‘No.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the grass beside her, raising one leg in front of him, bent at the knee. ‘But I’ve seen boilers explode on steam ships.’
Cicely’s interest was caught. She had heard from Alice, courtesy of local neighbourhood gossip, that Mr Evington had worked on steam ships. Here was a chance for her to learn more about him. ‘You used to work on them?’
‘Yes.’ He fell silent, and Cicely thought he was not going to say anything else, but then he said, ‘I worked on or around ships for much of my early life. I grew up in Liverpool, and when I was a boy it was a good way to make money.’
‘Is that why you resent the landed classes so?’ she asked. ‘Because your early life was hard?’ It was a bold question, but she was interested to know.
‘No. Not really.’
‘Then why.’
He hesitated. ‘I . . . have my reasons.’
He was not more forthcoming, and Cicely did not feel equal to questioning him further. But after a few minutes he said, ‘Even so, I was wrong to show how I felt. I haven’t hidden my dislike very well, I fear.’
‘Why should you?’ she asked simply.
‘Good manners?’ he suggested humorously.
‘There is that,’ said Cicely with a smile. Adding wryly, ‘But I am not entitled to complain. My own manners have hardly been a model of decorum.’
He took her hands and she felt a sudden change inside her. His touch was no longer comforting. Instead it was stimulating.
Before he could do anything more the villagers, roused by the explosion, started to arrive at the scene. Alice was the first.
‘Cicely! Goodness! What happened?’ she asked.
‘The back boiler,’ said Cicely. ‘It exploded.’
‘No! How awful.’ Alice took in the shattered window and the ragged hole that had been torn in the kitchen wall. ‘Goodness. What a mess.’
‘It is. A terrible mess,’ said Mr Evington. He turned back to Cicely. ‘You can’t stay here,’ he said, suddenly practical. ‘There is a gaping hole in the wall, and it will take at least a week to fix it. You will have to come and stay at the Manor.’
‘Oh, no,’ Cicely protested. ‘I couldn’t possibly - ’
‘I won’t take no for an answer,’ he said firmly. ‘There is plenty of room and the house is geared up for guests. No one would be surprised at you making one of their number and it would give you somewhere to stay until the Lodge has been repaired.’
‘No, I don’t think it would be proper - ’ Cicely began again, suddenly anxious at the thought of staying beneath the same roof as Mr Evington.
‘Miss Babbage would be invited, too,’ he said. He turned to Alice. ‘If you and your mother would do me the honour of accepting an invitation you could keep Miss Haringay company and provide her with a chaperon, as well as, I hope, having an enjoyable time.’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Alice her eyes shining, and saying as plainly as words could do, A week at the Manor, with Alex Evington? Wonderful!
Cicely looked from one to the other of them, and then back at the ruined side of the Lodge.
She considered her options. On the one hand, she knew that Alice would invite her to stay if she refused Mr Evington’s offer. On the other hand it would put a strain on the Babbage’s small household - which consisted of Alice, her mother, a maid of all work and a manservant - to cater for an unexpected guest. Whereas Mr Evington, as he himself had said, was already prepared for guests. And with such a large gathering there could be nothing improper about her accepting his invitation, especially as Alice and her mother were to go as well.
The question was, could she spend a week with Mr Evington and not give way to her unruly feelings, which tempted her to travel down unexplored pathways into a whole new world whenever he was near?
Seeing her hesitate, Alex organised some privacy for them by saying to Alice, ‘If you could retrieve Miss Haringay’s shoe?’
Cicely looked down at her right foot. In all the confusion she had barely noticed that she had lost it when being manhandled out of the gate.
‘Of course,’ said Alice, glad to be of use.
She ran off.
‘You need not be afraid of me,’ he said, looking down into Cicely’s eyes and seeking to reassure her. ‘If you come to the Manor you will have nothing to fear.’
‘I am not afraid of you,’ she said. But her voice caught in her throat.
‘No?’
