Mr Forster's Fortune (17 page)

‘What?’
he stammered. ‘Twenty thousand? But... but your uncle told...that’s almost what Mrs Wetherby was worth. I could have...’

This time
Lady Cecily really exploded. His reaction riled her more than she could know.

‘
So my cousin was right, Mr Forster. He had told me that you were a fortune hunter, and now you have proved that he was right. He told me that you were out at heel, that your father could not even afford a commission for your brother. I didn’t want to believe him, but it’s true. It’s true, is it not? – and I knew it was true all along. But what a sad, pathetic way in which to make your fortune, Mr Forster. What a sad individual you must be – to rely on a woman to keep you in her apron strings, rather than accepting the inevitable and knuckling down to some work. Don’t think that I was unaware of what you were actually angling for – that I never saw you with that flighty-looking woman who was clinging on your arm. How could you do that to a lady, Mr Forster? How could you play with my affections as if they were just so many bank notes to count on? I really thought you cared for me, but I can see it is not so.’

Cecily
flounced away and stomped out of the gardens in a fury. She was feeling angry and let down. She had given this man her admiration. She had given this man her love. And all he had wanted of her was her money. Her first thought was to buy a ticket for the London coach and follow Alfred straight back home. Poor Alfred. She couldn’t imagine
him
ever treating a lady like Mr Forster had just done – so brutally, so... so unlovingly. But she let out her breath with an almighty hiss. Alfred. How could she possibly think of Alfred? She was fond of Alfred like she was fond of her oldest pelisse – so familiar, so serviceable, so comfortable - she couldn’t think of how she could possibly manage without it. But to marry Alfred – to feel all the fun and joy sucked out of her, to suffer his annoying little habits and ponderous ways. She stamped her foot in fury and hurried on down the street. She could feel a river of hot tears welling up in her eyes. They were singularly unwelcome just then. Wretched, wretched man. Why ever had he spoken to her like that? She could have been his promised bride by now if only he’d been polite.

Mr Forster stood stock still for several minutes after she had gone, staring at where she had
just stood, his temper rapidly cooling – nay, chilling – to a dumb realisation that he had acted unforgivably and that she would never, ever speak to him again. He wanted still to be angry with her. He wanted to be able to blame her for splitting them apart. The sight of Alfred embracing her had been just too much to bear. But now that the heat of the moment had passed and he could feel the chill of the cold morning air he knew that Lady Cecily was not at all to blame – that it was he who had been to blame all along – and that she had been entirely in the right. He debated what best to do now. He could try to follow her, to fall on his sword, beg her forgiveness, somehow to explain. But his pride had been stung by what she had accused him of – of fortune hunting, of preferring her balsam to knuckling down to work. And even worse, he thought bitterly to himself, even worse, she was perfectly, perfectly correct – the wretched, wonderful, most desirable, deplorable woman had been entirely correct. How ever she had got to know of it, and how ever much he wished it was not so, Mr Forster had to admit that he had been exactly what she had accused him of, and that it was a weak, miserable, ungentlemanly thing for him to do. Should he – could he – be content to depend upon a woman – to leech off a woman’s fortune as his father had been forced to do? Would it not be better – would he not be a better gentleman, a proper gentlemen, a gentleman who could hold his head up, a gentleman who could feel satisfied that he had made his own way in the world, a gentleman who could feel that he had truly earned a woman’s regard – to earn an honest living for himself? Perhaps she had been right to say that he should find himself some work. Perhaps he should join the army, like his brothers? Perhaps he could join up and earn some self respect? He could go to his father, beg the rest of his year’s allowance, and buy the commission that poor James had been so desperate to acquire. Or he could do as James had done and enlist as a gentleman volunteer, and take his chance on his bravery getting him in. Perhaps he could show her – show himself – that he really was worthy of her affections? But then – to join the army was a long term plan. It would take him far from home – far from home, and far from her. Would Cecily be prevailed upon to wait for him? Could he possibly survive without her in this world? Perhaps he had better just go, and seek to die in the attempt?

