time.” Softly she muttered to her friend, “Though I know not what attracts him!” The sound of the door opening had all three look up eagerly, as Sir Richard entered the room. “Richard, what is happening?” said Laura. “The magistrate is as puzzled as us all. He is determined to track the hands through which the letter passed—he thinks it almost certainly written by a woman of some education.” “Surely it is the work of a criminal,” said Elspeth. “It is hard to conceive of a lady writing such a document. The magistrate is of the opinion that no halftaught woman could produce that hand.” “A good point, I think,” said Laura. She stood by the window still, and Sir Richard took a chair close to Mrs. Bell. Elspeth frowned. “Perhaps some foolish woman thought she had a chance of securing Mr. Templeton, if only Laura could be got out of the way.” “The magistrate believes the matter to be more sinister,” said Sir Richard. “Remember Tom’s beating.” “Is he not an insolent lad, often in trouble?” said the countess. “Yes, he is,” said Sir Richard. “But the magistrate is suspicious that Tom was ordered to deny there ever was any gentleman with Laura in Broad Street that day.” Elspeth shuddered. “This is too distasteful, Sir Richard!” There was the sound of a shout from the street. Laura opened the window. From higher up the street, a man was running as hard as he could, with the constable after him, shouting, “Seize him!” “It’s the ostler from the Lion,” Laura said. “He’s trying to get away.” Even Elspeth rushed over to the window to see the happenings below. Two burly fishermen had run up from the beach. They seized the man, holding him while the constable secured him. “’Tis Creeley, for sure,” said Sir Richard. The magistrate was hurrying down in their

wake. “Take him in charge,” he shouted to the constable. “I will follow you shortly.” Laura watched as the constable began to drag the miscreant along the street. He peered at the upper windows of the inn, found the lady he had maligned and stared up at her in abject fear. “What will happen to him, Sir Richard?” said Elspeth. “Perhaps he will be hanged.” She adjusted her lace collar and floated back towards the sofa, followed by Lady Clarydon, who sank into her armchair next to her friend. “I imagine he is a minor party,” said Sir Richard. He remained at the window with Laura and Mrs. Bell, watching as a small crowd gathered below, chatting about the excitement. “What do you at the window still?” asked Elspeth. “Won’t you ring for some tea, my dear Mrs. Bell,” said the countess. Mrs. Bell obliged, and Sir Richard turned vaguely, trailing her for several steps across the room. “Sir Richard!” The baronet flinched and gave Elspeth a sidelong look like a guilty schoolboy. Elspeth smiled sweetly. “I cannot reach my fan,” she said. He looked uncomprehending; then realised where his duty lay. He went to her little table, all of eight inches away from her, and handed her the item. “Come away from the window, Laura,” said Elspeth. Laura did not even turn. She watched as Mr. Templeton appeared. He glanced up, noticed Laura and smiled.

CHAPTER 41

EDWARD RETURNED WITH MR. TEMPLETON, and the party gathered around to hear about the brief interview between the magistrate and Creeley, who had made his dash for freedom before revealing any information. Edward turned to Mrs. Bell. “Have you had any further inspiration, madam?” “I cannot understand so unladylike …” Her voice trailed off. “There is far more that I do not know,” said Laura. “Oh, yes! Mr. Templeton, I have a question.” “You have only to ask.” “Well then, I must have misheard you that last day I saw you in September. Where did you go, since I thought you intended to visit old Mr. Whichale?” “Why should you think I went elsewhere?” The silence was palpable; all the Morrison family stared at him in silence. Puzzled, Mr. Templeton added, “The storm was coming on, so I rode my own horse, rather hard, back to Charmouth, where I hired a chaise to drive to Longpan.” “So you did go to Mr. Whichale’s house?” said Laura. “Why, I dined there and stayed the night!” He looked at their faces, all expressive of astonishment. “What!” said Edward, at last. “It was raining heavily and I could not in any case have reached Charmouth before dark, so I accepted the invitation to stay the night.” “The rogue!” said Sir Richard. “A gentleman has lied to me!” exclaimed Edward. He rose and stood before Laura. “I have taken the word of a stranger over that of my own sister, who has never lied to me in her life. How can you forgive me,

Laura?” “The facts seemed to be against me, Edward.” “You see, you went to the wrong house, Brother,” said Elspeth. “Excuse me, but I must disagree,” he said. “There is only one such house, and there we made our enquiries.” “Enquiries?” asked Mr. Templeton. “Yes, Sir Richard wished to investigate your disappearance, against my own judgement, I must confess.” “Ah!” said Sir Richard, then fell silent when all looked his way. They waited as he bit his lip in concentration. At last he said, “There is a link between the ostler from the Lion, and the letter, you know. The lad Jem is known to the ostler—and Jem knew something of the letter.” “And this Jem is …?” Lady Clarydon asked. “Of course, you know nothing of this strange tale,” said Elspeth, with a shaky adherence to the truth. “Jem is a lad who told a young maidservant in Honiton about the letter, imagining that Miss Morrison had written it.” Mr. Templeton returned to the previous point. “You went to Mr. Whichale’s house, Captain?” “Indeed, we did. When was that, now?” Laura answered. “The eighteenth of September,” she said. “A Thursday.” Edward raised an eyebrow at his sister’s precision, and continued, “We had no idea then of any conspiracy to pretend you did not even exist!” Mr. Templeton reached out, almost touching Laura’s hand. “What you must have suffered on account of this strange episode!” he said. “I cannot tell you the half of it.” Mr. Templeton nodded, then turned to Edward. “What happened, Captain Morrison, when you arrived at Mr. Whichale’s house?” Edward recounted their visit, and Mr. Templeton nodded agreement at the details: the neglected state of the house, the smug and genial host, even the sign on the gate had still been in existence Mr. Templeton had

defied it to enter. All along, in the back of Laura’s mind, she felt convinced that Mrs. Bell had been right. Even while she listened to each person’s story, she was half-conscious of weighing every fact for the possibility that she, unknowingly, might have been the only person privy to that information. Now came this one trivial point—that Mr. Templeton entered Longpan House. “Is that what I knew?” said Laura, meditatively. They all turned to her. “Was I the only person who knew that Mr. Templeton went to that house the night old Mr. Whichale died?” “Possibly—but it’s not likely Whichale would know this,” said Edward. “Ah—but he did. I told him myself,” said Mr. Templeton. “To explain my delay, I said that I had ridden first to Lyme to make my apologies to Mrs. Evans, for failing to fulfil an obligation to her.” “You did not mention Laura’s name, I hope,” said Elspeth, desirous of finding him at fault. “I did not name Miss Morrison. Mr. Whichale insisted upon sending a note of apology to you on my behalf.” “He certainly did not do so!” said Elspeth. “The devious rogue!” said Edward. “He could discover everything he wanted to know in a moment,” said Lady Clarydon. “One so easily forgets the sharp eyes of the lower orders.” “How true!” said Elspeth. “His servants would have heard something of Mr. Templeton being seen with my sister.” “One understands the old gentleman to have been impious,” said the countess. “Why did he ask for a clergyman to attend him?” “I am quite sure he did not!” said Mr. Templeton. “When I entered the bedchamber, for all his debility, the patient expressed great annoyance at their calling in a parson.” He imitated the quavering fury of the old gentleman. “So it was not a case of the old sinner burdened by his lifetime of sins?” said Lady Clarydon.

