Ellamir: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

There can be few occasions in the communal life of a respectable village more likely to excite comment than that of the imminent arrival of a new and as yet unknown neighbour. A newcomer, by virtue of their wealth, circumstance or infamy, may have so considerable an effect upon the fortunes of the community that it cannot but be expected that they should be the subject of much speculation, in proportion to their supposed consequence. So it was, then, that rumour of a gentleman of such substance as to be able to purchase the Keaning estate had great capacity for speculation, so many speculations, indeed, that a single sitting of an eminent lady’s morning gathering in the neighbouring village of Upthorpe Thoroughbourne could scarcely be sufficient to entertain them all.

“A very good fortune, no doubt,” said Lady Lamont, who held a certain authority but little reputation for accuracy, “yet, I am persuaded, not possessed of a title; for were an ennobled gentleman in search of a seat in these parts, I should certainly have heard of it.”

To this assertion, her ladyship’s assembled friends and those neighbours whom she condescended to invite were all ready to agree: undoubtedly, they said, nodding to each other, it must be so. It had better be so, a few of them reflected privately, for it was fairly well understood that any person of noble blood coming into the neighbourhood that might implicitly challenge Lady L’s primacy of societal rank could not but be the object of her most determined resentment.

“Possessed not of a title, perhaps,” said Miss Minton slyly, “but might he be possessed of a wife?” This was more to the point for the younger ladies, who would be prepared to overlook any deficiency in noble blood where ample means and good character were present, for Upthorpe was a parish lamentably little populated with single gentlemen of good fortune, and many were in want of a husband.

“Could Mr Yates not provide any further information, Lady Lamont, even to yourself?” asked Mrs Tinsley, a genteel woman much to be relied upon to support her distinguished friend’s self-enamour. Lady Lamont shook her head, smiling approvingly at the compliment.

“I believe not, my dear Mrs Tinsley, not even to myself. No doubt an attorney of Mr Yates’ experience will have a legal reason for guarding the details of the conveyance with secrecy. However, with a little natural penetration, perhaps one may draw a conclusion or two, and I must tell you that I do have reason to greatly fear…”

Lady Lamont paused, teacup and saucer poised beneath her imperiously pursed lips, and dutifully her audience widened their eyes and leant forwards: whatever was liable to inspire great fear in their venerable patroness was indeed a matter of significant concern and undeniable interest, or at the very least, it was their duty to appear as if it was. Certainly it was known to all that some odd stories had been circulating among the lesser residents and servants: a tale of a peculiarly large wolf killed at a farmstead not fifteen miles hence; a sighting of a party of dwarves on the High Road, armed to the teeth and bemoaning, as usual, some injustice or other; a swarthy fellow passing through the village who was rumoured by the patrons of the tavern he frequented to be a rogue; and worst of all, reports of elvish activity not far north of the parish boundary. It seemed that suddenly, threats to civilised life were being spoken of everywhere. What monstrous new horror had now been brought to Lady Lamont’s attention?

"Yes, I greatly fear," she repeated, "that the abbey and its lands have been purchased with new money!”

The effect of her words were a little less than Lady L had hoped for, with never a gasp and only some muted tutting, and she was even less pleased when Miss Oakhall may have been seen to roll her eyes.

“Really, Lady Lamont,” said Miss Oakhall, who counted among her few relatives those whose fortune had been acquired a mere four or five generations ago, “one cannot expect every gentleman coming upon the neighbourhood to trace their ancestry to the Great Lords of Langton. There are many fine young men whose connexions and consequence are relatively newly-found, yet want for nothing in charisma, wit and gentility. My father was such a man, I am told, in his day.”

To this, there was precious little assent among the gathered ladies, for Lady Lamont was known to believe that Miss Oakhall, handsome, clever and rich though she may be, was rather too given to professing her opinion most decidedly for one so young, and those present for whom Mr Oakhall’s ‘day’ had also been their own had a rather different recollection: genteel he may have always been, but charismatic would be coming it very high, and as for wit, his was thought so lacking as to make his daughter’s lively intelligence somewhat suspect. Only Miss Oakhall’s particular friend, Miss Wright, agreed most sincerely, if very quietly.

