The Lovegrove Hermit (6 page)

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 room 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.

‘Not really, but I’m staying with her for the time being. If you can find out anything more, come up and tell me.’

I took the glass from Sophie and carried it over to the table at the side of the bed. When Elinor was sufficiently recovered I persuaded her to take a few sips.

I wondered how far this friendship with the hermit had progressed.

‘You were close friends, then?’ I suggested.

‘Oh yes, we talked and talked. I lent him my books.’

‘Goldsmith for one. It had a slip of paper in it.’

‘Which I wrote. We met nearly every day if only for a few
minutes. He needed solitude yet I think he was lonely at times, as I was. He understood.’

‘He never told you who he was?’

‘No, and I respected his wish to keep his identity hidden. I thought he might eventually tell me. He must have been in utter despair to do such a dreadful thing – if only I had known – if only I could have helped.’

‘Did he strike you as being very unhappy and depressed?’

‘He was melancholic – very serious and inclined to look on the dark side of life – but then, so am I. Perhaps that is why we got on so well. I can’t believe I’ll never speak to him again.’

I appreciated the poor girl’s wish to keep her friendship secret. I suggested she should spend the rest of the day in her room.

‘You’ve had a dreadful experience; if you withdraw for a while no one will be surprised or require further
explanation
. You’ll eventually find the courage to take part in everyday life again.’

I did not insult her by telling her she would get over it but when she asked me if it would always be an agony I said it would abate.

‘At present it’s like a sharp knife – in time the knife blunts. Grief comes in waves like the sea. In between the waves is a period of calm and the waves gradually come further and further apart. You will be able to bear it.’

‘You have been very kind. No one else could understand. Thank you.’

It was a bizarre association, I reflected, between an 18-year-old girl and a man more than twice her age. Young girls are sometimes besotted by a mature man but not
usually one as eccentric as Brother Caspar.

Sophie came up presently to report that the whole house was in uproar. A doctor had been sent for from Ashdale and Colonel Hartley, who was the local magistrate, was riding over from Shelbourne. Frank and Rowland seemed rather excited by the whole business and had gone outside but Lady Denby was making a great scene and calling for laudanum to calm her nerves.

‘She’s lying on the sofa, quite overcome,’ she added, ‘but I thought poor Elinor could do with some laudanum too so I‘ve brought some. They seem to have plenty. No one’s asked about Elinor.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

I persuaded Elinor to swallow a small dose of the
palliative
, enough to calm her nerves and perhaps induce sleep. When she seemed more settled I sent for her maid to sit with her and then went downstairs. Before Sophie and I entered the morning room, we could hear Lady Denby’s booming voice complaining loudly. On entering we found her lying on the sofa, draped in shawls and sipping a glass of brandy. Louisa Thorpe stood near the window, looking out over the park and obviously not listening to the lamentations of her friend.

Rowland and Frank were nowhere to be seen and George and Sir Ralph were still outside, presumably keeping watch over the scene of the tragedy until the doctor and Colonel Hartley arrived.

‘How could he do this to me?’ cried her ladyship. ‘You’d have thought he owed me a certain amount of loyalty as I was the one who installed him at Lovegrove. No self-
respecting
hermit could have asked for more – two good meals a day – two good woollen robes, a comfortable cell and a convenient
cave to shelter from rain and sun, a beautiful park to roam in and no
work
at all. What am I to do now? He was such a
refined
hermit and I suppose now I’ll have to make do with some dirty old vagabond – if I can find anyone at all.

‘It’s too bad,’ she continued, allowing no interruptions, ‘he’s showed no consideration at all. Totally selfish! The worst thing of all is that the shock has totally deprived me of the power to write. I doubt if my new novel will ever be finished.