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?