The Lovegrove Hermit

by Rosemary Craddock

  ‘I like him better than I did. He’s quite good company and doesn’t sulk if he doesn’t win.’

  ‘I trust he knows how to behave himself.’

  ‘Of course he does. He hasn’t tried to kiss me, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Not quite, but don’t let him. So you spent the whole time on bowls?’

  ‘No, we tired of it after a while and went looking for the lost priest-hole, tapping the wainscot all round the house. Rowland says the other priest-hole is bigger than the one I went down and is supposed to open onto a passage to the priory ruins.’

  ‘I presume you didn’t find anything of interest?’

  ‘Of course not, but it was fun searching.’

  ‘Did you happen to see your father?’ I sounded as unconcerned as possible.

  ‘Papa? No, I don’t know where he was. Did you want to see him for anything?’

  ‘Not particularly. He’ll be at luncheon anyway.’

  So he was and after the meal I managed to speak to George briefly.

  ‘I trust you enjoyed your morning?’ I said sardonically.

  ‘You mean after seeing the collection?’ Well, rather boring if truth be told. What can one do indoors on such a day?’

  ‘What indeed? What did you do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing of consequence. Why the questions? I might well ask you what you were doing.’

  There was nothing to be gained from such an exchange. I could scarcely reproach George even if I knew for sure that it had been him in the closet with Mrs Thorpe. I was entirely dependent on him and had no right to criticize his behaviour to his face whatever misgivings I might have in private.

  I began to long for the peace and quiet of Fairfield. Only one thing made me want to prolong our sojourn at Lovegrove. The Denbys, however, obviously intended our visit to be extended indefinitely; George seemed more than happy to stay on and Sophie was enjoying herself.

  The two young men were understandably more restless. Frank Lawrence announced that he had promised to stay with some friends in Derby for a few days, so off he went. A day later Rowland said he intended to visit a Cambridge friend in the next county who had a horse for sale. He would probably be gone for a day or two. I fancy his mother was rather annoyed by this as she saw it as an interruption to his courtship of Sophie but I heard him say in a loud whisper, ‘Don’t worry Mama, absence makes the heart grow fonder.’

  Without Frank and Rowland the atmosphere of the party changed subtly. Perhaps this was due to women now outnumbering men. Louisa Thorpe could continue her pursuit of George without the critical eye of her nephew. Sophie noticed it too and remarked that she disliked that Thorpe woman, who seemed far too interested in Papa.

  ‘She’d never succeed in marrying him, though – he’d never give me a stepmother I hated.’

  I was not so sure.

  It seemed to me that Sophie missed Rowland a little; she seemed restless and bored despite efforts to amuse her. One morning I borrowed the Denbys’ gig and drove her into Ashdale. We had, of course, been there before with Lady Denby but shops are always an attraction for girls and we had more time and freedom on our own.

  ‘Look!’ cried Sophie. ‘Isn’t that Rowland Webb at that cottage door?’

  A tall young man in a bright blue coat and buff breeches stood with his back to us on the other side of the street. It certainly looked like him from the rear. The door opened and he removed his hat, revealing fair hair cut in the most fashionable style.

  ‘Can it really be Rowland?’ said Sophie. ‘He’s supposed to be visiting a Cambridge friend near Nottingham.’

  ‘He could have come over here for some reason. Perhaps we can find out who lives there,’ I said.

  The opportunity arose when we visited a milliner’s shop only a few doors away from the cottage. Sophie bought a new straw bonnet and I engaged the shop’s proprietor in conversation.

  ‘We thought we saw a friend visiting one of the cottages a little further along from here – a green front door. Probably a charitable errand. Do you know who lives there?’

  ‘That would be Mrs Deane. She takes in lodgers. She’s only got one at the moment – a young woman, I believe.’

  Sophie looked up at me, shocked. ‘We could have been mistaken, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure we were.’ But I remembered Elinor’s strange behaviour at the Unicorn and wondered if there was any connection.