There was a sudden tension in the air.
She swallowed. ‘No.’ She almost said, I am afraid of myself, but managed to stop herself just in time. But it was true, she was afraid of herself. When she was with Mr Evington she discovered parts of herself that she had not known existed. He had touched something inside her that had been laying dormant, and though it was wonderful to experience the new and scintillating feelings he awakened inside her, it was alarming as well.
‘Then you have no reason to refuse my invitation to stay at the Manor,’ he said.
‘You are very kind.’
His mouth twitched humorously, as though kindness was not the motivation for his offer.
Is it wise? she asked herself, before committing herself to an answer. But wise or not she had no real alternative. ‘Thank you. I accept.’
‘There is one thing.’ He hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘If you are to be my guest, you can’t go on calling me Mr Evington.’
She felt a shiver of apprehension. She knew what he was going to say next.
‘You must call me Alex.’
There was something intimate about the notion, and she knew that it would make it harder for him to treat him with the distant manner necessary. And yet it was unavoidable.
‘And at the party you must call me Cicely,’ she said.
‘Cicely.’ His voice was soft and sultry.
Fortunately for Cicely’s composure, at that moment Alice returned, bearing her shoe.
‘I’ve checked to make sure there’s no glass in it,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
Cicely tried, with little success, to dismiss the memory of Alex’s voice as it had caressed her name, and slipped the shoe back on her foot.
‘Miss Haringay has accepted my invitation,’ said Mr Evington, standing up. ‘I hope you and your mother will do the same.’
‘I’m sure we will,’ said Alice, her voice filled with excitement.
‘Then I will expect you as soon as I see you. I will return to the Manor and tell the housekeeper to make up rooms for three more guests. Oh, and you must bring Gibson,’ he said to Cicely. ‘He, too, will need somewhere to stay. In fact I am sure he would be very useful in the coming week, as well as very welcome - that is, if you have no objection to his helping out?’
‘No. None.’
He looked down the lane, to where a group of people were converging on the Lodge. ‘The local officials can take over now,’ he said.
Cicely slipped his jacket from her shoulders as he stood up. She handed it back to him, knowing she must not detain him. He took it, swinging it over his shoulder. As he did so, Cicely’s eyes were drawn to the sight of his muscles working beneath his shirt, and she was filled with a sudden desire to feel his arms around her once again. But such a thought was madness. No good would come of such ideas, and she must banish them from her mind,
‘Miss Haringay,’ he said politely. ‘Miss Babbage.’ Then making the ladies a slight bow he walked away.
Cicely’s eyes followed him down the drive - until she realized what they were doing, whereupon she forced her attention back to the pressing matter in hand. And it was pressing. She gave a deep sigh. She must now deal with the aftermath of the explosion.
An hour later, explanations had been made and workers organized to assess the damage with a view to carrying out the repairs. She had made no mention of the fact that Tom had stoked the fire too high when asked about the cause of the explosion, she had simply blamed it on the back boiler
being old. Tom had been doing his best to help, and a quiet word in private would make sure he knew the risks involved in making the fire too hot so that he would not do it again.
Then came the task of cleaning up the mess the explosion had left in its wake. It seemed to take forever to sort things out, despite the number of willing helpers who lent a hand, but at last it was done. The repairs to the Lodge, however, would take longer. Cicely sighed. She had been hoping perhaps at a later date to employ a maid to help her in the house for one day a week, but now anything left over from her wages would have to go on setting the Lodge to rights.
There was no use worrying about it, however. She was fortunate that she had a roof over her head for the coming week: Alex had seen to that. In one way at least, she no longer dreaded it. She had now visited the Manor so many times since moving out of it that she could go back as a guest without being troubled by the situation, and knowing that Gibson was also welcome took a great weight off her mind. But in another way it filled her with apprehension. Alex had said she had nothing to fear from him. But living in the same house as him, sleeping under the same roof - who knew what complications it would bring?
