The Lovegrove Hermit (8 page)

Later in the day, I went, as promised, to see Elinor, who looked quite dreadful, with red, swollen eyes. She was
surrounded
by crumpled handkerchiefs and her hair hung in damp strands round her tear-stained face. She had slept, however, and still seemed slightly dazed, but at least she was not sobbing and spoke coherently.

I talked to her for a long time, dropping questions in randomly so that it would not appear like an interrogation. At the end I knew little more. She could tell me only that Brother Caspar had never mentioned having any enemies and had seemed no more depressed when she last saw him than at any other time. As for strangers …

‘Well,’ she said, uncertainly, ‘I did see a strange woman, rather fashionably dressed in a vulgar sort of way. I don’t think it was anything to do with Caspar.
He
saw her and asked me if I knew who she was but I didn’t recognize her. Anyway, I didn’t see her face properly though she seemed quite young.’

‘When was this?’

‘About a fortnight ago.’

‘I suppose it could have been someone coming to see one of the servants.’

‘That’s what I thought, but – she looked troubled.’

‘Has it anything to do with what happened at the Unicorn? You went back for your reticule and when you returned I thought you’d had a shock.’

‘I had – but I can’t tell you at present. It will all come out
eventually but I really can’t cope with any more today.’

‘Then let’s leave it for now. Here’s that Goldsmith you lent to Brother Caspar; I thought you’d like to have it back. It was lying on his table.’

She clutched it to her bosom like some precious relic and shed a few tears. When she was quieter I revealed my plan for taking her back with us to Fairfield.

She was transformed. ‘Oh yes, that would be so lovely! Are you sure I’d be welcome?’

‘Of course you would! Sophie would be glad to have a companion of her own age.’ I thought this slight
exaggeration
was permissible in the circumstances. ‘I have yet to ask my brother,’ I continued, ‘but if Sophie and I wanted to invite Napoleon Bonaparte for a stay he’d be quite agreeable. We must ask your father too, of course, but I’m sure he’ll consent.’

‘Oh yes, and the others will be glad to get rid of me.’

‘I think you may need a change of scene. This house is rather gloomy for someone in low spirits.’

‘It isn’t the house, it’s the people.’

‘I think I know what you mean. Have courage, this is the very worst. At least you’ll find a pleasanter atmosphere at Fairfield.’

‘I know I shall, if you can put up with me.’

‘You must not have such a low opinion of yourself. Sophie and I only want you to be our friend and my brother is the kindest man in the world.’

She began crying again.

The atmosphere in the house at dinner was unpleasantly tense; with a corpse in the laundry and an inquest pending, it could scarcely be anything else. Amelia Denby and Louisa Thorpe seemed to have made up their quarrel and appeared particularly – indeed, nauseatingly – affectionate and gushing. It was ‘dearest Louisa’ and ‘kindest Amelia’.

George was unusually quiet and gloomy. I had not expected him to be so affected by the tragedy but I soon discovered that his silence and melancholy rose from quite another reason. Elinor was not present, which did not surprise me, and Rowland was also missing but Frank Lawrence had turned up and was trying to improve the air of dejection that engulfed the table.

‘A good ride or a walk in the fresh air is the best thing in the world for raising the spirits,’ he declared. ‘I went as far as Ashdale and back and had something to eat at the Unicorn at about one. I saw Rowland in the town; I think he had the same idea. After all, there was nothing we could do to help.’

‘
Some
people made themselves useful by all accounts,’ said Louisa Thorpe vindictively, looking in my direction.
‘Miss Tyler has been helping Colonel Hartley search the
hermit’s
cell. What else she helped him with I don’t know.’

I said nothing, fearful of an angry outburst that I would regret later.

‘He asked my sister to help because she can be relied on,’ said George, ‘which is more than can be said for most women.’

‘Extraordinary!’ boomed Lady Denby. ‘The whole sex is condemned out of hand. Really, Cousin George, I must say that either you exaggerate or your personal experience has been unfortunate.’

‘You could say that,’ murmured George, reddening slightly.

‘This conversation is galloping towards a precipice,’ said Frank cheerfully. ‘Let’s try a different horse. Where’s Elinor?’

‘In her room,’ said Sir Ralph. ‘The poor girl’s nerves are quite shattered. It was she who discovered the body after all.’

‘Yes,’ said his wife with a puzzled expression, ‘we still don’t know how that came about. What was she doing
entering
my hermit’s cell?’

‘She saw he hadn’t touched his bread and milk and thought he might be ill,’ said Sir Ralph.

‘Then it was a most improper course of action,’ declared Lady Denby. ‘Heaven knows what she might have found.’

‘I should think finding someone shot through the head is bad enough,’ I said.

Lady Denby ignored me. ‘Why didn’t she go back to the house and send one of the menservants to investigate?’

‘She acted on impulse,’ I said. ‘Girls of her age do. She was concerned.’

‘I don’t see why she should be,’ her ladyship remained unconvinced. ‘What was the hermit to her?’