  Several days passed by and the weather settled again, though not as hot as before. For me the most enjoyable events of that time were my occasional meetings with Colonel Hartley. He came to dinner again, as he did regularly every week, and on another afternoon we drove over to dinner at his house. Shelbourne was less than a hundred years old and not particularly large or interesting compared with Lovegrove but I liked it far better. It was light and cheerful and although portraits of Colonel Hartley’s dead wife and son reminded us of tragedy, the atmosphere was not overlaid with ancient gloom.

  ‘I could live here quite happily,’ I thought and hastily told myself I was thinking about the house and not its inhabitants.

  Frank returned and so, a day later, did Rowland. The latter was asked if he had bought the horse that interested him.

  ‘No – I tried riding him but he didn’t handle well. Not worth what Logan was asking.’

  ‘But you had a pleasant few days?’ enquired Lady Denby.

  ‘Well enough.’

  ‘We’ve all missed you,’ she declared, adding with coy emphasis, ‘especially one of us!’

  Sophie blushed but Rowland avoided looking at her and said he was confoundedly dusty and needed a wash.

  Frank Lawrence also seemed to have enjoyed his excursion. At the first opportunity he drew me to one side and presented me with a little brown paper package.

  ‘To prove I did not forget you while I was away,’ he smiled. ‘You were rather cross with me that day at Normaston, and rightly so. I spoke out of turn, I’m afraid. I sometimes let my tongue run away with me and I always regret it. What I said was not intended to offend. Am I forgiven?’

  ‘Of course, but you shouldn’t have bought me anything. I’m not sure it’s at all proper.’

  ‘Wait until you see what it is.’

  It was a small book, beautifully bound: Goldsmith’s Essays.

  ‘It’s perfectly in order to give a lady a book. I saw you reading Goldsmith’s Poems and thought this an appropriate companion piece.’

  ‘Of course it is. Thank you!’

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Louisa Thorpe across the room glaring at us both with a venomous expression.

  ‘You couldn’t have pleased me more,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you’ll let me draw your portrait. You know I’m providing likenesses of the party for Lady Denby as a souvenir of our visit.’

  ‘Anything you want, my dear Miss Tyler. If it involves sitting beside you on the sofa I’m only too happy to oblige.’

  He kissed my hand and I smiled and made sure that Mrs Thorpe saw me smile.

  There was only one unusual incident which occurred in the quiet days following the return of the two young men. One night I could not sleep. The stable clock chimed the hours and it was two in the morning when I finally rose and went over to the window. I thought if I enjoyed a few minutes of fresh air it might put me in the mood for sleep.

  It was very quiet but in the country that never means absolute silence. There were distant rustlings and scufflings, the cry of an owl, the scream of some wild creature and then – two shots rang out, one after the other.

  I mentioned this to Sir Ralph the following morning.

  ‘I suppose it was the gamekeepers in the park but I thought I’d better tell you.’

  ‘They’re not supposed to be in the park – they patrol the woods. Though I suppose they might have spotted intruders and fired over their heads a couple of times.’

  ‘I could have been mistaken – not about the shots but their origin. It is difficult to tell where sounds c
ome from at night. Perhaps they did come from the woods.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with the fellows if I remember.’ I took this to mean Sir Ralph thought the matter of no consequence. I decided he was right and thought no more about it until later events made the incident assume a sinister significance.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The hot weather returned. One afternoon I was strolling by the lake enjoying the pleasures of solitude; sometimes, in a house full of people one longs to escape.

  I sat for a while on a bench overlooking the water where swans and moorhens were gliding about. I opened Goldsmith’s Poems and began reading ‘The Deserted Village’.

  ‘You admire Goldsmith?’ said a voice behind me. I turned round to find the hermit looking at me with a quizzical expression.

  ‘Why, yes. Not as much as some others perhaps but—’

  ‘Yes, he has his limitations. I too have been reading Goldsmith.’

  ‘I noticed the book in your cell and found a copy in the library when I realized that some of the poems were unfamiliar to me. There is one, for instance, about a hermit. He looks very like you in the illustration – see!’ I showed him.

