by John Kerr
Following a leisurely inspection of the mansion, with four bedrooms and baths on the second floor, servants’ quarters on the third, and a library, dining-room, solarium, and modern kitchen in addition to the drawing-room on the ground floor, Sneed accompanied Cecilia on a tour of the coach house, with its rooms for the coachman, and adjoining stables, with stalls for three horses, concluding the visit with a stroll through the orchard, planted in neat rows of apple trees. As they returned to the carriage, Sneed said, ‘Well, Miss Henderson, a very fine property, I’m sure you’d agree.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, admiring the white stone façade. ‘Very fine.’
‘And, as it’s adjacent to the common, it has rather the feel of a country estate, though it only occupies two acres.’
‘How much?’ said Cecilia, turning to Sneed.
‘Beg pardon?’
‘What price is the seller asking?’
Unaccustomed to doing business with a woman, Sneed appeared to have been struck by a sudden nervous affliction. ‘Er, ah,’ he stammered. ‘I’m not sure I …’ He halted, staring at Cecilia with a perplexed expression.
‘Come now, Mr Sneed,’ she said. ‘Surely the seller is demanding a price.’
‘Why, yes,’ agreed Sneed, recovering his senses. ‘Yes, of course. Perhaps I, ah, could speak to your banker.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Cecilia, with a small stamp of her foot.
‘Well, ah, Miss Henderson,’ said Sneed in a low, conspiratorial tone, ‘the seller is asking a price of fifteen thousand.’
She considered. ‘You may advise the seller,’ she said after a moment, ‘that I’m prepared to pay twelve.’
In a matter of days Sneed negotiated a final price of £12,500 for the property, and Cecilia promptly directed the solicitor Throckmorton to draw up the necessary legal papers. In a single visit to the offices of her banker on the Strand she arranged to liquidate sufficient securities to effect the purchase, and, within a fortnight of her conversation at dinner with Dr Gully, she was, in the words of her lawyer, ‘the fee simple owner of The Priory, free of all mortgages, liens, or encumbrances’. At the small writing-desk in her room at the Langham, Cecilia dipped her quill in an inkpot and composed a note to Dr Gully:
5 November 1870
Dear James
I have just returned from the offices of my solicitor where I was shown the deed to the property I have purchased, a comfortably large house known as The Priory located in Balham, a short drive from central London. While it doesn’t compare to the beauty of the Malvern Hills, it is a quaint village in a rustic setting, with a common adjoining my house, where I intend to keep horses. I must now set about the tasks of acquiring furniture and artworks and employing household staff.
You must come as soon as your affairs at the hydro permit and see my new home and hopefully look for something suitable for yourself. Please don’t tarry as I have longed to see you.
Your beloved darling,
Cecilia
She blew softly on the stationery, folded it in an envelope and, after addressing it to the doctor, hurried to the front desk to post it. She filled the intervening days as she awaited Gully’s reply in the company of another individual recommended by her banker, a dandy by the name of Stringfellow who dealt in furnishings and works of art and was pleased to accompany Cecilia to the finest shops and galleries in Mayfair. Returning to her hotel at the end of a long day of shopping for extravagant furnishings, carpets, paintings, and bronzes, Cecilia was handed a letter by the desk clerk, an envelope addressed in familiar hand. Returning to her room, she sat by the window, slit open the envelope and quickly read Gully’s letter. My dear Cecilia, he began, I confess I was somewhat startled to learn that you have already acquired a household in the vicinity of London. Are you not, he wondered, proceeding with undue haste? Gully assured Cecilia that he respected her judgement and assumed her financial resources were sufficient, professed that he loved her dearly and closed with a promise to travel to London as soon as it could be arranged. She stared out the window at the busy street below, resentful of the patronizing, almost parental, tone of Gully’s letter and yet excited by the prospect of seeing him after weeks of separation.
