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 twelve-year-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 half-turned 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 Wolf-Fish, 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 pr
etty 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.”
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