‘I think we are fortunate that it only rains, Lady Cecily,’ he was saying. ‘I see from the morning’s paper that there have been gales and vicious storms again, lashing to the north.’
‘Well, it seems only fair to me, Mr Forster – we have had our share of bad weather already in the south. It is time that other places shared the load – though it is still most abominably cold. These chill easterlies quite penetrate one’s bones – though they do, of course, often have the advantage of arriving with the sun.’
‘The wind on my bones concerns me less than the rain on my boxcoat, I have to say, my lady. I live in constant fear of it smelling of wet dog, you see. I would not smell doggy for the world. Our neighbours in Suffolk appear to share their home with a great miscellany of the wretched animals. One can smell them on the road for miles.’
Cecily had to giggle.
‘I am most fond of dogs myself, though I prefer them to remain quite out of doors. But please take comfort, Mr Forster. I have never been aware of a doggy aroma around you, though I know exactly what you mean.’
Mr Forster expressed his great relief.
‘I am most reassured to hear it,’ he asserted. ‘Though do be warned, I beg you - I shall rely on you entirely to give me a hint should ever you discover a whiff. Rachel, I fear, has no nose for this sort of thing at all, and of course I could not possibly trouble my mama.’
The rain had led them to hurry along the street. Cecily was surprised, and disappointed, to find herself in Sydney Place quite as quickly as she did.
A footman respectfully relieved her of her things, which she sniffed at surreptitiously before releasing them into his hands. No hint of dogginess, fortunately – just the delicate scent of jasmine. Mr Forster escorted her into the drawing room, where his sister was sitting painting by the fire. She jumped up as soon as the two of them arrived, and shook Cecily cordially and smilingly by the hand.
‘You are feeling better today, Miss Forster?’ asked Cecily. ‘I am delighted to see it. Your brother intimated that you had maybe made more light of your condition than perhaps it warranted. I am most relieved to find it not the case.’
‘Oh, Robert and my mother both,’ she laughed. ‘They would have had me quite at death’s door had I allowed them to. But see – as you say – I am quite the thing today and looking forward to a cosy afternoon together in front of a blazing fire.’
‘So – what shall you read to us, Mr Forster? I think it is not to be any poetry. You should have heard him last evening, Miss Forster – the poor ‘Lady of the Lake’ came in for some highly critical treatment.’
‘Well as long as it isn’t anything deep and boring – you must pander to young ladies’ taste today, you know, Robert, considering I am not well.’
‘And I suppose I must assume nothing too masculine either, Rachel? I daresay ‘Distressing Shipwrecks’ would not do?’
His sister gave him a reproachful look.
‘Then what about ‘Devotional Pieces’ instead?’
‘I wish you could be serious, Robert. Poor Lady Cecily will wonder what you are about.’
Mr Forster grinned. Cecily could not help but respond.
‘All right, all right, I shall be serious for a moment, I promise. But it is not an easy selection, to be sure. Poetry we have already discarded, politics and religion are banned, but a full length novel would be far too great an undertaking… I know – I have it at last. How about a ‘Tale of Fashionable Life’? Miss Edgeworth’s works are surely just the thing?’
The two ladies expressed their approval of Mr Forster’s final choice and Miss Forster set off on a mission to discover the work from amongst the landlord’s library.
‘You are so fortunate in having a sister, Mr Forster,’ said Cecily, as they awaited the appearance of the book. ‘And you appear to enjoy each other’s company, if I may say so – or, at least, enjoy teasing each other, which I daresay amounts to much the same thing. I have longed for a sister for ever – or even a little brother. It will never happen now, of course.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Even a miracle will never provide you with a sibling. But there are downsides to having brothers and sisters as well as benefits, you know. My two younger brothers squabbled for hours together when they were children. Our nursemaid lived in perpetual despair. And then our youngest sister caught the whooping cough, and died. I was nine years old and away at school at the time but I had doted on little Sarah. She left me quite bereft for ages. I almost resented her for leaving me. It was a very odd thing for me to do. So brothers and sisters do not inevitably bring unmitigated joy. I sometimes envy Mr Springfield, being an only child. At least he has only himself to please.’
‘But perhaps it is better to have loved a sibling, even if only to lose them again. At least you are left with your memories – whereas I – and your cousin – can know none of the joys, as well as knowing none of the despair.’
Mr Forster gave her a somewhat brooding smile. It was the second time in a week that he had heard a sentiment like that.
‘Maybe so,’ he conceded. ‘It is impossible to say, of course. You will never be in my position, my lady, and I shall certainly never be in yours.’
‘No indeed. My parents, I know, would have liked another baby but – well, it obviously never happened for them. And now, of course, they are both gone young. So maybe it’s just as well.’
‘You were fond of your parents, my lady? It is very sad for you to lose them both at such a tender age. You must miss them very much.’
Cecily looked at him and emitted a little sigh.
‘Yes, I do,’ she admitted. ‘I miss my papa particularly – almost more than my mama in some ways. Mama was always quite delicate. It was difficult for her to give me the affection that she wished to, but papa was always there for me – I was his little girl – his only little girl, after all. My aunt and uncle are very kind – they treat me almost as a daughter - I could not ask any more of anyone – but – well, I’m sure you’ll understand that they can never take the place of my parents.’
