Cecilia Or Flight From A Shadow

by Catherine Bowness

  Helen did look extraordinary: in the cream dress, it was difficult to distinguish between the material and her skin, only the scattering of brilliants amongst the flowers on the bodice delineating where the gown ended and her bosom began. Her pale hair had been curled and piled on her head in such an artful manner by the new maid, engaged after Hannah’s departure, that it looked thicker than usual, its colour only a shade or two yellower than the dress.

  “You know you may have to speak French,” Waldron warned her, “or even German or Italian.”

  “We have been practising,” Helen said, “but I do not think I will have much to say.”

  “That,” her cousin said, “is one of the advantages of not being able to manage a new language: the paucity of one’s conversation can be put down to difficulty with the language rather than absence of opinion.”

  Helen glared at him but Endymion, tucking her hand into his arm to lead her out to the carriage, told her that she would always be able to speak to him in English.

  It turned out that the reception was gratifyingly crowded, and dancing was not the only attraction: there were a number of card tables set up in side rooms to which Endymion retreated before long.

  Cecilia, noticing this, raised the matter with Lord Waldron when he led her out later in the evening.

  “I believe you did mention, that first evening in the Alps, that he liked the cards. Is gaming one of his vices?”

  “Yes; I think he has, until now, seen it as the only way he can make any money other than marrying it. I suppose it is understandable that he would prefer that route.”

  “Entirely, but, unfortunately, it is a path even less likely to answer. Not many people win fortunes although a great number lose them; that sounds absurd: I suppose they lose them bit by bit. It is actually quite rare for someone to lose one overnight – and even more rare for someone to win one that way.”

  “Dym has not been lucky in the past, so that I see no reason why he should be now. Very likely he is too desperate to triumph and so makes foolish choices. He does of course win from time to time, but then he loses it all again. I don’t suppose the stakes will be high at a party like this, will they?”

  “No; but the danger is that he will make friends with other like-minded persons and thus be led to the dens where the stakes are high. Do you want me to extract him?”

  “No; I cannot expect you to do that – and he would know I had sent you.”

  “Very well, but I will try to keep an eye on him. He is very young and inexperienced and has not, since he was a boy, had a father or even an uncle to guide him.”

  “No; only a peevish elder sister and a mother who has been forced by circumstances to concentrate more closely upon her youngest child.”

  “Helen seems very taken with your little sister,” he said. “I have never seen her so gentle nor so unselfish.”

  “And I have never seen Phyllis so happy! She is convinced she has found a friend although I am afraid that, when Helen meets a suitable young man, she will be abandoned, particularly since my suspicious mind attributes part of your cousin’s kindness to her desire to grow closer to my brother. When she realises that that ship will not sail, she may not want anything to do with any of us.”

  “I am aware of that and also that if – when – it happens, it will prompt you to gather up your family and leave. I shall do my best to prevent that outcome.”

  She said nothing. When the dance came to an end and he returned her to her seat, he asked, “Is there anyone here that you recognise?”

  She looked round the room and shook her head. “No; but I don’t doubt that someone will have noticed us and will make enquiries. Who is that young man dancing with Helen? Should I be concerned?”

  Lord Waldron followed her eyes and saw his cousin being led out by a fair young man.

  “I do not know him, but someone must have introduced them, I suppose. I will make enquiries immediately.”

  It was proving difficult for Cecilia to keep a close eye on her charge as she was besieged by gentlemen wishing to lead her out. She refused most of them, citing her position as a chaperone as one which did not permit of her standing up for every dance.

  It was shortly after Lord Waldron returned her to her seat that she was approached by another gentleman. He was middle-aged and well-dressed with fair hair turning grey and fine eyes which defied ready description, their colour hovering somewhere between blue and green.

  “No one has introduced us, but I hope you will allow me to present myself,” he said, bowing. “My name is Merdle.”

  “How do you do, sir? I am not surprised no one has introduced us as I am not precisely a guest here. I am Miss Lenham’s chaperone and am endeavouring to keep an eye on her while she is dancing.”

  “Ah! You seem very young – and far too beautiful – to be a chaperone. I believe I have met Miss Lenham. Which of the many charming young ladies on the dance floor is she?”

  “The fair young woman in the cream dress dancing with an almost equally fair young man. We have not been in Geneva long and I own I do not know him.”

  “But I do!” the gentleman replied immediately. “He is my son! You may rest quite easy: he is a most respectable – and respectful - young man. Did he not seek your permission to lead your charge out?”

  “No; you see, I was dancing, which I suppose I should not have been.”

  “I cannot imagine why not; indeed, I think it would be almost criminal for a young lady as lovely as you not to be dancing. Will you stand up with me now that you know Miss Lenham is safe?”

  “I must take issue with you there, sir: simply because the young man is your son does not by any means guarantee that she is safe.”

  He laughed. “No, but I promise you she is. He has met her before – I thought I knew the name when you mentioned it. We were staying in the same inn briefly on the road across the Alps – and that is where they met. She and – I seem to remember an altogether different chaperone – dined with us.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes; I even remember the other female’s name: Miss Godmanton. What has become of her?”