That proved a little too close for comfort but Sir Ralph defended his daughter. ‘She’s a kind-hearted girl,’ he said. ‘You don’t always give her credit for her good qualities.’

In the drawing-room the atmosphere was no better. When the gentlemen joined us I saw Louisa Thorpe pointedly draw aside her skirts to indicate to George that he was to sit beside her on the sofa. Instead he sat down by me.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘I thought you enjoyed Mrs Thorpe’s company.’

‘Not any more,’ he muttered. ‘I was never so deceived about anyone in my life.’

‘I tried to warn you,’ I said softly, ‘but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I wish I had. You always had plenty of good sense, Charlotte.’

‘But what has happened to make you change your mind?’

‘I can’t tell you – at least not yet. But that woman is utterly depraved. She disgusts me. I can hardly bear to be in the same room with her. We must go home as soon as possible.’

Although I was glad to hear it, I knew I would not leave Lovegrove without a pang of regret.

‘George,’ I said, ‘would you mind greatly if Elinor came home with us? Sophie is quite happy to have her company for a few weeks.’

‘Elinor?’ He sounded as though he was trying to
remember
who she was. ‘A quiet, plain girl. No, she’d be no bother. Whatever you please. Better ask her father. Don’t suppose her stepmother cares what happens to her.’

‘That was the impression I got. Elinor had a dreadful
shock this morning and needs a change of scene. These are not the best surroundings for a sensitive girl.’

‘Indeed they are not. I’ll be glad to get Sophie away. I’m never going to bring her here again – at least, not while that woman is visiting.’

I was about to get up in order to ask Sir Ralph’s
permission
to invite Elinor to Fairfield when George caught me by the arm and pulled me back down again.

‘Don’t leave me,’ he hissed. ‘If you move from here that woman will take your place – she keeps trying to catch my eye, confound her.’

‘So she obviously doesn’t know why you have changed your mind about her. Did you see or hear something?’

‘Yes – I’ll tell you later. You ought to know, though it’s scarcely fit for a lady’s ears.’

I was extremely intrigued and began to make wild
conjectures
but George had obviously witnessed some incident that he could tell me about only in absolute privacy.

Towards nine o’clock Rowland arrived, still in riding clothes. He said he had already dined at the Unicorn.

‘It’s all over the town, you know – all sorts of mad rumours flying about.’

‘What sort of rumours?’ enquired Lady Denby.

‘Oh – Sir Ralph shot the hermit thinking he was a poacher; the hermit got shot when he tried to intervene in a duel – I can’t imagine who they thought had been fighting one – and most idiotic of all, he’d been shot by a jealous mistress.’

‘I hope you did your best to counteract such pernicious nonsense,’ said his mother.

‘They’ll find out soon enough when the results of the inquest are published.’

The inquest was a disagreeable experience which I did my best to forget afterwards, so my recollections remained hazy. It was held in the Assembly Room at the Unicorn, which was not used in summer and had a stale and shabby atmosphere. I was aware from the first of an antagonism between the coroner and Colonel Hartley. It was decidedly one-sided but I could not help wondering if the former – a fussy, pedantic, self-important attorney – might be jealous of the local
military
hero with his air of quiet authority and his clear, concise manner of speaking. Coroner Bailey was, after all, no more than a provincial lawyer with a limited knowledge of the greater world. He was quick to dismiss the Colonel’s opinions as prejudiced because he had been a friend of the deceased.

Colonel Hartley gave evidence of the hermit’s true identify, emphasizing his brave conduct in the army and explaining that ‘some unfortunate experiences in Spain’ had induced him to give up his military career and pursue a humble civilian life under another name, eventually
with-drawing
from the world in his role as hermit at Lovegrove. He said he had communicated news of James Rushworth’s death to his closest relative, an uncle who owned a
considerable
property in Devonshire.

He then produced our sketch, pointing out how awkward it would have been for a right-handed man to shoot himself in such a fashion but the coroner gave it only a cursory glance. ‘You showed me this before – it proves nothing.’

The Colonel had to concede, when questioned, that the dead man had been of a melancholy disposition though he qualified that by saying he had been more tranquil of late. Then, when pressed further, he was forced to admit that
James Rushworth had told him of a previous attempt at shooting himself.

The fact that the eventual deed had been carried out by the left hand rather than the right, and in a different manner from that originally attempted, was dismissed as of no importance. Colonel Hartley could have been mistaken; he could not
prove
the man was right-handed and some people can use the left hand as easily as the right.

I was obliged to give evidence as I had discovered the body. Elinor had been passed over as unfit to appear and unable to describe what she saw as she only caught the merest glimpse of the tragic scene.

I was asked if I knew the deceased and I stated that I had had two short conversations with him, the latter of which was on the evening before his death. I pointed out that he had seemed quite cheerful on that occasion and was looking forward to a bottle of wine with his supper – a gift of unknown origin, it appeared later.

This seemed to make no impression at all. The local tradesmen on the jury looked glum and restless and were obviously eager to get back to their daily occupations.

