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 well-polished 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 self-deception.”
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.