by Gay, Gloria
"Yes," said Celia, "the estate of the Earl of Shelton."
"You know this, Celia?" asked Mrs. Meade with great interest. "Did you have the opportunity to visit?"
"The Earl of Shelton is the father of Lord Robert Merrick, Viscount Merrick. The viscount title is his father’s secondary title, but as his father’s heir, Lord Robert will be the Earl of Shelton on his father’s death. Caroline pursues Lord Merrick without the slightest regard for propriety," said Celia, and added wryly, "Had I had the temerity of proposing a visit to Shelton Hall, I’m certain Caroline would have tied me down to prevent me from it.
“Miss Molly, Caroline and Sylvia’s companion and who was formerly their governess, told me that Lord Merrick and his father are very close. Lord Merrick’s mother died more than a decade ago and shortly after her death Lord Shelton suffered an apoplexy that left him with his left arm paralyzed. Then shortly after that he suffered another one and that stroke took his ability to walk.
“Lord Merrick, who had been at the front leading a regiment, returned home to take care of his father and the management of the estate. He takes great care of his father, who has become very different from what he once was. Lord Shelton often becomes loud and difficult to manage. Miss Molly recounted all this for me without the slightest prompting.”
Mrs. Meade sighed and ignoring everything Celia had said about Lord Shelton’s difficulties, expressed with glee: “It will be so good for our Bella to be a neighbor to such a personage, Mrs. Bundy, imagine, the Earl of Shelton!” She turned to her favorite and gazing tenderly at her, exclaimed,
"Bella, dear, you'll be able to come out next season in London. It is too late for this one, as we’re nearing the end of spring."
"A London Season requires a great deal of money, Mama," said Celia. "It’s enough that Uncle Worth has offered us his home. We should not expect him to also fund a season for Bella. It would not do to anticipate or expect more than he is willing to extend. But I’m so happy he has allowed you the running of his household."
"Celia, dear," said her mother, "don’t try to put a damper on everything I say. It’s clear from Worth's letter that I shall run his house as if I were its mistress. He intends, from the tone of his letter, to give us all the advantages we have until now been denied. I expect this to mean that we shall not be allowed to dress as paupers while under his care and that our Bella will be furnished with a season in London."
"I hope you’re right," said Celia, without much conviction.
"Indeed I’m right," said Mrs. Meade excitedly.
Fred walked in at that moment, for they had been in the parlor for more than two hours and after he was made aware of the momentous news the letter contained, he settled to have his tea with them, exclaiming at the changes wrought to their lives.
"Dearest Fred," said Mrs. Bundy, "You will now be able to hunt and ride with your cousin Tom and live the life you were meant for."
Fred was a pale lanky youth with delicate features and mint green eyes. He took a lot of space in Mrs. Bundy’s large, kind heart for she had lost the only child she had borne, a son, at birth.
"Yes, Mrs. Bundy," he said and added with a wink, "If my cousins allow it. Celia says Caroline is a hoity-toity chit, so there may be some problems. But I’ve heard that my cousin Tom is bang up to the mark. I wouldn’t mind making friends with him.”
“Fred, dear, this manner of speaking,” interposed his mother. “You must not adopt such cant from those scruffy fellows you hang about with in the square.”
“Why, Madam,” said Fred with a laugh, “Freckle-face Jake, Cowlick and Bingo a scruffy set? Why, they have appeared in Court, no less.”
“The church court yard is not Court, Fred,” said Celia laughing. “And they were probably shooting dice there, which Vicar Lloyd has often told them not to. I have seen them chased away many times.”
Both Fred and Bella had been tutored by Celia, for there had never been any funds for tutors or governesses in their household, nor to send Fred to school.
"Are we to get new clothes, Celia?" asked Bella. Excitement had brought a high color to Bella’s porcelain complexion and she looked more beautiful than usual. Celia wanted nothing more than to see her sister safely married. Bella was of a rash, impulsive nature, a nature that had been the cause of many sleepless nights for Celia.