After the lapse of two days a telegram arrived, delivered to Cecilia’s room by a page as she was breakfasting on poached eggs with kippers. Tearing open the envelope, she read:
ARRIVE SATURDAY 3:15 PADDINGTON STOP WILL PROCEED TO LANGHAM STOP J M GULLY
What shall I wear, she wondered aloud? Pushing aside her breakfast, she rushed to the shops and bought an array of gowns and shoes dyed to match. Returning to her room, she sat, sipping a glass of wine and trying to decide which of the gowns to wear.
She chose to wait in the hotel’s elegant lobby, seated beneath a crystal chandelier, wearing the dark-green dress with silk ruffles and collar and matching hat and her finest jewellery. She observed Gully as he entered the lobby, attired as usual in a top hat, black wool frockcoat and silk waistcoat. and immediately accosted by another hotel guest, a distinguished-looking gentlemen who shook his hand and said, ‘Ah, Dr Gully, how are you, sir?’ in a voice loud enough for Cecilia to overhear. Eyeing Cecilia, Gully walked quickly to her and lightly kissed her hand as she rose to greet him. ‘Hallo, my dear,’ he said with a smile. ‘What a beautiful dress.’
‘The latest Paris fashion.’
‘Shall we have tea?’ said Gully, noticing the waiters serving hotel guests in the far corner of the spacious lobby where a string quartet was playing.
Seated together on a sofa with their tea, and, in the case of Cecilia, a plate of pastries, Gully smiled and said, ‘You appear to be in rosy good health, my dear. London must agree with you.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t say my dear,’ said Cecilia, delicately holding her teacup. ‘It sounds as if you are speaking to your niece.’
‘Well, then,’ said Gully affably, ‘I shall address you as my darling.’ He took a sip of chamomile tea as Cecilia nibbled a petit four. ‘I see you’ve succumbed to bad habits,’ he observed.
‘Eating pastries?’ she said with a toss of her auburn curls. Gully nodded. ‘Well, James, this is not the hydro and, as I’m completely cured, I shall do as I please.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, though as your physician I’d advise you to refrain from these social vices and take plenty of exercise out-of-doors.’
Finishing her tea, Cecilia put her cup aside and said, ‘I’ll have ample opportunity for exercise at my new home.’ He responded with an expectant look. ‘The Priory,’ she added. ‘We’re going to see it in the morning.’
‘I do worry, my dear – my darling – that you’ve acted impulsively on a matter of such importance.’ Cecilia merely smiled and sampled another pastry.
It was a bright, cold autumn day with a dusting of frost on the fallow fields as the four-in-hand rumbled along the thoroughfare. Cecilia sat close beside Gully on the upholstered seat, warmed by her rabbit-fur collar and hat and the cashmere blanket spread over their laps. ‘Do you know Balham?’ she asked.
‘I once gave a lecture there,’ said Gully with a nod. ‘Charming village as I recall.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Cecilia, ‘with a common called Tooting Bec, a rather humorous name.’
Gully smiled as he gazed out at the trees and open fields. Patting her knee under the blanket, he said, ‘You’ve no idea how happy I am. I missed you terribly.’
‘And I you.’ She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. After a few minutes, he noticed a signpost for Balham, 1½ miles, and watched as the steeples and rooftops of the town came into view. Sliding open the small rectangular box above them, Cecilia called to the driver, ‘Turn right on Bedford Hill Road, toward the common.’
‘Aye, ma’am.’
Cecilia wore a prideful, confident expression as the driver brought the coach to a halt in front of The Priory. ‘My goodness,’ said Gully, peering out the window at the large stone house. Cecilia smiled briefly and then took the co
achman’s hand as he opened the door and helped her down. ‘I had no idea,’ said Gully, as he climbed down after her somewhat stiffly, ‘that you had acquired such a … well, something so grand.’
‘Oh, pshaw,’ said Cecilia with a girlish laugh. ‘It’s merely a country house. And’ – she paused to look him in the eye – ‘what’s expected of someone in my position.’
‘I see,’ said Gully, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked with her to the imposing entrance.
