The Lovegrove Hermit (14 page)

All was astonishment and consternation. Only Colonel Hartley seemed not at all surprised.

‘But who
is
this Frank?’ demanded Lady Denby. ‘And
why
was this deception practised on us?’

‘I think you know,’ I whispered to the Colonel.

‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘but I’m not going to blurt it out in front of this crowd. They’ll get it half right, I’m sure.’

‘I had a letter from Louisa,’ said Mrs Lawrence, ‘and in it she gave the impression that she was staying at Lovegrove on her own. My sister’s morals were her own business but she knew I strongly disapproved of her liaisons. I can only conclude that this so-called Frank Lawrence, who stole our name in order to deceive you, was her latest lover.’

‘But he must have been at least a dozen years younger,’ protested Lady Denby.

‘That made no difference to Louisa,’ sniffed Mrs Lawrence. ‘That’s why we didn’t get on – the more I
criticized
her behaviour the worse she became so in the end we had little to do with each other.’

‘I feel really hurt by her duplicity,’ complained her
ladyship
. ‘I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but really – I
feel
betrayed
! And as for that saucy, hypocritical young man – words fail me!’

‘Not for long,’ whispered Colonel Hartley.

The guests were ushered into the library while their luggage was taken upstairs. Mr Phillips was included in the party as the funeral was still under discussion. That left the two of us standing at the side of the entrance hall, apparently unnoticed by either the newcomers or their hostess.

‘Can we find somewhere to talk?’ asked the Colonel.

I led him into a little dark parlour, not much used, where we were unlikely to be interrupted.

‘I think I had better tell you all I know,’ he said, when we were comfortably settled. ‘I have suspected for some time that Frank Lawrence was not all he pretended to be. His real name is Fortescue Rushworth.’

‘Fortescue?’ I burst out laughing.

‘Yes, a silly name but commonplace in his family.’

‘But Rushworth – that was the hermit’s real name.’

‘Yes – they were related – second cousins once removed. I told you James Rushworth was heir to a considerable estate in Devonshire when his uncle died. The old man, in failing health, tried for months to trace him but died before he could find out where he was. The next heir was our friend Frank, who really did prefer to be called by that name, and who can blame him?

‘I wrote to the uncle after Rushworth’s death, not knowing the old man was no more. The family attorney read my letter and then saw a report of the inquest in
The Times
. The lawyer came to Ashdale as soon as he could.’

‘That would be the man Rowland saw at the Unicorn,
asking questions about Lovegrove and mentioning you by name.’

‘Yes, he came to see me. Of course, there was no proof that Frank Lawrence was really Frank Rushworth but it seemed obvious he had used his affair with Mrs Thorpe to gain admission to Lovegrove as an invited guest and take all the time he needed to kill the heir to the Devonshire estate. He could then go down to Devon and present himself as the next heir. There would be nothing to connect him with Lovegrove. Unfortunately for him he can’t go there until he has destroyed any evidence against him. I could at least question his right to the property and that might instigate a more thorough probing into Rushworth’s death.’

‘But how did he find out who the hermit really was and where he was?’

‘Somehow he managed to trace him to Manchester where he’d worked for several years as a tutor to a mill-owner’s sickly son. He was using a false name, of course, but he had money banked under his real name. I’m not sure of the details yet but the Manchester people knew where he’d gone. Frank Rushworth made enquiries about Lovegrove and – again I don’t know how – met Mrs Thorpe, who was only too eager to accept the advances of a handsome young man.’

‘So it was those two I heard in the closet – I’m quite relieved – I feared it was my brother George.’

‘I’m very glad it wasn’t! Anyway he persuaded her – without much difficulty, I imagine – to bring him here in the guise of her nephew.’

‘Do you think she knew of his plans to murder Brother Caspar?’

‘I don’t think so – at least, not at first. Mrs Thorpe may
have been promiscuous but however besotted she was with Frank I’m sure she would have drawn the line at aiding and abetting a murderer. She wrote me a letter—’

‘The one she left in the writing-table?’

‘Yes, she told me of her suspicions; she had seen the pistols in his room and wondered what he was about. He didn’t confide in her but she managed to get some information out of him. She found out the connection with the Rushworths of Devon and guessed much of the rest. For all that, she wanted him to stay with her and when he took off for London she no longer trusted him and I think she warned him she was going to put her suspicions in writing to ensure his return.’

‘Do you think she wanted him to marry her?’

‘Oh yes, I think she was insisting on it once he came into his fortune. Your brother was a second string in case her plan failed.’

‘You think she was murdered?’

‘Probably. Frank certainly has an accomplice in this house and I’m not yet sure who it is.’

At that moment the door opened and my brother entered.

‘Oh, there you are – I thought I heard voices. There seems quite a lot going on. Have you seen Sophie?’