Later on at dinner, the family remained absorbed in the subject that was changing their lives. And Mrs. Bundy, safely in the midst of her favorite family while a storm raged outside, beamed with pleasure.
"So, Celia," said Fred, his mouth full, "tell us about Caroline—the ice queen."
"Fred, dear," said his mother, "Celia's unfortunate impression of Caroline may be mistaken. After all, she met her at her mother's funeral. Caroline most probably was overcome with grief.”
"I saw very little of that grief," said Celia, "and instead saw her completely absorbed in an unseemly pursuit of Lord Merrick, who was present at the service."
"Are you going to paint over there?" asked Fred, intent on making mischief for his sister.
"You must indeed leave the paints behind, dear," said her mother excitedly. "That sort of nonsense has no room in a fashionable place like Rook's End. It will be an embarrassment."
"An embarrassment?" laughed Celia, "Hardly. In fact, I’m certain it will go quite unnoticed by a group of people who seemed to be unnaturally self-absorbed."
"You will be held in contempt by society," insisted Mrs. Meade.
“I will not give up my interest in art merely to conserve a good opinion I frankly do not crave."
"Take care, Celia," warned her mother.
"And what of Sylvia," Fred went on, buttering a piece of fresh bread from Mrs. Bundy's pantry, "Celia says the chit is talented at the pianoforte."
"I hope not too talented," laughed Celia. "A female Bach would be quite despised by the gentlemen – not to mention by the older matrons," she added with a glance at her mother.
"It seems to me," Celia went on, as everyone became concentrated in the excellent food brought by Mrs. Bundy and to which they were unaccustomed, but yet listened to what she was saying, "that any talent a young girl displays is stamped out quite early, not so much by the father, who hardly has time for his children – other than to give his edict – but by the mother, who carries out the father's edict with obsessive industry. In this regard they are their daughter's foes, and not by any intent to harm, but from a badly understood idea that convention is the only safe route for their daughters.”
"I hope you’re not thinking I’m your enemy, Celia," said Mrs. Meade, who for once had understood the underlying meaning in her daughter's words.
"I was speaking theoretically, Mama, do not concern yourself with it," said Celia.
"Our Celia," said Fred proudly, "is quite ahead of her time," and added, "Mr. Pratt told Harold he'd marry you next Tuesday if you'd leave off the paints and the fancy words, Celia; says he feels dumb when he speaks to you."
"Mr. Pratt's single bliss is safe from me," answered Celia calmly, "for I have no intention of acting dumb with him so he can lay claim to intelligence."
"Celia marry a storekeeper?" Mrs. Meade almost choked on her ham. "What cheek!"
"Mr. Pratt's lack of social status would not be a consideration, Mama, if Mr. Pratt himself were not such a fool," said Celia softly.
Fred leaned over and took hold of Celia's hand and squeezed it in an uncharacteristic display of feeling. Celia, surprised, put her hand over his, her eyes full of love for her brother.
“Celia,” said Mrs. Meade, turning to Mrs. Bundy, “gets all these outrageous ideas from Mrs. Wollstonecraft, who does not know her place.”
“On the contrary,” said Celia with a smile. “She knows her place very well.”
* * *
The day of departure to Rook's End, so desired by her mother and so feared by Celia, finally arrived.
Mrs. Bundy and a few of their other neighbors stood outside under umbrellas under the full m
oon. It was still a couple of hours until dawn but Celia had planned on them leaving early so that they would arrive at a reasonable hour at the Delaney household. But they had not expected the drenching rain were glad Celia had provided them with umbrellas before they boarded the carriage that had been sent to them by Uncle Worth. Everyone wore an expression of expectation and excitement.
Mrs. Bundy presented them with a basket she had prepared especially for their journey, with mutton pie and puddings and freshly baked bread. They had moved to her house for the week before their departure while their furniture was disposed of and as a result of this she felt the separation from her favorite family doubly so. Tears streamed unchecked down her soft round cheeks as she kissed and embraced each in turn, but her quiet tears turned to strangled sobs as she said good-bye to Fred whom she had nestled in her arms as a babe.