  “She has returned to England and I have taken her place.”

  “Good Lord! The other was a starchy female somewhat gone in years. May I enquire if you are a relative, Miss ..?”

  “Moss. No, we are not related.”

  “I imagine Miss Lenham is pleased with her new chaperone – you will, I am persuaded, enter more into her interests than the previous one.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Come; that dance is ended; let me introduce you to my son and then perhaps you will stand up with me while she dances again with him. That way, you will be certain she is safe.”

  Chapter 33

  Cecilia, recalling the events of that night and how Helen had admitted dining with a couple of gentlemen, suffered herself to be led towards her charge, who was returning, deep in animated conversation with her partner, from the dance floor.

  “Oh, Cecilia,” Helen exclaimed as soon as she saw her. “Let me introduce you to Mr Merdle. We met in the inn the night Horatio rescued you. I see you have made the acquaintance of his father, Lord Merdle. We had dinner together while we were waiting to know what had become of you.”

  “Rescued?” Lord Merdle enquired, raising his brows. “From whom - or what?”

  “Oh, we had a road accident and plunged down a ravine,” Cecilia told him lightly.

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed again in much the same tone as before so that she wondered whether he was running out of suitable expressions denoting surprise. “It must have been a frightening experience! What happened?”

  “I think there may have been something amiss with our carriage; in any event, it was making a most peculiar noise for some time before we veered, very suddenly, off the road.”

  “Was the coach much damaged? You should perhaps have someone examine it before you use it again.”

  “Oh, it is beyond that. It broke up co
mpletely.”

  “Good Lord,” he said again and this time there was no doubt that he was both less surprised and less horrified than might have been expected if the story had been entirely new to him; but then, she realised, he must already know of the mountain rescue because he had been dining with Helen while it was taking place. It seemed unlikely that Helen would not have mentioned the absence of her cousin at the time for surely she would have thought – and he would have expected – that some explanation would have been required for her being apparently alone in the inn with only a chaperone for company.

  “I am glad to see you were not hurt,” he went on belatedly.

  “My mother sprained her ankle, but we were fortunate that there was sufficient snow on the mountainside to cushion our fall. And then Lord Waldron rescued us. If he had not, I should think we would have died that night for it was excessively cold and we had fallen too far to be able to climb up again by ourselves.”

  “Were there several of you in the carriage?”

  “Yes; I have a younger sister and a brother. We were all there. It was only our coachman who was badly hurt; at first we were afraid he would die, but, by the time we left the inn the next day, he had come to his senses and the physician was certain he would, in the end, make a full recovery.”

  “Is your brother here tonight too?”

  “Yes; I believe he’s playing faro or something in a side room.”

  “Well, just fancy that!” he said, leading her out to join the set. “We were all in the same inn without knowing it. Were you part of Lord Waldron’s party?”

  Cecilia was beginning to think that Lord Merdle asked a deal too many questions and, regretting that she had given her name and enumerated all the members of her family who had been travelling together, began to fear that he would make enquiries and discover the scandal.

  “Of course – he is my employer,” she snapped, suddenly realising that it was no wonder Lord Merdle was confused as he had met Helen in the charge of a quite different chaperone. He must be wondering why she needed two at the same time – or why the replacement had arrived before the original had departed.

  “I had not yet taken up my duties,” she went on, aware that her explanation was somewhat lame and wracking her brains frantically in an effort to think of a coherent story before Lord Merdle drew the – correct – conclusion that her connexion with the Waldron party was of exceedingly short duration and had not commenced in the traditional manner. “We were travelling in our own – or rather a hired – coach, there not being room for us all in his lordship’s, but, as we were indeed part of his group, he of course noticed when we did not arrive as expected – fortunately - for, if he had not come looking for us, I daresay we would still be on the mountainside.”

  The movements of the dance separated them as she spoke, but she thought Lord Merdle looked appalled.

  “You had a near escape from almost certain death,” he said when they came together again. “What in the world led you to attempt to cross the Alps so late in the year?”

  “We were with Lord Waldron,” she reminded him, glad to be able to fall back on her own story. “It was his decision to go that way. What about you, my lord? Why were you in that part of the world at this time of year?”

  Her bold decision to turn the tables on him was prompted by the sense of increased safety she felt since coming under the Earl’s protection. In the past, she would not have dared to prolong an interrogation of the sort to which Lord Merdle was subjecting her.

  “We – my son and I – have been undertaking a sort of grand tour. Next, you will ask why I am accompanying him instead of sending him off with a tutor in the usual way. My wife, his mother, died nearly a year ago, so that he was unable to set off as planned and, when he did express an interest in doing so, I thought I could do with a change of scene and decided to come too.”

  “I am sorry to hear of your loss and quite understand your reasoning,” she said at once, judging his explanation to be quite as shaky as her own.

  “Yes; of course I did my own when I was his age. It is interesting – and a little alarming – to note how much has changed in Europe since.”