‘It still sounds very raw for you. How long is it since your mother died?’
‘It is just two years this spring. We had come to Bath for the winter. I was only seventeen and this was my first visit. I was captivated by everything – the shopping, the assemblies, the social round. I could not get my fill of it. I used to get impatient when my mother went to the baths – I didn’t realise just how ill she was. I thought – well, I fear that I thought it a bit of an affectation - something designed just to interfere with my enjoyment. I thought that the time spent in bathing could much better be spent amongst the shops. It’s odd how one gains an entirely different perspective when one finally knows the truth. I wish, now, that I’d been less discontented – more understanding – more satisfied with my lot. It is only a pity that we cannot put back the clock.’
She blushed as she said this. Alfred had suddenly come to mind. Poor Alfred. He was behaving extremely well, extremely decorously. Indeed, his manner towards her had hardly changed at all, though she could tell from his demeanour that he was feeling very hurt. Should she have been contented with her lot – the lot that his parents, as well as her own, had so dearly wished her to have? He would have made her – he would make any young lady – an unexceptionable husband – respectful, affectionate, attentive – with never a moment of concern - but oh, so dull – so very, very dull. She thought of the stultifying evenings, sitting across the fire from him in the draughts of Ascot House, playing cards, maybe, or listening to his tedious drone as he read aloud from some stuffy text or other, or taking a decorous tea with the vicar. She would always have wanted more. She would always have wanted to escape, like a captive songbird from its gilded cage. She would have tried most sincerely to submit to his dreary ways, his pompous propriety – squeeze all the fun, all the life out of her, tried to make herself conform. But Cecily knew that she could never be brought entirely to conform. She allowed herself a quick glance at Mr
Forster. His dark eyes were upon her, appraising her, adding to his allure. She could feel a quiver of excitement pass through her body. Mr Forster was everything that Alfred wasn’t – handsome, suave, desirable, electrifying, unpredictable. She hurriedly smiled and lowered her eyes. A sensible young lady would have been asking herself a few questions. A sensible young lady might have paused to wonder why, after disappearing so very obviously for the space of several long days, Mr Forster had suddenly reappeared once more and taken up with her again as if nothing had ever been the matter. A sensible young lady might have wondered, at the least, about the nature of his intentions towards her, about how responsible, how reliable he might actually prove to be. A sensible young lady, in short, would undoubtedly have chosen Alfred in preference to him. But Cecily was not always a sensible young lady. She was able to put his inconsistencies to the back of her mind. She was able to explain them away in terms of him not, perhaps, wishing to compromise her whilst his sister was not there, able to forget her nagging doubts about the lady in the unseemly colourful gown and able, instead, to be drawn compellingly to him like a tiny moth to a flame. In short, she was perfectly well able to throw her usual caution to the wind where Mr Forster was concerned. Perhaps she needed a little bit of danger in her life.
Mr Forster was looking thoughtful.
‘I am sure that we all wish to put back the clock at times, my lady,’ he assured her. ‘But of course it cannot be. And yet, I wonder whether your mother might have rather you didn’t know of her situation – she might have been pleased that you were enjoying yourself so much. In fact, I am perfectly convinced that she would. What mama would want her daughter to be miserable? After all, it would be the most unnatural thing in the world for her to do.’
‘What a comforting thought, Mr Forster. I had not thought of that at all. Perhaps it is best to be philosophical about these things? Our experiences form our characters, I believe. Perhaps we would be rather colourless were we only ever to do things right?’
‘Ha – yes, indeed, I think you entirely correct – and my character is a veritable rainbow, for I never ever get things right!’
Cecily smiled, and they remained silent for a moment. Mr Forster was gazing at the fire now, burning in flickering caverns in the grate.
‘My father has accepted his lot in life,’ he went on, musingly. ‘He has suffered much disappointment and injury in his lifetime – things he has never ever talked about before – and he has got on with life regardless and done the best he can. He has opened up a very great deal to me in the past few days or so. I have never known the like of it before. It is partly your influence, it seems to me, my lady. Apparently you remind him of a long lost love. More than thirty years have come and gone, yet he remembers the lady with fondness still. He has suddenly felt the need to talk to me about it. It has quite caught me by surprise. I have never seen him so – well, so vulnerable before.’
‘He has always struck me as a somewhat lonely figure, if I may say so, Mr Forster – disappointed, unfulfilled, unable to be himself. I am glad that he has found a way to talk to you. I am sure it will do him some good.’
‘I hope it will. I feel a great need to be of use. He has done his best to – well, let’s just say that he has always done his best for me, though I never really thought of it before. I was always conscious of what he did not do for me and not so conscious of what he actually did. But I feel, at last, a kind of understanding of him. We are not so very different after all. His hopes and needs, back then, are my hopes and needs right now. And now that I understand him a little I think that I can help him. I shall be very, very pleased to do so.’
