Mr Forster's Fortune (2 page)

It was too late to
think of going out that evening but the next morning Cecily rose early and threw open her turquoise satin curtains to greet the bustling world that was Bath. Her chamber being quite at the back of the building the vista of the bustling world that was Bath was actually quite an impressive one. Through the grey January dawn she could see over the new buildings of Henrietta Street to the treetops on the riverbank – brown and skeletal in the morning mist – and thence up to the imposing terrace of Camden Place perched high on an escarpment overlooking the town. If she screwed her head round sufficiently the other way she could just glimpse the open country to the east of Bath. White snow still lingered like swathes of cotton-wool in sheltered hollows, but the rest was a dull greenish-brown, interrupted here and there by the honey-coloured stone of a gentleman’s residence, or the low thatch roofs of a farm. Cecily nodded in satisfaction. It all seemed perfectly enchanting to an excited visitor like her.

The inside of her chamber was equally satisfactory. It was
of reasonable dimensions and decorated most charmingly – if not in quite the first style of fashion – in a turquoise Chinoise paper of exotic birds, and flowers which entwined themselves a little dizzily on their journey to the sky. Its furnishings were likewise perfectly genteel – in rich mahogany inlaid with delicate rosewood and brass – though she thought them somewhat old-fashioned in a heavy sort of way.

Mary the
housemaid had already been in to light her fire. Browne laid her clothes out in front of it to take the chill off them whilst Cecily washed her face. Today was a day for the grey bombazine, she decided, for although it was spectacularly ugly it did at least have the distinct advantage of warmth. Even so, she felt that she would be more than pleased to discard it as soon as she reasonably could. Half mourning was distinctly preferable to the full-blown outfit, of course, but even so it was still exceedingly dull. So it was with some sense of mounting anticipation that Cecily and Mrs King discussed their plans for some much-needed shopping that morning as they lingered over breakfast by the fire.

‘Perhaps we should accompany Mr King to the Pump Room first, my dear,’
Mrs King suggested, draining her final cup of coffee with comfortable satisfaction. ‘You need to sign the visitors’ book there – it is quite the thing to... and then we can move straight along to the shops. You will want a number of different items, I expect, and I will need... The spring materials are generally available in all the best places. I saw some only the other day in – now, where was...? You will want to start ordering quite soon, of course, for you will soon be clear of mourning altogether and it will not do to....’

‘I will certainly require a few new things for my wardro
be, aunt, though with a bit of simple retrimming I expect that most of my things will pass muster. Perhaps if we simply window-shop today and see what I require – we can compare styles and prices and all that sort of thing – and then make our minds up on exactly what to purchase once we have done just that...?’

‘Yes, yes, my dear – that sounds...
You are always very... Though I should not wait too long, you know. After all, we do not want to miss the best of...’

C
ecily donned her grey woollen pelisse and black-trimmed fur bonnet and muff and accompanied an eager Mrs King, and a not-quite so eager Mr King, along the dirty pavements of Great Pulteney Street and across the bridge into town. Cecily had been to Bath once before, two years ago. It had been a visit most sadly curtailed by the sudden death of her mama. So whilst the city held some very mixed memories for her at least it had the advantage of familiarity. She knew precisely where they were. They made their way past the market towards the abbey, following one of the little pathways across the Orange Grove, and thence to the pump room nearby. Everywhere there was noise and bustle – the rushing river, foaming white; newsmen loudly proclaiming their presence on busy street corners; street-vendors advertising their wares; carts, wagons, horses and carriages coming and going in all directions; sedan chairs, street urchins and stray animals to evade. But the required tasks were quickly done and as soon as Mrs King was satisfied that her husband had duly imbibed his daily dose they determined on leaving him to compare the newspapers with his acquaintance and pronounced themselves ready to commence an introductory tour of the shops.

