Cecilia Or Flight From A Shadow

by Catherine Bowness

  When she reached the room where they had eaten their dinner, she discerned a faint rim of light around the door and supposed it to be coming from the remains of what had been a generous fire earlier. In fact, guessing that the room was bound to be considerably warmer than the one in which she had been sewing, she decided that the sensible thing to do was not to fetch fuel but to decamp altogether, sheets, needle, thread and scissors, to this one.

  Accordingly, she went back with the log basket, deposited it beside the dying remains of her meagre fire, picked up the bundle of sheets and the tools with which to continue her task, blew out the now guttering candles on the mantelpiece and set off once more for the larger saloon.

  There was still no sound nor indication that anyone else remained awake and, as she went through the hall, the clock struck two. She was tired, part of her wished she was tucked up in a warm bed, but, since she did not have one, she was relieved that she would at least be able to spend some time alone, secure in the knowledge that Phyllis was safely in bed.

  She was therefore startled when, on opening the door, she perceived that there was another person not yet abed.

  She stopped abruptly on the threshold and was about to retreat, believing herself to have been unperceived, when the Earl, for it was he who lounged beside the glowing coals with his long legs stretched out across the hearth, turned, saw who it was and immediately rose to his feet.

  “Miss Moss!” he exclaimed with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.

  “My lord!” she responded, little joy in her tone for she was well aware that some explanation for her presence, still dressed and clasping a bundle of mending, would be required.

  “Pray come in and warm yourself. You look cold!”

  “I am a trifle,” she acknowledged, beginning to shiver.

  He drew up another chair, plumped up the cushions and invited her to sit in it.

  “Can I give you a drink? I was enjoying a brandy by myself but would be delighted to share another with you.”

  “Oh, I do not wish to disturb you, my lord,” she responded. “I came down because I could not sleep and thought that a little time spent doing something useful might prepare me better for slumber.”

  “I suppose it might, but I must tell you I am not deceived. Do you always sleep in your clothes, with your hair still pinned up – or is it that you have no nightgown?”

  She smiled, thinking that, if she answered the last of his questions, she might avoid commenting on the first.

  “Of course I have a nightgown, sir. I am not quite destitute.”

  “No, indeed; and you have at least two dresses for the one you are wearing now is not the same as the one in which you arrived.”

  “There!” she said lightly. “You have answered your own question.”

  “That one, but I am still awaiting your answer to my earlier one about the brandy.”

  “I am not in the habit of drinking brandy late at night,” she replied primly.

  “I daresay you are not but you have still not answered the question. Permit me to pour you one, place it here at your elbow and allow you to decide for yourself whether to drink it without any further badgering from me.”

  He suited the action to the word and, drawing up a small table, placed the glass beside her. Not content with that, he lit another branch of candles and moved them so that they cast a pool of light upon her work, which she had already unfolded and resumed.

  It appeared that he had, when she entered the room, been engaged in reading for he now picked up his book, perused it for a moment and then, laying it aside again, watched her as she sewed.

  “Forgive me!” he said after some few minutes while she, determined not to begin a conversation which she feared would lead to all sorts of penetrating questions to which she would infinitely prefer not to give an answer, continued with her work.

  “Of course!” she said, adding, “But I am by no means certain what it is that you wish forgiven.”

  “Staring at you! In my defence, I must own that the sight of a beautiful woman sewing is extraordinarily pleasing – and soothing. It is always enjoyable for an idle person to watch someone else working. I am bound, however, to wonder – and have been staring so rudely for such a protracted length of time because I have felt you do not wish to be questioned – why you are mending sheets.”

  “And yet, in the end, you could not resist!” she chided him, more amused than annoyed. “I suppose you thought that a stream of compliments would soften my reaction.”

  “Very likely I did. I apologise unreservedly for that too. Are you mending the sheets belonging to this hostelry in exchange for your bed and board?”

  “Not, as it turns out, for my dinner,” she replied, looking up briefly and meeting his eyes. “For which I must thank you.”

  “Does my buying you dinner save you from half a dozen sheets?”

  “I do not know; I have not discussed it with the Signora.”

  “And what of the rest of your family? What are they required to do to pay their way?”

  “Mama was also assigned a number of sheets and Endymion has been deployed in the stables.”

  “But Phyllis is permitted to be idle?”

  “Signora Valdini was not keen to allow it – indeed, she gave me a lecture on spoiling her – so that I assured her I would give her some of the sheets if she could be spared from having to wash the dishes. In the end, I took on her work myself. She is very young, my lord.”

  “Not that young; she is not a child. How old is she – sixteen, seventeen?”

  “Almost seventeen.”

  “I believe housemaids begin their duties much younger.”

  “Perhaps, but my sister is not a housemaid.”

  “Nor yet are you, Miss Moss, although I suspect you have been accustomed to play not only that part but the one of scullery maid too. Is that where you gained experience of wringing chickens’ necks? Did you, by any chance, wring those served for our dinner tonight?”