* * * *
What shall I wear? thought Cicely an hour later, as she looked at her few good clothes, which she had spread out on the bed. True, they were well made and, having been bought before she had known her father had run up such huge debts, they had been expensive. But they were too few to last her for seven days.
Clothes were the least of her problems, she reminded herself. She would just have to make her outfits do.
Leaving Tom to wheel her valise round to the Manor on the hand cart, she set out to walk up the drive. As she approached the Manor she saw what a difference had already come over it. Three Daimlers were parked in the turning circle, which in her father’s time had seen nothing faster than a carriage. The sound of chatter and laughter floated out of the open windows. Steeling herself to face a throng of unknown people, Cicely rang the bell.
The door was opened by the butler, and to Cicely’s relief she saw that the hall was all but empty. She was greeted politely, and shown up to one of the guest rooms.
It seemed strange not to be sleeping in her old room, but in a way she was glad. It would have raised too many echoes of the past. The guest room was small, but overlooked the front of the house. Cicely was just opening the window when Alice bounded in.
‘I say, Cicely, isn’t this wonderful!’ she exclaimed, as she looked round the room. ‘Quite like old times.’
‘Old times were never like this,’ said Cicely. ‘A house full of guests, and an army of servants to wait on them.’
‘Well, no, your father never did like entertaining.’ She paused. ‘Is it very difficult for you, being at the Manor again?’ she asked cautiously.
‘No. I have grown used to it,’ said Cicely. She gave Alice an affectionate smile, and her eyes twinkled. ‘So you are free to enjoy yourself!’
‘Oh, Cicely, I’m so pleased. I wouldn’t have wanted to be happy if you were not, but it is rather wonderful. All the people and all the glamour. Mother is so excited.’
‘Where is she?’ enquired Cicely.
‘In the east wing. In fact, mother has had an idea.’
Cicely looked at Alice enquiringly.
‘About our evening dresses. I only have three, and I know you’re the same, but it is mother’s idea that if we swap them between ourselves we will each end up with six different gowns to wear.’
‘And as we are only here for seven evenings, that means a different gown for nearly every evening,’ said Cicely, delighted with the idea.
‘And not only that. Mother has raided her workbasket and found several lengths of lace, together with a selection of silk flowers and a number of ribbon bows. By adding a few extra trims to each gown, or indeed by removing a few, she can make them seem different.’
Cicely nodded appreciatively. ‘Unless anyone is looking closely, they are not likely to notice that the green silk gown I wear on Monday is the same as the green silk you wear on Friday, particularly if it has a different trim. We will appear to be as well dressed as any of the other guests.’
‘Apart from our lack of morning dresses and tea gowns,’ giggled Alice.
‘We will just have to hope Mr Evington’s guests are more interested in their own appearances than ours!’ At that moment the gong was struck in the hall. ‘Goodness! I’d forgotten how loud it sounds,’ said Cicely, who had left the gong behind when she had moved to the Lodge.
‘Time to dress for dinner,’ said Alice. ‘I will see you downstairs.’
She ran lightly out of the room, almost bumping into a maid, who had just arrived.
‘The master’s compliments, miss,’ said the maid to Cicely as Alice departed. ‘I’ve come to help you dress.’
Cicely felt a warm feeling wash over her at this evidence of Mr Evington’s - Alex’s - unexpected thoughtfulness.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
With the help of the maid she washed and changed, putting on one of her three evening gowns. It was an exquisite creation, made for Cicely by a talented local dressmaker who had once worked for the great Doucet in Paris. Made of the palest pink chiffon it floated around her delicate curves as she dropped it over her head. The maid arranged it over her lace-trimmed petticoat before fastening it at the back, whereupon it draped itself elegantly around Cicely’s trim waist before flowing down over her hips and falling in a swirling cascade to the floor.
The maid then arranged her hair in a simple pompadour, piling her hair on top of her head and leaving her neck and shoulders bare.
