Mr Forster's Fortune (14 page)

‘My sister has resorted to reading whilst
stuck indoors, my lady,’ he began, having claimed her at last and taken his place in the set. She could feel the sensation of his fingers around hers even now, though he was standing a distance away. It really felt most peculiarly exciting. ‘She has been enjoying ‘The Lady of the Lake’. The author is new to her, I believe. She is not normally a great reader – not of poetry, at any event, though she enjoys more factual volumes. I cannot say that I blame her. I read a few lines with her this morning. They sounded bombastic and decidedly pompous to me. She actually seemed to be enjoying them. It shows how very poorly she must be!’

Cecily had to smile.

‘Oh dear, Mr Forster – you are a very harsh judge indeed. I feel persuaded that you will find very few people to agree with you – although
I
am not a great one for poetry, either. I enjoyed reading novels when I was younger, though my taste was certainly not superior – gothic horror novels formed a major part of my diet, I remember – the gruesomer the better. I have grown quite out of the genre now, I’m delighted to report, though I regret that despite religiously scouring the shelves of every circulating library with which I hold a subscription, nothing has really interested me sufficiently to take their place since then. I tend to stick to travel books nowadays. I am reading Dr Clarke’s ‘Travels’ at the moment, though I am finding them somewhat dull.’

‘Yes. It is probably quite difficult for a young lady
to find just what she enjoys. I am a very great reader, though I expect you would find my selections a little heavy. I do not read for enjoyment, you understand. It is purely to exercise my mind. But I mention the topic not merely for something to talk about. My sister asked me particularly to mention it, as she is hoping that you will have the kindness to visit her and read with her for an hour or two tomorrow – and then, perhaps, stay to family dinner? She assures me that she is perfectly safe to be with – though I should not warrant your protection from infection for myself. She is overly optimistic on occasions.’

‘Of course – I should be more than delighted to visit her. It can be most miserable, stuck indoors on one’s own. And you need not worry that I shall blame you if I catch the infection.
Unlike my aunt, who will dose herself up at the slightest hint of contagion, I am a great believer that one is either predisposed to catch a cold or not. It hardly matters where it comes from.’

Mr Forster allowed himself a little smile, named the time when his sister would
expect her, and allowed the dance to take him from her for a moment.

‘And sha
ll we have the honour of your company as well tomorrow, Mr Forster?’ enquired Cecily, innocently, once they were back together once again. ‘Or do you have more pressing engagements to detain you?’

Mr Forster looked brighter than he had done for the whole of the evening so far.

‘I think – I hope – that is, I definitely intend to be there if I am able,’ he assured her, a little consciously. ‘And if you are but able to search out something we can all enjoy I might even be prevailed upon to read it aloud to you as well.’

‘Then we must rise to the challenge, sir. I have a feeling that I would enjoy to hear you read.’

Mr Forster’s two dances marking the conclusion to the evening he was allowed the privilege of escorting Cecily to her chair for the journey home to Pulteney Street. It was probably a good thing that he did so. Cecily’s head was swimming so delightfully, and her heart was fluttering so insistently, that she might well have found it quite impossible to get there on her own. Mrs King followed close by, with her husband, who had managed to lose a few guineas on the evening’s games and was thence in a not-too-happy mood. He watched narrowly as his niece was escorted to the chair. The sight did not appear to please him very much.

‘So he’s turned up again like the bad penny that he is,’ he muttered to his wife. ‘Bother the wretched fellow. I had hoped
that he had conjured himself quite away.’

Despite the uncertainty which he had expressed, Mr Forster was so far able to make himself available for the
following afternoon that he managed accidentally to fall in with Cecily as she walked down Great Pulteney Street on her way to Sydney Place, and provide her with his arm. She was sporting a bonnet with a particularly giant brim. Cecily was rather glad of it. It provided the perfect opportunity for screening her blushes quite from anyone’s view.

Even better, the uncertain Bath weather took an unexpected turn for the worse before they had walked a full fifty yards from the house, enabling Mr Forster to open his umbrella and direct it gallantly above her
head. Politeness dictated that she should assure him at least a reasonable share of its protection, and this in turn provided them with a reason to walk even more closely together. Cecily felt delightfully aware of him as he strode on beside her, firm and confident, his arm strong and comforting, linking with her own. The patter of the rain on the umbrella gave its protection a sense of added security as they splashed their way delicately along the slippery flags.

‘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.