Taking a key from her purse, Cecilia unlocked the door and led the way through the hall into the drawing-room. ‘The furniture,’ she said, ‘at least the first of it, should be delivered in the morning.’ Walking to the centre of the empty room, which seemed even larger than its actual dimensions, she turned again to Gully and said, ‘Well, James? What do you think?’
Gully looked carefully around the room and then walked over to examine the intricately carved marble fireplace. ‘It’s … it’s very fine, Cecilia,’ he said at length in an uncharacteristically low tone of voice. ‘Very fine indeed.’
After taking Gully on a tour of the house, outbuildings, and orchard, she held his hand as they walked to the carriage. ‘We should go into the town,’ she said, as he held open the door, ‘and have a look round.’ Once Gully was seated beside her, she instructed the driver to take them to Balham, turned to Gully with a smile and said, ‘We must find you suitable lodgings.’
Gully knitted his brow and said, ‘I worry about neglecting my duties at the hydro. After all, darling, I’ve spent the last twenty-five years—’
‘You needn’t neglect your duties. What about Dr Wilson? Surely he can look after things in your absence.’
‘But with patients like Lord Tennyson and Gladstone,’ said Gully with some exasperation, ‘I’m expected to be on hand. For private consultations.’
‘You shall divide your time,’ said Cecilia sharply, ‘between Malvern and Balham. I insist you find lodgings here.’
‘But, darling …’
‘Let’s not have a row.’ Having settled the matter, Cecilia called to the driver, ‘Take us to the hotel, if you please.’ Gully stared sullenly out the window, observing the shops, churches, and public houses as the carriage creaked along the cobblestone streets of the village and came to a stop before the three-storey Bedford Hotel. Alighting from the carriage, Cecilia instructed the driver to wait and then set off down Balham High Street with Gully at her side. Within minutes they turned on Bedford Hill Road and entered a quiet residential neighbourhood comprised of sturdy brick and stone cottages. At the end of the block they halted at a wrought-iron gate before an attractive redbrick house with a sign in the front window that read: To Let – Contact Jno. Smyth & Sons, High Street, Balham. Cecilia briefly studied the building and then turned to Gully. ‘It’s just right,’ she said. ‘No more than a five minute walk from The Priory.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Gully, standing with his hands on the gate. ‘Depending, of course, on the cost.’
‘Don’t worry about the cost,’ said Cecilia. ‘If need be, I shall pay the rent.’
‘You’ll do no such thing. If it suits, I’m perfectly prepared to absorb the expense.’
‘Oh, James,’ said Cecilia with a happy smile, clutching his arm. ‘Let’s call on the agent.’
Within the hour, Gully, introducing himself to the property agent as Cecilia’s uncle, arranged to tour the cottage, known as Orwell Lodge, which had two upstairs bedrooms and a comfortable parlour and study, and negotiated satisfactory terms for a one-year rental. ‘As the landlord has supplied the furnishings,’ he said, as he returned with Cecilia to the hotel, ‘I should be in a position to settle in as soon as I fetch my belongings from the hydro.’
‘And I shall be moving to The Priory,’ said Cecilia, walking beside him arm-in-arm, ‘by the middle of next week.’
After days supervising large numbers of workmen – housepainters, plumbers, and handymen – readying the house for occupancy and overseeing the delivery of furniture, carpets, artworks, mirrors to be hung in every room and hallway, household necessities, not to mention her extensive wardrobe, Cecilia prepared to spend her first night at The Priory. For the occasion, the newly hired cook was roasting a leg of lamb for a sumptuous dinner Cecilia would share with Dr Gully, just returned from the hydro. At the appointed hour, he appeared at the front door, gave the brass knocker a sharp rap and was greeted by a servant in a black dress and starched white cap. ‘Good evening,’ she said with slight bow. ‘The missus will be down shortly.’ Gully hung up his hat and worsted cloak and walked into the drawing-room, illuminated by gaslights, his tread muffled by a thick Persian carpet. He stared at a large oil landscape over the mantel and then looked around the spacious room, richly appointed with fine English furniture: a Chippendale secretary and writing desk, a rosewood settee and matching armchairs facing the marble fireplace, and a Broadwood walnut piano in the corner. Lightly running his hand over the back of the settee, Gully studied the painting and then turned as Cecilia, wearing a low-cut, red silk dress with a strand of pearls at her neck, descended the elegant curved staircase.
