Mr Forster's Fortune

by Lizzie Church

  ‘I have never before seen such a crush as this, Miss Forster,’ confided Cecily, reclaiming what sadly restricted space was now left to her on the bench. Lady Barnham, in all her splendour, had required a larger-than-usual portion of it for her personal accommodation. ‘I have engaged myself to your brother for the first two dances but I despair of him finding me amongst all these crowds.’

  ‘He is attending my father to the card room I believe, Lady Cecily. I am sure he will find us in a moment.’

  ‘He may have more of a chance now that you are arrived. A larger party is more readily discovered than a small one, I suppose.’

  Even so, the orchestra had completed its preliminaries and several couples were already in position before the gentleman in question managed to spot her across the room. By this time her hand had already been claimed for some further dances by a friend of her late father, and she had then been introduced to a friend of his, a smart lieutenant in the navy. Cecily felt happy that she should not sit down for the rest of the evening. She felt even happier that she had had the good fortune to reserve herself for the handsomest gentleman in the ballroom before she had chanced to book herself up for the entire evening ahead.

  ‘I hope you were happy with your purchases today, Lady Cecily,’ he began as she took his hand to take their places in the set. Despite the barrier of her glove she still felt a sudden surge of tingling excitement as she felt his fingers around hers for the very first time. ‘I could see that you had been busy.’

  ‘Not as busy as my aunt would have me be, Mr Forster,’ she assured him. ‘I declare she is a monstrous bad influence on me. Loving pretty things herself, and buying whatever it is that takes her fancy, she cannot conceive that I have no wish at all to do exactly the self same thing. She would have me purchase half of Bath if I would let her.’

  ‘And yet I know of no young lady who is less in need of embellishment than you are. Why, you could garb yourself in a simple shift and still be the most beautiful creature in the entire room.’

  Cecily blushed, most prettily.

  ‘Well, you may say so if you wish, Mr Forster, but I should set a good many tongues a-wagging if I did so. We ladies are bound by convention, you know. I should be ruined for ever should I turn up to an assembly in a shift.’

  ‘Perhaps amongst the ladies, I suppose, though I think you would find that not one of the gentlemen would object.’

  The dance having started, and Cecily, by dint of her status, finding herself near the top of the set, she was luckily able to abandon this somewhat dangerous line of conversation in favour of weaving her way energetically between the dancers instead.

  ‘I must admit to being heartily relieved at the absence of swords at our Bath assemblies, my lady,’ remarked Mr Forster, as they safely managed to join hands once again. Mr Forster was proving a most adept and elegant dancer. She had more than half suspected that he would be. ‘I was party to a most unfortunate occurrence at a private ball not so very long ago, when a gentleman’s sword somehow managed to entwine itself within my partner’s overdress. I regret that not one of us realised quite what had happened until our turn came to set off in opposite directions, and for a short moment she appeared oddly unable to move. I thought, perhaps, that she had forgot the way - until a most ominous ripping sound emerged from quite where she was standing. The ensuing shriek was most disconcerting. Her composure, I fear, was quite ruined, though that was nothing in comparison to her gown. It was a military gentleman, I have no need to inform you – a military man who was entirely to blame. Were I to have any influence over anything at all I should take the opportunity of banning the wearing of all such vulgar displays of weaponry in any public places, for what with their swords and their muskets they put on far too much of a show. Us non-military gentlemen find ourselves at quite some disadvantage – we cannot compete with all their finery at all.’

  ‘But I understand that your two brothers are in the military, Mr Forster?’ suggested Cecily. ‘Do you find yourself envious of their activities – or pleased to escape the discomforts of so demanding a regime?’

  ‘Oh, envious, without a doubt. I come from a military family, after all. Even my youngest brother, who is only just eighteen, is much admired by the ladies in his regimentals, despite being a mere volunteer. My cousin and I are quite in despair. We find no way to compete.’