"I have no doubt,” answered Lady Lamont with only slightly perceptible acidity, “that to a newer family, such concerns are but slight, Miss Oakhall. But it is to be expected that, yours being a smaller household with fewer servants, you do not hear what I hear. A good deal of this new money coming into the Kingdom is of questionable gain. It is said that many of these young fellows are not gentlemen at all, but are setting themselves up with the spoils of adventuring.”

At this there was a good deal of head-wagging, and Lady Lamont, pleased at last with the effect of her words, drank from her cup with quiet satisfaction. A number of her ladies were in firm agreement with her: there was unquestionably much to be dreaded; adventuring was the very opposite of what made for a peaceful, respectable village. Adventurers were known to march about the countryside singing by day, and sleep in the open or under hedges by night; they wore the most outré fashions and sometimes wore barely anything at all; they revelled in shocking acts of violence, and dabbled with the most dangerous kinds of magic.

Miss Oakhall smiled thinly, having only moments ago suffered an attack on her consequence and then waited in vain for a suitable riposte to occur to her. She had endured many a meeting where the conversation had turned to concern and outrage over such perceived threats to the peace and respectability of the villages of Upthorpe; they seemed to her greatly exaggerated, often the result of highly uncharitable prejudice, and she was minded to put forth a tolerably strong hint on the subject, but before she could interject, Lady Lamont went on:

“And then, you are to understand, their gold may be of a most unwholesome nature, or the rightful property of goodness knows who. Many a thief may be found among an adventuring party - they call themselves rogues, you know - and such a person would stop at naught to enrich themselves in a most upstart manner, with never a care that the gold they so presumptuously help themselves to may be enlaid with a curse or spell."

“That would never do!” said Mrs Tinsley, frowning at her teacup and reaching for a biscuit.

“Certainly not. Cursed gold is a very tricky thing, and no doubt subject to additional charges and a reduced rate of interest. But that is not the worst of it, oh no! Even if it is not cursed, there is an extreme likelihood that it has, at some previous juncture, been the property of a dragon; and dragons, my dear, are known to be of a most insatiably vengeful disposition.”

“Dragons, Lady Lamont?!” chorused her audience, now thoroughly agog. Lady Lamont was warming to her subject and beginning to enjoy herself. Miss Oakhall, a sceptical sideways glance having caught Miss Wright's astonished open mouth, nudged her sharply to close it.

“Why, certainly!” her ladyship cried, “there were once a good many. Not here in Theangal, of course - that would be intolerable and his dear Majesty would certainly not allow it - but beyond the borders, certainly. Poor Sir Lewis himself maintained a subscription to a most informative news-letter on dragons, both past and present. He was much concerned with the defensibility of this house; he could not take greater care to be prepared for all eventualities, you see, and did not trust the militia with such things; and so I am sure I have heard more about dragons than anyone in the neighbourhood.

“I distinctly remember one article about an ancient old she-dragon, who had gathered about her a great wealth - they call it a hoard, you know - and she spent every day and night lolling her vast round body upon it, in case some rogue should pass by to spirit it away. But Miss Oakhall,” she added in quite a different tone, for Miss Oakhall had made no attempt to hide a most impudent smirk, “do I perceive you doubt the breadth of my understanding of this matter?”

“Doubt your understanding of aged plump wealthy she-dragons, Lady Lamont?” said Miss Oakhall airily, “Not I. Indeed, who could be more knowledgable?”

There followed a rather shocked silence, broken only by the midday chime of Lady Lamont’s long case clock, and by the snuffled apologies of old Mrs Barkett who had apparently exhaled tea through her nose and was obliged to be excused. Ignoring this, Lady Lamont looked pointedly at Miss Oakhall for a long contemptuous moment, and whilst doing so, addressed the footman in her best, most unimpressed manner.

“Fossett, that was the noon-bell - you may fetch the trolley. Miss Oakhall, I suppose I cannot press you stay for a very small glass of gin? You no doubt have other gatherings to impose your famous wit upon?”

Miss Oakhall did not, in fact, intend to stay for gin, nor make any more social calls that day, conscious as she was that she might have been goaded a little way beyond civility by Lady Lamont's nonsensical talk. Instead, she chose to refresh herself by returning home on foot by way of the meadows, which were quite beautiful at this time of year, and as she and Miss Wright made their way along the footpath separating the parishes of Upthorpe and Keaning, she passed off some of her irritation in comments to her friend.