It was
as he wandered towards the park gates, still debating about which direction to take, feeling as crushed and low as ever he had felt in his life before, that he saw the door to his house suddenly open with a jerk and his sister appear, bonnetless, pelisse open to the elements and, spying him from across the road, race across to him with a terrified look upon her face.

‘Oh, Robert, Robert,’ she cried, desperation and thankfulness showing in equal measure on her face, ‘oh, thank God I’ve found you. It’s papa, Robert. He ha
s had some dreadful news from the Peninsula and has collapsed in a heap in the hall.’

‘Why might Mr Fo
rster be mistaken as to the extent of my fortune, uncle?’

Cecily was not happy. She strongly suspected that her uncle had deliberately misled Mr Forster about her financial situation, and that his reasons for doing so were more about frightening away importunate suitors than about protecting her
fortune for herself.

Mr King shifted uneasily in his seat. He could see that his niece was particularly
up in the boughs that morning.

‘It is possible that his father misunderstood me, my dear,’ he suggested mildly, wondering whether he should take refuge in studying his newspaper or whether that would simply add fuel to Cecily’s
already quite scorching fire. He had never seen her quite so angry and upset as this with anyone before. ‘I simply answered the questions he asked me. I did not deliberately try to lead him astray.’

‘So you mean, he asked the wrong question,
is that it, uncle? He asked how much my mother left me and he did not ask any more? And why did you not volunteer it? Eh? Why did you not add that my grandmother had also left me her fortune? Was it because you were afraid that Mr Forster should ask me to marry him, and that Alfred would lose out? How could you do that, uncle, when you must have known how much I...how warmly I regard Mr Forster? How could you even think to compromise my happiness like that?’

Mr King decided against the sanctuary offered by the newspaper and looked his niece a little sheepishly in the eye.

‘But I only did what was best for you, my dear,’ he asserted, not altogether incorrectly. ‘After all, twenty thousand is a desirable inheritance. There are very many gentlemen who would gladly get their hands on such a sum. Had I put it about that you were an heiress with that sort of money at your disposal you would never have known who was genuine and who was not. As it is, as soon as Lord Barnham under... misunderstood the position you were in his son disappeared from the scene – did he not, my dear? I do not know about you, but in my book that looks suspiciously like fortune hunting to me – and once Alfred told me that they couldn’t even afford to buy a commission for their son – he got that directly from the gentlemen involved, you know – I have not relied on hearsay at all – well, I hope you will understand, my dear, that I was acting absolutely for the best.’

Cecily look
ed at her uncle, deeply mortified. She was quite able to see that what he had done had been, at least in part, with her own best interests in mind. But, even so, she could not help but harbour a very strong suspicion that, had he not thought that Alfred had a chance of winning her hand, he might have volunteered the information to his lordship anyway. The Forsters were an unexceptionable family, with their own landed estates and a London house to boot. Even without much income of his own, Mr Forster would not have been a totally unsuitable match.

‘Well, I must give you the benefit of the doubt, uncle,’ she said at last, maybe just a tiny bit sullenly. ‘I can see that you might have thought it for the best
, though if he were really quite the fortune-hunter that you seem to think, then why should he court me so assiduously once again? Six thousand is six thousand, how ever one might look at it, and if it were really insufficient to tempt him just two short weeks ago, then why should it suddenly be quite sufficient now? But if you thought that you would favour Alfred by your actions I’m afraid that you are very much mistaken. I am fond of Alfred, as you know, uncle, but I really do not love him well enough to marry him. He has asked me again to do so, you know. I am rather surprised that he did not tell you. Needless to say, I’m afraid that I refused. I cannot marry Alfred, uncle, worthy and dear man though he might be. There is nothing I would have liked better than to be happy to marry him – to please him, you, everybody and guarantee myself a safe and comfortable lifestyle for ever and ever. But I simply cannot do it. I cannot marry Alfred, and if you think that you can make me do it by frightening my other suitors away than I am sorry but you are sadly, sadly mistaken.’