  “Indeed.” Here was her opportunity to change the direction of their discourse and she was about to launch into a description of some grim battlefield they had passed on their way when the movement of the dance separated them.

  When they came together again, Lord Merdle reverted to the oddity of her travelling arrangements. “It is unusual for a whole family to travel together in order to deliver one of them to new employment, even if it is in a foreign country,” he said, trying to sound merely speculative but failing to conceal his suspicion that he was being spun a Banbury story.

  “We are attached to each other, particularly so since my father died,” she replied, this time in such a discouraging tone that he would have to have been exceedingly impolite to have pressed her any further.

  When he returned her to her seat, they found Lord Waldron awaiting them.

  “Merdle, I believe?” he said, holding out his hand.

  Lord Merdle took it and bowed. “Have I the honour of addressing Lord Waldron?”

  “Yes. I saw your son dancing with my cousin and, being in loco parentis while she is staying with me, wished to ascertain the name of her partner.”

  “Just so,” Lord Merdle replied coolly. “And I understand this lady is her new chaperone.”

  “New?”

  “When I met your cousin in the Alps she was accompanied by a different, older, female.”

  “Ah, yes. Miss Godmanton did not find Switzerland suited her and has returned to England. Miss Moss, with whom I was already acquainted, very kindly offered to step into the breach. Come, Helen,” he went on as his cousin came into view, still talking to Mr Merdle, “I believe it is time you and I took a turn together.”

  The Earl bowed to Lord Merdle and Cecilia, took his cousin from Mr Merdle and led her away.

  Mr Merdle, looking after her with a degree of yearning which made Cecilia hope that the Earl had managed, or would manage, to discover something of the Merdles’ history – and that it would prove to be more respectable than her brother’s - greeted her with a gratifying exclamation.

  “Lord! You’re rather beautiful for a chaperone!”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” she replied in what she hoped was a suitably damping tone, “but I don’t believe appearance is the most important criterion for choosing a chaperone, do you?”

  “I suppose not, but I shouldn’t think many young ladies would be pleased to have one who casts them into the shade! Not that anyone can cast Miss Lenham into the shade, of course,” he added hastily.

  “I assume,” she said haughtily, adopting what she supposed to be a chaperone’s disapproving glare, “that you considered that, having already met Miss Lenham at an inn, you needed no further introduction.”

  “Well, I did as a matter of fact,” he admitted, blushing. “When we parted, I said I hoped we would meet again. Imagine my delight when I saw her tonight!”

  “It must have been overwhelming.”

  After that they seemed to meet the Merdles everywhere and, whenever they did, the elder attached himself to Cecilia while the younger made for Helen.

  Cecilia was by no means convinced that her admirer did admire her. Having had a great many suitors of one kind or another, she had acquired some skill in distinguishing the loose screws from the respectable, but the one thing they all had in common was a certain brightness in the eye when they looked at her.

  Lord Merdle, although he sought her out and quizzed her on the subject of Lord Waldron as well as Miss Lenham whenever he got the chance, lacked that ardour in his regard which she was accustomed to see in an interested gentleman.

  She was, however, convinced that Mr Merdle’s admiration of Helen was genuine and wished that she could discern a like regard in her charge. She could not and feared that the girl was still in thrall to her brother, although he
was not so frequently in their company of late.

  He was busy during the day with his new job and went out a good deal in the evening with a group of friends he had acquired since arriving in Switzerland. Whether this was because he found their company particularly congenial or because they took him to houses of ill-repute or – more likely – to a variety of gaming hells – she was uncertain, but she was afraid they were a somewhat riotous set because he came home one evening claiming to have fallen from his horse in circumstances which he refused to describe in any detail. He had clearly hurt his shoulder for he could not help wincing when he moved his left arm.

  Cecilia wanted to send for the physician – or at least tell Lord Waldron about the accident – but Endymion almost lost his temper at this interference and told her to ‘pull her head in’ if she did not want to drive him away. After that he became even more elusive.

  Indeed, when she taxed him with this, he replied, “But do you not wish me to avoid Miss Lenham?”

  “I don’t wish you to avoid her, merely to make an effort not to attach her,” she replied, irritated by his tone, which she considered frivolous.

  He grinned. “I cannot help it if I am irresistible to the fair sex.”

  “Have you another interest?” she asked, frowning.

  “A feminine one? No.”

  “So what are you doing every evening?”

  “I cannot see that it is any of your concern, dearest Cissy. I have made some new friends and am going about with them. It is not, I think, altogether peculiar that, at my age, I should wish to have a life apart from my sister.”

  “Are you gaming?”

  “From time to time, yes. But I have not lost much, I promise. I am exercising extreme prudence because I do not wish to annoy our benefactor. The job, and its prospects for a penniless nobody, are too good to put in jeopardy.”

  “Quite so. Have you come across either of the Merdles during your forays into Swiss society?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have: frequently. The father is an experienced gambler and has taken money off me already – not, I hasten to assure you, much – and the son is a lamb for the fleecing but is closely watched by his parent and dragged away before he has committed his inheritance. Why?”