‘Why would anyone wish to shoot this man when no one even knew his identity?’ demanded the coroner, who rapidly guided the jury towards the conclusion he desired. They wasted no time in bringing in a verdict of suicide.

The funeral followed, which of course could not be a
religious
one, nor could the hermit be buried in consecrated ground. Colonel Hartley paid for an expensive coffin and planned to remove the deceased to his own estate and bury him in the grounds but Lady Denby objected strongly.

‘He is
my
hermit; this is where he lived; this is where he
died and this is where he should be buried.’

She then suggested an idea that was so appropriate that everyone, even the Colonel, agreed that it was the best course to follow.

‘The nave of the old priory church has a crypt beneath. If the poor man was buried there he would be in consecrated ground.’

Some of the flagstones in the nave were duly removed so that the coffin could be lowered into the dank underground chamber. Lady Denby ignored the tradition that ladies do not attend funerals by declaring that this was not a real funeral as no clergy were present and the Prayer Book could not be used. She decided that there ought to be some sort of ceremony, which she interpreted as a flowery oration
composed
by herself, accompanied by a scattering of rose petals flung with a dramatic gesture into the open grave.

Colonel Hartley stood at a distance, head bowed. I took up a position in the shadow of an archway, making myself as inconspicuous as possible. As I was the last person – with the exception of the murderer – to see the hermit alive and one of the first to find him dead I thought I should be there. At the back of my mind was a stronger feeling that I wished to support Colonel Hartley.

Lady Denby led Sir Ralph and the other men of the party back to the house but the Colonel stayed behind. He approached the grave and watched as two of the gardeners replaced the flagstones. Waiting until he was alone, apart from Sam Bates, who stood at a discreet distance, I slipped out of the shadows and went to his side. He looked surprised but then smiled.

‘Thank goodness it’s you,’ he said, ‘and not Lady Denby
with her histrionics.’

‘It would have been funny if it wasn’t so desperately sad.’

‘He deserved better. I’m determined to find out who killed him and bring the guilty one to justice. That’s why I insisted on paying for a good coffin. One day he’ll be removed to a proper grave in a churchyard and have a real funeral.’ He brought out of his pocket a worn and tattered copy of the
Book of Common Prayer.

‘Chaplains were often in short supply when we were campaigning. It was sometimes my duty to read part of the burial service over the graves of some poor fellows. I thought I’d do that now, if you’d like to stay.’

I think it was one of the most moving experiences of my life. When he had finished I could not speak.

‘There is no more to be done,’ he said, putting his book away. ‘I must go.’ He turned to me, saw my distress and put his hand on my shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’

I nodded, longing for him to put his arm round me but he let me go.

‘I’ll walk with you back to the house,’ he said.

‘There’s no need – I can see someone who may need my company,’ I said, my voice unsteady. I had observed a small, huddled figure sitting with her back to the wall and her knees drawn up like a statue of grief on a monument.

‘Ah, Miss Denby, poor girl! Yes, you must go to her. I will see you again soon, I hope, before you go home. Goodbye.’

His last words struck a chill but I had more immediate concerns. I was about to ask Elinor what she was doing there and then realized it was a foolish question. She was red-eyed with weeping.

‘You’ll think I do nothing but cry,’ she gulped, ‘but I had to be here. My stepmother made a fool of herself as usual but Colonel Hartley – he did exactly the right thing. It meant more than a church funeral. It’s what my friend would have wanted.’

‘Of course, you know now who he was.’ It occurred to me that the little she had heard of Rushworth’s background would give him an additional air of romance and gallantry.

‘Yes, and I mean to find out more. I’m ready to go back now. Do you mind if I walk with you?’

That evening Elinor appeared at dinner for the first time since before the shooting.

‘Well, look who’s here!’ cried Rowland. ‘The return of the prodigal.’

‘I haven’t been wasting my substance in riotous living,’ she retorted waspishly, ‘unlike some I could mention. And I don’t like veal.’

‘Veal?’ Rowland looked bewildered.

‘Fatted calf,’ I murmured.

‘Oh
that
! No, I suppose weak gruel is more in your line.’

‘Take it easy, Rowland,’ Sir Ralph admonished him, ‘the poor girl’s had a bad time.’

‘More than you can imagine,’ said Rowland.

‘What does that mean?’ demanded Lady Denby.

‘Oh, nothing in particular. I thought she was making heavy weather of the whole thing. Anyone would think she was a sorrowing widow instead of just having a shock at
discovering
a suicide.’

That was a little too near the truth to be comfortable and the remark was not lost on Elinor, but no one else seemed to
take it for more than its face value.

‘What she experienced was quite bad enough,’ said Sir Ralph, ‘especially for a girl with delicate nerves.’

‘
She
has nerves!’ cried Lady Denby. ‘What about
my
nerves, pray? I haven’t been able to write a word since this dreadful thing happened. If you have any sense, Elinor, you will return to everyday life and keep yourself occupied. You haven’t touched the piano for days. You must play for us this evening. You really are quite a competent pianist and you must keep in practice or you will lose your ability.’