  “No; that had already been done when we arrived, I think probably when you appeared.”

  “I take it your father is dead? Forgive me again for asking you questions to which I suspect you are reluctant to give an answer, but I cannot help you if I do not have some knowledge of your situation.”

  “Nobody asked you to help, my lord.”

  “Indeed. But I am so constructed that, seeing someone clearly in need of assistance, I cannot help wanting to come to their aid. It seems to me that you – particularly you – do require help.”

  “We are not wealthy,” she acknowledged. “And travelling is not cheap.”

  “Why then do you not stay at home?”

  She did not answer, perceiving too late that she had fallen into a trap of her own making.

  “You do not have a home, do you?”

  “No, not precisely.”

  “How long is it since your father died?”

  “Near ten years.”

  “And have you been travelling all that time? You must be exhausted.”

  “We have seen some interesting things.”

  “I should think you must have done – and met some fascinating people, both good and bad. When you began, you were no older than your sister is now – and she was quite a small child.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your brother? He is younger than you, is he not? Has he ever been to school?”

  “He had begun his first term when – when we had to leave.”

  “So all he has are his looks – and presumably some ability to handle horses. You are a handsome family.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I am not insensitive, Miss Moss, and I can see that you wish I would mind my own business and leave you to fend for yourselves – as you have been doing for nearly half your life - but I believe I can be of material help and, while pride makes you wish to reject my offer, I would imagine that a few hours’ thought must surely dispose you to at least consider it.”

  Chapter 9r />
  “I am sure you mean to be kind, my lord,” Cecilia said stiffly. “What precisely did you have in mind – and what is your price?”

  “My price? Do you mean do I expect you and your sister to share my bed? Is that what you’re asking so very bluntly? I will answer just as frankly: it would be an enormous pleasure to have you there – your sister is a little young for my tastes – but I have never yet bought such favours and have no intention of beginning now.”

  “What do you want then?” she asked, now rather red in the face.

  She had not spent nearly ten years negotiating bed and board for her family without learning that everybody had a price much in the same way that purchasers had a limited ability to pay; it was matching the two which sometimes proved well-nigh insuperable. Mending sheets in exchange for overnight shelter seemed a fair price but sharing a gentleman’s bed, even such an attractive one as Lord Waldron, was too dear.

  “I told you: to satisfy my own ridiculous, no doubt incomprehensible, desire to help others. I can see you don’t believe me; only tell me how I can convince you.”

  “Set you a test, do you mean, as if you were a foreign prince courting a princess in a fairy tale? I wish I could think of one.”

  “I can readily understand that you have received what you believe to be ample proof of your fellow humans’ base desires and have learned to distrust everyone, particularly men. That, of course, is one of the difficulties you face when you are so very handsome – and poor: inevitably, many will assume your looks to be the currency you’re accustomed to use. I don’t expect you to be sympathetic, but I suffer from almost the exact opposite problem: a number of people, particularly women, are eager to offer something – whatever they think I might like – in exchange for what they perceive me to have: a fine old title and the property which goes with it. I deserve none of these things any more than you deserve what Fate has dealt you; they have come to us both through birth. I am aware of my good fortune and simply want to help you, at no very great cost to myself. Will you not trust me?”

  “I own I wish that I could,” she said quietly for in truth she was inclined to and yet that small inner voice, which had grown increasingly strident recently, warned her that she would be a fool.

  “I am not proposing to set you up in a luxurious apartment and provide you with servants, food and dresses so that you can live as comfortably as you probably once did when your father was alive – although in point of fact I would be perfectly willing to do so. You strike me as being just the sort of deserving case that a well-meaning gentleman is delighted to encounter. But I do not think you would accept that and, if you did, gossip would soon sour the whole enterprise – for us both, I suspect. I suggest, instead, that I could help you to find respectable lodgings together with genteel employment.”

  “That would be exceedingly kind, my lord,” she said, swallowing her pride painfully but determined to leave no stone unturned to provide for her sister and mother.

  “I can see that you are talented with a needle – and no doubt your mother is too – so that a fashionable modiste might be eager to take you both; or there might be a lady who would like to add a seamstress to her household. Can your sister sew?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why did you not share the mending with her?”

  “I suppose I should have done but the Signora originally had a different job in mind for Phyllis, as I told you, which I did not want her to undertake.”

  “I see. So you bargained with the good Signora to relieve your sister of the more menial task?”

  She nodded.

  “Have you done both?”

  “The dishes had been done when I went to the kitchen after dinner, so I can only suppose the Signora thought you had paid for that job when you bought us dinner.”

  “I am glad to hear it; she is, I think, an honest woman. And where is your mother? Has she retired for the night and left you with all the work? I find myself inclined to agree with the Signora and accuse you of spoiling your sister – and indeed your mother, who is by no means in her dotage. Sewing a simple seam or washing the dishes – or perhaps even gutting the chickens – does not require a powerful intellect.”