“No. I believe he had asked for his attorney.” Edward stopped his pacing, picking up this interesting point. Mr. Templeton continued, “Mr. Whichale told me that he had hoped his uncle would repent at the last, so had called me in instead.” “What did the dying man want?” “A witness to his signature on a document.” “A deathbed confession!” exclaimed the countess, in delight. Laura jumped up. She said, “Was Mr. Benjamin Reece present at the house?” “Who is he?” “He’s a great-nephew of old Mr. Whichale’s.” “I encountered only Mr. Whichale and his lady.” “A woman of very nervous temperament?” asked the captain. “I would not have called her nervous. Quiet, perhaps, but perfectly calm.” Laura looked thoughtfully at Mr. Templeton. Why did he assess Mrs. Whichale so differently from the other men, she wondered. “You agreed with my brother that she seemed fearful, Sir Richard?” she said. Her cousin tutted. “She was very timorous. I feared her husband was a bully in private, for she displayed a fear of the male sex, I thought.” “Yet she was not afraid of Mr. Templeton,” said Elspeth. “Mrs. Whichale had no reason to fear him!” cried Laura. They all turned to her. “She had done nothing wrong when she made Mr. Templeton’s acquaintance.” She was almost laughing at the obvious. “She had not then written the letter!” The whole party was silent for a moment, taking in Laura’s assertion, when a servant announced that the magistrate was awaiting the gentlemen downstairs. The three men hastily took their leave of the ladies and joined the magistrate in the same room as the day before. The magistrate hurried into his explanation. “After questioning Creeley, I believe the fellow’s role did not

go beyond delivering the letter, and starting the rumour that the young lady was pursuing a gentleman.” “So he has no clue as to the identity of the letter writer?” “No persuasion could produce otherwise. He understood the letter to have been directed on by Mr. Whichale, who sent it to Creeley with his servant, Jem.” “Why did Creeley spread such a mischievous rumour about my sister?” asked Edward. “Mr. Whichale instructed Jem to plant that idea, claiming it would save the lady’s reputation.” “An unsatisfactory explanation! Did you ask how the letter arrived at Mr. Whichale’s house?” “Jem would probably not have seen the delivery, for he lives in the stables, coming into the kitchen for his meals. The letter was apparently delivered by a messenger, who rode off at once.” “It may have been written in Mr. Whichale’s house!” said the captain. “Just as Miss Morrison suggested,” said Mr. Templeton. “Perfectly possible,” said the magistrate, eyes lighting up. “A clever lady! A smudged crossing out would be enough to suggest a redirection.” The gentleman passed on their news of Tom and his mother to the magistrate. “This is bad indeed,” said he. “I witnessed the signing of a document at the old Mr. Whichale’s deathbed, the night he died,” said Mr. Templeton. The magistrate leapt up. “What! I will away to Longpan at once. There may be no time to lose,” he said. “Suspicions may have been aroused there already,” said Edward. “Creeley was seen riding that way yesterday— he persuaded his master to let him borrow an old nag, so he could visit a dying uncle!” “There seems to be many such uncles about,” said Mr. Templeton, drily. “May I accompany you?” said Edward. “I see no reason why not. You three gentlemen are my witnesses to the events in September.”

“We shall prepare at once.” “Excellent! Can you meet me in a quarter of an hour, at the top of Broad Street? I will bring the constable.”

CHAPTER 42

WHEN TOLD THE GENTLEMEN WERE to accompany the magistrate to Longpan, Laura felt greatly cheated of the adventure. She watched through the window, as the men cantered up the street to their rendezvous. “It is my mystery as much as anyone’s. How I wish I could go with them!” “So you shall, my dear,” said the countess. Laura turned in surprise, and Elspeth cried, “Impossible, your ladyship!” “A young lady cannot gallop about the countryside, a pistol at the ready, but she might take a gentle excursion, by carriage, in a similar direction.” “The occasion may prove ill fit for the presence of ladies,” said Elspeth. “I do hope so! My position will afford your sister immunity from talk, my dear.” Laura’s eyes glowed. “I shall be very happy to accompany you.” “I would not miss this for all the world!” cried the countess. “Ah, do I hear the carriage?” “It is ordered? I shall be in agonies of fear every moment,” said Elspeth. “You must stay behind, poor love.” Lady Clarydon patted her friend’s cheek. “Mrs. Bell, come or we shall be short of a widow. Ladies, let us don our coats and bonnets.” “Why am I singled out as unfit for the journey?” sniffed Elspeth. “I am every bit as courageous as my sister!” “Then I deem you worthy,” said the countess, laughing. “Make haste, for I do not like to be so far behind the gentlemen.” Shortly, the ladies entered the blue barouche, and a maid hurried out with a picnic basket, placing it under

Mrs. Bell’s seat. In a matter of minutes, the horses were struggling up the hill to the Axminster road. “Was there ever such a frightening adventure?” said the countess. “I am quite diverted.” “We will, of course, keep a ladylike distance?” said Elspeth. “Are you not as consumed with curiosity as I?” “Naturally, my dear. We are all delighted to partake of these thrills, as ladies do—watching the gentlemen from a distance.” “Like perching on a hillside to watch the hunt?” said Laura. The countess was vastly amused. “We might each put on an elegant habit, mount a great hunter and urge him on, to overtake the gentlemen,” said Lady Clarydon. “It would be wonderful, I suppose, for the more hardy of our sex,” said Elspeth, “but unlikely to add to our allure in society.” “Like the Melmont sisters,” the countess said, with a peal of laughter. “I recall watching them thunder into the field, and Lady Eliza had the boldness to pass all the gentlemen in the hunt!” Elspeth put her hand to her heart in horror. “The silly girl,” said the countess. “How I cheered her on!” “The sisters are unmarried still, for all their excellent connections,” said Elspeth. “We will have our little adventure and remain in favour with the gentlemen,” replied her friend, always one to have the best of everything. “Now, Miss Laura, pray tell us why the goodwife, Mrs. Whichale, may have written that abominable epistle.” “Some person wished to separate Mr. Templeton from me. We do not know the reason. This person went further, seeking to discredit me, and to drive both of us from the district.” “Perhaps a jealous rival!” said the countess, with a certain relish. “Mrs. Whichale is hardly that!” said Elspeth. “Let us say there is a jealous rival,” said Laura. “How do we then explain Mr. Whichale’s lies to my brother

and Sir Richard, when they asked if Mr. Templeton came to the house?” “Well …” said Elspeth. “I doubt they cared anything for Mr. Templeton or for me,” said Laura. “We must take a new perspective to see the motive for keeping us apart.” “You mean that we have been concentrating on the disruption of the friendship itself, as the motive?” said Mrs. Bell. “Instead, the underlying reason might be wholly unconnected with Mr. Templeton or you?” “You clever little person!” said the countess. “Have you penetrated Miss Morrison’s thoughts?” “No—indeed not,” said Mrs. Bell. Laura looked sidelong at her, surmising that the lady had come to a conclusion similar to her own. “I shall save my little theory, for the present, lest I defame the innocent,” said Laura. “I call that very unfair,” said the countess. “It seems so obvious!” said Laura. “Not to me,” said Lady Clarydon. She opened the picnic hamper. “Won’t you have a piece of cake, Miss Morrison?” Laura took the slice of fruit cake, and turned to look out at the passing fields as she ate it. She knew not to which parts of her journal the countess was privy; she now enjoyed tormenting her with a secret. The gentlemen, accompanied by the constable, had stopped to refresh themselves at the Crossroads Inn near Longpan. The landlady informed them that she had some of her famous pies in the oven, but they could not wait for them, and contented themselves with cold meats from the previous day’s dinner. In a matter of half an hour they had left the main road, and were cantering towards Mr. Whichale’s estate. The five horsemen clattered into the walled forecourt of the house, and found that no boy ran out to hold the horses. They dismounted, the constable groaning after the long ride. Mr. Grahame handed his reins to the constable, and went to knock on the door, which gleamed in new green paint. It remained unopened so he banged the knocker