There came a knock at the door, and Alice entered. She was dressed in a gown of pale primrose brocade, her slender waist accentuated with a white sash.
‘Are you ready to go down?’ she asked.
Cicely fastened a pair of pearl earrings in her ears and pulled on her long white evening gloves. ‘I am.’
Cicely was apprehensive as they went downstairs. Although she had accustomed herself to being at the Manor when she worked there, it was different to visit it en fête. The hall below her was full of the most elegant people. The ladies in exquisite evening gowns, all décolleté and swishing trains, conversed with gentlemen in evening dress. The gay conversation met Cicely and Alice at the half landing. Bright bursts of laughter punctuated the hubbub, and there was an atmosphere of enjoyment and good humour.
‘This is how the Manor was meant to be,’ murmured Cicely. For a moment she was transported back in time, to the days of her early childhood when her mother had been alive. Her parents had often entertained then, and thrown parties that were the talk of the neighbourhood. But after her mother’s death her father had retreated into his own hobbies, and had cut off all but the most basic contact with the outside world.
Cicely and Alice reached the bottom of the stairs and were joined by Mrs Babbage, who was evidently enjoying herself. She had dressed herself in her best clothes and was making the most of the unexpected frivolity.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ breathed Alice, looking round at all the lace and jewels in awe.
They went through into the drawing-room, where Cicely’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to Alex. Immaculately dressed in a black tailcoat, wing-collared shirt, bow tie and tailored trousers, he looked magnificent. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, revealing the masculine lines of his cheek and jaw. He had more character than anyone Cicely had ever met, and it showed on his face, being etched into the lines around his eyes to give his face interest and depth.
And then her eyes drifted to his companion and her heart stopped. For next to Alex was a statuesque beauty who held herself like a queen, and who was holding on to his arm with a distinctly proprietorial air.
Cicely felt a twist inside her. She was totally unprepared for it, and only just managed to stifle a gasp. She couldn’t be jealous, could she? Alex was entitled to offer his arm to one of his guests; indeed, good manners made it im
perative that he do so. He was even entitled to be in love with the full-figured beauty, she realised with a sinking feeling, noting the way his arm encircled the Amazon’s waist.
At that moment he turned and saw her. A warm smile washed over his face, and it lit Cicely inside. Against all reason she was delighted that he was pleased to see her.
Excusing himself to his companion, he walked across the drawing-room to welcome her.
‘Cicely, I’m so pleased you could come.’ Hs eyes lingered on her face. Then, as if remembering himself, he turned to Alice and her mother and made them welcome.
‘Oh, we are so pleased to be here!’ said Alice, looking up at him adoringly.
Mrs Babbage was similarly smitten, though she was better at hiding it than her daughter.
‘Let me introduce you to some of my other guests.’
He introduced them to the statuesque beauty, Miss Postlethwaite. With her elegantly coiffured dark hair, voluptuous figure, great height and majestic bearing, she reminded Cicely of the Wertheimer sisters, whose likeness had been caught so well by the painter John Singer Sargent a few years earlier. Like them, Miss Postlethwaite was the epitome of elegance and glamour.
Miss Postlethwaite greeted them politely, before moving gracefully away to talk to the other guests.
More introductions followed, and Cicely soon found herself the centre of a group of agreeable people, all of whom knew nothing of her exploding range and accepted her as just another of Alex’s guests.
‘If you’ll allow me,’ said Mr Stirling to Cicely as the dinner gong rang, ‘I’m to have the pleasure of taking you into dinner.’
‘Of course,’ said Cicely politely, her eyes unconsciously straying to Alex, who was escorting an elderly dowager into the dining-room. She felt her spirits lift. How stupid of her, to be so affected by such a little thing. For she had thought he would go into dinner with Miss Postlethwaite, and was ridiculously pleased when he did not.
Alice and Mrs Babbage were similarly escorted into the dining-room, and all three ladies took their places at the long table.
Marriage at the Manor Page 9