The Lovegrove Hermit (2 page)

‘Miss Denby, I have rarely heard an amateur pianist play so well.’

‘Thank you. Not many people appreciate my efforts.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘But few people ever hear me and those who do know little about music. Besides, I am outshone in every department by the wondrous Rowland.’

‘Surely he doesn’t play.’

‘Of course not – he doesn’t do anything except waste time and money.’

She sounded bitter and I realized how difficult it must be for her – the only child of an amiable and loving father – forced to share a house with his domineering second wife and at times with her obviously spoilt son.

‘I can hardly wait to meet him,’ I said drily and she smiled in sympathy.

Later at bedtime, Sophie came into my room while I was brushing my hair.

‘I’m tired out,’ she said ‘and it isn’t just the journey. I find Lady Denby quite exhausting. It’s difficult to believe she wrote those wonderful books.’

‘Have you told her how much you admire them?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Hmm – I’m not sure you should have done that. Don’t let
her like you too much, Sophie, I’m afraid she has plans for you.’

‘What sort of plans?’

‘Well, you remember how we all wondered why she asked us here. She has a marriageable son of twenty-three. You are an heiress and very eligible.’

Sophie was aghast. ‘But I may not like him – or he may not like me.’

‘One can only hope….’ I said.

The next morning after breakfast, our hosts took us on a tour of the house. It was one of those sprawling, half-planned dwellings that seemed quite confusing at first. I found much of it rather dark and gloomy with a minstrels’ gallery and all manner of little parlours and long corridors, faded tapestries, odd steps going up and down, creaking doors and ancient carved panelling. It was crammed with ancient artefacts
collected
by Sir Ralph: suits of armour and fearsome weapons of war – halberds and battleaxes, swords and maces.

We were vouchsafed a glimpse of Lady Denby’s study which opened out of the library. It looked as though a gale had blown through as it was littered with papers and piles of books. A large, rather masculine desk stood in the middle of the room. It was there, we were told in hushed tones, she wrote her novels.

Sophie was eager to see the Priest’s Hole which was concealed inside a cupboard built into the panelling of a bedroom. A trap door in the floor revealed a ladder leading down to a tiny enclosure where there was no room for anyone above middle height to stand upright. Sophie insisted on going down but found it ‘full of spiders’ and hastily
scrambled out again.

‘There’s supposed to be another somewhere but no one’s ever found it,’ said Sir Ralph.

He then lead us up to the Long Gallery, which was a handsome room running the length of the house, with windows down one side so it was well lit. It had been
transformed
by Sir Ralph into a repository for his collection. This was an extraordinary conglomeration of objects. I caught sight of an Egyptian mummy case – without an occupant, to Sophie’s dismay – the skeleton of a crocodile and a cabinet full of mineral specimens.

Sir Ralph explained that there was really not enough time this morning to show us the collection properly.

‘Let’s wait for a wet day and then we can really look at everything in detail,’ he said. ‘We’ll take advantage of the fine weather by a little tour of the park. Are you up to it, my dear?’ he asked his wife, who looked thoughtful.

‘If we don’t go too far,’ she said. ‘If I begin to flag I shall return to the house and leave the walk to you. I’m sure you won’t mind?’ She turned to George and me and we assured her we wouldn’t mind at all. Sir Ralph seemed a very
pleasant
man, and he was certainly easier company than his wife. Lady Denby did manage to accompany us for the first half-hour.

‘We’ll go by the hermitage,’ she said, ‘as you seem so
interested
. The hermit may not be there, of course, because he does wander about. He is not allowed to leave the park or to talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary.’

‘How awful!’ cried Sophie.

‘It’s his own choice. He gets his keep and ten guineas a year. He can leave if he doesn’t like it, though it would be
difficult to find anyone as perfect to fill his place.’

We reached the end of a winding path overshadowed by trees and came to a rocky outcrop. How much was natural and how much contrived by man it was difficult to tell, but there was the cave and there, in the entrance, sat the hermit, reading a book.

‘Good morrow, Brother Caspar!’ cried Lady Denby and Sophie snatched out her handkerchief and covered her mouth. I could see her shoulders shaking; George’s lips twitched.

The hermit rose to his feet and bowed his head, his hands folded over his book.

‘May I speak to him?’ I asked, anxious to detract attention away from Sophie.

‘Well, yes,’ said Lady Denby rather reluctantly, ‘though we don’t encourage it. You may get a strange reply.’

‘What are you reading, Brother Caspar?’ I enquired.

