by Gay, Gloria
Through Mr. Welsh Celia learned to look at a work of art in a different way than she had done before. She no longer saw a painting just for the effect of either like or dislike it evoked. Instead, she was learning composition, tension and balance, and the contrast in tones and values. She was now aware of brushstrokes and perspective and the colors that complemented each other, such as orange the opposite of blue and green of red.
It was now she who sighed as she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the gravel, for it meant that it was time to go back to the lodge. But she knew now why her teacher painted in two different styles. He told Celia that his life had changed when he saw his first painting by a young, revolutionary painter, Eugene Delacroix. He painted the still life and portraits for a living and the landscapes in the modern way that did not sell—the modern Delacroix way, in a more vibrant vision of Romanticism.
“I am longing for Sunday, Celia,” said Henrietta, “for it is then that I can have you with me for a full day. I’m almost sorry it was art lessons I used to lure you here, for it takes you away from us for most of the day. Just the other day Mama was saying she hardly sees you.”
Celia smiled broadly. “I do have to thank you for the lovely hours I spend with Mr. Welsh. He is such a dear and I am becoming very fond of him.”
“I hope you will extend your visit by still another week so that you may enjoy the autumn celebration with us, Celia, for most of your visit has already gone by!”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Henrietta. I must return in the time I said I would. Mama made me promise. She seemed in her letters a little upset that I extended my visit by another week.”
“And if you asked you mother for another extension of your stay, what would she say?”
“I’m afraid she would be frantic,” Celia answered. “Bella has been invited to a round of balls and festivities in the area. Mama must stay at her side to chaperone her.”
“That’s a pity. Well, at least they’ll have an exciting time of it,” Henrietta said. Then she added excitedly. I have a surprise for you, Celia, Mr. Welsh’s son, Liddell, is arriving tomorrow!”
“Professor Welsh has spoken to me of his son. I’m looking forward to meeting Liddell,” Celia said. “What is he like, Henrietta?”
“Liddell is not married and is as unlike his father as any two people can be,” Henrietta said, shaking her head and smiling, bemused. “Where the father is consumed by art, Liddell is inclined to the more commercial aspects of making a living and has succeeded quite beyond his age.”
“How old is he?”
“He can’t be more than twenty-eight and already has an established haberdashery that keeps him in London the greater part of the year. Really, Professor Welsh sees him now only during the summer for two or three weeks. I knew Liddell when we were children, dear, for as I have told you, Mr. Welsh is a good friend of the family, particularly of mother’s, for they are distant cousins. It was with great joy we realized that the offer to manage the lodge would place us close to a family dear to us.”
“So you are well acquainted with him.”
“Very much so,” replied Henrietta. “Back in the days when I visited Aunt Emily, I spent many pleasant afternoons at the Welsh’s little house. That was when Mrs. Welsh was still alive.”
“She died young?”
“Fairly, forty-three, I believe. I’m afraid she enjoyed more of the struggle than the modest success Professor Welsh now enjoys. It usually is that way with artists, Celia, as your mother often reminds you.”
“Perhaps that’s why Liddell felt not inclined to follow in his father’s footsteps?”
“That may very well be one reason,” countered Henrietta, “but certainly not the greater one. You will see when you meet him that Liddell, though a very pleasant fellow, is not even remotely artistic.”
“If you had only a word to describe him, which word would you use, Henrietta?”
“Prosaic,” Henrietta said with a laugh, “but in a very nice way. You’ll see. I think I should wait and let you form your own judgment. I know Liddell well. You won’t dislike him.”
“Then I look forward to his arrival,” Celia assured her. She thought that in any event, she was predisposed to liking Liddell, as she had become so fond of his father.
“I had meant to ask you and quite forgotten until now,” Henrietta said, “if you have any plans of visiting Sir Hugh.”
“Sir Hugh!” Celia laughed. “I do try to forget about our dear relation. Throughout my life he has been somewhat of a legend, mentioned with respect and awe by Mama, as you well know, Henrietta, having yourself sat through many such a session. I had put the thought away from my mind.”
“Is it your mother’s wish that you call on him?”
“At first she insisted I call on him. Then as the days went by she started to panic and decided I should not call on him and that I should wait until she is able to. One would think Sir Hugh heads Parliament, the way she goes on. Mama believes we should not disturb him unless he himself suggests it.”
“But how is he to suggest it if he doesn’t know you are living relatively near his estate? From your description his home is at the western edge of Surrey County, which is only about a two hour drive from here.” Henrietta insisted.
“I suppose I can send him a proper little note, letting him know it would be a pleasure to call on him if he is disposed toward a visit.”
“And you will do this soon?” asked Henrietta, “as in, today?” She laughed heartily at this. “I confess I am curious myself about Sir Hugh Downing. He’s somewhat of a legend in my imagination also. And besides, this is your last week here.”