“Really, Hannah, I could not listen to Lady Lamont’s asburdities for a moment longer. I am sure she knows no more about dragons and rogues than… than father or myself. And you could wager a whole hoard of that cursed dragon-gold that at this moment, they are sitting there working out which of them, or their daughters, has the best chance of catching this new-coming fellow and marrying him before he has even unloaded his furniture. The poor man will be practically set-upon, the parish being so sadly devoid of eligible gentlemen. And not one of them is fit to be the mistress of Keaning. Do you not agree?”

“Why yes,” said Hannah quickly, “if you think so, I should certainly agree.”

It was indeed most unlikely that Hannah Wright should not agree with Miss Oakhall, one of the principal rationalities for their unequal acquaintance being an unmistakable and never-forgotten distinction of rank. Miss Wright, as the natural daughter of nobody knew who, was fortunate to even be considered somewhat respectable and did not much value her own opinion, while Ellamir Oakhall was the mistress of a considerable estate and an eminent person about the village.

Eminent thought she may be, Ella was not ignorant of the good fortune and privilege of her birth. The only child of a most affectionate and indulgent father, all the more indulgent for the loss of her mother at too early an age to be remembered, she had grown up with the habit of doing just as she wished and ordering her father's household just as she liked. His gentle, anxious and uncertain nature left an absence of authority into which Ella's strong-willed influence had naturally extruded, so that not long after her sixteenth birthday she had begun to assume many household responsibilities, and was now, at one and twenty, quite established as the principal person in the management of Penmere, their comfortable estate. She understood perfectly well that providence had been kind to her, yet nonetheless she was pleased with her own achievements and, having been doted on by her surviving parent and the subject of much flattery by her contemporaries - some of it sincere - she had become inclined to think rather too well of herself.

This penchant for admiration was certainly the cause of Ella’s having recently selected Hannah Wright to be her companion, for Hannah, quite overawed by the honour and prestige that attended her as the friend of Miss Oakhall and a frequent visitor at Penmere, was endlessly obliging in her praise and affirmation. The two girls of Ella's own age and status who had, until recently, formed her chief social group were now married women with fine homes of their own, settled a considerable distance from Upthorpe and requiring a most arduous journey to visit. Miss Wright was a pretty and good-tempered girl, much closer to hand, as a parlour-boarder at Mrs Knight's school in the village; the misfortune of her birth was generally known, leaving her with few prospects within the parish, and Ella had charitably reasoned that her consequence and eligibility could not but be improved by acquaintance with as great a family as the Oakhalls. Charitable she certainly was, but despite her lively intelligence, Ella was perhaps yet wanting in true wisdom, or else she might have perceived that a relationship of such imbalanced influence might not be entirely to the benefit of either.

“Certainly,” Ella was continuing, “none of those prattling girls could be considered a suitable match, but someone established in a more genteel social circle… well that would be a different matter. A quiet, unpretentious woman of good standing might suit him very well.” She turned to cast an appraising eye over her companion, and added “Yes, such a woman might suit him very well indeed.” But Hannah, artless and unassuming as her friend knew her to be, did not appear to take her meaning and did not catch her eye.

“And what an estate to be mistress of!” Ella went on, pressing her point. “So many acres of pasture and meadow, so many farms and cottages to bet let, not to mention some of the finest forestry in the kingdom: a husband with such an income could make his wife very comfortable indeed - yes, they would be very cosy together in the charming old manor.”

"It is a very fine house, I am sure you have told me," said Hannah, "though I cannot imagine a finer house than your own dear Penmere."

"Certainly it is fine, and larger even than Penmere, although they are not to be compared - quite dissimilar in style and setting. You have not seen it? You surprise me - come, let us take a few steps out of our way to view it. This path lies upon the boundary of the Keaning estate. Now, take my hand as we step across this ditch…"

The ditch safely navigated, they climbed a gentle slope of grass and passed under a cluster of chestnuts. A few more steps took them to the brink of the ridge, from where they could see down into the valley and over the charming landscape below. A patchwork of fields, orchards and vineyards, once well-tended but now somewhat overgrown, were laid out around an ancient settlement, many buildings of mellow red brick and gold-grey stone spread out on the far bank of the river.