  ‘Ah, but I am unlikely to be approached by my lost love in male garb. These things happen only in fiction. Did you know Lady Denby was putting a hermit into her latest novel? She has asked me some very odd questions. I think she should have my assistance acknowledged on the title page: ‘The Spanish Bandit’ by a Lady and a Hermit.’

  ‘That would sell more copies, I am sure.’

  We continued talking for a while, entirely on the subject of literature. Then I stood up, saying I must return to the house to change for dinner.

  ‘May I walk with you? We have to pass near my hermitage.’

  ‘Of course. I enjoyed our conversation but aren’t you supposed never to talk to people?’

  ‘Silence and solitude suit me very well but sometimes I long for human speech – especially intelligent human speech.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Then I added, on impulse: ‘Do you intend to spend the rest of your life like this? You have clearly enjoyed a much fuller existence.’

  ‘Who can tell? At present I find the peace and quiet I need – “Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife”.’

  I completed the verse:

  ‘“Their sober wishes never learned to stray.

  Along the cool sequestered vale of life

  They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.”’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he smiled gravely, ‘one of my favourite poems.’

  ‘And one of mine. Didn’t General Wolfe say he’d rather have written Gray’s Elegy than take Québec?’

  ‘Yes – Wolfe.’ He gave me a strange, searching look. ‘He was fortunate to die as he did. The burden of command is very great.’

  We walked a little further and came in sight of his dwelling. I felt there was some hidden meaning in his last remarks but could not fathom it.

  ‘And here we are and I must bid you good evening. I see Colonel Hartley has sent me another bottle of wine so my dinner will be cheerful enough.’

  He picked up the bottle which had been left just inside the entrance to his cave, bowed slightly and went into his cell, closing the door behind him.

  That night was warm and I had difficulty falling asleep. I dozed fitfully for an hour or so and then lay tossing and turning and listening to the stable clock strike the hours. It was about two in the morning – about the same time as on a previous occasion – when I heard a shot fired: a single one this time.

  I rose and went to the open window, listening intently. A few minutes later, another sound disturbed the silence – a splash as if something was being thrown into the lake. Bright moonlight flooded the landscape and once I thought I saw a shadowy figure running through the trees, but it was impossible to see any detail or even to decide whether it was male or female.

  For a long time I stood watching and listening. Then weariness overcame me and I went back to bed and slept until morning.

  I had always taken a short walk after breakfast, weather permitting, and I had brought up Sophie to do the same so we followed our usual habit and took a turn about the grounds. On this occasion our progress was interrupted in the most dramatic fashion. As we walked along one of the winding, tree-lined paths in the direction of the hermitage, we heard wild, frantic sobs before Elinor Denby burst into view, her bonnet tumbled from her head and her hair dishevelled. Her wide, staring eyes at once suggested she had just suffered some dreadful shock. She seemed relieved to see us.

  ‘Oh, Miss Tyler!’ She seized me by the arms, gripping so tightly I found it quite painful.

  ‘He’s dead!’ she cried. ‘The most horrible sight. Blood everywhere. Oh my God, what shall I do?’

  ‘First try to calm yourself. Dear Elinor, you must try to tell us more clearly what you have seen.’

  Between convulsive sobs she managed to stammer out a broken description of what had happened. She had noticed that the hermit’s can of milk and a loaf of bread which were taken to him at seven every morning were still outside his door. Thinking he might be ill, she knocked, and receiving no reply, ventured to enter, where a shocking sight met her eyes.

  ‘He’s dead!’ she repeated.

  It was only afterwards I wondered what she was doing entering the hermit’s cell on her own. Would it not have been more in order for her to have found one of the gardeners or returned to the house and despatched one of the servants to find out if there was anything wrong?

  ‘Take her back indoors,’ I said to Sophie, ‘and I will go and see for myself. She may be mistaken.’

  ‘I am not mistaken!’ she cried furiously. ‘And I am not going back to the house.’