Finally, the Meades were off down the cobbled street that would connect with the road.
For the first few miles the only sounds were from the hooves of the horses as they pounded the streets, the steady rain on the roof of the carriage, and the eerie shrieks of birds as they flew close to their carriage.
Celia leaned her head against the squabs and looked unseeing at the splashing drops. She felt light-headed and tense, having been up until late seeing to the countless details overlooked by everyone but her.
Mrs. Meade was soon fast asleep and snoring softly. Bella was leafing through her scrapbook, her mind in a reverie of balls and assemblies, while their maid, Nellie, leaned her head against the window.
Fred seemed abstracted and stared moodily at nothing, his shoulders moving to the rhythm of the carriage.
Celia still felt bad at having to leave Mrs. Bundy behind. She was certain their dear sweet friend would fall into depression without them. She would arrange a visit for her as soon as she was able to.
Mrs. Bundy had been widowed early in her marriage, and being childless, looked upon the Meades as her family and Fred as the son she had lost at birth. Financially she had been left with an adequate income by her husband, who had dealt in India tea until his untimely death. Mrs. Bundy's only distraction was the rundown orphanage in London of which she was a patron and which Celia knew she would visit more now that she had not the Meades to rely on to fill her days.
It took them most of the day to reach Bath and then on to their destination. When they arrived in mid-afternoon, tired and tense from their trying journey, they were greeted by a dour-faced butler who informed them that both of the Delaney ladies were to spend the night with friends and would return the following day.
Master Tom, he said, was at Lowell Manor with a hunting party and would also return the following day, and Uncle Worth had been called away to an emergency concerning a shipment of tea in Liverpool.
He directed a footman to carry their luggage upstairs and they were ushered into their rooms, a large apartment on the east wing that still smelled musty and unused. The rooms were of noble proportions, though, and they were well appointed.
They were all tired and wanting their tea, but no sign of it anywhere and repeated pulling at the cord brought no response from a servant. Finally, Mrs. Meade, her face drawn with fatigue, sent Nellie downstairs with a request to have their tea sent to their rooms.
Celia was uneasy that everyone in the house had been away when the Meades had arrived when she had sent an express with the exact date of their arrival. Had this been meant as a snub? Uncle Worth she could excuse. An emergency preempted everything. But what possible explanation could the others have? It bespoke of little sensibility. She wondered if it had been wise to burn their bridges back home before making sure they would be happy in their new home. But what other choice did they have? They had been rescued from the brink!
She had no doubt in her mind that Uncle Worth would provide for them properly. It was the rest of the family she was concerned with. They were obviously a group of unfeeling people. Else how could she account for this turn of events? A fear stole through her, a fear that they might be more influenced by their mother than the Meades had wanted to believe.
Celia took off her bonnet and went to assist her mother who was now ashen-faced, her body slumped. Alarmed, Celia rushed to help her out of her cape and bonnet.
But tea was not to be had just yet. Nellie came back to say that she could find no one around. She had wandered through the rooms calling out to no avail, and she had no idea how to reach the kitchen in the vast house.
After settling her mother in a comfortable chair, Celia went in search of Ambrose, the Delaney butler.
She crossed the wide hall and as she did so saw a young maid scurry down a narrow stairway in back. She called out to her and the girl stopped mid-flight.
The girl told Celia that tea had been prepared for them and that she was just now going to the kitchen to fetch it but Celia thought to make certain of their tea and followed the maid down the narrow back stairs toward the kitchen, much to the girl's surprise.
The huge kitchen was very warm but dimly lit and an old woman with the appearance of a cook dozed by a window, a fat gray and white tabby asleep on her lap.
Roused by their entrance and with a startled look in her round grey eyes, the woman made an effort to rise. The cat sprung out of her lap and darted across the floor with a loud screech.