‘We will start with Bond Street,’ suggested
Mrs King, taking Cecily’s arm before heading off determinedly in a northerly direction. ‘I saw the sweetest little veiled casque hat imaginable only the other morning in Goodes’ – or was it Brightlingstones’? – no, no, it was definitely Goodes’, for I distinctly recall spotting old Mrs Cornwell through the window and thinking that she really should wear some warmer... after all, we are having such harsh winter weather this ... and I know for a fact that Clarkes’ had a delivery of their spring material selection only the day before that.’

Although Cecily
had thought it fully agreed that she should simply window-shop to start with she found it remarkably difficult to restrain her aunt from dragging her into every pretty shop that attracted attention her on their slow and tortuous route along Bond Street, up Milsom Street, and into all the minor roadways which led them off from both.

‘But we are
only supposed to be looking today, Aunt King,’ she reminded her, laughing, and resolutely remaining on the flags whenever her aunt showed even the slightest indication of wishing to go inside. ‘After all, had we rushed in and purchased the pale green sarsenet that we first saw down the road we should have rued the moment excessively – for here, see, is an even prettier one, and nowhere near as expensive as the first.’

‘But you
have no need to worry yourself about... for I know for a fact that you are not spending a half of your allowance just now, in spite of insisting on paying us for your keep. Mr King was talking to me about it only the other... You could buy a gown from every establishment in town, I’m convinced of it, my dear, and still have...’

‘And I shall buy something when I am ready to
do so, aunt, have no fear. But, just for now, I need to find out exactly what I want.’

Thwarted in her
efforts to get her niece to part with some of her money, Mrs King seemed determined to relieve herself of plenty of her own, and by the time both ladies had admitted defeat through excessive weariness and returned for a pastry and some tea in the ladies’ coffee house near the abbey, Cecily was amused to discover that her aunt had managed to acquire ‘the prettiest dyed feather imaginable with which to decorate my white evening cap’, a broad silver bracelet with Egyptian trim, miscellaneous pieces of narrow ribbon and a pair of long kid gloves which – to Cecily’s untutored eye at the least - looked suspiciously like the pair that she had worn to dinner the previous evening. It was fortunate that each of these purchases was relatively small, for no sooner had they refreshed themselves than they were off again. This time Cecily found that they were to take a ride up Lansdown Road. ‘For my dear friend Mrs Springfield is always ‘at home’ on a... I told her last week that you would be with us by now. Her wish to become acquainted with you was most... Oh, just look at that bonnet, my dear – no, the lady over there. I declare, I have never seen quite so... well!’

It
soon became apparent that they should have to share the visit with two further ladies of Mrs Springfield’s acquaintance, for no sooner had they been safely deposited at the door than two chairs stopped immediately behind them and relinquished their occupants onto the flags. All four ladies were immediately admitted together. Cecily appeared to be the youngest of them all, and as there was no notion just at that moment of who should give precedence to whom she politely stepped aside and allowed the newcomers to enter the hallway before her.

The
drawing room into which they were all admitted was occupied by a rather plump but decorative-looking lady of indeterminate age, garbed in a somewhat shapeless mass of frills and lace, who was sitting in state in an elegantly brocaded armchair, with her feet toasting decorously upon the grate.

The
identities of the two new visitors were soon ascertained as Lady Barnham and her daughter Miss Forster, and it was the work of only a very few minutes, during which many smiles were exchanged and much curtseying took place, to discover that Lady Barnham was sister to the much-frilled Mrs Springfield. Cecily examined them all as often as politeness would allow, and with a more than usual level of genuine interest. Miss Forster. How intriguing. Had Browne not told her that the gentleman at the inn had been a Mr Forster? And had he not seemed elegant and genteel – and, maybe, just maybe, a little too aware of his own importance? Lady Barnham, she felt, seemed somewhat stiff and formal, fully aware of her own importance as a viscountess and she also shared the intriguing gentleman’s impressive Roman nose. She seemed half gratified, half piqued by the presence of an earl’s daughter in her sister’s drawing room. Perhaps she would have preferred it had the drawing room been her own? Mrs Springfield, though, seemed singularly unfazed by the brace of titles that were just then gathered in her presence. Her own interests, Cecily could see, were somewhat more pecuniary than those of her sister. It was immediately obvious from the plethora of lace and jewels that decorated her person that she was extremely wealthy, and it was equally obvious that she felt no compunction whatsoever about advertising the fact. It was clear that wealth – in Mrs Springfield’s opinion, at least – was more than able to defend its corner against the challenge of titles which currently graced her room.