  ‘Ladies, ladies, ladies. I was thinking of the lifestyle – the challenge – the feeling of achievement in gaining one’s ends – whilst all you can think of is the impression you’d make in your uniform. Do you and your cousin think of nothing other than what the ladies may think of your attire?’

  ‘But what is more important than a lady’s opinion? You would have me abjure your influence entirely – the influence of all your sex – by suggesting that I think of something else.’

  Cecily was not to be mollified.

  ‘You are perhaps wise to value our opinions, Mr Forster,’ she acknowledged, ‘though I should hope that they would encompass more important things than your looks. After all, looks are quite ephemeral. They do not last for long. I should be a very sad young lady indeed to esteem a gentleman entirely for his looks. It is character – integrity - goodness, if you like – it is that sort of thing that is much more important than looks, and it is character that I really admire.’

  She was conscious as she said this of a slight feeling of hypocrisy, which she tried unsuccessfully to set aside. After all, it had been his looks which had first attracted her attention, and his charm which attracted her still. She suddenly realised that she knew very little of his character at all. It came as quite a revelation to her. She had not thought of herself as quite as shallow as that before.

  Mr Forster nodded sardonically, with a smile.

  ‘Bravo, my lady,’ he acknowledged. ‘I agree with you entirely. And I hope that you will approve of my character just as much as I approve of your looks.’

  Chapter 7

  It was perhaps a little unfortunate that the dance ending promptly at eleven o’clock, and the night being frosty but dry, Mr Forster and Mr Springfield decided to while away a further hour or so in the bar of the Rifleman’s Arms before returning home. In fact, their decision was doubly unfortunate in that, finding it sadly lacking in their first choice of quarry – that is, in a selection of amiable young ladies on whom to spend their assorted gold coin - but remarkably accommodating in terms of good ale, friendly locals and the pleasures of a roaring fire, both young gentlemen found themselves remaining in place for a good deal longer than they had originally intended. Even worse, they finally discovered that they were just a tad incapable of disporting themselves in a reasonably straight line when they did, eventually, agree to moving on.

  ‘I say, Forster.’ Mr Springfield, in particular, was experiencing severe difficulty in connecting with the landmark on which he had set his sights. ‘I don’t know about you, old chap – but I have to say that my nob feels most pecu…peculiarly cagged.’

  His cousin, looking across at him and finding a somewhat startling double representation of what he sensed was more usually a single young man, nodded his head a little weakly and slurringly agreed.

  ‘Would – would you say… on a scale of one to ten, Thom…Thomas – what would you give the odds on reaching our homes in one piece?’

  ‘No idea, old chap – no idea at all. In fact, now you come to men…mention it I have to say – I’ve no – have you any idea of wherever we are going to at all?’

  Mr Forster thought carefully about this for a moment. Where was he going? It was a singularly obvious question, to which the answer, he felt perfectly convinced, would be with him in a shot. He seemed to think…yes, it was coming to him – he knew it was in there somewhere. Err… oh. No, his mind had gone completely blank. He was no more able to say where he was going than – well, of being able to do anything much at all just then.

  ‘Then let’s stop this chair,’ suggested Mr Springfield, as a flare from a passing s
edan caught his wandering attention. ‘I’m sh..sure these good people will tell us where to go. I’m damned if I can remember anything just now.’

  It was all singularly unfortunate, really. For it so turned out that the sedan-bearers, apparently more intent on getting their elderly, aristocratic and particularly nervous passenger home than on assisting two rum coves on a mission to get themselves a plan, were so unaccommodating that Mr Springfield instantly took umbrage, aimed a dart at the elderly fellow at the front of the chair and, unaccountably managing to catch his target plumb on the temple, had the very great astonishment of seeing him collapse in a heap on the ground.

  ‘God blind… – you beetle-head, Thomas – what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Mr Springfield eyed his hapless victim with a good deal of rueful surprise. It was fortunate that the old gentleman was not unduly hurt. Mr Forster staggered his way towards him in an effort to assist him to his feet.

