Mr Forster's Fortune (8 page)

‘Six thousand, you say?’

‘Yes. Her mother left her just six thousand pounds.’

In reiterating this Mr King was fully aware that although he was being scrupulously truthful about the former Lady Cerney’s bequest – she had, indeed, left six thousand pounds to her only child – he was not being – well, not being totally open with Lord Barnham about it. He was acutely aware that he was holding back on some further information, and just as acutely aware that he could not bring himself to divulge it to him, without some further prompting, at
the least. In this, he silently assured himself, he was most certainly acting in the very best interests of his much admired niece. He had the most acute suspicion that the Forsters might be fortune hunters and he did not want to give them any reason to be on the hunt for Cecily.

‘You have a son in the military, I hear, Mr King.’ His lordship had apparently determined on switching the conversation. ‘I, too, have sons in the military. My middle son is currently fighting in the Peninsula. My youngest son is just a volunteer.’

‘I do indeed, my lord. My only son, Alfred – he is a Captain in the Royal Surrey militia. He is intending to visit us here in Bath very shortly. He is most keen to come down.’

Lord Barnham fell silent, and as Mr King had sat the requisite length of time in his bath he finally excused himself from his presence, and clambered into the towel that was awaiting him on the flagstones. He dried himself vigorously and strode off out of view. Had he remained in place just a five minutes longer he would have been treated to an interesting and somewhat curious sight. It was the sight of an elderly, grizzled individual with long, tattered locks and blackened teeth, being assisted out of his sedan chair at the entrance to the bath and staggering his way painfully but determinedly to take a place in the water right at his lordship’s side.

The
concert, held in the tea room of the assembly rooms, could not have been more different from the riotous afternoon in Sydney Place but from Cecily’s point of view it was at least equally as enjoyable. Mr Springfield, whom it appeared that Mr Forster had persuaded to attend with them much against his inclination, obligingly acted as escort to Miss Forster, enabling her brother to give all his attention to her friend. Mr Springfield had been a little quieter of late. Perhaps a cold night spent in company with a somewhat disapproving night watchman – a night which reached its natural conclusion only on the parting of a good deal of kelter on the young gentleman’s part – had been sufficient to settle him down for a while.

To be fair,
Mr Springfield’s opinion of the concert was not his alone, for most of the music sounded a little mournful even for Cecily’s taste, being mainly in the minor key, while the bench on which they were perching grew increasingly harder as the evening progressed. But the whispered comments about the music – which Mr Forster appeared to enjoy only marginally more than Cecily did herself – ‘I am not convinced as to which is actually worse, I fear – the musicians or the tunes’ – and the sensation engendered by having him squashed closely to her side, made the severity of the seating a good deal more possible to endure. The tea-time conversation was a further source of delight, with Mr Forster and Mr Springfield comparing notes and abusing each other’s taste roundly at every available opportunity, with Mr Springfield in almost constant paroxysms of sneezing the whole of the time (he had apparently newly discovered snuff) and the two ladies trying desperately not to giggle far more than propriety allowed. Even better, the very cold weather, continuing into the evening, had the advantage of providing them with a clear, starlit night and when the time came for them to depart the concert Mr Forster had no difficulty in persuading the two young ladies, albeit a little more difficulty in persuading his grumbling cousin, to take a detour from the direct route across the river, in order to sample the delights of the night sky from the crescent gardens instead.

And indeed, despite the intense cold, which penetrated her clothing unremittingly and made her shiver, Cecily could feel
nothing but an immense sensation of warmth and satisfaction as she stood in the gardens, clasping Mr Forster’s arm, gazing across the terraces of Bath to the sparkling black skyline far beyond. The clatter of far-off hooves, the flares of sedan chairs crossing the town, the calling of the hour by a distant night watchman, the sudden waft of winter blossom from an unseen shrub close by – all these distractions served only to emphasise the silence, the peacefulness and the very deep sense of belonging that Cecily experienced just then.

Mr Springfield, perhaps savouring his moment with his cousin a little less than Cecily wa
s savouring hers, was already part way down the gravel path, complaining of the cold.

‘Damn it, Rachel,’ he could be heard as they scuffed
noisily together along the stony gravel track way. ‘It was bad enough being persuaded into going to a wretched concert, never mind an ice cold ramble to top the whole thing off.’

Miss Forster’s soft response could not be detected as they disappeared round a
bend. Mr Forster and Cecily exchanged a wry little smile.

‘Are you very cold, my lady?’ he asked her
softly, looking into her eyes. ‘We will walk on with them if you would prefer it.’

Cecily shook her head. Standing there alone in the night sky with Mr Forster
, the glittering stars twinkling and glinting like diamonds, a crescent moon gazing dreamily back at them from atop the horizon, the whole of Bath set out, ghost-like and shadowy, in front of them – the whole vista impacting indefinably upon her consciousness - it was feeling rather magical just then. She felt oddly intoxicated, as if she had downed a number of glasses of wine. Her stomach fluttered delicately as if she had swallowed a dozen little butterflies who were desperate to escape. Yes, she was shivering. Yes, she was cold, but it would have taken an arctic blast for her to forsake that enchanting moment by his side.