‘She’s with Elinor,’ I replied. ‘They’re in Sir Ralph’s room, reading some comedy to him to amuse him.’

‘They seem quite friendly now, those two. I thought at first they weren’t going to get on.’

‘I think Elinor decided Sophie wasn’t just a silly fribble after all and Sophie decided Elinor was rather more than a bluestocking.’

‘Ah well, I suppose they can amuse each other. What’s going on? I understand Mrs Thorpe’s sister has arrived.’

‘Come and sit down and we’ll tell you,’ I said.

Between us the Colonel and I explained what had
happened
but nothing was said about Frank’s real identity and character.

‘The unmitigated scoundrel!’ exclaimed George, who looked relieved rather than shocked. ‘Now he’s cleared off before it all came to light. What a rogue! Mind you, it’s not quite as bad as I supposed.’ As George still had no idea of the depths of Frank Rushworth’s villainy he could not be referring to murder and mayhem.

‘George,’ I said, ‘I think the time has come for you to tell us what it was you saw concerning Mrs Thorpe. One day you were flirting quite absurdly and the next you were calling her depraved.’

‘Ah well, that was when I thought Frank Lawrence was her nephew. I went in the library and found them on the sofa together, kissing and – er – rather more than kissing. They were so absorbed in their activities that they didn’t hear me enter and I got out pretty quickly, I can tell you. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. I thought she was having an affair with her nephew and flirting with me to divert attention from her real interest. It’s still pretty bad –
bringing
a young lover to stay under the roof of her friend – but it’s not as bad as incest.’

I think Colonel Hartley and I tacitly decided not to tell George the full story at this stage; he knew quite enough to be going on with.

‘He seemed such a pleasant fellow too,’ said George
wonderingly
. ‘I liked him at first. This Mrs Lawrence must be very upset, especially as she’s got her son with her – the very man who was being impersonated.’

‘I think Mrs Lawrence is capable of dealing with any
circumstances
and her son seems to be a serious, sober young man,’ I said. ‘I don’t think they’ll be unduly distressed.’

This proved to be the case. Colonel Hartley was invited to stay for dinner and it was a solemn meal. Mrs Lawrence was a dour, sarcastic woman who was not at all impressed by Lady Denby’s histrionics. Her son said little, partly through shyness, I thought, but also on account of a tendency to observe rather than participate. He was obviously
intelligent
and once or twice I caught a trace of sardonic humour. He seemed rather taken with Elinor and was certainly impressed later in the evening with her skill on the piano.

‘I’m not sure music is appropriate in a house of mourning,’ said Mrs Lawrence, determined not to enjoy anything.

‘It’s very serious music,’ declared Lady Denby.

‘I see nothing wrong,’ said Frederick Lawrence, ‘
providing
there is no frivolity. Serious music can create a suitably solemn and contemplative atmosphere.’

‘Oh well, if you say so,’ his mother conceded.

It would otherwise have been difficult to entertain the Lawrences as conversation was stilted and awkward. Without Colonel Hartley beside me I would have been extremely bored. Even if we sat in silence it was enough for me.

‘Of course,’ Mrs Lawrence observed, ‘Louisa was ten and away at school when I married. We were never close as I was the eldest and there were three other girls in between. She was never like the rest of us – always wild and wilful, even as a child.’

‘Oh yes, she was often in trouble at school,’ recalled Lady Denby. ‘I remember she was caught dropping notes from the
window to a handsome young gardener who was tending the grounds. I’m not at all sure he could read but she was quite unrepentant. It was a harmless, girlish prank after all. She was so full of life.’

Lady Denby dabbed her eyes. ‘I can’t believe I’ll never hear her laugh again. And that she should die under my roof – in such tragic circumstances! A terrible shock to us all!’

‘I’m sure it was,’ said Mrs Lawrence, ‘especially as you recently had a suicide on the premises – or so Louisa stated in her letter.’

‘Ah, that was our hermit – poor man! It wasn’t in the house, of course – he had a cave with an adjoining cell in the grounds near the lake to the rear.’

‘He was rather more than a hermit,’ said Colonel Hartley quietly.

‘Of course,’ Lady Denby conceded, ‘he was your friend, wasn’t he?’

‘Friends with a hermit?’ Mrs Lawrence seemed puzzled. ‘I’ve heard about people keeping hermits but I thought they were old vagrants or something of that sort.’

‘Not this one. He was a gallant officer who wished to retire from the world,’ the Colonel informed her.

‘Really? There is no accounting for tastes.’

‘The trouble is,’ Lady Denby continued, dragging the
conversation
back to its original subject, ‘we don’t know how Louisa came to meet this Frank person. He seemed quite gentlemanlike in appearance and manner – well educated and good-looking.’