Cecily looked at him without saying a word. So he did have some character after all. She had hoped that he might and she had hoped that he might feel able reveal it. His person, his elegance, his liveliness, his humour were all alluring, and delightful. She would not wish them gone. They were all things of great importance to her– much more important than she really thought they should, she knew. But now, at last, he had started to reveal a much deeper, more thoughtful, more sensitive side to her – the side that complemented this lighter side and made everything about him complete.
The sudden rattling of the windows attracted their attention. The wind had sprung up and was whistling in through the crevices around the frames. They both went across to look out into the street. A few brave souls were scurrying across the flagstones and into the Sydney Hotel, their umbrellas blowing inside out in the face of the driving rain. Robert pulled the curtains across. They were heavy and long and made the room feel instantly warm, instantly secure. Cecily turned towards him and gave him a little smile.
‘I’m glad we are in here and not out in the rain,’ she told him, regaining her seat as Miss Forster reappeared in the drawing room at last. ‘Perhaps it will have died down a little by the time I go back home.’
Chapter 25
Captain King was eyeing his cousin quite thoughtfully as they slowly paced the gravel walk that Sunday afternoon. He had just sat through the service with her and been introduced to Lady Barnham and Miss Forster, who had left for an engagement elsewhere. After the driving rain and gales of the past couple of days the weather had unexpectedly cleared. The sunshine had emerged from behind some feathery clouds and there was a definite feeling of spring. Cecily had been tripping along beside him, looking as happy and excited as ever he had seen her. The afternoon and evening spent with the Forsters had been an unmitigated delight – Mr Forster’s reading voice had been just as she had expected it would be – firm, expressive, well modulated, engaging. She had felt that she could listen to him all day. Lord Barnham had been unwaveringly kind. She had watched him with renewed interest as they ate their meal. So she reminded him of a long lost love. How delightful! It had given him an added piquancy somehow. His son had engaged him in conversation concerning the stars. Had the weather only allowed it she had been quite convinced that they should all have ended the night in some star-gazing together – well, all apart from her ladyship, of course. Lady Barnham had found no interest whatsoever in a discussion on how the planets glimmered and twinkled in the sky. Her only contribution had revolved around the lighting of a more domestic kind – such as whether they yet had street lights across the whole of Dorking, and whether Mrs King ever ventured forth there after dark. Cecily could only feel pleased that Mr Forster and his father were conversing together at last. She had thought them more at ease with one another than ever she had seen them before.
She had been engaged with them again for the theatre on the Saturday – where Mr Forster’s attentions could not have been more marked. He had thought to bring a cushion for her, arranged her shawl to keep out the draughts, bought a programme for her to keep. And he had sat so closely next to her, commenting most entertainingly throughout the production, that it was as if no other person existed in the world for him, apart, of course, from her.
Captain King sighed heavily as he watched her on the path. He knew that what he had to say to her would be most unwelcome indeed.
Cecily wasn’t immediately aware of his gaze. Her bonnet got annoyingly in the way. But when she did turn her head a little she returned his glance, a little blushingly, and stopped for a moment by a bench.
‘Is – do you have anything to say to me, Alfred?’ she asked him eventually, sitting down and patting the bench beside her. His studied look was beginning to unnerve her. ‘Only you have been looking at me this past few minutes, I’m sure. I hope I have done nothing to offend you?’
For a horrible moment the thought that he might have decided to try his luck with her again flashed vividly through her mind. His first words did little to alleviate her concern.
‘No, my dear,’ he assured her, placing himself carefully down beside her. A robin was singing wistfully nearby. ‘You have done nothing at all to offend me. I hope that we have always been friends – and that we always shall.’
Cecily felt a little bemused. Alfred was not normally given
to sentimentality. He was sounding very odd.
‘Well, as far as I’m concerned we shall be, Alfred. We have always been most fond of each other, have we not? I see no reason for anything to change. I should like to think that I shall always be your friend.’
Alfred nodded and gave her a slightly regretful smile. It did not make her feel a jot more comfortable.
‘Whatever is the matter, Alfred?’ she demanded, eventually. She feared that his silence would last for the rest of the day. ‘I wish you would say something rather than sitting on this bench in total silence.’
He looked at her again resignedly.
‘It concerns Mr Forster, Cess,’ he began, a little bluntly. ‘I must admit that I’m a little concerned about him. I wish – I need to know where Mr Forster stands in relation to yourself.’
A sudden shock ran through her. She found herself blushing. She felt rather guilty, though she did not quite know why.
‘Mr Forster, Alfred? Miss…Miss Forster’s brother? But why ever should you be concerned about him?’
‘I do not…I suppose I need to know what your situation is in respect to him.’
‘Well, I am not quite sure what it is that you are asking me. Mr Forster is not – I mean, he has not yet asked me to marry him, if that is your concern?’
Her cousin nodded. He was looking almost as uncomfortable as she was.
‘And – forgive me, Cess – I know it is not easy for a young female to talk of these things, especially to… well…but it is most important that you are honest with me on this one. May I ask – if he were to ask you to marry him – would it be your intention to accept?’
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