Mr Forster's Fortune (6 page)

She had met up with her new acquaintance –
the highly ornamented Mrs Springfield, the somewhat formidable Lady Barnham, Miss Forster – virtually every day somewhere about the town and, most naturally, her aunt had tended to attach herself to the older ladies to discuss important developments in bonnets and trim whilst she and Miss Forster walked on ahead on their own. Miss Forster was most fond of art, and though Cecily was herself no great artist she had no objection to whiling away a productive hour or two in wandering round the art and print shops which lined each side of the road.

‘Bath is quite a haunt of artists, my lady,’
Miss Forster informed her. ‘I am told that there are well over a hundred and fifty of them in this part of town. Many of them specialise in portraiture, of course. There are plenty of people wanting a likeness for one reason or another, but my own interests are more botanical than human. I have always had a great affinity with plants.’

Cecily
pulled a face and eyed some very detailed botanical originals with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

‘I cannot say that I follow you there, Miss Forster. I
do appreciate plants, of course – both flowers and trees – but my interests are more general, I think. I prefer the landscapes – the panorama – the wider world at large. Flowers and trees form part of that, of course, but I prefer them to illustrate something greater, rather than being the subjects in themselves.’

‘That’s what Robert says. He is quite caught up by the current enthusiasm for wild, romantic prospects and
sweeping vistas. He revels in light and shade – rugged, craggy hillsides caught in almighty storms – that sort of thing. I fear we are not much alike in that respect. I prefer the more pedestrian, the more realistic – like this work, for example. The detail in it is most impressive – do you not think? Just look at that leaf – the brush strokes, the different colours giving texture and shape – just like Mr Sowerby’s best works. That is the sort of thing that I admire in a painting – and something that I attempt (not wholly successfully, I’m afraid) to replicate for myself.’

In spite
of their very differing opinions as to the merits of art the two young ladies were so well pleased with each other that the expedition ended with Cecily inviting Miss Forster to take a walk with her in Sydney Gardens the following afternoon – an invitation which was warmly received, and accepted, in its turn. But in her eagerness to be outside Cecily set off far too early and arrived at Sydney Place well in advance of the appointed time. Miss Forster was not quite ready, the servant informed her. Would she care to step upstairs?

Cecily
had seen little of Lord Barnham since twelfth night. He had always been out, or secreted in his study, whenever she had called. But this afternoon he was sitting in the drawing room, pouring over what looked like some scientific journals at a table. He rose courteously, if a little stiffly, as soon as she entered the room.

‘You find me deep in my studies, Lady Cecily,’ he informed her, offering her a seat.
Aunt Forster was lying back on a sofa, mouth open, snoring rhythmically and gently; the epitome of peace. Cecily smiled and shook her head. She did not wish to disturb her. Miss Forster would surely not be long. ‘I have had to abandon my office for a while, for the fire there smokes so badly that it causes me to cough.’

‘And what is it that you study, my lord?’

‘I study the stars, my lady – all the planets up above. They hold a fascination for me, I do not know quite why.’

Cecily moved over to examine the work on the table. His lordship was wearing some old-fashioned breeches and a faded, informal robe. He smelt a little fusty.
She wondered whether Lady Barnham cared.

‘And what is it that you find out about them?’ she asked him.

‘Frustratingly little, I fear. I lack the equipment to make any novel discoveries, though I spend many a happy evening at home in Brandrigg, staring into the darkness, pondering. There is a lot more left for us to discover, I do believe, though I will have to leave
that
to the likes of Mr Herschel to unearth.’

Cecily looked again at the plans
and diagrams of stars festooned upon the table. Lord Barnham had sounded somewhat wistful. She fleetingly wondered whether he felt lonely, sitting on his own, evening after evening, gazing and pondering under the mystical, twinkling sky.

He pointed out some of the major constellations to her, and how she might distinguish them. He seemed quite pleased that she
actually showed an interest.

‘Does no-one in the family share your
fascination, my lord?’

Lord Barnham shook his head and cast her a wistful little smile.

‘No – it is purely an eccentricity of my own. My children are – well, they have interests of their own, and Lady Barnham forbids me to talk of it. She finds it sadly dull.’

Cecily could see that she might. Lady Barnham did not look the kind of
person to find any study of her husband’s at all intriguing.

Miss Forster was ready at last and, t
he day itself proving most propitious – cold and blue –they set out keenly into the bright winter sunshine.

‘I am so
sorry to have kept you, my lady. I hope you did not mind.’

‘Not at all. Your father did his best to entertain me. He was telling me of the stars.’

Miss Forster gave her a sidelong glance.

‘Oh dear. I do apologise.
He does not normally inhabit the drawing room. His office must be smoking once again.’

They waited for a moment at the ed
ge of the road, which was busy and noisy with traffic – carts, carriages, wagons, horsemen – before reaching the sanctuary of the gardens beyond. And almost immediately they found themselves in another world – the noise diminishing with every step, the hard stone pavements replaced by gravel and grass, the carts and carriages replaced by birds flitting by them or searching for insects on the hard frosty ground.

An old man in a faded robe was watching them wistfully through an upstairs window. And then he was watching nothing as they disappeared from view.
He sat down desolately on the sofa by his sister. And then, for the first time in almost thirty years, he put his head in his hands, and wept.

For some strange reason Cecily felt a shadow fleetingly descend upon her – just the faintest shadow of sadness – and
a moment later it was gone.

‘I’m glad we agreed on a walk, Miss Forster,’ she said, rousing herself once more. ‘I have always loved to
go walking when the days are cold and bright like this. I must admit to feeling quite cooped up if I am stuck inside for long.’

