Compass of Truth , livre ebook

The Compass of Truth
Brenda W. Clough

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Book View Café edition August 17, 2021 ISBN: 978-1-61138-968-5 Copyright © 2021 Brenda W. Clough
Table of Contents
Book 1
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
From the correspondence of Marian Halcombe Camlet
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
From the correspondence of Marian Halcombe Camlet
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Book 2
From the personal correspondence of Theophilus Camlet
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Book 3
From the correspondence files of Theophilus Camlet
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
From the personal correspondence of Theophilus Camlet
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
From the papers of Marian Halcombe Camlet
Later
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Book 4
Walter Hartright’s narrative
From the archives of the Ontario Provincial Police
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Loose sheets inserted into Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s account
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Book 5
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Book 6
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Walter Hartright’s narrative
From the correspondence of Sarah, Lady Fulbeck
Read a sample from The Pirate Princess
Walter Hartright’s narrative
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Dedication
Also by Brenda Clough
Copyrights & Credits
About Book View Café
Book 1
Marian Halcombe Camlet’s journal
Sandett House in Hampstead, 2 April 1872
Early this morning the upstairs bathroom door flewopen with a crash, revealing my tall twenty-two year-old stepson startlinglyclad in nothing but a towel. “You confounded brats!” Micah roared at hissiblings.
Little Tad scurried back out of range. “Brotherlost his trousies!”
Eight-year-old Merry giggled at the sight. “Yourcomplexion's past improving, Micah.”
Secure in the dignity of her twenty years, Lottieannounced, “We all have to share, brother.” She swept past him, neatly sweepingher long blonde braid clear as she shut the bathroom door behind herself.
“Lottie!” Micah hammered on the door. “Give me mydressing gown!”
There was no reply, and Tad squealed withlaughter. His only excuse must be his age, for he is not yet three. And Merrycried, “Lottie, it was my turn! I need to go!”
Theo's grey head became just visible as my dearhusband ascended the stair. “Merry, you are noisy. If your need is so great,you have your bedroom utensil.”
“I kicked it over last night,” my younger daughterconfessed artlessly. “Lottie was dreadfully unkind about it.”
His own dressing gown unavailable, Micah emergedfrom the boys' room in William's, which was far too short for his six feet ofheight. “This is a bear pit, Papa.”
“At least William and Lester are away at school,”my dear husband replied in placid tones. “Come the long vacation we shall be fullto the brim. Marian, my bird, would you come down? I’d like your opinion on aletter. And you, naughty miss, are far too boisterous. Come use the downstairswater closet.”
Merry happily took her papa’s hand so that shecould be ‘jumped’ down the stairs. I handed my little Tad over to his nurse,and Micah retreated simmering into his chamber again.
“The roof will fly off the house,” I said to Theo.“William is but half Micah’s age. And all three girls crammed into the onebedroom? I think I shall have Lester down in my dressing room.”
“We’re a large family,” Theo said, quiteunruffled. “You must remember to keep the doors closed.” His hazel twinkle wasso naughty that in spite of our recent difficulties I had to laugh. At colossalexpense Theo has fitted Sandett House with the most modern plumbing. We have awater closet on two floors of the house, a luxury unknown to many an earl. Tothis I can attest from personal experience! On the main floor Merry patteredbarefoot into the facility in the back hallway, and I followed my husband intohis study.
I was surprised when he shut the door. He gesturedfor me to sit. “Marian,” he said quietly. “Has Lottie ever shared with you hercorrespondence with John Prower in Massachusetts?”
“From my Yankee sea captain turned librarian?” Icalled up in my mind’s eye Mr. Prower, tall and well-built, with his blond moustachesand the far-seeing dark eyes of the sailor. “They come every fortnight or so.She occasionally shares the enclosures. You remember the pressed magnolia blossomfrom last summer. And she’s read out amusing bits, or messages. He wished usall a happy Christmas last winter.”
He sat down at his big cherrywood desk. “But you’venever looked over an entire letter.”
Theo is of a liberal persuasion, and would neverinsist on reading his daughter or wife’s correspondence. But there are reasonswhy many men do. “Do you suspect him of impropriety?”
“No. But I fear for my daughter’s peace.” From acubbyhole he took an envelope so plump it bore extra American stamps, andpassed it to me.