‘He would be!’ Mrs Lawrence said derisively. ‘Louisa moved in different circles from me. She liked to mix with rather rackety people – the sort who gamble and go to horse
races and dance all night. Not
our
sort at all. She could have met him anywhere.’

‘That’s the problem. We thought you would know where he was but he’s turned out to be a complete stranger. Even so, I suppose he ought to know what’s happened.’

‘I don’t see why.’ Mrs Lawrence looked disapproving. ‘He was obviously a rogue and a deceiver. By now he’s probably found some other unfortunate woman to tangle in his wiles.’

I thought it only too likely and remembered how once, in the early days of our acquaintance, I too had been attracted by his charm.

The next morning the funeral took place. Colonel Hartley suggested that I should escort Sophie and Elinor to Shelbourne where we could stay for luncheon and return to Lovegrove for dinner. I was delighted with the idea and so were the girls, who were relieved to escape from the gloom surrounding Mrs Thorpe’s obsequies.

Lady Denby and Mrs Lawrence, assisted by Louisa’s maid, were to spend the morning packing her belongings.

Sir Ralph, who had been coming downstairs for a few hours every day, said he felt well enough to attend the church. Frederick Lawrence, Rowland and George
accompanied
him. My brother was rather embarrassed by the whole procedure but felt it was his duty to attend.

‘After all,’ he said, ‘I was one of the last friends she had. She was more to be pitied than reviled and there are few enough going to be present.’

Colonel Hartley had decided that as he scarcely knew Mrs Thorpe, he was not obliged to put in an appearance; but to please the Denbys he sent an empty carriage as a mark of respect.

As it was a fine morning and the distance barely a mile
I decided we would walk. The Colonel had promised to send us back in his carriage, which by then would have returned from the funeral.

‘Coming here is like going from night to day,’ said Elinor, ‘though the house needs a woman’s touch.’

I knew what she meant; the house was bright, comfortable and orderly but rather shabby and masculine. There were many portraits of officers in redcoats, hanging swords and paintings of battle scenes, and the like, but mercifully none of the ancient weaponry that bedecked Lovegrove Priory. Old General Hartley was in a wheeled chair but as
charming
and kindly as ever in his bluff, outspoken way. He was very proud of his garden and had himself pushed around by a manservant to show us his favourite flowers and trees. We were followed by several large dogs.

At one point, the girls were inspecting a fountain full of goldfish and the manservant had gone over to explain how the flow of water was controlled. The old general suddenly seized my hand.

‘My dear, don’t take this amiss but this place needs a
mistress
– a young lady like you. John thinks very highly of you – I’m sure you know that.’

I felt my cheeks burning. ‘He hasn’t said anything – why should he? We’ve only known each other a few weeks.’

‘Quite long enough! I want you to know I’d be more than happy for you to be my daughter.’

I scarcely knew what to say. ‘That’s very kind of you but things must take their course. I’ll be going home soon and I don’t know when – or even if – I’ll ever come again. Our visit hasn’t been an overwhelming success. I believe Lady Denby had some idea of making a match between Rowland
and Sophie but of course that came to nothing.’

‘I hope Sophie wasn’t disappointed. That boy’s a useless lump anyway.’

‘Not at all. She’s in no hurry to marry and I’m sure she’ll do better if she waits a few years.’

‘Of course she will! And that girl Elinor – I’ve always felt sorry for her. Sir Ralph’s a good enough fellow but that
dreadful
wife of his – excuse me, I’m too outspoken, I know you are kin.’

‘I think most people would agree with you. As for being related, it is quite a distant connection and I’d never met her before this visit. My brother George last saw her when he was twelve. Apart from an occasional letter, we’ve never had much to do with each other.’

‘That’s a relief! I once tried to read one of her novels but I couldn’t get on with it at all – nothing but gloomy castles and girls swooning. I’m sure you’re not the sort of girl who goes in for swooning.’

‘Well, I must admit I’ve never done it.’

‘I should think not! Anyway, I prefer something like
Tom Jones
or
Humphry Clinker.
’

I laughed. ‘So do I – but I have read her ladyship’s novels and Sophie used to be very fond of them. Since meeting Lady Denby I think she’s changed her mind.’

‘And who can blame her? Ah, here comes John – he’s
obviously
finished with the bailiff. Now I’m going indoors and he can take over. I’m sure you prefer his company to mine.’

‘Not at all, I think we get on very well.’

‘So we do – and remember what I said.’ With that he
summoned
his servant and was wheeled back to the house.

‘I hope my father hasn’t been boring you,’ said Colonel
Hartley. ‘He doesn’t often have the opportunity of talking to ladies and he does enjoy their company.’

‘Well, I enjoy his and he’s not at all boring. I agree with him on most things.’