  ‘I say…most awfully sorry, old chap,’ protested Mr Springfield, lurching uncertainly towards a somewhat similar point as his cousin. ‘Here – let me make it up to you. Errr…Where was it you were taking this thing? I’d really like to [hic] offer you a hand.’

  And with a most creditable determination he forced his way to the front of the vehicle, positioned himself comfortably, if a little unsteadily, between the shafts, hauled the chair an inch or two off the ground and set off in a random direction at a spanking pace, with his rearguard partner joining their bewildered and oddly panicky passenger in begging him immediately to desist.

  Mr Forster - the chill of the air and the noise of the furore serving equally to bring him to his bearings just sufficiently to suggest the expediency of a speedy withdrawal, and finding his cousin’s erstwhile victim so much recovered that he was able to set off in hot pursuit of the rapidly disappearing chair with no apparent difficulty whatsoever - backed away softly, elected to retreat in the opposite direction, and casually whistled softly to himself as he navigated a meandering journey home.

  Chapter 8

  Cecily soon grew used to the daily routines associated with an extended stay in Bath. The day generally started with a stroll in the pump rooms to acknowledge acquaintance, study the fashions, listen (or pretend to listen) to the orchestra, occasionally drink the water and (rather more enthusiastically) take tea with her aunt and friends. There followed a music lesson – Cecily was newly learning the guitar – or a ramble about town – perhaps a visit to the bookshops on North Parade Passage, or the circulating library on Cheap Street, where she had parted with her subscription at the very first opportunity (although rather more for the opportunity it provided for her to keep up with the latest publications than to indulge a serious passion for reading books), or selecting sheet music on Milsom Street to take back home to try. Then there were all the morning calls to make or be received. Everywhere they walked there were people just like them, doing the self same things – parading about town, meeting acquaintance, researching shop windows, acquiring tickets – and all looking more-or-less cold, wet, muddy and uncomfortable, according to the whim of the day. The evenings followed a similar routine – card parties, assemblies, concerts, the play. Sunday was taken up with the church service, a visit to the pump room and a promenade – within the assembly room when the weather was particularly foul or around the town when dry.

  She had met up with her new acquaintance – the highly ornamented Mrs Springfield, the somewhat formidable Lady Barnham, Miss Forster – virtually every day somewhere about the town and, most naturally, her aunt had tended to attach herself to the older ladies to discuss important developments in bonnets and trim whilst she and Miss Forster walked on ahead on their own. Miss Forster was most fond of art, and though Cecily was herself no great artist she had no objection to whiling away a productive hour or two in wandering round the art and print shops which lined each side of the road.

  ‘Bath is quite a haunt of artists, my lady,’ Miss Forster informed her. ‘I am told that there are well over a hundred and fifty of them in this part of town. Many of them specialise in portraiture, of course. There are plenty of people wanting a likeness for one reason or another, but my own interests are more botanical than human. I have always had a great affinity with plants.’

  Cecily pulled a face and eyed some very detailed botanical originals with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘I cannot say that I follow you there, Miss Forster. I do appreciate plants, of course – both flowers and trees – but my interests are more general, I think. I prefer the landscapes – the panorama – the wider world at large. Flowers and trees form part of that, of course, but I prefer them to illustrate something greater, rather than being the subjects in themselves.’

  ‘That’s what Robert says. He is quite caught up by the current enthusiasm for wild, romantic prospects and sweeping vistas. He revels in light and shade – rugged, craggy hillsides caught in almighty storms – that sort of thing. I fear we are not much alike in that respect. I prefer the more pedestrian, the more realistic – like this work, for example. The detail in it is most impressive – do you not think? Just look at that leaf – the brush strokes, the different colours giving texture and shape – just like Mr Sowerby’s best works. That is the sort of thing that I admire in a painting – and something that I attempt (not wholly successfully, I’m afraid) to replicate for myself.’