harder. “Open up!” he called. The door swung slowly open to reveal an old manservant. “Sirs,” he said. “Won’t you step in?” He looked into the yard. Mr. Templeton, who had handed his horse over to Sir Richard, came forward and the old man peered at him. A perceptible look of fear crossed his face. Two boys, under-gardeners by their appearance, came running around to take the horses. “Where is Jem?” said the butler. “Jem’s run off, Mr. Moreley, in the night,” said one of the lads. “His things are a’gone too.” “Damnation!” The magistrate cursed quietly. “Foolish lad—he’ll lose his wages,” said the butler. He shook his head. “Jem be a noggerhead, Mr. Moreley.” “Or a scamp!” muttered Mr. Grahame. The gentlemen entered the house, leaving the constable outside. They discovered Mr. Whichale seated in the library, putting down the newspaper and picking up their cards. Edward, the first to enter, was struck by something odd in the gentleman’s demeanour as he rose to greet them: he had the distinct impression that Mr. Whichale had only picked up the paper a second before. He’s just sat down, he thought. Why this pretence of being at his ease? “Captain Morrison!” said Mr. Whichale. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” “Good morning, Mr. Whichale,” he said. “Sir Richard, I am honoured, sir!” “And this is …?” He looked questioningly at the magistrate. “I am sorry, Mr. Whichale,” said Sir Richard. “May I present Mr. Grahame?” The name was familiar, and Mr. Whichale’s eyes flinched slightly as he bowed. “Mr. Grahame, indeed I am honoured to receive you here.” They watched keenly as he finally turned to Mr. Templeton, wondering how he would greet this phantasm.

He was perfectly natural, however. “Mr. Templeton, I am pleased to see you again,” he said. Sir Richard and Edward looked at one another in amazement at this coolness. He turned to Edward. “You have found your friend, I see. I said it would be so.” This was too much for the captain. “Two months ago you denied to my face ever having even heard of Mr. Templeton!” “Sir, I hope you do not call me a liar. I may have discreetly steered the facts. Gallantry demands that a lady’s reputation must be protected,” said Mr. Whichale. “No situation calls for outright untruths!” “I hope you will take back those words when you hear how I attempted to protect the name of your own sister.” “Do not dare mention my sister!” “Cousin, wait a moment,” said Sir Richard. “What reason can you give, Mr. Whichale, for telling us that story?” Mr. Whichale’s anger appeared to dissolve. He looked around at his four visitors with a genial smile, and gestured to the chairs near the fire. “Won’t you all sit down?” He rang the bell and the butler came in. “Moreley, bring in wine—send Harry for it.” He turned to his guests. “Moreley is training another to take over his role. His retirement is well and truly due.” The magistrate and Mr. Templeton sat on upright chairs, Sir Richard took an armchair, while Edward maintained his angry stance opposite their host on the hearth. Mr. Whichale coughed delicately. “I was very careful to express no actual untruth.” “You claimed you never saw Mr. Templeton!” said Edward. Mr. Whichale shook his head. “I only refuted your statement that my uncle had called him in for spiritual guidance in his last hours. Had you pressed further, I may have been forced to admit seeing him.”

The captain could not recall the exact words spoken at the time. “I believe you implied an untruth, sir.” Mr. Whichale glared, but Moreley entered, followed by a younger man carrying a laden tray. The butler poured the wine and offered sweet ginger cakes to the gentlemen. The other three took their glasses but Edward curtly shook his head and the footman placed his glass on the mantle. Both servants left the room. “Now,” said Mr. Whichale, adopting his hospitable tone once more, “I arrive at a matter of some delicacy. It came to my ears that in Lyme a young lady was seen several times alone with a gentleman in the streets of the town. We live quietly hereabouts and take interest in every little adventure.” The captain replied to the affable tone of these reflections with a stony expression. The host pressed on. “I sent for Mr. Templeton in the hopes that my relative might repent at the last.” “Why ask me, a stranger, to come such a distance?” said Mr. Templeton. “Our parish curate and his vicar, both familiar with my uncle, would have been difficult to persuade.” He turned down his mouth comically. “One does not readily forget an attack by dogs, or the threat of a whipping!” “Carry on, sir,” the magistrate said. Mr. Whichale turned to him in annoyance. “I wish to know why you interest yourself in this matter, Mr. Grahame. What is the young lady to you? You seem to think I am before the court.” “Such investigation is not my usual role but I have involved myself for reasons of the very delicacy to which you refer. This enquiry is not within the scope of a constable’s duties.” “Very well—I see your point. I sent for the clergyman known to be holidaying at Charmouth. When Mr. Templeton himself informed me that he must urgently communicate with a lady in Lyme, I imagined a romantic entanglement at once, and realised that this was the very gentleman seen walking with the young lady.” A slight flush lit Mr. Templeton’s cheeks. Mr. Whichale said, “The next day, he left very early, and a letter arrived addressed in a lady’s hand.

Imagining it to have been written by the young woman, I discreetly sent it on to Charmouth.” “I cannot agree that you have been discreet, sir!” said Edward. “It seems foolish now. When the young lady’s relations visited me to pose questions about her admirer, I sensed she was in disgrace with her family. I felt honour bound to put you off, sirs, for such is my feeling of sympathy for the weaker sex.” “Sir, you do not know the trouble you have caused her,” said Sir Richard. Mr. Whichale mimed great concern. Edward took a step forward angrily. “This tale would do very well, sir, if it was my sister who wrote the letter.” Mr. Whichale leant back in his chair, in a pretence of cowering in fear. “Kindly temper your manner, sir. You say the letter was not written by Miss Morrison?” “It was not and I can prove it.” Mr. Whichale raised his hands in protest. “I demand no such proof from a gentleman, Captain. Your word is good enough for me. The letter was in a lady’s hand and I made a false assumption that it was hers.” He looked from one to the other, singling out the magistrate for a friendly glance. “I believe the letter originated from this house,” said Edward. Mr. Whichale’s face reddened. Blustering, he said, “Do you dare suggest that an act of forgery could have taken place, in my house!” Mr. Templeton, having kept his cool, was quick to see what Edward’s anger made him miss, and he said, “Why assume it to be a forgery? Do you know the contents?” “What? No! That gentleman seems to suggest that Mrs. Whichale—the only lady in the house—is capable of disreputable interference!” “Interference in what?” said Mr. Templeton reasonably. “What was the subject of the letter, Mr. Whichale?” “Well … how should I know?” He had talked

himself into the trap. There came a tap at the window and they all looked over. The constable pointed out a lady walking across the garden towards a picket gate, leading to a kitchen garden beyond. She wore a straw bonnet and carried a flower basket. “That is the lady whom you accuse of infamy,” said Mr. Whichale. The magistrate indicated that the man was to stay close to the house. “No one mentioned names, sir,” he said. Mr. Whichale got up ponderously and walked over to his desk. From a drawer, he withdrew a bundle of yellowed letters, and handed one of them to Mr. Templeton. “This was written in June of the year 1784, when Mrs. Whichale visited her sister in Kent. Pray compare this writing to the one you received.” Mr. Templeton winced slightly in distaste, but took his own letter from his pocket book. He looked at the direction, then Mr. Whichale opened his letter to display the conclusion.