The valley floor had been landscaped to allow the river to be dammed; the dam itself was built of stone, as was the adjoining bankwork which ran along the water's edge for some distance before meeting a long wharf. A mill-house with a tall water-wheel stood by the dam, along with another low building with a chimney; by the wharf was a barn or storehouse.

Over these stood the great old abbey, a beautiful but rather imposing structure with a tall tower and soaring stained glass windows, surrounded by a vast lawn and reflected in its own lake. The central hall was clearly the earliest built, weathered by many centuries and quite at home amidst the oaks and alders that had stood by since its foundation; the tower must have been adjoined not much later, perhaps in days of better prosperity, as the stonework was noticeable finer; and then, after a few centuries, three wings of three stories had been added, austere but elegant, a handsome house with castle-like crenelations, deep-mullioned windows and many tall chimneys. A block of stables in a similar style stood just nearby.

Beyond the main building, a rustic fence separated the manor garden from the grazing fields, orchards and vineyards; a small farmyard with barns, enclosures and stock-houses; and a few modest cottages peeped out from a fringe of trees. Behind all these began the fringes of a dense forest, climbing and spreading over much of the opposite side of the valley from halfway up the slope.

"It looks like a temple," said Hannah breathlessly, "a temple in its own village."

"And so it is," replied Ella, "or was. Some religious order or other built it, long long ago, before Thoroughbourne could even be called a village. It has its own smithy and mill - old Mr Ford remembers the mill-wheel turning when he was a boy - and the monks and their attendants made all manner of things there."

"It is most unlike our temple at Upthorpe Major, is it not?"

"Most unlike. A very different order, I believe. Little is known about them - they had gone long before the Farthingales bought it and farmed it. It was they who built the residing-wings - a very great investment of time and money, and a very handsome set of rooms, it is said."

"You have not been inside, then, Miss Oakhall?" said Hannah,

"No, for nobody has lived there for as long as I can remember, and the tenancies are managed by an agent. Commander Merely deals with him occasionally; there is a short border with our estate."

Commander Merely was the Oakhall's much-valued man of business, and speaking his name, Ella was reminded that she was due to meet with him in the late afternoon. Among his many useful qualities were a wide acquaintance both near and far, and a talent for gathering information with which she might advantage the family's dealings or astonish a social assembly; perhaps he could be persuaded to glean something about Keaning's new owner which might help Ella bolster her reputation as one of the village's most authoritative sources of gossip.

"How very odd that nobody should have wished to live there before now," said Hannah.

"Perhaps not," pondered Ella, "for it is not at all the same sort of estate as Penmere or Blushings; a former abbey with its farm and buildings within view is a very different concern than an elegant private house, and not at all fashionable."

What Ella did not choose to venture upon at this moment was that, in fact, there was something odd about Keaning’s recent history. The Farthingale family, worthy gentlemen farmers of high local repute, in residence for six generations, had left suddenly and quit the parish entirely when she was very young; although it was not spoken of in her presence except in meaningful allusions and by way of cryptic looks, a child of her intelligence could not help but understand something was amiss with the whole affair. Ella had always been gently forbidden from taking a single step onto the abbey's lands, for reasons which were never explained; her governess abruptly and conspicuously changed the conversation whenever she was curious, the servants seemed to studied ignorance of anything about the neighbouring estate, and it was impossible that her father could know any more than she did.

As time passed, Ella's curiosity diminished and the ever-present importance of avoiding any distress to her father pushed the matter beyond regular remembrance. Growing into a young woman, wise (so she believed) to the world and no longer innocent (she was sure) about matters of love and marriage, it became obvious to her that some scandal had occurred and the Farthingales had discreetly moved away to protect their reputation. An occurrence of such everyday tawdriness as a dairymaid found to be with child after the particular attentions of her master, she had felt then, or an unspeakable incident between the landlord and his livestock were so low as to be beneath her consideration or conversation. That was in the days of better society, though: it had been many months now that her keen mind had lacked occupation, while the correspondence with her newly-wed friends, containing much fascinating detail about the private lives of married couples, had left her rather less disinterested in matters of passion and desire.