‘I am a little cold,’ she admitted, dragging her eyes from him to gaze again at the stars. ‘But I have no desire whatever to move away just yet
. The stars – they are quite spellbinding, are they not? Your father was telling me all about them. He feels that there are more to be discovered. The vastness of the universe – its millions of stars – the distances between them. It leaves one feeling so very, very small.’

Mr Forster gently released his arm and stepped back to stand behind her. Then, very softly,
and very gently he pulled her towards his chest and clasped her in his arms. Cecily was a little taken aback. She wasn’t quite certain what she should do. She felt it wasn’t proper to allow his embrace like that. But it felt so natural to be standing in the darkness with him, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her and his firm, broad chest at her back, that she thought it unlikely that she could ever break away. So she just stood there with him, feeling the moment, sharing the silent expanse of sky with him as they gazed at it together, until the flares from a pair of chairs suddenly broke the spell, recalled her to her situation, and she reluctantly pulled away.

‘We ought to go, Mr Forster,’ she reminded him. Now that he had embraced her she was feeling unaccountably shy. ‘Your cousin and sister will wonder wherever we have been.’

Mr Forster nodded and released her from his hold.

‘I suppose we should,’ he agreed, ‘and they will only complain about the cold. Take care along this pathway though, my lady. It would not do to
fall.’

They came across Mr Springfield and Miss Forster
at the bottom of the hill, lingering, a little irresolute, and apparently debating amongst themselves as to the propriety of purchasing a supply of hot codlins from a street seller who was standing nearby.

Mr Springfield was apparently feeling hungry.

‘After all, cousin, it must be hours since dinner and that tea was something or nothing as far as I was concerned. I’m half clammed, I swear it. A hot codlin would be just the thing. It would fill a gap and warm us through, both at the self same time.’

Miss Forster still hesitated, but Cecily had no such qualms.

‘What an excellent suggestion, Mr Springfield,’ she agreed at once. ‘I must say that I’m most partial to a hot roast apple, and I’m sure that no-one will notice if we eat them in the road.’

This was more than sufficient an invitation for Mr
Springfield, who immediately set about purchasing four fine examples from the rather ragged old woman who appeared to be in charge of the stall. Whipping them adeptly between his hands - they were apparently very hot - he then distributed them eagerly amongst his chilled, impatient friends.

‘I hope your aunt will not disapprove of the disreputable com
pany you have fallen in with, my lady,’ ventured Mr Forster, attacking his apple with some enthusiasm. ‘I hardly think that she would approve of us eating apples in the streets.’

‘Do you think not, Mr Forster? I really would not know, though she is no great lover of fruit – other than on bonnets, of course
, where she admires it beyond all comprehension – so perhaps you may be right. She would certainly not indulge in the activity herself.’

‘Well, as long as we forget to mention it I daresay she need not know. I am not a great one for subterfuge in general,
you understand – but occasionally it may be the wisest course all round.’

Just
one day after Cecily’s alarming conversation with her aunt in which she had learned the unwelcome news of Alfred’s proposed visitation, Lord Barnham was in his study having a remarkably similar conversation with his son.

‘I
received a letter from James this morning,’ he was saying, eyeing an ill-written and highly blotted sheet of paper in front of him with a look of some distaste. ‘He is proposing to join us in Bath for a while.’

‘Indeed, sir?’ Mr Forster sounded a little suspicious. ‘And why is he planning to do that?’

‘He is seeking a commission in the regulars. He wants to talk to me about it.’

‘So he will be wanting the kelter to buy a commission?’

‘I expect so. Yes.’

Mr Forster regarded his father warily.

‘And do you intend to provide him with it?’

‘I wanted to discuss the thing with you.’

Mr Forster was somewhat taken aback. He was quite unused to his father consulting him on anything. He had never asked his opinion on anything quite so personal before.

‘Oh.’

‘He wishes to join General Crauford’s regiment in Portugal. I wanted your opinion on whether he should be allowed to go.’

Mr Forster thought for a minute.

‘I think I understand your meaning, sir,’ he acknowledged. ‘These are not easy times for officers. George is already out in the Peninsula. My mother will not like two of her sons to be over there just now.’

‘No, she w
ill not.’

‘But there again, James has a need to earn his own living, and the army is by far the best career choice for him. He is no more a cl
ergyman or lawyer than you or I, and he is too old, now, to go away to sea.’

‘I have to agree with you there, Robert, and my inclination would be to allow him to go
, in spite of his mama. But I fear the decision is not so easily effected. I find myself embarrassed for cash. I do not see that I could afford him his commission.’

Mr Forster looked at his father, frowning.