Selina has made out the letters of her name and can find them in her box of blocks. She sends her best love to her Papa. Louisa babbles “Da Da Da Da” all day long, which I am

convinced is her way of doing the same! Yrs most affectionately, Lydia Whichale

Mr. Templeton was silent for a moment. Without a doubt this old letter and the one in his possession were in different hands. While there was scarcely a limit to what an expert forger could produce, he could not imagine how a person such as Mr. Whichale could have caused a new letter to look twenty years old. It must be genuine. Mr. Whichale indicated a portrait that hung near his desk. “This is how they looked at about that time,” he said proudly. Two little girls were portrayed with their mother, the smaller child on her knee and the other leaning at her side, one arm clinging around her neck. The similarity of all three was striking, and anyone who had made the lady’s acquaintance could clearly see the woman in the picture to be a younger Mrs. Whichale. The captain was forced to withdraw his hasty accusation. Mr. Templeton noted how quickly Mr. Whichale seemed to recover from his pained offence; the man seemed mercurial, prone to follow every impulse. Mr. Whichale stood up and handed the untouched glass of wine to the captain, who curtly refused it, and their host placed it on the tray. He continued to stand on the hearth opposite the captain. “Sirs,” he said. “I hope you are satisfied that I meant no ill will to the lady in the case. You have a long ride ahead of you so I will not take offence if you cannot stay long.” The magistrate cleared his throat. “There is one item that I wish you to produce, sir.”

Mr. Whichale frowned. “What would that be?” he asked icily. “The document to which Mr. Templeton put his name on the night your uncle died.” Mr. Whichale rose, spluttering in anger. “Have you some further calumny to suggest?” The magistrate did not lose his composure. “Is it not best for all concerned to be quite open in this matter, sir?” “I should not be put in the position to make these explanations!” said Mr. Whichale. He’s blustering, thought Edward, glancing at Mr. Templeton, who raised his eyebrows slightly. “If you will not produce the document willingly, sir, I will pass the case to the High Sheriff forthwith.” Mr. Whichale paled. He strode angrily to the door, pulled on the bell rope and the butler entered. “Send for Mr. George—he is in the copse, marking damaged trees. He must carry a note to Axminster at once. Perkins can go with him.” “Yes, sir.” Moreley trembled his way from the room. Mr. Whichale ushered the visitors into the hall, where he opened the drawing-room door for them. “Kindly wait here, sirs, while I write to Mr. White, my attorney in Axminster, to send back my uncle’s will with Mr. George. You will see that a codicil was added before his death.” “Mr. White could show us the document at his office,” said the magistrate calmly. “That would save considerable trouble to … Mr. George is your steward, I believe?” “He is. There is no trouble that is not worth taking to protect my family name from slander,” said Mr. Whichale. The magistrate gave a little bow. “Indeed you have every right to protect yourself, although I am sure this is a formality.” He moved near a window that afforded a view of the forecourt. Mr. Whichale left the room, closing the door. “Should we not watch him?” asked Edward. “That would not be gentlemanlike,” said Sir

Richard. Edward shook his head in disbelief. Mr. Grahame said, “It is not utterly impossible that the letter originated outside Mr. Whichale’s family.” “Something is very wrong in this business,” said Edward. “Indeed,” said the magistrate. “I prefer the cases I usually deal with in my court—a little poaching or a quarrel over a stolen petticoat.” “You may yet hear this matter in your court,” said Mr. Templeton. “I shall pass the case on to the Assizes, if it comes before me, as indeed I must. Forgery alone carries the death penalty.” “If the forgery proves to be connected only to matters of the heart, or perhaps written by a madwoman, would it be treated so seriously?” asked Sir Richard. “I am very suspicious of Whichale. He was too quick to assume that forgery had been committed,” said Mr. Templeton. “Thankfully, you were sharper than I,” said Edward. “I was too occupied in wanting to thrash him for speaking of Laura.” Through the window, they saw a brown chaise come around into the court. “That was fast work,” said Edward. A man they took to be Mr. George himself sat on the box next to the coachman; there was no sign of another servant. The chaise turned out into the road. The constable looked after it, scratching his head; then shrugged and stayed near the gate. The men waited for another minute or so, when the magistrate suddenly leapt to the window. Opening it, he called out sharply to the constable. “Where was the servant Perkins?” The man ran over. “There were a woman inside, sir—lady’s maid mayhap.” “A woman! I thought Perkins to be a man! Get your horse at once and follow them. But first, find the mistress of the house and bring her to me.” “Aye, sir!” He ran off. The magistrate rushed towards the door. “What is happening?” cried the captain.

“I believe they’ve given us the slip.”

CHAPTER 43

THE LADIES ARRIVED AT THE Crossroads Inn and alighted from the barouche. “Such unseemly haste! I was never so frightened in my life!” said Elspeth. “I enjoyed it immensely,” said Laura. The countess patted her arm, saying, “I have a strong and perfect team, though I say it myself.” She looked in pride at her horses, a splendid matched four, black coats steaming from their effort. She turned to the coachman. “Well done, Barton!” “It were a pleasure, my lady.” “I will send out a glass of ale and a pie to you, while you watch over the change of horses. There is no one I can trust as I trust you.” Barton blushed and nodded. Eight years in her ladyship’s service had not inured him to her flattery. “What is the great hurry, Countess?” said Elspeth, as her friend seized her arm and hurried her into the inn. “The gentlemen have such a start upon us. Come, we must refresh ourselves. There is no time to lose.” In less time than Elspeth wished to devote to adjusting her bonnet ribbons, the four ladies availed themselves of the services of the inn and drank a cup of tea. They re-entered the carriage again, a few minutes later, and set off along the narrow road to Longpan. Laura stared at her sister, who looked at her briefly with a mixture of defiance and disdain. How she hates to be proved wrong, thought Laura. Was this enough to drive her to her deceitful acts? Why was she so determined to marry me to Richard? If she thought it such a desirable match, why did she not manoeuvre it for herself? The very thought made her smile. Elspeth had her goals

fixed on a life of fashion and elegance among the Ton; it was inconceivable to imagine her as Richard’s wife. Laura’s thoughts turned again to Mr. Templeton. How soon might she see him? They had been apart a matter of a few hours only and she was eager for their next encounter. “We are coming into the village,” said Laura. “Do you see the shape the river takes on—like a frying pan!” said Mrs. Bell. Already the tiny village was left behind. “I believe Longpan House is on this bend in the river. It will be the next entrance,” said Laura. Elspeth said, “My brother will be very displeased if we enter the house.” “That would be distasteful but I hope to see some fun outside,” said her friend. “There is the stone wall—a carriage is turning out!” said Laura. “Perhaps they are trying to flee,” said the countess with a reckless laugh. Putting her head out of the window, she called, “Cut them off, Barton!” The barouche steered towards the middle of the road, while Elspeth screamed and Mrs. Bell gave a moan of fear. The barouche came to a halt and one of her ladyship’s footmen came to the door. “We must not move an inch,” she said. The footman smiled. “There do seem to be summat wrong with my lady’s carriage.” He called up something in a laughing voice to Barton, and went to hold the horses’ heads, while the coachman got down and began to laboriously inspect the wheels. A voice shouted from the brown chaise. “Excuse me, we are on urgent business.” Barton looked up and shrugged. Mr. George climbed down from the carriage and approached the barouche. In the window appeared the lovely face of the countess. “Pardon me, madam, but I am in the greatest hurry.” “Oh sir, can you not aid me?” said the countess. “My coachman thinks something is amiss. I am frightened out of my wits that my carriage will tip over.”