Miss Forster,
on the other hand, appeared to share neither her mother’s evident love of status nor her aunt’s great love of wealth. Indeed, Cecily’s first impressions of her were of a quiet, intelligent, but oddly separate young lady who seemed strangely out of place amidst the formal splendour of her aunt’s expensive rooms. There was something – well, something a little undistinguished about her somehow – as if she were living her life in a shadow. But she was not entirely without style or grace and she had a warm friendly smile which was really quite bewitching and which she bestowed unselfishly on Cecily as soon as she detected her gaze.

‘Have you been long in Bath, Miss Forster?’ enquired Cecily, once the formal introductions had been effected.
She stole a glance out of the window as she accepted a seat by her side. Mrs Springfield’s house stood proudly above the burgeoning Bath skyline and on a fine day the prospect would doubtless be magnificent. But today the prospect was somewhat more constrained. The town looked murky in the dank, smoke-filled air and a thick mist echoed the whiteness of the remaining snow on the olive-brown hillsides beyond.

‘A few weeks
only so far, Lady Cecily. We have come in the hope of a cure for my poor father, who suffers somewhat terribly from some ailment which the doctors, as yet, have been totally unable to diagnose. We have taken some lodgings for the winter. One of my brothers joined us only yesterday. He had spent the holidays with some people in Kent so it was rather a long way for him to come.’

Aha. So her brother had arrived there only yesterday. He was surely the self same
gentleman?

‘It is indeed. I myself had only a relatively short journey, though it was
still filled with more incident that I probably would have wished for. I am just come to Bath after spending Christmas with some friends of mine. I live normally in Surrey with my uncle and aunt. We have taken a house on Great Pulteney Street until the end of next month.’

‘Then you are not too far from us
, in Sydney Place. We overlook the gardens. They are looking most sorry for themselves just now, of course, but I have every hope that, come spring, they will bloom and blossom sufficiently to gladden every person’s heart in the neighbourhood – and, more particularly, my own.’

‘
I have no doubt that they will. A garden has much to recommend it, particularly in the spring. But you say you have brothers, Miss Forster. How fortunate you are. I, sadly, have no brother of my own, though I do have a cousin, which is some compensation. I expect that yours provide you with a good deal of amusement?’

‘
Yes, there are three of them in all and they certainly used to be good company, whenever they were at home, though James and George, the two youngest, are now both in the military and we have only Robert at home. Robert is excellent company whenever he’s around, though, being a gentleman, of course, he is often much away.’

Aha. So Mr Forster was a ‘Robert’
. Quite an agreeable name. The Honourable Robert Forster. It had a pleasant enough ring to it. Robert Forster, Viscount Barnham’s eldest son. Yes, good. It could have been a lot, lot worse.

If Cecily and Miss Forster were
swift in furthering a most satisfactory acquaintance by the window, their elders were similarly finding much to please them in discussing their bonnets, their servants and the atrocious price of mutton by the fire. Indeed, so pleased with each other were Lady Barnham and Mrs King that before the end of a quarter hour her ladyship had been so kind as to issue her new friend with an invitation to celebrate the forthcoming twelfth night at a small evening party to be held in Sydney Place.

‘For we are most
agreeably situated there, Mrs King,’ her ladyship was assuring her. ‘The drawing room should allow us a perfect view of the fireworks without anyone having to set foot outside at all – a great benefit, I assure you, for it means that we do not mingle with the crowds at all, and with such odious weather as we are having just now it is much pleasanter by far to be able to stay indoors...’