Mr Forster's Fortune

by Lizzie Church

  ‘And I shall buy something when I am ready to do so, aunt, have no fear. But, just for now, I need to find out exactly what I want.’

  Thwarted in her efforts to get her niece to part with some of her money, Mrs King seemed determined to relieve herself of plenty of her own, and by the time both ladies had admitted defeat through excessive weariness and returned for a pastry and some tea in the ladies’ coffee house near the abbey, Cecily was amused to discover that her aunt had managed to acquire ‘the prettiest dyed feather imaginable with which to decorate my white evening cap’, a broad silver bracelet with Egyptian trim, miscellaneous pieces of narrow ribbon and a pair of long kid gloves which – to Cecily’s untutored eye at the least - looked suspiciously like the pair that she had worn to dinner the previous evening. It was fortunate that each of these purchases was relatively small, for no sooner had they refreshed themselves than they were off again. This time Cecily found that they were to take a ride up Lansdown Road. ‘For my dear friend Mrs Springfield is always ‘at home’ on a… I told her last week that you would be with us by now. Her wish to become acquainted with you was most… Oh, just look at that bonnet, my dear – no, the lady over there. I declare, I have never seen quite so… well!’

  It soon became apparent that they should have to share the visit with two further ladies of Mrs Springfield’s acquaintance, for no sooner had they been safely deposited at the door than two chairs stopped immediately behind them and relinquished their occupants onto the flags. All four ladies were immediately admitted together. Cecily appeared to be the youngest of them all, and as there was no notion just at that moment of who should give precedence to whom she politely stepped aside and allowed the newcomers to enter the hallway before her.

  The drawing room into which they were all admitted was occupied by a rather plump but decorative-looking lady of indeterminate age, garbed in a somewhat shapeless mass of frills and lace, who was sitting in state in an elegantly brocaded armchair, with her feet toasting decorously upon the grate.

  The identities of the two new visitors were soon ascertained as Lady Barnham and her daughter Miss Forster, and it was the work of only a very few minutes, during which many smiles were exchanged and much curtseying took place, to discover that Lady Barnham was sister to the much-frilled Mrs Springfield. Cecily examined them all as often as politeness would allow, and with a more than usual level of genuine interest. Miss Forster. How intriguing. Had Browne not told her that the gentleman at the inn had been a Mr Forster? And had he not seemed elegant and genteel – and, maybe, just maybe, a little too aware of his own importance? Lady Barnham, she felt, seemed somewhat stiff and formal, fully aware of her own importance as a viscountess and she also shared the intriguing gentleman’s impressive Roman nose. She seemed half gratified, half piqued by the presence of an earl’s daughter in her sister’s drawing room. Perhaps she would have preferred it had the drawing room been her own? Mrs Springfield, though, seemed singularly unfazed by the brace of titles that were just then gathered in her presence. Her own interests, Cecily could see, were somewhat more pecuniary than those of her sister. It was immediately obvious from the plethora of lace and jewels that decorated her person that she was extremely wealthy, and it was equally obvious that she felt no compunction whatsoever about advertising the fact. It was clear that wealth – in Mrs Springfield’s opinion, at least – was more than able to defend its corner against the challenge of titles which currently graced her room.

  Miss Forster, on the other hand, appeared to share neither her mother’s evident love of status nor her aunt’s great love of wealth. Indeed, Cecily’s first impressions of her were of a quiet, intelligent, but oddly separate young lady who seemed strangely out of place amidst the formal splendour of her aunt’s expensive rooms. There was something – well, something a little undistinguished about her somehow – as if she were living her life in a shadow. But she was not entirely without style or grace and she had a warm friendly smile which was really quite bewitching and which she bestowed unselfishly on Cecily as soon as she detected her gaze.

  ‘Have you been long in Bath, Miss Forster?’ enquired Cecily, once the formal introductions had been effected. She stole a glance out of the window as she accepted a seat by her side. Mrs Springfield’s house stood proudly above the burgeoning Bath skyline and on a fine day the prospect would doubtless be magnificent. But today the prospect was somewhat more constrained. The town looked murky in the dank, smoke-filled air and a thick mist echoed the whiteness of the remaining snow on the olive-brown hillsides beyond.