‘Not afford it, sir? Not afford it? But...whatever can you mean?’

‘I mean exactly what I say. I do not see that I could afford it.’

For a moment Mr Forster was lost for words.

‘But why do you find yourself unable to afford it? After all, we enjoy a modest lifestyle in comparison to our friends, and I know for a fact that you are no gam
ester. I cannot imagine why you should feel that you cannot afford it.’

Lord Barnham eyed his son resignedly.

‘I suppose it is time for me to have this conversation with you, Robert,’ he said eventually. ‘You are still a young man, but you are now of age. You will inherit the estate, and the title, at some time and I have a feeling in my bones that the time is not far off. I know you have resented the fact that your cousin has more to spend than you do,’ – Mr Forster blanched. He was remembering the conversation he had held with Mr Springfield not so many weeks before. ‘And I expect that you have been hoping for some more. But there is nothing more to give, my son, nothing more at all.’

‘But...but how can this be, sir? And why
, if we are out at heels, are we running to all the expense of renting a house in Bath when we have two perfectly satisfactory properties of our own?’

Lord Barnham sighed softly.

‘It is a long story, Robert,’ he said at last, eyeing his son pensively. ‘But one that you need to understand. It affects your own future, as well as that of James. But I fear that you will not like what I am about to say to you. Indeed, I do not like it myself, for it has cast a shadow over the whole of my existence, which will doubtless continue over yours. For you come from a somewhat disreputable bloodline, Robert - a bloodline of rakes and blackguards and thieves. My own father – the first viscount – though a brave and often charming man – he did earn his peerage through his exploits in the seven years’ war, after all – was a wastrel – a reckless charlatan with no thought at all for anything other than his own pleasure. He had inherited a decent competence, but he had gambled and whored it all away by the time he was scarcely thirty. His salvation – as he had hoped – was my mother, his wife. He had seduced her when she was just fifteen years’ old, when she was really still a child. Your grandmama was quite an heiress, you know, and I daresay her papa would rather she marry anyone other than
him
, so your grandfather went and got her with child in order to get his way. But it wasn’t her that he wanted – it was her money that he was really after – money that he could gamble with and generally fritter away. But her father was far too clever to let him get his hands on it. As soon as he saw how the land lay he tied it up all right and proper. He arranged a marriage settlement that secured all the money on the female line so my father could not get at it at all. He must have caught my father in his cups to get him to sign it as it was. Ha. How her father must have laughed about it! When she died all her money went to my sister Sally - your Aunt Forster - and from her it will go to Rachel after that. But that meant nothing to a man like him. Though my father could not get at my mother’s fortune he still spent as freely as if he could – and he could always borrow more on the strength of it. So when he finally passed away all he had to leave me were his debts. Brandrigg was mortgaged up to the hilt, the house in London was a wreck, the estate was going to rack and ruin, my income was half what it should have been, the tenants were starving – it was a pitiful state of affairs. I soldiered on for a long, long time but I was working on a treadmill – grinding away from day to day, paying off a small debt here, paying the interest there. Sally generously shared her income with me but she was no more empowered to touch the capital than I was, so I could do very little to improve my lot. I had to find another source from somewhere. So in ‘eighty seven I married your mama,’ here Lord Barnham looked a little sheepish. His son spotted it in a moment. ‘I had no money but I did have the peerage and I was aware that some rich ladies might place some value on that. So I decided to make the best of a bad job and salvage what I could. I haunted the salons of London in the hope of attracting a bride. It did not take too long. Two sisters – both as plain as pikestaffs, both ambitious, both with some money of their own – appeared on the marriage mart. One, I could see, wanted riches above everything else. The other, though, was ambitious for a title. Nothing else mattered to her – whether the peer was young or old, amiable or repulsive. What she wanted was a peerage and she would give him her fortune in return. She had no background – no superiority – and no real education – nothing much to recommend her to me at all, other than her wealth. Her father was in vintnering or some such business. But she had ambition, she wanted a title, and she came with a fortune of twelve thousand pounds – a fortune that threw me a lifeline. And on the morning that I married her I promised that I would never give cause for her to regret it – that I would always act the gentleman towards her, and would manage her finances well. And I have tried to do that, Robert. I have tried to be a good husband to your mother – a true husband - and I have used her money wisely. And she herself has grown as snobbish and judgemental as the best of them. You would not know, now, that her background was in trade. So I think I gave her what it was she wanted. And how ever much longer I am given in this world – and, on some days, my son, I fear it is not so long – I can live with myself happy in the knowledge that I leave an inheritance which is unencumbered by any debts of my making, a mortgage which, though still extant, is somewhat smaller than it used to be, and happy, too, that I have done my best by my long-suffering wife – that I have denied her nothing that I could reasonably provide for her – that I have always remembered to whom I owe our comforts in this life. Your mother wanted to have her season in Bath, as her sister is doing. She deserves to do so in her proper, accustomed style.’