Free The Lovegrove Hermit by Rosemary Craddock

some very odd questions. I thinkshe 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 hairdishevelled. 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