Laura almost laughed aloud. Even the obligation to rescue such a beautiful lady seemed not to deter the man from his urgent desire to be on his way. “Won’t you step down, madam,” he said, opening the door for her. With a great show of relief, the countess accepted his assistance to alight, turning to say to Laura, “Pray accompany me, dear friend.” Laura obliged her and found her arm firmly taken by Lady Clarydon, who drew her towards the other carriage, while Elspeth looked crossly after them. “’Tis only the mistress’s waiting woman inside,” said Mr. George. The countess looked into the carriage. “Pardon me, my dear, will you share your carriage with us?” “My mistress will be very angry if I do,” said the woman. “Can your coachman not move your carriage aside for us to pass?” “I fear not—if the carriage should tip over altogether, we can none of us go anywhere.” She looked around inside the carriage, seeing a large hamper, cloaks and a travel case pushed under the seat. “I see you are equipped for a journey. How shockingly I have inconvenienced you!” “Lady Clarydon, someone comes!” said Laura. From a little lane, fifty yards from the gate, there appeared a lady wearing a straw bonnet, and rather redfaced in her haste. She hesitated only for a moment on seeing the two ladies next to her chaise before hurrying over. “Have I the honour of addressing Mrs. Whichale?” said the countess. The lady made a sound surprisingly like a groan. “Who are you?” she asked. “I am of little interest to you, madam, but this is Miss Morrison.” The blood drained away from Mrs. Whichale’s cheeks and she began to sway. Laura caught her as she fell almost into a faint. The countess opened the door of the carriage and Mr. George, helped by the maid, placed the lady on the

seat. Laura looked at Mrs. Whichale, her face pale with drops of perspiration on her forehead, her bosom heaving. Was this weak, frightened creature responsible for all that had befallen her? After an application of smelling salts to her nose, Mrs. Whichale opened her eyes. Her gaze wandered for a moment, before fixing on Laura’s face. “You are Miss Morrison?” she said. “I am, and I cannot say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mrs. Whichale reached out her hand, but Laura turned her head. “You cannot bring yourself to touch me,” Mrs. Whichale said bitterly. “It was not my doing—I swear I did not write the letter.” “Are you well enough to travel, ma’am?” Mr. George said. “We can turn and go the long way.” Mrs. Whichale looked at Laura in desperate appeal. Her plump face seemed wasted, fallen into sick creases. “I told him we were happy as we were before.” Laura looked from the lady to the maid, who knelt on the floor of the carriage, fumbling in a bag for a restorative. The maid slowly raised her eyes—guilt and terror mirrored in them. “The master made me do it!” she said. “I sat up all night practising the hand.” “You all but destroyed my life,” said Laura. “He’d have dismissed me without a character.” “Could you not let morality guide you?” Even as she said it, Laura knew the futility of such an argument. Without a character reference, this maid would be unlikely to ever find another place; honesty would most likely have been rewarded with poverty. “’Twas but a love letter, of sorts.” “You must know that forgery is a capital offence!” The woman put her hand to her throat and moaned. There came a whimper from Mrs. Whichale. “The disgrace!” she said. The maid began to rock to and fro, the bag clutched in her arms like a baby.

Laura stepped back. “Let them go.” “As you say, my dear.” The countess took Laura’s arm and they moved to the side of the road. At once, Mr. George slammed the door shut and climbed up onto the box. The coachman turned the carriage and drove it back to the gate, where they waited for a moment. For whom do they wait? thought Laura. Did they plan to aid the villian’s escape? she wondered. Of course! “No!” cried Laura. “They wait for their master! They shall not all get away.” As she rushed across the road, a shot rang out, echoing across the still valley. Both teams of horses neighed and reared up. Mr. Whichale’s coachman cracked the whip. The horses strained forward and the chaise was off, rapidly gaining speed as it disappeared down the road. The reverberations of the shot died away. Laura still stood, shocked, as the dust swirled about her. She was dimly aware of screams from the barouche, and the incredulous laughter of the countess. A horseman cantered out of the gate and into the road, hesitating a second to spot the escaping carriage, before heading off down the road after it, bouncing in the saddle. Slowly Laura approached the gate, numb with apprehension. “Laura!” cried Elspeth from the window of the barouche. “My brother! Cousin Richard!” Laura scarcely heard her, walking across the road in a daze. I was never prepared for violence, she thought. She heard no further sound from the house— the thick garden wall ensured that. She began to run towards the gate, not hearing the other ladies calling out to her to wait. Edward dead? Richard wounded? Or …? Every possibility was horrible. She could not bear the loss of her dream of love. Always so much stood in their way. It was never meant to be, or they would not have lost sight of

each other in the first place. She saw that now. It seemed that fate dictated that Mr. Templeton now lay dying.

CHAPTER 44

WHILE LAURA AND THE COUNTESS parleyed with Mrs. Whichale, the gentlemen had rushed back to the library. Mr. Grahame tried the handle of the library door. Locked! “Open up, Mr. Whichale!” he shouted, but no reply was heard from inside the room. Mr. Templeton and Edward put their shoulders to the door to burst it open. All four ran in. Mr. Whichale was not at his desk but halfway through the open window. They rushed at him and he looked back over his shoulder, turning. “Take care! He’s armed!” yelled Grahame. They froze, in the centre of the room, at the sight of the pistol. Mr. Whichale looked desperately from one to another, settling his eyes resentfully upon Mr. Templeton, and seemed to choose his target. He turned the weapon. “We are four to your one, sir,” said Edward. “You will surely hang if you commit murder,” Grahame said. “I hang, in any case,” said Whichale. He fired. As the echoes bounced from the walls, Edward heard the thump of a body falling to the floor, followed by the rumble of wheels on the road. He leapt forward. “Wait, sir!” said the magistrate, but the captain seized the gunman’s wrist, dragging him back into the room. Whichale grabbed at Edward’s face with his other hand, clawing at his skin. Edward was too strong for him. He jerked Whichale’s arm up sharply in the air. Whichale flailed at the captain’s jaw with his free hand but one more wrench on his arm caused the pistol to drop to the floor. “Hold him, sir!” said the magistrate, as Edward forced Whichale into a chair. Mr. Grahame climbed out of the window and raced across to the gate. Down the road, Mr. Grahame saw the constable

pulling his horse up, turning at the sound of the shot. “Go after them, man,” shouted the magistrate, pointing. The horseman nodded and took off again. It was then that Mr. Grahame saw the lady at the gate. “Miss Morrison! Wait—pray do not go in.” However, Laura sped past him and halted briefly in the court, listening. She heard voices from the side of the house and ran in the direction of the sounds. Through the open casement, she saw a gentleman of middle years collapsed in a chair. Before him stood her brother— unharmed! He turned, staring at her in amazement. “Laura?” “Thank God,” she said. Over by the door, Sir Richard stood, blinking. It was just as she had thought. Her brother and cousin were thankfully safe, but Mr. Templeton? She shivered, lowering her gaze to the floor. In the corner behind her brother and to his left, she saw a pair of boots, toes pointed upward. She gasped, and her eyes flew past the top of the old-fashioned boots, to a rusty black coat. An old servant was lying on the floor—not dead, it seemed, but in a faint. Sir Richard was now kneeling beside him, slapping his cheeks to revive him. What of Mr. Templeton? She looked to the side of the room, and saw him pointing a pistol at the miscreant. Alive! Joy lit her face, shimmering in her glass-green eyes—joy such as could not escape his notice. His look in reply was an instant of dark-eyed passion. Just as quickly, he turned back to his charge. “Laura, I beg you to return to the carriage,” said Edward. “You are not alone?” “I am not alone, and I will go—Elspeth is beside herself,” she said. She ran back out of the gate, to find the countess standing in the road, poised between curiosity and fear. Reassured by Laura’s happy look, she clapped her hands. “Is anyone murdered? Is there much blood? Tell all, my dear,” she said, putting her arm around Laura’s waist.