‘Words – words – words.’ The voice was deep and
cultivated
; the face, behind its greying beard, gaunt and rather handsome, but with an expression of deep melancholy.

‘I told you so!’ exclaimed our hostess and I wondered if she knew he was quoting
Hamlet
.

I found myself wanting to know more about him. Who was he? What had happened in his life to bring him here,
forsaking
human companionship and the comforts that make life pleasant?

Amelia Denby drew her hand across her brow. ‘I’m growing weary,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I must go back to the house. My Muse calls me. I find if I let a single day go by without writing it takes an immense effort to start again. I’m sure you won’t mind if Sir Ralph finishes the walk with
you. Be sure you see the little temple by the lake and the priory ruins in front of the house. I will see you at luncheon.’

Then she was gone and the atmosphere lightened. The hermit returned to his book and we resumed our walk.

‘She must write every day or she becomes quite ill,’ explained Sir Ralph. ‘You must excuse the effects of the artistic temperament. She is very delicate.’

I glared at Sophie, who was on the verge of giggling again. Poor Sir Ralph was obviously devoted to his overbearing wife, whom he struggled to understand.

That afternoon George went out with Sir Ralph for a ride round the estate. Lady Denby had not appeared at luncheon but sent her apologies. She was ‘taking a bite’ in her study while working on her latest novel which was provisionally entitled ‘The Spanish Bandit’.

After the meal she sent Elinor to us to take us up on the roof to look at the view.

‘My stepmama is too immersed in her writing to delight us with her company,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she’ll be sorely missed.’ There was a distinct note of irony in her voice. ‘I have brought along papa’s old telescope, which adds
enchantment
to the view – “where every prospect pleases—”’

‘“And only man is vile”,’ added Sophie. Elinor looked at her in surprise.

We followed Miss Denby up to the attics and then ascended a twisting timber stair to a small door which opened onto the leads. At once we found ourselves surrounded by a forest of chimneys, most of them highly decorated, and I was pleased to see a sturdy, castellated parapet on the edge of the roof. I can tolerate heights well enough if protected by an adequate
barrier between the drop and me.

Elinor handed me the telescope and I leaned my elbows on a stone crenellation and focused on the park behind the house. It was a beautiful, peaceful view with nothing to disturb the tranquillity save a gardener with his
wheelbarrow
. I could see the lake, the walls of the kitchen garden and the top of the rocky outcrop above the hermitage. I could even see the chimney which was invisible from the ground. Beyond the park were fields and blue-green wooded hills in a heat haze. I passed the telescope to Sophie and found Elinor watching me curiously.

‘You are not at all what I expected,’ she said.

‘Why, what did you expect?’

‘Someone older and more auntish, I suppose. Certainly no one pretty and elegant.’

‘Thank you. I’m sure if I ever become ‘auntish’ Sophie will tell me.’

We wandered about for a while and then I took the
telescope
to look over the grounds at the front of the house. The only picturesque elements were the ruined priory and the distant arched gate at the end of the drive. At first the scene seemed as uneventful as that at the rear but then a figure caught my eye. It was the hermit, quite near the clump of trees where Sophie had seen him the previous day. Then I saw a horseman riding down the driveway. He dismounted and walked towards the hermit, handed him a package and stood for a few minutes, deep in conversation.

‘What can you see?’ asked Sophie, peering in the direction of the telescope. ‘I can’t quite make it out – there’s a horse—’

‘It’s not my stepbrother, is it?’ asked Elinor.

To me it looked like a man in a blue coat and a grey hat
– a gentleman, I felt sure, judging by the handsome horse. There was something odd about his appearance but I could not determine what it was. He remounted and rode off,
presumably
in the direction of the gates.

‘No,’ I replied, ‘he’s gone away. I presume your brother would come to the house.’

‘
Step
brother! I’ve no wish for a closer relationship. I wonder who it can have been – not that it matters. Have you seen enough now?’

‘Oh, do let’s stay a little longer, it’s so pleasant up here in the fresh air, looking down on the world,’ begged Sophie; so we lingered a while until she cried, ‘Look, someone’s riding up the drive!’

Elinor quickly took up the telescope and peered at the newcomer.

She groaned: ‘This time it certainly is Rowland –
returning
no doubt from heroic deeds at Roscenvalles. Though actually he’s more like Tony Lumpkin.’

‘I gather you don’t like your stepbrother,’ said Sophie.

‘I like him about as much as he likes me, which is not at all. But then, his mama doesn’t like me either. If it wasn’t for Papa I don’t think I could bear to live here. I was sent away to school when he married again but as I’m now eighteen I can’t really stay there any longer. I can’t say I liked it much but it was pleasanter than here. And now Rowland has arrived to make my joy complete!’