‘Oh, so do I, my lady. I should be out all the time if I could. I am always outside at Brandrigg. My mother quite despairs of me at times.’

‘We had some lovely walks in the Cotswolds. I was fortunate in living quite close to the canal. Its towpath, though muddy at times, provided a beautiful waterside walk with all the little birds upon it. I used to ramble there for hours together. I enjoyed standing by the locks in particular. I have always enjoyed the sound of rushing water.’

‘
But did your papa not mind you wandering about there on your own?’

’
No, it never concerned us, to be honest – I never felt in the slightest bit under threat. I should find it much more difficult nowadays. Even were my uncle to allow me the freedom that my papa used to do I’m afraid that my cousin, Alfred, would endeavour to keep me at home. Alfred is always most – well, particular. Particular and sedate. It takes all the fun away when he’s at home. It drives me quite to distraction.’

Their walk that day was sedate
enough even to satisfy an Alfred, though the young ladies’ delight in it was multiplied by the discovery of a song thrush, seduced by the early sun, practising his springtime song from the privacy of a laurel. His singing was rather subdued, as if in embarrassment, but even so they both instantly stopped, delighted, to listen to him. Together with the brilliance of the winter sunshine and the blueness of the sky they both agreed that it was a promising portent of spring.

They meandered their way through the gardens and up the hill towards the canal.
Ahead of them they could see the green hillsides to the east of the city, thrown into exaggerated relief by the gently slanting sun. A number of blackbirds – less optimistic, or more experienced, than their cousin the thrush – were busily engaged in a clucking exchange of hostilities from towpath and park. A robin was singing wistfully nearby. Where the ground faced north and the sun couldn’t reach it the plants retained a faint mantle of white frost, with here and there a symmetrical cobweb, glistening silver between the twigs. The weather had attracted a number of nursemaids with their charges into the gardens. Little boys, still in smocks, raced around noisily in scuffy boots. Little girls skipped hand in hand together, laughing and giggling in some private world of their own.

The cold of the afternoon
gradually became more intense, not helped by a developing easterly wind which penetrated even Miss Forster’s thick woollen pelisse like a knife. They had talked hopefully of trying their luck in the labyrinth, but after a while, albeit reluctantly, the two young ladies had to admit defeat and retrace their steps back down the hillside to the unwelcome noise and bustle of the road at Sydney Place.

‘
Shall we take some tea at my house, my lady, rather than going all the way back to yours?’

It was very well done, for no sooner had they
achieved the warmth of Lord Barnham’s now deserted drawing room than Mr Forster appeared, book in hand, apparently intent upon reading it. But he cast it aside as soon as he saw that he was not alone and, pulling up a chair close to the ladies by the fire, enquired about their afternoon instead.

‘
The cold air and exercise have certainly brought the roses to your cheeks,’ he informed them, pleasantly. Cecily’s cheeks immediately blushed even rosier than before. It was most embarrassing, though she could do nothing to prevent it. ‘I am a great believer in regular exercise. It has undoubted beneficial effects upon one’s health. Why, I have been known to watch a prize fight for hours together – and a whole day watching cricket. I was never so pleased in my life as to spend a day at Mr Lord’s ground up in Town. A day watching cricket is sufficient quite to wear a fellow out.’

‘But I think that you will find the effects
beneficial only if you participate in the activity, Mr Forster. I cannot say that merely watching will do you any good.’

‘No – really? Well, I must say you startle
and disappoint me, Lady Cecily, though I remain convinced of its efficacy in spite of what you say. For see – am I not quite fit and healthy? And yet I have never felt the least inclination to participate in any sport.’

‘Now stop teasing Lady Cecily, Robert,’ put in his sister, laughing. ‘Take no notice of him, my lady. He is funning you again. I know for a fact that he was quite a distinguished sportsman up at Eton – or I know not how he
came by all his cups.’

‘
It’s probably a good thing that you do not, Rachel, for I stole half of them before I came away. But I think you said that you, too, went to school for a while, my lady, though I do not expect that it taught you very much.’

‘I attended a very good school indeed, Mr Forster, and I happened to
acquire a wealth of useful skills and information. I can put a map of the world together within the space of half a minute – embroider the most beautiful table cloths and fire screens imaginable, all to my own inestimable designs – and as for reciting the Kings and Queens of England – well, I could list them all from Edgar onwards by the time I was seven years’ old.’

Mr Forster gave her his charming open smile.
The roses immediately blossomed once again.

‘All useful skills undoubtedly, my lady. But I hope they taught you nothing more
than that? I hope they did not teach you French, for example. The Kings and Queens would not leave time for that?’

‘Mais certainement, monsieur. Pourquoi pas
, en effet?’

‘But how very unpatriotic of you – to speak the language of our deadly foes. Much better, surely, to learn Spanish, or
Portuguese. They – currently, at any rate – are at least the best of friends.’

‘But Spain was our enemy when I went away to school,’ she reminded him. ‘One cannot be held responsible for the vagaries of a war. And yet, perhaps it is better to speak the language of one’s enemy than that of one’s friend. A friend should hopefully say nothing unkind or untruthful about you. You cannot have the same faith in someone you see as a foe
...’

The
young ladies had been so well pleased with their walk that they planned to take a further outing later in the week. Their hope had been to take a ramble along the riverside. But this time the weather forsook them. The day turned out to be so wet and miserable that despite their inclination they felt compelled to revise their plans. So instead of a walk in the cold and wet they agreed to spend an afternoon in Lord Barnham’s drawing room, to practice some duets together and share their opinions on the world.