The Lovegrove Hermit Read Online Free PDF

mortified, and hastily made an exit.
    Rowland was not greatly troubled. ‘Don’t know who he thinks he is,’ he complained, as we followed the path to the lake. ‘He’s paid ten guineas a year and all found. What more does he want? He didn’t have to take the job. My parents paid for everything in that cell of his.’
    ‘Except his trunk and that mysterious locked box and the books,’ said Sophie.
    ‘And that’s all he’s got in the world so I don’t see why he has to demand courtesies from me.’
    ‘I think he’s a gentleman,’ said Sophie. ‘He speaks like one, he carries himself like one and he reads poetry and Greek and Latin.’
    ‘Well, whatever he was before he came here – and I doubt if ‘gentleman’ would describe it, he’s our hermit now – no more than a servant.’
    ‘And you don’t know anything about his past?’
    ‘No – Sir Ralph is supposed to be in possession of his real name but I don’t think that means very much. He could have given a false one and he didn’t tell him much more than that. Who would choose to live as a hermit unless he had some reason to hide away from the world?’
    ‘A broken heart!’ cried Sophie. ‘Perhaps his wife orinamorata died.’
    ‘I’ve never heard of anyone going to such extremes, have you, Miss Tyler?’ He directed the question to me.
    ‘No,’ I said, ‘most people hide their feelings and get on with their everyday lives.’
    ‘Quite! I think there’s a much more sinister reason. In fact, I think I know who he may be.’
    ‘Really?’ cried Sophie. ‘Who?’
    ‘Well, he’s obviously done something very seriously wrong – something that might threaten his very life if he were caught. And, as you pointed out, he’s educated.’
    ‘Now I remember a notorious case in London a couple of years ago – just before this fellow came here to take up the post of hermit. A barrister called Webster shot his wife. He found out she’d been having an affair with another man. I remember his name because it’s so like my own. He disappeared without a trace and hasn’t been seen since from that day to this.’
    ‘And you really think your hermit is a murderer?’ Sophie was aghast.
    ‘It seems only too likely.’
    ‘But he seems so – so dignified and self-controlled.’
    ‘Who can tell what violent passions may seize a man when in the throes of jealousy – like Othello, you know.’
    ‘He seems so sad and sorrowful.’
    ‘Guilt and remorse!’
    I thought Rowland’s theory decidedly far-fetched and lurid but whatever Brother Caspar’s history might be I felt ashamed of trespassing on his domain. There was some excuse for foolish, impulsive young people like Rowland and Sophie but none at all for me. I decided to write a shortapology and wondered if I might give him some small gift to make amends. But what could one give a hermit, dedicated as he was to a simple, ascetic life? It must not be anything of intrinsic value. Perhaps a basket of fruit….
    Meanwhile I decided to visit the Lovegrove library and see if I could find a copy of Goldsmith’s
Poems
. There was half an hour before lunch; Rowland had taken Sophie off to the stables to see the horses, which seemed an innocent enough activity.
    Most of the books in the library had been bought with the house and looked as though no one ever opened them. When I examined the titles I was not surprised. There were whole shelves of bound copies of
The Spectator
and the
Gentleman’s Magazine
, dreary law reports and parliamentary proceedings, sermons galore and countless dull works of theology and biblical history. At last I found a section devoted to poetic and dramatic works and discovered a copy of Goldsmith very similar to the one in the hermitage. I soon found ‘The Hermit’ and settled down to read it, seated comfortably in a high backed chair. I did not realise it screened me from anyone entering the room.
    Presently two people came in, deep in conversation. It did not take me long