  ‘A few weeks only so far, Lady Cecily. We have come in the hope of a cure for my poor father, who suffers somewhat terribly from some ailment which the doctors, as yet, have been totally unable to diagnose. We have taken some lodgings for the winter. One of my brothers joined us only yesterday. He had spent the holidays with some people in Kent so it was rather a long way for him to come.’

  Aha. So her brother had arrived there only yesterday. He was surely the self same gentleman?

  ‘It is indeed. I myself had only a relatively short journey, though it was still filled with more incident that I probably would have wished for. I am just come to Bath after spending Christmas with some friends of mine. I live normally in Surrey with my uncle and aunt. We have taken a house on Great Pulteney Street until the end of next month.’

  ‘Then you are not too far from us, in Sydney Place. We overlook the gardens. They are looking most sorry for themselves just now, of course, but I have every hope that, come spring, they will bloom and blossom sufficiently to gladden every person’s heart in the neighbourhood – and, more particularly, my own.’

  ‘I have no doubt that they will. A garden has much to recommend it, particularly in the spring. But you say you have brothers, Miss Forster. How fortunate you are. I, sadly, have no brother of my own, though I do have a cousin, which is some compensation. I expect that yours provide you with a good deal of amusement?’

  ‘Yes, there are three of them in all and they certainly used to be good company, whenever they were at home, though James and George, the two youngest, are now both in the military and we have only Robert at home. Robert is excellent company whenever he’s around, though, being a gentleman, of course, he is often much away.’

  Aha. So Mr Forster was a ‘Robert’. Quite an agreeable name. The Honourable Robert Forster. It had a pleasant enough ring to it. Robert Forster, Viscount Barnham’s eldest son. Yes, good. It could have been a lot, lot worse.

  If Cecily and Miss Forster were swift in furthering a most satisfactory acquaintance by the window, their elders were similarly finding much to please them in discussing their bonnets, their servants and the atrocious price of mutton by the fire. Indeed, so pleased with each other were Lady Barnham and Mrs King that before the end of a quarter hour her ladyship had been so kind as to issue her new friend with an invitation to celebrate the forthcoming twelfth night at a small evening party to be held in Sydney Place.

  ‘For we are most agreeably situated there, Mrs King,’ her ladyship was assuring her. ‘The drawing room should allow us a perfect view of the fireworks without anyone having to set foot outside at all – a great benefit, I assure you, for it means that we do not mingle with the crowds at all, and with such odious weather as we are having just now it is much pleasanter by far to be able to stay indoors…’

  Chapter 3

  Just at the time that his mother was issuing this kind invitation to her new acquaintance, Mr Forster was in the process of making some new acquaintance of his own. He had just met up with Mr Thomas Springfield, his cousin, in the pump room. Mr Springfield had been lucky enough to inherit his father’s fortune almost two years previously at the tender age of sixteen, though (from his current perspective at the least) unlucky enough for his father to have enlisted Lord Barnham to be its custodian until he should eventually come of age. Had they ever stopped to think about it the young gentlemen might have expressed some surprise at the late Mr Springfield’s
selection, for Lord Barnham was his brother-in-law only through marriage, whereas his wife had a brother of her own who might have seemed a more likely candidate for the role. But they had never stopped to think about it. They never stopped to think about anything very much. Tom only regretted the fact that during his minority his uncle allowed him only a small proportion of the income to which he knew he was entitled. The fact that it was one uncle rather than another who was denying him his rights did not enter into his limited consciousness at all.

  ‘But even so my father allows you four times what he gives to me, Tom,’ Mr Forster was reminding him, as his young companion was complaining, not for the first time, about his devilishly out-at-elbow state. ‘I was hoping for an increase as soon as I came of age, but there’s nothing on the horizon quite as yet. I suppose I shall have to have a word with him about it. God, how hateful. I loathe having to go to him for anything. I daresay he’ll remind me that I’m ‘not the only drain on his resources,’ as he usually does. You’re damned fortunate in being an only child, my friend, and at least you’ve inherited already. Once my father passes on I’ll have Rachel to keep as well as myself, unless she finds a husband somewhere to take her off my hands.’