  ‘Very well, wait here. I shan’t be long.’

  I hurried to the hermitage and found, as she described, a can of milk and a loaf of bread placed near the door, which was ajar – left so by Elinor, I supposed.

  I peeped inside, having tried to prepare myself for a shocking sight. It was worse than I had imagined. The hermit lay sprawled on his bed still wearing his monkish robes. There was blood all over his pillow and a pistol in his left hand. There seemed little doubt he had shot himself. I drew back quickly, shaking at the knees and feeling decidedly queasy. It was necessary for me to regain my composure before rejoining the two girls but I longed to sit down with a glass of water and a kindly arm around me; whose arm I did not greatly care at that moment.

  At last I managed to summon up enough self-possession to retrace my steps to where I had left Sophie and Elinor. The latter had mastered her hysteria but was still very distressed and I put my arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Come along, my dear. We’ll go back and find your father. He must be told at once and he’ll know what to do.’

  Sir Ralph and my brother were just leaving the stables dressed for riding but they both saw at once that something was wrong.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ enquired Sir Ralph. ‘Has Elinor had an accident?’

  ‘No,’ I said, answering for her. ‘But she’s had a dreadful experience. She found the hermit dead on his bed.’

  ‘Dead? But I saw him yesterday and he looked perfectly well.’

  ‘Not a natural death, I’m afraid. I think I’d better take Elinor indoors and give her sal volatile.’

  ‘Never mind sal volatile. She needs a drop of brandy. Come now, my dear.’ He patted her cheek with clumsy affection. ‘You’ve had a nasty shock but you’ll soon feel better. I’d better go and see for myself.’

  George offered to go with him and I fancy Sir Ralph was glad of his company.

  ‘I want to be left alone,’ said Elinor, as we made our way through a side door into the house. ‘For heaven’s sake don’t let either of those two near me – you know who I mean.’ It was obvious she was referring to Lady Denby and Mrs Thorpe. I reflected that I would certainly not want their cold comfort if I was distressed so I agreed soothingly and suggested she went straight up to her r
oom and lie down for a while. I sent Sophie to find Elinor’s maid and tell her to bring brandy, then I went upstairs with Elinor. She clung to the balustrade, as though she found great difficulty standing upright. As soon as she reached her room she ran to the bed, flung herself on top of it and gave way to wild tears. I began to suspect that this emotional outburst was not entirely the result of a disturbing experience. It was more like grief than shock.

  I was reluctant to leave her in this state so I sat on the edge of her bed and waited quietly until the paroxysm subsided.

  ‘No one understands,’ she gulped at last, ‘no one knows. I couldn’t possibly tell anyone in this house – they are all so selfish and insensitive. Lady Denby thinks she’s a martyr to sensibility but she wouldn’t know what it was if it hit her in the face.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree.’

  ‘Really?’ She sat up, mopping her face with a sodden handkerchief. I found a towel, dipped it in her water jug and wiped her stained cheeks. I took away her handkerchief and gave her mine.

  ‘Even dear Papa,’ she continued, ‘he doesn’t understand. I couldn’t possibly confide in him.’

  ‘Doesn’t it depend on what you have to confide?’

  ‘I think I can trust you – I must tell someone – this is too much to bear alone.’

  ‘Anything you tell me won’t go further than this room,’ I assured her.

  ‘Have you ever loved anyone? I don’t mean a brother or a father – I mean a man?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I twisted the ring on my finger, ‘I was engaged to a young officer who was killed in Spain.’

  ‘Then you know – you really understand?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ I tried not to push her too hard. The shock she had received that morning had broken open the shell she had built around herself.

  ‘I loved him – oh, I did so love him. I think he loved me but he never said so. He was so kind, so gentle, so comforting. He was my only friend.’ She gave way to sobs again and I waited patiently for her to recover.

  We were interrupted briefly by Sophie at the door with the maid and a glass of brandy.

  ‘Is she all right?’ whispered Sophie, genuinely concerned.