  In spite of their very differing opinions as to the merits of art the two young ladies were so well pleased with each other that the expedition ended with Cecily inviting Miss Forster to take a walk with her in Sydney Gardens the following afternoon – an invitation which was warmly received, and accepted, in its turn. But in her eagerness to be outside Cecily set off far too early and arrived at Sydney Place well in advance of the appointed time. Miss Forster was not quite ready, the servant informed her. Would she care to step upstairs?

  Cecily had seen little of Lord Barnham since twelfth night. He had always been out, or secreted in his study, whenever she had called. But this afternoon he was sitting in the drawing room, pouring over what looked like some scientific journals at a table. He rose courteously, if a little stiffly, as soon as she entered the room.

  ‘You find me deep in my studies, Lady Cecily,’ he informed her, offering her a seat. Aunt Forster was lying back on a sofa, mouth open, snoring rhythmically and gently; the epitome of peace. Cecily smiled and shook her head. She did not wish to disturb her. Miss Forster would surely not be long. ‘I have had to abandon my office for a while, for the fire there smokes so badly that it causes me to cough.’

  ‘And what is it that you study, my lord?’

  ‘I study the stars, my lady – all the planets up above. They hold a fascination for me, I do not know quite why.’

  Cecily moved over to examine the work on the table. His lordship was wearing some old-fashioned breeches and a faded, informal robe. He smelt a little fusty. She wondered whether Lady Barnham cared.

  ‘And what is it that you find out about them?’ she asked him.

  ‘Frustratingly little, I fear. I lack the equipment to make any novel discoveries, though I spend many a happy evening at home in Brandrigg, staring into the darkness, pondering. There is a lot more left for us to discover, I do believe, though I will have to leave that to the likes of Mr Herschel to unearth.’

  Cecily looked again at the plans and diagrams of stars festooned upon the table. Lord Barnham had sounded somewhat wistful. She fleetingly wondered whether he felt lonely, sitting on his own, evening after evening, gazing and pondering under the mystical, twinkling sky.

  He pointed out some of the major constellations to her, and how she might distinguish them. He seemed quite pleased that she actually showed an interest.

  ‘Does no-one in the family share your fascination, my lord?’

  Lord Barnham shook his head and cast her a wistful little smile.

  ‘No – it is purely an eccentricity of my own. My children are – well, they have interests o
f their own, and Lady Barnham forbids me to talk of it. She finds it sadly dull.’

  Cecily could see that she might. Lady Barnham did not look the kind of person to find any study of her husband’s at all intriguing.

  Miss Forster was ready at last and, the day itself proving most propitious – cold and blue –they set out keenly into the bright winter sunshine.

  ‘I am so sorry to have kept you, my lady. I hope you did not mind.’

  ‘Not at all. Your father did his best to entertain me. He was telling me of the stars.’

  Miss Forster gave her a sidelong glance.

  ‘Oh dear. I do apologise. He does not normally inhabit the drawing room. His office must be smoking once again.’

  They waited for a moment at the edge of the road, which was busy and noisy with traffic – carts, carriages, wagons, horsemen – before reaching the sanctuary of the gardens beyond. And almost immediately they found themselves in another world – the noise diminishing with every step, the hard stone pavements replaced by gravel and grass, the carts and carriages replaced by birds flitting by them or searching for insects on the hard frosty ground.

  An old man in a faded robe was watching them wistfully through an upstairs window. And then he was watching nothing as they disappeared from view. He sat down desolately on the sofa by his sister. And then, for the first time in almost thirty years, he put his head in his hands, and wept.

  For some strange reason Cecily felt a shadow fleetingly descend upon her – just the faintest shadow of sadness – and a moment later it was gone.

  ‘I’m glad we agreed on a walk, Miss Forster,’ she said, rousing herself once more. ‘I have always loved to go walking when the days are cold and bright like this. I must admit to feeling quite cooped up if I am stuck inside for long.’