  Mr Springfield had to acknowledge the truth in this.

  ‘Very true, cousin,’ he said. He spoke with a slight lisp. ‘And, you know, I can’t bring myself to think of her as ever being spliced. She’s got that – oh, I don’t know – that sort of dreary, mealy-mouthed air about her. She’s far too clever by half, if you ask me – far too bookish. It quite puts a normal fellow off.’

  Mr Forster tacitly accepted his cousin’s opinion on his sister and resumed a somewhat leisurely perusal of the room.

  ‘Not like the mort over there, you mean?’

  His attention had been caught by a very pretty, very dainty but very ornamental lady who was just then holding a lively conversation with one of her own acquaintance at the other side of the fire.

  Mr Springfield followed his cousin’s glance.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Wetherby, you mean, Forster? Mr Wetherby’s little widow? Taken lodgings up on Rivers Street, so I understand. Rich as a Jewess, so they tell me. Like the look of her, do you? I’ll introduce you if you like.’

  Close to, Mrs Wetherby looked maybe a little less alluring, and considerably less youthful, than had seemed the case at the distance of several yards and to a young gentleman who had only just that week attained his majority the thought of a widow on the shady side of thirty was becoming less attractive by the second. However, having played a part in instigating the introduction it would have been churlish of Mr Forster to retract. And indeed, from the lady’s perspective, the knowledge that the heir to an ailing viscount had requested her acquaintance was altogether a most attractive proposition.

  ‘Most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lordship,’ she bobbed, completely unembarrassed by Mr Springfield’s revelation that, at the present time at least, the viscount-in-waiting was, sadly, to be addressed as just plain ‘Mr’. ‘I was just saying to my good friend Fanny ‘ere,’ (failing, though, to introduce her good friend Fanny, perhaps due to a fear of diverting the exceedingly handsome young viscount-in-waiting’s attention from herself. She needn’t have worried. Poor Fanny, with several years’ experience in excess of her own, was singularly less attractive to the young viscount-in-waiting even than, on closer examination, Mrs Wetherby herself was proving to be.) ‘I was just saying to my good friend Fanny ‘ere that the pump room, as well as anywhere, is quite the place to meet with all the nobs.’

  Mr Forster smiled mechanically, pretended not to notice the kind lady’s hesitating hand, and retreated as quickly as common politeness would allow him to.

  ‘How in God’s name do you know a woman of that ilk, Tom?’ he demanded, departing the vicinity as soon as he could in case the charming young lady should take it into her head to pursue their acquaintance any further. ‘She’s surely a wretched city type.’

  Mr Springfield seemed singularly unabashed.

  ‘Yes, but she’s devilish pretty, and quite a friendly sort, as I’m sure you can tell. I’m developing quite a liking for the company of pretty wenches – especially the friendly ones. I’ve probably met half of them already. Just ask me if you want any further introductions, cousin. I’m sure I could set you up with anyone you choose.’

  Chapter 4

  Despite his cousin’s apparent rejection of the friendly lady in the pump room, Mr Springfield was sufficiently encouraged by Mr Forster’s reception of his offer that the two young gentlemen agreed to meet up again later that same evening in order to effect a voyage of discovery amongst the less reputable female residents of Bath. He was aware, he had assured his cousin, of a very salubrious establishment at which a selection of said damsels might at any time be discovered – an establishment where they would be guaranteed a warm and extremely friendly reception from the young ladies who called the place their home. And so, the evening being cold, but fine, and the gentlemen’s courage well shored up by a large number of brandies in the Sydney Tavern beforehand, they set out in high spirits and a not-inconsiderable sense of adventure towards the maze of alleyways and narrow streets which together formed the heart of the city’s notorious ‘Lower Town’.