Laura was too happy to do other than smile. She went to the carriage window, seeing Elspeth in genuine anxiety. “Laura, you are safe! What of my brother?” “They are all unharmed—all of our gentlemen are safe,” she said. “Quite all?” said Mrs. Bell. “Every last one,” said Laura. The magistrate hurried back into the house and took over the situation. “That shot was a signal to your coachman to carry your wife to safety,” he said. Whichale gave him a sour smile of triumph. “Your man will never catch her. My coachman knows every turn in every lane hereabouts.” “We shall see. Now—the document, Mr. Whichale? Where is it?” Whichale looked over to see Moreley still sitting forlornly on the floor. “You are safe, Moreley,” said Whichale. “Show them.” Sir Richard helped the old man to rise. “Are you well enough to lead us there?” Moreley nodded. Leaving the captain standing guard over Mr. Whichale, the other men followed the servant upstairs and into the master bedroom. “The same room,” said Mr. Templeton. An enormous old oaken closet stood against the wall. “It’s a’fallen behind the closet, sirs,” he said. “Fallen, you say?” said the magistrate. Moreley was wringing his hands in anxiety. “’Twere all on my account—the master tried to protect me rights.” “From what?” “Old master always promised me the cottage at Lane End, when I were too old to work.” “And?” “He must of forgot to put it in his will. ’Twere on the day he died, he writ a new one.”

“A new will, you say? Was he in his right mind?” “On my sacred oath, sir, he was. The physician was with him at the end—he’ll tell you how sharp was old Mr. Whichale to the very last.” “How came Mr. Templeton to be called in?” “Old master asked for his attorney. New master sent for Mr. Templeton, instead, to witness the will. He forgot as I must not be witness.” “You witnessed the signing of the new will, which gave you use of the cottage and an annuity?” Moreley nodded miserably. “Mr. Templeton went downstairs, and new master—he weren’t master then for old master were still alive, only sleeping—new master came in. He were standing just there, by the closet.” “What happened next?” asked the magistrate. “He said, quiet like, ‘Good God, were you a witness? The law will have you.’” “The heir could have grounds to claim influence and contest the bequest, if you were a witness,” Mr Grahame said. He saw that Moreley did not comprehend him. “What followed?” “He were waving his arm, like this, for he were worried.” The servant swept his arm across the top of the cabinet. “Will was a’knocked back and went behind. My master said best for me if it disappears.” “So your master hid the new will?” “’Twere an accident—I tried to remind him about it later but …” The magistrate rolled his eyes. He pulled the bell rope. “No one sought to retrieve the document?” “I didna’ dare by myself.” “It’s as well you did not destroy it.” “We got nowhere to go. Me savings are a’gon on medicine for Mrs. Moreley. Weren’t dishonest really for old master wanted it that way.” “Let us see, Moreley.” A footman entered and helped them pull the cabinet away from the wall. A sheet of parchment flopped over into the dust. The magistrate reached into the space and picked it up, blowing the dirt away. He read aloud:

In the Name of God, Amen. I, Samuel Frederick Whichale, gentleman, of the Parish of Saint Stephen, in the village …

His bushy eyebrows were drawn together as he skimmed the rest of the opening statement. He ran his eyes over the first of the articles, shaking his head; then read it aloud.

I give and bequeath my estate at Longpan, near Axminster, comprising of Longpan House, four farms, the row of cottages in Lane’s End, Longpan,

and all the income there from, unto my greatnephew …

Mr. Grahame looked around at them all before continuing.

Benjamin Adam Reece, grandson of my sister, Mrs. Charles Reece, nee Anna Jane Whichale, of Malton, Yorkshire.

CHAPTER 45

ONCE MRS. EVANS HAD SATISFIED herself about the safety of her relations, and the countess had reconciled herself to the living state of the others, her ladyship suggested they partake of a little nuncheon. Not for the first time, Laura wondered how the countess kept her trim figure. The barouche was moved to the side of the road, and a blanket spread upon a stretch of grass. The ladies sat on the blanket, well wrapped in coats and shawls, and passed the time in finishing off the contents of the picnic basket. “I hope a certain gentleman did not see you run in so desperately,” said Elspeth. “I rather think he did,” said Laura, her lips parting in a smile. She accepted a glass of wine, poured from the countess’s flask. Elspeth brushed irritably at the fringes of her shawl. “Well … you are proved correct, Laura, and I hope you are satisfied.” “I am truly vindicated, Elspeth. Pardon me if I display a little triumph, which I feel I deserve after the treatment to which I have been subjected these long weeks.” “I never meant to wrong you, dearest. Everything I did was for love.” She nibbled on a piece of cake. Love for whom? thought Laura. A memory returned of Elspeth as a little girl, throwing her arms around her sister’s neck and covering her face with wet kisses. She loved me then, Laura thought. Perhaps she loves me still, in some strangely limited manner of her own. “Tell us what dreadful deed has been committed, Miss Morrison,” said Lady Clarydon. “I await the result of the magistrate’s investigations to confirm my little theory.”

“Pray tell—we all long to know.” The countess gave the sulky Elspeth a little nudge. “Take heart, my dear. See how well it all ends.” Elspeth forced a smile. Laura thought for a moment, taking a sip of wine. “The seed was planted at Oakmont, when I was accused of madness in believing Mr. Templeton to be a real person. Despite all the evidence, it was only when odd things began to happen at Oakmont too that I wondered if I had taken leave of my senses.” She looked pointedly at Elspeth, who adopted an air of innocence. “How terrible, dearest sister!” she said. “It now seems that a criminal conspiracy led people to deny the truth. The ostler, Tom, the servant at the Charmouth Inn, the Whichales—all colluded either for reward or from fear. Mr. Whichale is at the centre of it all, I am sure.” “But what is your theory, Miss Morrison?” said the countess. “End my misery!” Laura bit on her cake and ate the piece thoughtfully, before saying, “It harks back to my meeting with Mr. Reece at the Assembly in Lyme. Gossip had it that he was a great favourite with his rich, dying uncle and was sure to inherit the estate.” “Mr. Whichale!” said Mrs. Bell. “Indeed, Mrs. Bell! You recall our meeting with Mr. Reece, Countess?” “A pleasing young man!” “Yes. I imagine his family sent him to Mr. Whichale in the hopes of advantage, for he is very amiable. When I encountered him again the other day, one of my first thoughts was that he did not inherit after all. I hadn’t even given him or his possible fortune a thought since I left Lyme.” “You cannot mean a forged will also!” said the countess. “Yes—or a new one suppressed. When I learned that Mr. Reece’s valuable commission in the Royal Artillery had been purchased by a fond uncle, I thought how well blessed he was with fond uncles.” “You think his Uncle Whichale wished him out of the way?” said the countess.

“Yes, and perhaps he hoped to disarm suspicion with his generosity.” “That makes good sense,” said Mrs. Bell. “All fell into place when Mr. Templeton said he had witnessed a document for old Mr. Whichale.” “It could have been any piece of business that he wished tied up at the end,” said Mrs. Bell. “I could not help jumping to the conclusion that it was a will.” “Men do sometimes worry about unfinished business matters on their deathbed,” pursued Mrs. Bell. “Yes, indeed, they do. Yet the relations in most cases do not set a conspiracy in train.” “How you terrify me!” said Elspeth. Laura smiled at the way her sister’s terror took on an appearance of wide-eyed curiosity and excitement. She continued. “Imagine that on his deathbed the old man writes a new will, perhaps cutting out nephew Whichale altogether. The only witness is a man who is a stranger to the district. Mr. Whichale intends to destroy the new will but his plans are endangered when he discovers that someone else knows that Mr. Templeton came to his house the night his uncle died.” “You!” said Mrs. Bell. “If he merely keeps you apart from Mr. Templeton, you may still tell others the truth. He must discredit you.” “A dreadful theory! Yet it has a ring of truth!” said Elspeth. “Mr. Whichale suspects that Mr. Templeton is in love with you,” said the countess. “He racks his brain for a way to keep you apart, with no communication ever again.” “The letter!” A cry of agony interrupted them and the ladies all turned to Elspeth. “Laura!” she said. “You thought that I wrote the letter. How could you?” Laura looked at her coolly. “We had no notion of a forged letter until the other day. However, I confess that your secret letter-writing made me wonder if you had also written to Mr. Templeton in order to put him off.” “I would never drive off an eligible suitor, Laura.” “I thank you for that kindness,” said Laura, too happy to be cross any longer.