‘He can be rather blunt and dogmatic at times – perhaps it’s the privilege of age and high military rank.’

‘I like him immensely and he seems to like me.’

‘Oh he does – and that’s hardly surprising. Are the dogs bothering you?’

‘Of course not – we have several at home and I’m missing them.’

‘Yes, I expect you’ll be glad to go.’

‘Not entirely. This part of the country has great attractions.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ Then the girls ran to join us and we could say no more.

‘I think you ought to marry Colonel Hartley,’ said Sophie as we drove back to Lovegrove in his carriage, newly returned from its funeral duties. ‘It would be nice to come and stay with you here and I’m sure you’d work wonders on the house. The curtains are faded and the carpets worn and I really think they can’t
see
it. Men are like that, aren’t they? Papa’s the same – he’d never replace anything if it wasn’t for you.’

‘But I really can’t marry someone just to oblige you,’ I said lightly, ‘despite the need for new furnishings. A draper might do as much for them.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Sophie.

‘Do I? Perhaps we’d better concentrate on the immediate future. Do you think your papa will be well enough to leave now, Elinor? If he’s managed to attend the funeral he should
be almost back to normal.’

‘I hope so. I want to see how he has borne it. The
ceremony
must have been quite a strain after several days of doing very little.’

‘I’m sure Lady Denby will make him rest. I really do think she is very fond of him, Elinor.’

‘Yes, I suppose so but her affection doesn’t extend to me. If anything happened to Papa my life wouldn’t be worth living.’

‘Oh, don’t say that!’ cried Sophie. ‘Life is always worth living.’

‘For you, perhaps, with a kind father and aunt and a pleasant home where you truly belong. I was happy enough before my father married again. I don’t know what would happen to me if I was left alone in the world.’

‘You would at least be well provided for,’ I said, ‘and when you are of age you could perhaps hire a respectable
companion
and enjoy a little independence – travel, perhaps – indulge your taste for music.’

She brightened visibly. I do not think the idea had occurred to her except as a fantasy.

Sir Ralph had, indeed, survived the morning’s ordeal remarkably well. He had lost a little weight during the
previous
week but had regained his usual healthy colour and seemed quite lively again. His wife fussed over him to excess but he bore it cheerfully enough now he felt so much better.

There was, perhaps, a certain relief that the funeral was over. Mrs Lawrence received an account of the proceedings from her son.

‘I suppose it was all very well,’ she said, ‘but I little thought my sister would lie in a strange churchyard with so few friends to attend her laying to rest.’

‘But she never liked living in her cottage, by all accounts,’ said Frederick. ‘She was always visiting somewhere else and she had no connections with her local church – I don’t think she attended very often.’

‘Then I suppose we must be content. As things have turned out her death was so sudden there was little we could do about it.’

‘Tomorrow morning I’ll show you the grave,’ her son
promised
. ‘It should be filled in by then and I’ve ordered a simple wooden marker until we have a proper headstone made.’

‘And then there’s the trouble of her estate, such as it is,’ Mrs Lawrence continued. ‘I presume she left a will. The cottage was rented but she had a small amount of money – about two hundred a year in the Funds, I seem to remember. She had to sell most of her jewellery.’

‘Her attorney will probably have her will if she made one – some people don’t – in which case you and your sisters would inherit. If the money was an annuity it would end with her death.’

‘One thing,’ said Rowland cheerfully, ‘no one would have pushed her downstairs to claim her fortune.’

Everyone stared at him in silence. Mrs Lawrence glared. Lady Denby hastened to cover up her son’s crass lack of tact and he began to realize he had offended. He excused himself and left the room. A little later I caught sight of him through the window riding towards the gates. I presumed he was going to join his beloved Carrie in their lodgings in Ashdale.

Dinner was again a sober affair, especially as everyone was aware of its being eaten off the table on which Louisa Thorpe’s coffin had rested until that morning.

The Lawrences had declared their intention of visiting
the churchyard and attending matins as it was a Sunday and they disapproved of travelling on that day. On Monday they were to leave early for Cheshire. Lady Denby protested and tried to persuade them to stay longer but I thought her entreaties half-hearted and insincere. They reminded her too forcibly of the recent tragedy and she had nothing in common with Mrs Lawrence, who had not even heard of her novels and was far too perspicacious to be impressed by her extravagant posturing.

When I retired that night I reflected what an odd day it had been. The morning and the afternoon seemed to belong to different worlds; one a garden full of sunlight and promise for the future, the other an evening of solemnity and
awkwardness
and a generally disagreeable atmosphere.

The day after tomorrow, George had decided, we would travel home. I was longing to leave Lovegrove but felt I could hardly bear the parting that would ensue. Perhaps it was my fate to be always parted from what I loved most.