The Imaginary Gentleman (23 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, L
AURA 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.

J
ANE 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 high-ranking 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.