She caught sight of a rider approaching from the direction the carriage had taken. As he drew near, she saw the horseman to be the constable. He slowed to turn in at the gate. “He has lost them,” she said. In a moment or two, the constable appeared again, riding this time in the direction of the main road. Mr. Templeton emerged from the gate and strode up to the carriage, before realising it was empty. The ladies observed him from the grassy verge. The countess giggled, as did Elspeth. Laura held her breath so as not to laugh. He turned and discovered them. “Countess, ladies, we are almost done here.” “Was anyone shot, sir?” asked the countess. “The shot was a signal pre-arranged by Mr. Whichale, to tell his wife to flee without him. He became fearful of discovery when the captain and Sir Richard came enquiring after me, and set up his plan then. When he heard that both Miss Morrison and I were returned to Lyme, he was ready.” He looked quickly, with warm intensity, at Laura. “Yet still he did not give up his ill-gotten gains,” said Laura. “You have solved the puzzle, then?” “Yes,” she said. “He destroyed a will that cut him out?” “I believe he planned to fortuitously find the new will, but only if all hope of keeping the estate was gone. He left it too late.” “The document you witnessed left all to Mr. Reece?” said Laura. “The bulk of the fortune, yes. The constable has gone to Axminster to bring a conveyance and guards to take the criminal to prison.” “May God forgive him,” said Mrs. Bell. “Will he hang, sir?” said Elspeth. “Were he not a ‘gentleman’, if one may so call him, then he would almost certainly face death. Clemency is rarely extended in cases for involving forgery, I believe. Much depends upon young Reece’s testimony. Mr. Grahame says the best Whichale can hope for is transportation to Botany Bay.”

“The Antipodes!” cried Elspeth. “The society there would not be to my taste.” “Did he comprehend the risks before setting out to cheat his young relation of his rightful fortune?” asked Mrs. Bell. “Greed overrode caution and every Christian principle. Yet Mr. Whichale seems convinced of his own moral right to the property. We heard him rail about young Reece’s cunning and avarice!” “He attributes his own evil tendencies to his relation,” said Elspeth, with a saintly sigh. Mr. Templeton agreed; then caught a glimpse of laughter in Laura’s eyes. In a second an image flashed into his mind of all the coming pleasure, the joy of learning to know her. He put the feeling aside, as he must, and turned to the countess. “Would you be happy to return to Lyme, your ladyship?” “Only if you promise me that I do not miss any more thrilling dramas,” said Lady Clarydon. “The magistrate wishes only to finish writing an account of the events, after which we will depart.” “I am quite done in,” said the countess. “The solving of mysteries is so very tiring.” At last they all reassembled in their dining parlour in the Three Cups. Rested after the ardours of the day, the countess presided happily over an excellent dinner. “I was very nearly right,” Laura said. “Mr. Whichale did rely upon his own household to provide the forger.” “You ought not to take pride in deciphering the mind of a criminal!” said Elspeth. “I should have delighted to have been his nemesis, after the devastation he wreaked upon my life,” Laura said. “You were very clever, Laura,” said Sir Richard. “You did not wish to take the women in charge?” “A citizen’s arrest? I had not the heart for it,” said Laura. “Mrs. Whichale is punished enough, as it is. She keenly felt her husband’s disgrace.”

“You are so kind-hearted, Laura,” said Elspeth. “I believe I am.” “What awaits the maid Perkins, if she is captured, Captain?” asked the countess. “Whichale says he forced her to write the letter under threat of violence. However, he is confident he has the women well hidden. It may be that already they are on board some ship heading beyond the reach of the law.” “He has a certain honour, then.” “He protects his own family and servants, even though it may endanger his own life. He similarly exonerates his butler; it seems he told Moreley that his sick wife would die in the gutter if he did not keep silent.” The countess turned to Mr. Templeton. “Would you say Mr. Whichale has some elements of goodness?” she said. “I believe that all but the most hardened criminals have not closed their ears to their conscience altogether,” he said. “He saw the new will as the theft of his rights by young Reece. So I imagine he embarked upon his career of deception on an impulse when enraged.” “He is certainly a man easily fired up,” said Sir Richard. “He saw no way out once he had begun.” “He did not pretend to discover the new will?” asked Mrs. Bell. “It seems that he did not destroy it thinking that he could fall back upon ignorance—after all, he was not in the room when it was signed.” “But a taste of his ill-gotten gains and he could not give them up,” said Elspeth, with a dramatic toss of her head. There was a brief silence. “Laura, I was startled out of my wits when you said that Mrs. Whichale had written the letter,” Sir Richard said. “What made you think so?” “You did, Richard,” she said, enjoying his surprise. “You are always so careful of others’ feelings and took note of the lady’s fear. Yet Mr. Templeton portrayed Mrs. Whichale as serene before the strange events began to unfold.” “I see your meaning,” said the countess. “Mrs. Whichale was perfectly tranquil before she knew of her husband’s wicked plans.”

“Her conscience made her fearful only when my brother and cousin arrived to investigate.” The countess looked sidelong at the baronet, an arch smile lurking about her mouth. “Let us not forget that Sir Richard commonly reduces ladies to a state of trembles.” “How often have I wished it was so!” said Sir Richard, laughing so happily at the joke, although it was at his expense, that everyone joined in. As the chuckles died down, all were startled by an attack of giggles from none other than Mrs. Bell. They turned to her, surprise writ large on every face. Laura saw the embarrassment in Mrs. Bell’s eyes, her horror at drawing attention to herself in this unseemly way. It was clear that she tried to stop her laughter and failed. “Pray excuse me,” she said, rising. With her handkerchief to her face, she ran out of the room. Every face turned to the baronet, who sat humming dreamily to himself until he perceived their interest and blushed. “What an extraordinary exhibition!” said Elspeth. Laura felt she understood. Had Mrs. Bell’s feelings, suppressed in meekness all these years, welled up at last? It charmed Laura that they should do so in an unstoppable fountain of hilarity. She quickly filled the silence. “It now seems impossible that I believed myself deluded about Mr. Templeton’s very existence.” “Until you heard of the mysterious letter,” said Mr. Templeton. “My encounter with that girl was merest chance, yet it turned all my thinking around.” “We would still have been re-united, without that chance meeting,” said Mr. Templeton. “From the moment I realised that the man on the cliff was your brother, I questioned everything. I hurried to Lyme to search for proof that the letter was not in your hand.” “How rapidly you then tracked me down!” said Laura. “I had determined to find you, if I had to comb

the kingdom. To see you appear in front of me, two minutes later, took my breath clean away.” Laura was caught by a sense of emotion so keenly pitched that she was all but overwhelmed. Again there was an instant’s silence in the room, broken by the footman, who opened the door to announce a visitor. “Mrs. Morrison.” Evalina appeared in the doorway, her fresh comeliness seemingly untouched by the fatigue of travel. There was a scrape of chairs as the gentlemen rose. Evalina had removed her bonnet, and her lacy cap sat among her black curls. The footman helped her to remove her travelling coat. Its practical brown wool peeled off and she emerged from its husk, all white muslin and lace. The warmth of the room had sent a flush to her cheeks. “My dear Evalina, why did you not write? I would have come to escort you,” said Edward, going to her. He raised her hand to his lips. “And miss your surprise?” The countess gave the girl an approving look. Her own peerless beauty was unchallenged as ever but the girl’s looks delighted her: marriage, and the knowledge that went with it, had enhanced her attractions. Laura watched her brother and his wife together, and saw at last how perfect Evalina was for him. Without knowing the cause, she saw that there was some subtle beginning of maturity in Evalina’s feelings for Edward. That degree of imbalance in their abilities would never have suited Laura, but she understood that another kind of union could benefit Edward in ways she herself could not imagine. She saw that, already, her brother’s wife began to know him in ways a sister or friend could not.

