Cecilia Or Flight From A Shadow

by Catherine Bowness

  “Where do you live when you are not sightseeing in Europe?” she asked. She was almost as tired of discussing art galleries and famous buildings as she was of looking at them and felt the time had come to move closer to her real interest – why the Mosses seemed to spend their lives upon the road.

  “We were used to live in Sussex,” Phyllis replied with a certain emphasis on the past. “But we have not been there in a long time.”

  “Indeed? My home is in the very next county - Kent. It is a beautiful part of the world – and so peaceful and gentle, compared to all these mountains and lakes and so forth. This is all very dramatic and exciting, but sometimes I yearn for home where I do not have to be forever looking at pictures and so on. Do you not miss your home?”

  “Yes,” Phyllis whispered, her eyes meeting Helen’s with a look of longing so acute that Helen swallowed a lump in her throat.

  She missed hers too – and missed even more the tranquillity and safety of being at home where nothing much was required of her except to pass the time in one way or another. She had thought that embarking on a sort of grand tour would be exciting but, so far at least, the reality had not fulfilled the promise. Things had improved since her cousin had joined the party for he was always interesting as well as kind and reliable. She had found being in the sole company of Miss Godmanton had had a ruinous effect on any amusement she might otherwise have wrung from the various countries they had visited.

  “It is indeed something to look forward to,” she said, “going home – although I suppose it is ungrateful to complain about what many people would envy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been away a very long time?” Helen pursued. She rather thought they had but wanted it confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  Helen wished she had asked precisely how long but, in spite of finding the Mosses deeply mysterious and nurturing a strong desire to know more about them, there was something about Phyllis which made even Helen, not generally much inclined to feel sympathy for others, reluctant to push for the information she sought. There was something vulnerable about the girl with which Helen could identify.

  “We have been away for ages too,” she said on a sigh of commiseration, “and most of the time it has been only Miss Godmanton and I, which does not make for an altogether congenial atmosphere. She is excessively keen on visiting art galleries and cathedrals – and I own I have grown quite dreadfully fatigued with them. They are all the same – endless pictures of the Virgin and Child. Of course, there are different styles of painting, aren’t there? I rather like the allegorical, where most of the people seem to be only half-dressed, but Miss Godmanton hurries us past those, although to tell the truth I think she is quite as fascinated as I.”

  Phyllis nodded. “It is odd that those persons so often have clothes which appear to be missing buttons. I find myself thinking how difficult it must be to do anything – or go anywhere – when one’s clothes are so unsatisfactorily attached.”

  Helen laughed immoderately at this; there was something so delightfully pragmatic – and innocent - about such a view.

  She said, “Do you long to sew their buttons on for them?”

  “Oh yes, and so do Mama and Cecilia. They are excessively good at sewing, you see. I am convinced that, if they had made those garments, they would have made certain that the buttons were properly fixed.”

  “Do they make clothes? I own I am not much good at that sort of thing, although of course, like everyone else, I have spent hours engaged in embroidery.”

  “Oh, yes. Mama was used to be a dressmaker – before she married and had children.”

  Well, thought Helen, now I have discovered something. She thought it a pity that Miss Godmanton’s instinct had been proved correct although, whether they were vulgar or not – which certainly looked to be the case when one contemplated Mrs Moss - was still open to question; certainly, they were of low rank.

  “And what was your papa?” Helen asked for, although Mrs Moss had no pretensions to beauty now, judging by the looks of her children, she must have had once; it was possible that Mr Moss had contracted something of a mésalliance.

  “He was a soldier.”

  “Ah. I suppose he had a commission, did he?”

  “I do not know. Do all soldiers have commissions?”

  “Oh no, only the officers. You have to buy them, you see.”

  “Oh, I did not know that.”

  “Why indeed should you? Was he a sergeant or something of that sort?”

  “Oh, I see what you mean. He was a colonel.”

  “Was he?” Helen thought that she had been right: it must have been a case of a mésalliance, which perfectly explained the more refined manners of the young people.

  “You must be very proud of him.”

  “Yes.”

  But Helen did not think that Phyllis sounded proud; on the contrary, she sounded as though she would rather not speak of her father at all.

  While Helen was grilling Phyllis, the Earl was dividing his attention between Mrs and Miss Moss.

  Mrs Moss seemed delighted to have been invited to sit down to dinner with such an elevated person and spent some time exclaiming enthusiastically about the dinner whilst trying to convince him that her younger daughter possessed all the attributes he must be seeking in a female.

  Miss Moss, on the other hand, seemed a trifle uncomfortable to be sitting on his lordship’s left and was inclined to be rather stiff in her manner when he eventually turned to her. She had spent the first part of the meal trying to listen to other people’s conversations and worrying about what the various members of her family were divulging.

  “You have been abandoned,” the Earl said when there was a pause in her mother’s conversation, and he was able to turn to her.

  “Not at all. I am glad to see that Miss Lenham is engaging my sister in such earnest discussion.”

  “They seem to have plenty to say to each other,” he agreed. “I believe it would be in order for you to cease to worry about her for a moment. She will be quite safe with Helen.”

