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.