‘What an extraordinary transformation,’ he said, as she walked up and took his hands.
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s exceptional.’ He paused to give her a kiss and said, ‘One might imagine you’ve lived here for some time. How did you manage it?’
‘Oh, I’ve found a very efficient assistant – Mrs Clark – who’s been most helpful overseeing the workmen. And Mr Stringfellow, of course, was invaluable when it came to the selection of furnishings and fine art.’
‘Speaking of art,’ said Gully, approaching the fireplace, ‘tell me about this painting.’
‘A Gainsborough. Do you like it?’
‘An actual Gainsborough?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, I must say,’ he said, walking over and taking her hand, ‘you’ve outdone yourself. On the whole, as fine a drawing-room as any in Mayfair or Belgravia.’
‘And,’ she said with a suggestive look, ‘you’ve yet to see my bedroom.’
‘Beg pardon,’ said the parlourmaid, standing in the entrance to the dining-room.
Gully sat next to Cecilia at one end of the long mahogany table, which accommodated twelve chairs upholstered in red leather, dabbing at his chin with a napkin following roast beef accompanied by gravy, Yorkshire pudding, and haricots. Pouring the last of the wine, a French claret, in her goblet, Cecilia said, ‘You’ll be pleased to know, James, that I’ve dispensed with dessert.’
‘After an over-abundance of food and wine,’ said Gully with a pleasant smile, ‘I’m quite sure I’d have no room for it.’ He gazed at her in the flickering light from an elaborate, gold candelabrum, admiring her rosebud lips and the soft white skin of her neck, exposed by her up-combed hair. Sipping her wine, she lightly rubbed her knee against his under the table. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Can you hear my petticoats rustle?’
‘Do the servants,’ he asked quietly, leaning closer to her, ‘live in the house?’
‘Several have quarters in the coach-house, other than Mrs Clark, who has her own room upstairs.’ In response to Gully’s concerned look, she added, ‘Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure she’s retired for the evening.’ Finishing her wine, Cecilia rose from the table, took Gully by the hand and wordlessly led him up the staircase. Quietly entering the master bedroom, panelled in oak, with a four-poster bed, she locked the door and removed the key and then closed the heavy curtains. Gully took her in his arms and kissed her, softly at first but with growing intensity as his hands explored the soft curves of her back and hips beneath the silk.
‘Mmm,’ she murmured, as he ran his hand lightly across her breasts. ‘Undress while I go to my boudoir. I’ll just be a minute.’
Emerging from her boudoir, Cecilia observed Gully lying in the four-poster bed with his head propped up on pillows, in the dim light of a single candle on the chest of drawers. Walking to the bed
side, she glanced at his bare shoulders and chest and then untied the sash of her silk robe and let it fall to the floor. For a moment he stared at her breasts, her slender waist and the curves of her hips and then silently drew back the covers.
Chapter Six
SEATED ON A cushioned stool before the oval mirror in her boudoir, Cecilia, in her newest embroidered silk dressing-gown, combed out her auburn hair. Turning to the side, she examined her profile and then powdered her nose, rouged her cheeks, and lastly painted her lips a deep red gloss. At the sound of footsteps, she observed the reflection of Mrs Clark, standing in the doorway.
‘Let me help you with your hair,’ said Mrs Clark, a petite woman in her mid-forties who wore her dark hair in a bun and almost always dressed in black. She stood behind Cecilia, who sat motionless as Mrs Clark adroitly combed and pinned up her hair. ‘There,’ said Mrs Clark, lightly placing her hands on Cecilia’s shoulders. ‘You look quite beautiful, Cissie, as always.’