So it was that Ella found herself suddenly inquisitive: now that the estate was purchased at last, and she was now of age and a woman of sense and experience, she decided, it was probably time that she was aware of the particulars: something else she would seek to discuss this evening with Merely.

"Are you not very curious to meet the new owner, Miss Oakhall, if he is to be your neighbour?" said Hannah, breaking in on Ella's thoughts once they had regained the path.

"As his neighbour, certainly I am," said Ella. "There are sure to be ways father and I can be useful to a person entering the society of Upthorpe, and should he be found to be a sound gentleman of good breeding, we should be glad to introduce him."

"But are you not… do you not wonder if he might be eligible?"

"Eligible for myself, you mean?" said Ella, with equal measure of disdain and amusement in her voice. "I assure you, my dear Hannah, I have not considered any such thing. Why should I wish for matrimony? I lack neither fortune nor consequence - what need have I for a husband?" And then, in the shocked silence that followed (for Hannah had rarely heard anything so shocking in all her life), she added "No, I am not in search of a husband, Hannah. But as a neighbour, an early acquaintance is naturally of some importance. It is likely I shall call on him soon after his arrival."

"You will call on him?!" said Hannah, even further surprised.

"Perhaps I shall," said Ella, now a little displeased with all this astonishment. "I do not like to trouble father with journeying out when I might just as easily take the carriage over myself. I will of course invite him to dine with us and be introduced to father at the earliest convenience." And then, dissatisfied with Hannah's ill-concealed look of amazement, she went on: "Really, Hannah, you must not pay so much heed to those old conventions and customs that seek to prevent women of substance from managing their own affairs. Why should it be improper that the mistress of Penmere should make the first call upon a new neighbour? I am certain it is not so. But perhaps I will take the Commander, just for the look of the thing; they will no doubt need to be acquainted and may have much business in common."

"Yes, of course," said Hannah meekly, and Ella, feeling that she had spoken a little sharply, said more kindly that they should quicken their pace so as not to worry her father so close to the dinner-bell. In fact, Ella was perfectly aware that it would be most unusual for an introductory visit to not be made by the master of the household, but had for some time amused herself with notions of upending such established conventions, and now an emergent opportunity and growing curiosity had emboldened her. After all, she thought, father is not to be depended on in such matters, and I should hate for us to be the last introduced; perhaps I shall seek Merely's opinion.

They reached Penmere just as low dark clouds were moving in, and Ella went straight to her father once the maid had taken her coat, bonnet and umbrella.

"There you are, my dear," said Mr Oakhall, his soft voice tremulous, "I have been most concerned. Mrs Hill was of the opinion that it must rain, and I have been certain you must be rained upon, taking the wet and then catching cold!"

"Never mind it, father," said Ella, lowering herself to a settle beside his chair and taking his hand, "I had my umbrella, and I was not far from home."

“Far from home or not, Ella, I should be far happier were you to take the carriage. Watkins would not mind putting up the horses, when your health is to be considered. What should I do, were you to catch your death of cold?”

This was a familiar subject, and Ella, who was in fact possessed of a most uncommon constitution, rarely unwell and strangely untouched by any of the usual childhood illnesses, responded gently and kindly with assurances that she should take no excessive risks with her health, and that she and Hannah had returned through the countryside to take the excellent air, surely to their benefit.

“Ah yes,” smiled Mr Oakhall, momentarily comforted, “I am certain the air around our estate is extraordinarily wholesome, Miss Wright: Ella has no doubt told you of it.”

“Why yes, sir,” said Hannah, smiling in return with a pretty curtsey, “we have often remarked upon it.”

“Nonetheless, I do wish you might not go out when there is a chance of rain, Ella. Look! it is coming down hard already. An umbrella will not keep you from the falling damps, when such a rain is all around you. Oh! and to think you were outside not ten minutes ago…”

"It was a fine morning, though, papa," said Ella patiently, "it is just the time of year for changeable weather, that is all."

"Might you not stay at home, then, until the weather is finer? You would certainly be in less danger of catching a cold, or worse a chill, and my mind should be much more at ease."

This was most unlikely, for Mr Oakhall was never bereft of a matter to cause him concern, but Ella was used to his nervous humours and adept at managing them.