  They ventured out of the confines of the Walls and into a roadway known as St James’ Parade before branching out in a westerly direction along a somewhat less savoury-looking alleyway which Mr Springfield assured his cousin was the very best way of reaching their goal. But before they knew it they found themselves in a veritable labyrinth of streets and alleyways - streets which crowded in on each other so closely that the midday sun, even in summer, scarcely penetrated their topmost storeys, streets which housed the most vicious, most degraded, most hopeless individuals that the city of Bath had to offer. And as the alleyways grew darker and grimier, and their shadowy inhabitants grew noisier and increasingly menacing Mr Springfield’s earlier confidence began quickly to desert him. He had thought to have conned the route to perfection, he assured his cousin, as Mr Forster demanded – not for the first time – to know whether he knew what he was at. He had thought he had not miscounted the streets. But, then, of course, things always looked somewhat different in the dark, and he could not be entirely certain that they had come down the road he had expected, and, when all was said and done his courage was now so far evaporated that he was heartily wishing that he had decided to stay at home.

  Mr Forster groaned loudly.

  ‘So you are saying that we are lost. Is that it, Tom?’ he enquired.

  Mr Springfield acknowledged that this was, indeed, a distinct possibility.

  ‘Then perhaps we should turn back?’ Mr Forster was obviously no more convinced than his cousin was that the idea was as good as they had first thought it. ‘I can’t say that I’m all that impressed by the surroundings around here and I do wonder whether the establishment – even were we fortunate enough to locate it, which I doubt – will prove quite as salubrious as perhaps you were led to believe.’

  Mr Springfield was inclined to agree. But just as they were in the process of turning round and starting to retrace their steps an elegant-looking young lady in a pale muslin robe materialised as if from nowhere next to them and took Mr Springfield, who happened to be closest, most tenderly by the arm.

  ‘’ello mah dearies,’ she greeted them, effusively. ‘’ave yer come in search uv somethin’ in partic’lar?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of…’ Mr Springfield began, hopefully. He had obviously recovered his spirits no end.

  Mr Forster, however, was now feeling less than keen. A glimmer of light from an opening door had just revealed a couple of extremely dubious-looking characters. They were hanging about in the doorway towards which the young lady seemed intent on dragging them. He eyed the scene with a good deal of suspicion.

  ‘Err…no, thank you, miss,’ he assured her, grabbing his cousin’s free arm and pulling at him determinedly. ‘We seem to have lo
st our bearings, that is all.’

  The young lady, though, was made of sterner stuff than this. Having identified a suitable young victim – a young victim who, from his somewhat startlingly elaborate attire, quite obviously had a good deal more darby than sense, it would take more than the efforts of a similarly chuckle-headed young companion to wrench the prize from out of her grasp. So she clung tenaciously to Mr Springfield’s captured left arm, whilst his cousin was equally tenacious with his right.

  ‘What the devil…let go of me, you imbecile. Can’t you see that the lady is…?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Thomas – hike yourself out of here as quickly as you can. Can’t you see it’s a trap? There’s a couple of scaly bruisers not a dozen yards away from you. They’ll be robbing you blind before you even know it.’

  And as if to prove the veracity of his assertion, within another two seconds they could clearly hear the thud of lumbering boot steps heading threateningly towards them, accompanied by a frantic squeal from the young lady intimating that ‘they should go along wiv ‘er’.

  In a way, therefore, it was fortunate that Mr Forster’s grip was a little more secure than that of his gentle adversary, who had made the mistake of clinging more to Mr Springfield’s clothing than to his actual arm. With the strength of desperation he gave his cousin an almighty tug, which caused Mr Springfield to reel into the gutter and drag his attacker down with him. Her counterweight was insufficient for her to retain her hold on her target, though it was sufficient to rip the sleeve quite from the rest of his coat. With an ominous ripping sound and an equally ominous shriek the lady fell to the ground, sleeve in hand, whilst the gentlemen beat the hoof in the opposite direction as quickly as their somewhat trembling legs would carry them.

  Chapter 5