Within I found another letter, folded and sealedwith a wafer, with Lottie’s name on the outside. And a covering letter, writtenin a firm manly script:
27 March
Theophilus Camlet
Sandett House, Hampstead, London
My dear sir:
Of your great kindness you gave mepermission to conduct a long-standing correspondence with your daughter Lottie.We have been exchanging letters for nearly four years now.
I regret to say that although I haveenjoyed the correspondence greatly, I am obliged to cease writing to her. Ilook to alter condition, residence and career in the near future, and shall nothave space in my new life for it. I enclose a final note of farewell to her.May I ask you, whose dearest care must be her happiness, to break my news toher gently, before giving it to her to read?
Respectfully,
John Ledyard Prower
Herndon, Virginia
NB: She need have no fears about her own letters.I shall return them to her as soon as I may.
I looked up from the page and met Theo’sintelligent hazel gaze. “I know what you shall ask me,” I said. “Is her heartgiven to this man, her first suitor?”
“And your reply?”
“Oh, Theo, I don’t know.”
He smiled. “A maidenly modesty.”
He was joking. Lottie is the daughter of his firstwife, and Margaret Camlet was the most fearsome woman in Europe. “She has neverbeen missish,” I conceded. “But on this point Lottie has not confided in me,and I’ve respected her reticence. If things are never put into words they’renot real. And she certainly doesn’t lack for admirers.”
“And yet she has written, I calculate, over ahundred letters to him. I hate to contemplate her pain.”
“Would it be better to … well, to simply keep thisletter for a time? After a long gap with no mail from him, she won’t be sosurprised at his defection.”
“You think he has found another.”
“Look at the address.” I pointed to the town belowhis signature. “We stayed with Mr. Prower, in the house he shares with his auntand uncle in Cambridge near Boston. I believe Virginia is a long distance away.”I’ve been to the United States twice, but it’s a large country. On each visit Iwas occupied by other urgent concerns, and thus know less of the nation’sgeography than I ought.
Theo’s experienced imagination immediatelyconjured up the scene. “The home of an American female,” he said, inspectingthe words. “Virginia is where American heroes set up their estates. General Washingtonand Mr. Jefferson come immediately to mind. Perhaps the lady comes from afamily of wealth. Yes, and having called at the pillared plantation house, madehis offer to the stern papa and been accepted by the blushing maiden and approvedby her people, Prower now in honour must bid a final farewell to his youthful Englishflame. Well, my decree was that he test the endurance of his devotion.”
“And see how wise you were.”
“And I am wiser yet, not to delay. What if theparcel with all her returned letters arrives tomorrow? No, subterfuge will onlyincrease the hurt –”
A sharp rap at the closed door made me start. “Papa,”Micah called. “The carriage is here, and it’s gone eight. I have a meeting withthe artists at nine.”
“I must be off,” Theo said, rising. He put theletter back into the cubbyhole. “We’ll talk further this evening.”
The usual morning tumult filled the front hall. Alarge family is necessarily noisy. Theo is a notably affectionate parent, andthe younger ones always get a kiss or hug. And so do I!
Due to the bathroom contention Micah had left ittoo late to break his fast, but Cook thrust a paper-wrapped sandwich into hishand, which he sniffed as if were attar of roses. “Butter and ham,” he said,beaming. Micah is wonderfully handsome with his bright-blue eyes and fawn-brownhair, his neat dark suit in the first style of fashion for a hard-chargingyoung businessman.
With his short grey beard and frock coat, Theo wasa charming contrast, visibly the staid older executive. So adorable, I waspositively compelled to kiss him! Then they climbed up into the brougham and wewomen stood on the front portico and waved until they were out past thebillowing holly trees at the gate.
The next task of the day was to walk with Merry toher school in the village, and on the way back do the day’s shopping. On a finespring day in London this is no hardship. “Come with us, Lottie,” Merrypleaded. “Papa showed me where the finches have a nest.”
My stepdaughter is an active female, and willinglytied on her bonnet and set off with us. The village is but a mile away, andafter leaving Merry at her school I ordered a pair of hens for Sunday at thepoulterer’s while Lottie dropped off some gloves to be mended and cleaned.
We met