CHAPTER 46

THERE WAS A LIGHT BREEZE blowing up the street from the sea the next morning, when six people emerged from the inn to take a stroll before breakfast. It seemed difficult to hit upon a destination that pleased all the ladies. Laura wanted to walk on the Cobb; Mrs. Bell wished to quietly enjoy the view of the harbour; whereas Mrs. Morrison declared she had been desperate to view the Pinney ever since seeing Laura’s sketches of it. The gentlemen had no choice but to offer their protection each to one lady. The captain and his bride quickly disappeared from view, arm in arm, perfectly in step with one another. Evalina had learnt already to avoid tangling her skirts with Edward’s cane. The baronet stood with Mrs. Bell near the Assembly Rooms, not far from the steps that led to the beach. “Do you wish to go down upon the sands?” He gestured towards the beach. Mrs. Bell seemed on the point of speech, but remained silent. “Let us stroll along here,” he said. “In truth … I care not where we walk.” “Nor I,” said Mrs. Bell. They took two or three turns up and down, and Sir Richard drew her hand into his arm, leaving his hand upon hers. They descended the steps, Sir Richard giving her the most careful support. They walked along the damp sand and shingles not far from the water, and stopped. He looked back, noting the tiny imprints left by her boots, alongside his boat-like dents in the sand. He was moved to the core. He bent down to peer beneath her bonnet. She raised her head ever so slightly. “Oh, Mrs. Bell!” he burst out. “What will you think

if I say that I love you—with all my heart? What will you think when I beg you to be my wife!” She tried to speak, could be seen to struggle for the words. “Such condescension on your part would be unparalleled …” he said. “Sir Richard,” she said faintly. He faced her squarely but, in the struggle between hope and despair, she could see that desperation was already extinguishing his ambition. “Dear Sir Richard …” His face appeared to swim downwards through her tears. “I accept, with gratitude and … and affection!” “You love me?” “How did you not know it? The countess has been laughing at me … this age.” “For how long?” The lady thought to tell all, but even a woman of her limited experience in the realm of love had sufficient grasp of policy to withhold from him the whole truth. Eventually he might learn that she had loved him since the moment he first permitted her to commence the sweet labour on the banners. However, she would only impart this information after she discovered that his own passion was of at least equal antiquity. “What does time matter!” she said, allowing romance to do the work of candour. “It matters not one whit!” He held the little hand nestled on his arm for a few moments, until the sight of children rushing by alerted them to the fact that they were not quite alone. They wandered back up the street and into the delightful byways of Lyme, where they might hope to meet no one of their acquaintance. There they began the long procedure whereby every past look, every word, must be milked of its significance. Both wondered how soon that ceremony might take place that would transform the poor curate’s widow into Lady Morrison, of Oakmont Manor. From away on the Cobb, Laura looked across the little bay

at the distant figure of her cousin. Something in the baronet’s posture spoke of supplication and she laughed. Mr. Templeton’s eyes followed hers and he said, “The baronet is not wasting his opportunity, think you?” “What know you of the matter, sir?” “It takes no great penetration to discover their secret,” he said. “Even without the ‘extraordinary exhibition’ noted by my sister!” Mr. Templeton held up his hands like paws, and adopted the expression of puppy-like devotion he had seen upon Sir Richard’s face when he looked upon the lady of his heart’s choice. Laura burst into a parody of Mrs. Bell’s giggles, only to be caught up in laughter of her own, a wave of delight at her release from every dark mood and doubt that had plagued her for two long months. Joy was shot through with wonder at how close she had come to losing all. They laughed, for a moment only, before seriousness began to overtake them. “You know that I love you,” he said. Laura made a brief sound, between a gasp and laughter. She did not answer. “You know not how well,” he said. “Do not speak so here!” she said, teasing. He understood her at once, but said, “Not on the Cobb? It is a little risky, certainly, where we need to take care of our footing.” “I listened to you once by the sea at Lyme, sir, and you did not keep your promise.” “What will it take to convince you that I am no phantasm?” he said. Mr. Templeton took her gloved hand and held it pressed against his heart. She acutely felt the touch, their nearness. “You are real, certainly. Just come to me in another place altogether, then I will believe you.” “Ah, another place? I prefer to secure you before we go there. I fear you may like me less away from the seaside.” “Now you tease me,” she said, smiling. “I offer you the whole of our lives to punish me

for it.” “I shall take advantage of the opportunity for vengeance.” “So you will marry me?” She nodded, curtly, her hand still held against him, and she looked away, before saying, “With great happiness.” Her joy was so keenly pitched, she scarcely trusted him with it, but gazed across the bay, which had reflected so many of her moods. On this day, its sparkling cold waters danced to the call of the gulls, the essence of the air was purified by salt—which tasted oddly sweet on her lips. The touch of his hand enfolding hers tingled along her arm, and filled her with warmth. The sensation of his gaze on the side of her cheek was drawing her to turn to him. She did, and they stood there, together, sure-footed atop the breakwater, which angled precipitously down to the sea.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my wonderful family—my thanks. I cannot enumerate all the ways in which you support and encourage me. To my fine sons, James and Matthew, my appreciation. For their valuable comments during the writing of this book, I would like to thank Jeanne Sayers, and fellow writers—Irina Lemaire, Alexandra Alt, Stephen Davenport, Mark Owens and Carole Stevenson. Michelle L. Zafron, at the University of Buffalo, earned my heartfelt gratitude in going beyond the demands of duty in directing my reading on medical theories of the era in which my book is set. My friends at the Jane Austen Society of Adelaide helped me in many ways with their knowledge and encouragement. Madge Mitton, especially, has been just a call away with answers that I can trust. At Random House Australia, I thank my publisher, Jeanne Ryckmans, and editors, Sophie Ambrose and Nicola O’Shea, for all their understanding and help.

Helen Halstead was born in Adelaide, South Australia, in 1950, and works as a teacher. In 2004, Helen achieved success when she self-published A Private Performance, a sequel to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. This was published to acclaim by Random House in 2005. The Imaginary Gentleman is her second novel.

Table of Contents

over itle Page opyright mprint Page edication pigraph: Dr. William Buchan, 1785 hapter 1 hapter 2 hapter 3 hapter 4 hapter 5 hapter 6 hapter 7 hapter 8 hapter 9 hapter 10 hapter 11 hapter 12 hapter 13 hapter 14 hapter 15 hapter 16 hapter 17 hapter 18 hapter 19 hapter 20 hapter 21 hapter 22 hapter 23 hapter 24 hapter 25 hapter 26 hapter 27 hapter 28 hapter 29 hapter 30 hapter 31 hapter 32

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