  “I do not doubt it.”

  “She can come to no harm with anyone whilst sitting at the dinner table,” he pointed out.

  She flushed and darted a glance at her mother across the table.

  Mrs Moss, unable from her position across the table to detach Phyllis from Helen, was glaring resentfully at her elder daughter.

  “Family connexions are such a source of anxiety, are they not?” the Earl pursued gently.

  “Are yours?”

  “Mine? You mean, I take it, am I concerned about my cousin? I am, of course, but am delighted to see that she is making friends with your sister.”

  “She, my sister, is not altogether like other people,” she murmured, flushing more deeply.

  “Nor is my cousin; you may find they have more in common than you expect.”

  She nodded but did not look at him, concentrating instead on cutting up her meat.

  “It is a little tough,” he said, watching her. “I have stayed here once before but cannot escape the feeling that my arrival this afternoon was not an unmitigated pleasure for Signora Valdini. This chicken, for example, has to my mind, been running about the yard for a little too long. It seems a pity that its life has been ended to so little avail.”

  “You are kind, my lord,” she said, glancing up at him.

  “Not really. If I had been certain that I would gain more pleasure from eating it than it would gain from continuing to run about the yard, I would not have hesitated to wring its neck. It is only that it seems its sacrifice has been in vain.”

  “Perhaps it had grown tired of life.”

  “Perhaps, but I doubt it. Even when things do not go quite according to one’s hopes, most people would rather live than die.”

  “People! We were discussing a chicken.”

  “Indeed – and I am not convinced that chickens are capable of weighing up the pros and cons of life versus de
ath. On the other hand, I am sure it would have defended itself if it had thought its life in danger.”

  “Dear me, yes! The worst aspect of it is that it had grown to trust the person who fed it, to approach that person with hope in its heart – only to have its neck wrung.”

  “You speak as though you have experience of such a devastating betrayal of trust.”

  “No, I do not lay claim to any such thing – but I have despatched a chicken ‘ere now and I own my heart bled for it. That is a silly and hypocritical thing to say because it did not stop me from eating its flesh – and has not prevented me from eating this one either.”

  “I suppose you killed that other one because you needed something to eat; I do not think you can be judged for that. It would be absurd if you were to starve yourself because you could not bring yourself to wring a chicken’s neck.”

  “My dear,” Mrs Moss said very loudly from the other side of the table. “I am persuaded his lordship does not want to discuss the merits or otherwise of killing chickens. My daughter, you know,” she added to his lordship, “is of an absurdly tender disposition.”

  “I can see that,” the Earl replied, “and honour her for it.”

  “You must not think,” the matron continued, “that she has been in the habit of killing chickens for our dinner.”

  “I suppose that, if she was in the habit of it, she would very likely have grown accustomed to it by now and would not have her heart wrung,” he said.

  “I believe one does grow accustomed to it,” Cecilia said, not denying that she had been in the habit of such exceedingly low employment, “and one learns to harden one’s heart, to brace it, as it were, against the wringing – but still it is an indulgence to claim one is distressed when, after all, one lives to see another day while the poor chicken does not.”

  “My daughter refines too much upon the sufferings of dumb beasts,” Mrs Moss said, attempting to mollify the Earl by smiling at him as though amused by her daughter’s vagaries whilst at the same time directing a quelling look at her child.

  Chapter 8

  After dinner the party disposed themselves around the fire. Having exhausted discussion of the sights they had already visited, they moved on to speculating about the delights in store for the remainder of the trip. Both families intended to set off soon after sunrise on the morrow in order to cover as many miles as possible before darkness engulfed them.

  “You are not afraid that the snow will force us to remain here?” Mrs Moss asked the Earl.

  “Oh, no; it is only autumn and the seasons here are far more predictable than in England. I would be surprised if there is much on the ground tomorrow. In any event, I doubt it will be so thick that it will prevent us driving.”

  Cecilia, conscious of her promise to wash the dishes and complete the bundle of mending she had undertaken, soon suggested they should retire for the night, citing the early start as her reason.

  Mrs Moss seemed reluctant to leave the fire – or perhaps the company of the Earl – who, now they were no longer sitting at the table, had spent some time chatting with Phyllis. The girl rose at once and bade the others good-night prettily.

  “Come, Mama, you know you prefer to go to bed in good time,” Cecilia said.

  “I wish my daughter would show as much consideration for people as she does for beasts,” Mrs Moss grumbled, but she stood up, gathering her shawl about her, and prepared to climb the many stairs to their chamber in the attic. “We all have to do what she thinks best.”

  The Earl smiled and rose to bid the ladies good-night.

  “Thank you for dinner, my lord,” Mrs Moss said graciously, giving him her hand.

  “It was a very great pleasure, Ma’am,” he responded. “We shall no doubt meet at the breakfast table.”

  “Yes, yes, indeed. Say good-night to his lordship, Phyllis.”

  Phyllis did as she was bid, holding out her hand and receiving a kiss upon the fingers.