She was seeking to change the subject when, to her relief, they heard the chime of the dinner-bell and the butler arrived to announce that the meal would shortly be served. Attended to the dining-room by his daughter, his butler and a footman, Mr Oakhall took the thirty or so steps slowly and carefully, uttering the occasional sigh, until he was seated in his usual place at table; Ella sat opposite him at the far end with Hannah on her right.

"I have been at Blushings this morning," said Ella, once their plates and glasses were filled, then added untruthfully "Lady Lamont sends her compliments."

"Does she, my dear? I am sure it is very kind of her. I hope she does well? I hope you found her well, Miss Wright?"

"Very well, sir," said Hannah, "and in very good spirits."

"I am glad to hear it. Blushings is a most draughty house, and Lady Lamont does not, I think, take so great a care of her constitution. I have seen her partake of a whole pheasant - think of that, Miss Wright, the whole bird! - and all that drenched in several very unwholesome sauces. I am dreadfully concerned for her liver.”

"She had some interesting news," said Ella, not wishing to discuss her ladyship's liver. "It seems we are to have a new neighbour.”

“Ah,” said Mr Oahall, rather mournfully, “no doubt she is thinking of Stoke House, my dear. Stoke House, Miss Wright, is very ornate and thought quite fine by some, but the air is terribly damp in that part of the county, and the drawing-room is too small; imagine that! a small room with poor air, and all the ladies to sit there after dinner. I could not recommend it as a judicious purchase.”

“No, papa, indeed she was speaking of somewhere far closer than the great house at Stoke: someone has bought Keaning Abbey."

"Oh! oh dear me," cried Mr Oakhall, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter, "someone has bought the abbey? Why should anybody wish to do that? I have so much to worry about already. How am I to pay the proper attentions?!"

"But there is no reason to worry, sir," said Ella, leaving her place and hurrying to her father's side to return the cutlery to his hands, "You need not trouble to visit, when I can go myself and invite him to dine with us here."

But Mr Oakhall was not to be comforted; indeed he seemed only to become more distressed.

"You go to Keaning! Ella, what can you be thinking of? What will become of me if… oh… oh…"

"Papa, what is the matter? It is not even a mile hence."

"It will not do, Ella! It must not be so! They will take you. Oh! what would I do?” And he began, in a whisper full of dread, to chant nonsensical words, his eyes wide and staring.

If Ella was horrified at this alarming turn, it took her but a second or two to compose her features into an expression of competent unconcern. "Thomson, father is ill," she said to the footman, her voice as steady as she could make it, while Hannah looked on with the utmost concern. "Please send for his dose and let us return him to the sitting-room."

The poor gentleman was indeed extremely agitated, but soft kind words from his daughter, and the reassurance that his physic was being fetched, carried him from the table to his usual place in his own parlour. He would continue to remonstrate with Ella, seeking her assurance that she would not go to Keaning, an assurance that she was loth to give; his dose arrived and was taken, and a moment later his tremblings ceased and the flow of beseechments slowed and faltered. Presently they were forgotten entirely as his wide, anxious eyes subdued into a distant stare of narcotic apathy; the sight smote Ella’s heart with guilt and helplessness, but if there was another course of action to be taken at that moment, she knew not what it was.

With the episode quelled, Mr Oakhall was easily persuaded that he should spend the remainder of the evening upstairs in his own apartments, attended by his steward. Returning to the table, Ella directed a smile intended to convey confidence and calm towards Hannah, who was creditably continuing to eat as if nothing had happened.

"I am so sorry," she said. "Father can become easily upset over very trifling matters. I beg you will not be uneasy; it will happen from time to time."

"Poor dear Mr Oakhall," said Hannah, "Has Dr Catheredge been called?"

"No," said Ella, quickly. "The doctor is perfectly familiar with father's condition, and we have physic laid by for such occasions. It is all in hand. And Hannah," she felt compelled to add, "as you are a dear creature, and now almost one of the household, I am sure you will understand why I must beg of you not to speak of this to anyone. It would not do for every episode to be known to our friends; I would not wish them to worry. You can be assured that there is no need for concern."

Hannah readily promised that she should speak no word of the matter, and thanking her, Ella resumed her meal, but it was with a certain degree of unease that she reflected: I wish I could be so assured myself.