  “I seek only to take care of her - them,” Cecilia muttered, a little defensive but aware of the Earl’s kind intentions and conscious that, when kindness is offered, gratitude – along with a modicum of humility - must be demonstrated. “My mother is not in her dotage, but she is growing older and deserves a daughter’s respect and care.”

  She was growing uneasy beneath his lordship’s gentle probing but was nevertheless both relieved and grateful that he seemed to understand something of Phyllis’s difficulties. This realisation made her aware that those myriad men who had taken such a keen interest in her sister must either be equally deficient in intellect or had no interest in anything apart from her sex and appearance. They would have used her, just as she had always feared, and discarded her when they were done. If his lordship had a selfish interest in the family, its focus was herself and she thought she could deal with that.

  “Indeed, but an unmarried daughter deserves a mother’s protection, even when she reaches such an advanced age as you, Miss Moss,” the Earl continued gently. “I seek to take care of you but spoiling one’s protégée and doing everything for her is of little help in the long run and may indeed prove injurious. It seems to me that a parent’s duty lies in looking after her child until it can manage without her support, but your mother seems to have detached herself prematurely from a child who perhaps needs a little more care than usual. The result has been that what should more properly fall upon her shoulders, at least until she is in her dotage, has been laid on yours. One day your little sister may be forced to stand upon her own feet; it might be as well to prepare the way for her.”

  “I do not think she can,” Cecilia said very low. “She will need to be looked after, always.”

  “And are you determined that no one shall do it but you?”

  “No, but I would need to be very certain that I could trust whomever were to take my place.”

  “Indeed. Part of the trouble, as I see it, is that you do not altogether trust your mother and you do not trust men at all.”

  “How can I – trust men – when I have seen so many instances of their untrustworthiness? My sister is pretty – and innocent.”

  “And your mother would sell her to the highest bidder for any purpose whatsoever, would she not? Or, at least, I think that may be what you fear.”

  “I am afraid that she might not hold out for marriage,” Cecilia admitted, looking away in shame.

  “She may be being more realistic than you,” the Earl said gently.

  Her head whipped round at that. “Do you not think anyone would wish to make her his wife?”

  “I do not know but I doubt it. She would not be much use to a working man for, as you have admitted, she is unlikely to be able to manage a household; a clever man would think twice before choosing her as a helpmeet because she would never be able to meet his mind.”

  “But he would not object to using her until he grew bored?”

  “Which would likely not take long.”

  She turned her head then and stared at him, wild-eyed, for a moment. She was not angry for she could see that he intended no insult but was simply stating the facts as he saw them. Endymion had said as much but she had always refused to listen to him.

  “What can I do?”

  “I do not think she should sacrifice yourself to take care of her, although I perfectly comprehend what prompts you. She does not, to my mind, lack altogether the capacity for employment and, were one able to find something that suited her, I believe it would help her to stand a little more firmly upon her own feet, which might, in turn, set you free.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And what of your brother?”

  “He is good with horses.”

  “No doubt – and good with laying odds upon them too, I’ll
wager. I don’t think you need to take care of him. He must be forced to stand upon his own feet.”

  “I have tried,” she admitted, “but, lacking education and possessing an abundance of allure, his ideas for making a living do not always coincide with mine. But, no, I do not feel responsible for him. I know that, if the worst comes to the worst, he can manage his own affairs. In truth, I am grateful for his presence.”

  “I suppose he is looking for an heiress and feel I should warn you – and you may pass the message on to him if you will – that my cousin has no fortune. She is the daughter of my uncle, a younger son who was left a house and sufficient income to provide for his family but no more than that. Most of the Waldron estate is entailed and therefore came to me.”

  “Since we are being so frank with one another,” Cecilia said, glad that the conversation had moved away from the eternally painful subject of her sister, “may I enquire whether it is your intention to marry her yourself?”

  He smiled. “Are you afraid that my warning is merely an attempt to protect my own interests? No, I have no such intention. My aunt, and to a lesser extent, my uncle planned our marriage when she was in her cradle. I am, as you can see, several years older. I was orphaned at a young age and brought up along with my cousins until I came down from Oxford, when I joined the diplomatic service and was sent abroad.

  “My cousin is nearly twenty and my aunt and uncle are keen to find her a husband – and have had me in their sights all her life. She has been at something of a disadvantage on account of my aunt behaving in an absurdly over-protective fashion and refusing to give the girl a Season or even take her to the local assembly rooms, so that she has not been able to meet any likely suitors.”

  “How odd in that case to send her forth on a European tour with no protection other than Miss Godmanton.”

  “Indeed! Illogical and unwise in the extreme. I think Miss Godmanton had a good deal of trouble in the Papal States where my cousin’s colouring seems to have had an excessively stimulating effect upon the locals – and I understand their interest rather went to her head. They cut the tour short when Miss Godmanton threatened to run home unless someone else took on the responsibility. We had always planned to meet in Venice, but the date was brought forward.”