‘Ought we to go down now?’ I enquired.

‘Oh, there’s no hurry on that score. His mama will rush forth to meet him with welcome embraces. She wouldn’t leave her study for anyone else, but when Rowland comes home she would kill a fatted calf if she had one.’

When we eventually descended to the ground floor we found Rowland Webb in the library, still submitting to his mother’s extravagant greetings. He was a tall,
well-built
young man of twenty-three, at first glance handsome enough, though on closer inspection I found his portrait had indeed flattered him. His hair, despite Lady Denby’s
observation
, was not gold but straw-coloured and his head was a little too small for his body, tending towards a pineapple shape. The lower part of his face was unappealing; he looked much better with his mouth closed rather than open to its full considerable width, displaying rows of large white teeth.

Lady Denby lost no time in making introductions. She ignored Elinor, who barely acknowledged her stepbrother’s arrival before quietly slipping away. Sophie was the focus of our hostess’s attention – and of Rowland’s too from his first glance. He could scarcely take his eyes off her and seemed eager to further their acquaintance.

‘I
knew
you two would be friends!’ cried Lady Denby and I felt sure now that this meeting was something she had deliberately contrived. Her husband, Mr Webb, had lost most of his money in foolish investments and was deeply in debt at the time of his death. His widow was forced to leave their handsome home and retire to the nearest town, where she bought a small but respectable property for herself and Rowland. It was a struggle paying his school fees and sending him to Cambridge but she did what was necessary, adding to her limited income by the work of her pen.

Sir Ralph was her saviour and I believe she was genuinely fond of him, but it had begun as a marriage of convenience from her point of view. Although her small income in law belonged to her husband, he not only insisted she keep it all
but gave her an extremely generous allowance and showered her with extravagant gifts.

So Rowland must marry well. What better wife than a pretty distant cousin who was sole heiress to a considerable estate? Her ladyship had also ascertained, I had no doubt, that Sophie would bring with her a marriage settlement worth twelve thousand pounds. Amelia Denby could scarcely contain her joy but as I stood a little apart observing the three of them, I detected a certain wariness in Sophie’s expression and, just once, an uneasiness in his.

It was a first meeting and I told myself I must not imagine emotions that might not be there. Afterwards, when we went up to change for dinner, I asked Sophie what she thought of Rowland Webb.

‘Do you think him handsome?’

‘The portrait flatters him but he looks well enough except that he has too many teeth.’

Rowland had come up from London to Ashdale on the Mail. He had left his luggage at the Unicorn to be collected and hired a horse at the livery stables.

The arrival of Rowland’s trunk could not, however, account for all the commotion below while we were still in our rooms. There were clatterings and bumpings along
corridors
, voices and footsteps, doors opening and closing. I concluded the other guests had arrived and our party was now complete. When we went downstairs we were informed that dinner was to be delayed for half an hour as Mrs Thorpe and her nephew Mr Lawrence had just arrived – rather later than expected.

We waited in the Great Hall, where Rowland lost no time
in making himself agreeable to Sophie. George came over to my chair.

‘What do you make of him?’ he enquired, rather anxiously. ‘He and Sophie seem to have hit it off.’

‘It’s too early to say, but I told you there must be some ulterior motive for our being invited here. Cousin Amelia is wife-hunting for Rowland. I heard quite a lot about him from Elinor. She is, admittedly, prejudiced but not
untruthful
. I believe he has led a rather dissolute life until now. He left Cambridge without a degree and he’s been indulging in riotous living with his London friends. His mother wants to see him settled. Perhaps she thinks marriage would calm him down. I suppose it works with some men. I don’t know about
him
.’

George shook his head. ‘She’s too young. I don’t want her heart broken. I’d rather she waited until she was of age and then found some nice steady fellow with money of his own.’

‘Well, she can’t marry him without your consent – not for nearly four years, anyway.’

‘But I don’t want to see her hurt.’

‘We’ve all been hurt,’ I said softly and he sighed and pressed my hand.

‘I saw Hartley riding out of the gates just as I arrived,’ said Rowland in his rather loud voice, directing his remark to his stepfather, who was pointing out some item in a
magazine
to Elinor. ‘Has he been visiting?’

‘No, not as far as I know,’ Sir Ralph replied, ‘but Mr Tyler and I were out this afternoon.’

‘He didn’t call at the house or I would have been informed,’ said Lady Denby.