  “Miss Moss,” the Earl said, nodding at Cecilia, who stood impatiently by the door.

  “Good-night, my lord, and thank you kindly for dinner,” she replied.

  Endymion, preparing to follow his womenfolk out of the room, was detained by Waldron, who invited him to join him in a glass of brandy.

  “Why did you insist on us going to bed so early?” Mrs Moss asked irritably as the three women mounted the stairs.

  “Because I do not want to be sitting up all night doing the mending,” Cecilia replied.

  “Oh, we have done quite enough of that,” her mother said dismissively. “Whatever would his lordship think of us sewing sheets?”

  “That it is a pleasanter and more ladylike task than killing chickens – and I would agree with him,” Cecilia retorted.

  “What in the world possessed you to speak so to him? What do you suppose he made of it? He will think us very low.”

  “Well, he would be right. It was kind – and generous – of him to give us dinner, but we cannot expect him to pay for our rooms and must still earn them by finishing the sheets.”

  They had by this time reached their chamber where there was still no fire nor any means with which to light one.

  “Get into bed quickly before you grow cold,” Cecilia advised Phyllis, preparing to go downstairs again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To finish the mending. I will come back soon, and I shall expect you to be asleep when I do.”

  “But where are you going to sleep? There are only two beds.”

  “I will find a space on the floor. It does not signify for I shall be so tired by the time I come back that I will probably fall asleep on my feet.”

  “You can share my bed,” Phyllis said.

  “Thank you, dearest, but I think it will be too small for both of us. You get in now and do not be anxious for me.” As she spoke, Cecilia was unbuttoning her sister’s dress. She threw the girl’s nightgown over her head, then sat her down on the bed while she brushed and plaited her hair.

  During this operation Mrs Moss also undressed. Climbing into bed, and perhaps afflicted with a vague sense of guilt towards her eldest child, she said, “There is not much that tiresome old proprietress can do to us now – we have eaten dinner and we are already in our beds. I suppose she could deny us breakfast, but his lordship would probably have something to say about that.”

  “I contracted with her that I – indeed, we – would mend sheets in exchange for our beds; I will not now renege on the deal.”

  “Well, I think you have too rigid a sense of honour. I am not going to sit up all night straining my eyes to satisfy my conscience – and neither should you.”

  “Good night, Mama, Phyllis,” was all Cecilia vouchsafed in reply as she left the room and shut the door quietly behind her.

  She went downstairs, her candle flame flickering along the walls, and found her way to the small room in which they had been sitting before dinner. The fire had gone out, but the sheets lay exactly where they had been left.

  She kneeled down before the grate and carefully relaid the fire although there was not much wood or coal remaining. She thought that, after an hour or so, she would creep along to the bigger saloon in which they had dined and fetch some of that much more plentiful fuel. She lit her little pile of twigs, as well as another pair of candlesticks, which stood, only partially used, upon the mantelpiece. Then, having, as she thought, prepared the room to be comfortable in a short space of time, she went to the kitchen where she was surprised to see that the work had already been done. She offered up a prayer of gratitude to the Almighty and a kind thought for Signora Valdini before returning to the small saloon, where she found her little fire crackling promisingly.

  Arranging the candlesticks in as favourable a position as possible, she settled down to complete the mending. Sewing long, dull seams down the length of a number of sheets was neither interesting nor enjoyable, but it left her mind free to range over her family’s situation as it now appeared.

&nbs
p; She was in no doubt that her mother had designs upon Lord Waldron and his supposed wealth but, whatever she had initially feared regarding his intentions, she had changed her mind since sitting down to dinner with him. He was not the sort of man to take advantage of an innocent like Phyllis nor was he, she hoped, the sort of man who would allow himself to be taken advantage of by a woman like her mother. She thought it more than likely that he would buy them breakfast and that, when they all arrived in Geneva, he would be bound to offer to assist them in finding lodgings and indeed employment, if only they could be honest enough to admit that this was what they needed.

  The Earl, she suspected, would be wise to all the tricks a family such as hers might try, including Endymion seeking to acquire a fortune by marrying Miss Lenham. He would be certain to put a spoke in the young man’s wheels, particularly since it seemed likely that Miss Lenham was in fact already promised to him. Of course, it might be that he would be only too glad to have someone take her off his hands for there had been no sign of his being smitten with the young woman, although it seemed unlikely that he would consider Endymion an acceptable substitute. It was her belief that more could be gained from Lord Waldron by throwing themselves upon his mercy than by trying to bamboozle him – or his cousin.

  She finished a sheet and stood up to fold it. When she had done so, she looked despairingly at the pile of mending awaiting her attention and compared it with the fading fire. It was time to set off on a foray to replenish the wood basket.

  Although there had, earlier, been sounds indicating people walking about upstairs – which she supposed were the members of the Earl’s party settling themselves for the night - the inn was now exceedingly quiet. She guessed everyone must have long retired to their rooms, including Endymion, who would have to be up before dawn to perform his duties in the stables. It would be safe to fetch more fuel from the other parlour.