"Good evening," said Celia tersely, "I am Celia Meade, Mr. Delaney's niece. We are wearied from our journey and wanting our tea. We rang, but no one answered."
The woman rose hurriedly, startled by Celia’s appearance. She was past middle age and though she had gray braided hair she had a youngish face with smooth skin and large dark brows that almost met at the middle.
"Glad to make yer acquaintance, miss," said the woman and pointed to a tray set ready with tea, cups and a number of cakes and meat pies.
"We'll have it taken upstairs at once," she said hurriedly. "No need to concern yerself with it, Miss."
Celia went over to the table and examined the tea. It was stone cold.
"This tea will not do," she said to the woman, trying to hold her temper. “It is cold. I would like new tea made at once, if you please. My mother has had a long and trying journey and she is exhausted. Only hot tea will restore her."
"I'll get to it at once, miss, no need to trouble yerself further. I'll send up the hot tea soon as it be ready." The woman looked anxious for Celia to be out of her kitchen, and walked with Celia toward the kitchen entrance as she spoke, the large grey cat threading her legs as she ambled slowly.
Celia returned to their rooms in a better mood and it was only a few minutes later that the little scullery maid, Sophie, came with the welcoming sight of the steaming tray. Sophie and Nellie exchanged a few words before Sophie went out.
Celia helped her mother out of her damp clothes and into a warm night rail and lace cap. She urged her to the bed, fearing that the exertion and the humidity of the road might combine to make her susceptible to a cold. Mrs. Meade hardly protested, so spent she was. But once she was propped up in bed and sipping the hot tea she revived a little and she was able to express concern and surprise at the unusual situation in which they had found the house.
"Don’t think about it for now, Mama," Celia soothed, "I'm sure a proper explanation will be forthcoming.”
The chill that the spring rain had brought dissipated in their rooms once the maid had lit the fire and Celia saw to it that her mother had a little of the food, though her fatigue had robbed her of her appetite.
Bella and Fred, once having whetted their appetites and changed their clothing went out together to inspect the grounds and Celia stayed by her mother's side and was rewarded by seeing that Mrs. Meade had fallen into a deep slumber and was now resting peacefully.
No sound disturbed the rooms where only the humming wind pushing lightly against the windows and the crackling of the fire cut into Celia's thoughts.
Bella and Fred stayed away as the hours crawled by. Apparently having found courage in numbers they
had extended their inspection of the estate and much preferred it to the warm, cozy suite.
Celia was content to lose herself in her own thoughts. She still could not disassociate herself from the house and friends they had recently quit and in mind she was still back in Spitalfields. She would miss Mrs. Bundy and the Epson sisters most dearly, in particular Henrietta with whom she had been close friends for years. Once she and her family were settled at their new address and a reasonable time elapsed she would have the sisters visit her.
The odd reception at Rook’s End made her yearn for the familiar faces she had left behind.
* * *
When their father had been alive, the Meades’ contact with Uncle Worth had been sketchy at best and little better than with the resentful Aunt Solace. Celia's father had wavered between genuine affection for his cousin and resentment that he had been little more than putty in Solace's hands. Had it been himself married to such a harridan, he often told the family, he would have made quick work of the unfounded hatred that Solace harbored for Margaretta and which spilled to her family. This erratic feeling toward Worth had been decisive in the Meade's destiny, for having at first assigned his cousin the role of executor of his muddled finances, Edmund, in a fit of resentment, had scratched out his name and substituted it for the name of Russell Longbank, a man of little sense in matters of economy who had been no match for Mrs. Meade's appeal for money.
CHAPTER 3
A week earlier
From the time of his cousin’s death, Worth Delaney had sent the Meades a gift of cash at Christmas time and had visited his cousin’s widow and her children now and then. His visits upset his wife, Solace, because of the feud she had held against his cousin’s wife, Margaretta Meade, for many years. So when his wife became bedridden because of a sudden illness, he stopped his visits to the Meades in order to adhere to his her wishes, although he continued to send the gift of money with regularity at the same time each year.