She turned away from him and flounced tersely out of the room. Her uncle followed her with his eyes. Her sudden departure surprised his wife, who had been listening
discreetly at the door. Cecily almost fell over her in her haste to reach the hall.

‘I wish to return to
Ascot, aunt,’ was all she said, pretending not to see. ‘And if you and uncle prefer to remain here in Bath for a while I shall happily go there on my own.’

It was quite out of Mr King’s power to ignore Mr Forster when he happened to bump into him a day or two later as they arrived
together at the pump room door. After all, despite his assertions to the contrary, he knew in his heart of hearts that he had – well, at the very least, been extremely glad that Cecily’s interests had seemingly accorded so very well with Alfred’s, and not with this young man’s, and he did feel just a very little bit embarrassed about it.

So when they unexpectedly bumped into each other, both of them feeling the awkwardness of the situation, he politely
returned the bow of the younger man and accompanied him inside.

‘My wife and niece have returned suddenly to Surrey, Mr Forster,’ he informed him, as Mr Forster a
ttended him to the dispensing desk and acquired his glass of water. ‘They – well, she – err – I think they missed their friends, you understand. We are not too far from Dorking at Ascot House, you see – the ladies are able to go to town almost every day, and know everyone worth knowing for miles around. And their usual routines, too. I think they missed their routines. Bath is all well and good for a very few weeks, we always find, but it is not the same as being quite at home...’

Mr Forster bowed. Mr King noticed that there were dark rings under his eyes. He was wearing a lot of black.

‘Yes, I had heard. My sister called at your house yesterday, I believe. The servant told her that they were gone. I am sorry to hear it. But you may not have heard our own sad news. My middle brother, George - we heard on Monday that he had died of exposure over in the Peninsula. They have been suffering from just such extreme weather as we’ve been having, apparently. He volunteered for some mission or other near the lines, became injured and fell into a ditch. He died where he lay in the icy water. My mother, as you might imagine, is quite inconsolable – had my youngest brother not already set out for Portugal she would doubtless have prevented his departure – whilst my father,’ here Mr Forster’s voice failed him a little. ‘Well, I’m sorry to say that my father has suffered a fit at the news and is presently in bed, unable to move a limb. He clings to life just at present, though the doctor does not hold out any hope.’

‘Oh.’ Mr King felt quite abashed. ‘Oh, I am so sorry, Mr Forster – most sorry to hear that, indeed. I do hope that something might be done for his lordship. Please – do pass on my sincere condolences to her ladyship.
I did not hear anything yesterday – the talk was all of what the Prince of Wales is up to – or I would have said so straight away.’

Mr Forster nodded and then excused himself. The thought of being in the company of Mr King – a gentleman who had, however unwittingly, been the cause of more than half his current sorrow
, was becoming increasingly distasteful to him. He thought he should go to see his great-uncle. He had not seen him for a day or two. He would wonder what on earth was going on.

Mr Forster was
almost constantly at his father’s bedside whilst he died. Lady Barnham, exhibiting the most affecting hysterics in the drawing room in the company of her sister and daughter, was far too overcome to sit with him. So for the last few days of his lordship’s life he and his eldest son were left to await the inevitable by themselves. And, those last few days enabling them to establish so much more meaningful a relationship with one another than ever they had established before, they probably represented the most satisfying period of his lordship’s entire existence.

‘Mr Wilson will be able to advise you on the estates, Robert,’ he had
croaked to him, articulating his words with a good deal of effort. He was desperate, now that it was all-but too late, to effect a smooth transfer of responsibility to his son. ‘And Mr Ringstead – he’s in Gracechurch Street, as you know – he will put you right on the inheritance and business of that nature. He will know where all the paperwork is. You will want to satisfy yourself as to the nature of your commitments as soon as you can get back down to Town.’