Celia wrote the note and sent it off with the afternoon post. They laughed imagining different responses from Sir Hugh and the rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasant talk of the kind that doesn’t disturb but rather inspires and stimulates. It made Celia think for the hundredth time what a wise decision it had been to come to the lodge.
There were certainly more young men matched to Bella’s station in this country village than in a hundred mile circumference where she was.
Now and then she wondered about Jack and if he and Bella had conversed, as Bella so desired.
There was something else Celia always searched for in both her mother’s and Bella’s letters. She looked for Robert’s name. She had formed the habit of scanning the letter for his name before reading it. The slightest mention of Robert was enough to give her a glow that would last all day:
“Lord Merrick came back from London and dropped by for tea, from her mother; and from Bella: “I ran into Lord Merrick at one of the balls; Caroline was green with envy, for he danced with many of the girls. I chatted with him for a while when it came my turn to waltz with him. He asked if the family was well. And then he asked for you Celia!”
Celia felt a pang and dropped the letter. That was the first time Robert had asked after her. Could this mean that his bitterness toward her had softened? A clear memory of Robert’s dark blue eyes gave her suddenly a feeling of such regret and yearning the tears flooded her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
She should remember only the happy times, she told herself. The times she has once sworn would sustain her through the lonely years.
“Celia, dear, Liddell has arrived!”
Celia had only time to brush away the tears hurriedly as Henrietta and a tall young man with a shock of flaming red hair walked across the drawing room and Henrietta introduced Celia to Liddell Welsh.
Liddell was an agreeable young man with a sweet disposition and an air of business about him. Even while seated he seemed restless, as though, thought Celia amused, he was wasting time better spent in the improvement of his store.
But gradually he relaxed and Celia began to enjoy his company, for Liddell had a thousand subjects on which to touch and he never seemed to run out of something to say. Celia was glad Liddell had been invited to dinner, for it had been a long time since she had been so thoroughly e
ntertained.
Liddell was excited at the planned festivities for the autumn but chagrined when he found out Celia was not to stay for the celebration.
Liddell was a pleasant and interesting young man who made her forget herself.
CHAPTER 15
The early days of fall were was sunny and warm. Henrietta told Celia that such days would soon become rare and with great enthusiasm she organized a picnic in the hill arbor and invited some of the young men and women of her acquaintance, which included Liddell. The young men helped Samuel carry the rugs and blankets to the hill rise that had been cleared of dead leaves. Soon they were eating the sandwiches and hot tea and chatting and singing around a cheery fire.
Samuel huddled with them around the fire and helped them roast apples. As the light from the midday sun waned and the afternoon advanced, Celia saw that it was a clear sky devoid of clouds. Their voices rose in merriment and their faces were lit by the fire.
Celia had never been to such a pleasant homey picnic and she wished it would last a long time, for it kept her from her hurtful thoughts of Robert.
“Miss Meade,” said Liddell, who sat beside her, “it was a happy day that brought me to Squireville on this occasion,” as he handed Celia an almost blackened apple, taking care that she had with her a napkin with which to receive it. “My father had spoken of you in his letters but I must say, although he is an artist, his description of you could not come close to reality. I am extremely gratified to have made your acquaintance.”
As Liddell spoke, Celia felt her mind wander and she noticed that Henrietta and the young man she favored, Jeoffrey, were conversing and she was glad that by keeping Liddell busy, she gave her friend an opportunity to talk to Jeoffrey, for Dora and her friend were huddled in giggly conversation.
The afternoon wore on in this happy way but soon the air began to get too cool and it was time to leave. The tired revelers returned and they arrived to a hearty spread that was placed before the hearth fire and to the arrival of more friends who huddled with them around the parlor hearth to tell ghost stories and to end the evening in as happy a way as it had begun.
The next day, Liddell and Jeoffrey called at the lodge. Liddell making sure his visits coincided with the arrival of Celia from her classes with his father.
The group became a lively one, with Dora and her friend Hilda at the pianoforte.
“I have wanted to speak with you, dear Miss Meade, for the last two days and could not bring my mind to it. Yet on hearing Henrietta mention that you would soon leave has prompted me to act.” Liddell and Celia were sitting a little apart from the others and could not be overheard.
Celia turned to him in apprehension, for she saw a very serious look in his face—uncommonly so. However, she said nothing.
“As you know,” continued Liddell, “I am independent as far as income. I have a thriving business in London, which I created out of literally nothing. The lady who accedes to marry me will have a comfortable living. Not only that,” he went on, “but I stop not at one business but am so restless that I must push forward. I have plans for another store that will open very soon.”
“Yes,” said Celia, “you are to be commended, Mr. Welsh, for at such a young age you are certainly successful.”
“Yes—successful. I like the sound of that,” said Liddell, “and I can see you are perceptive in things to do with me. Which brings me to what I have wanted to say these last few days: Miss Meade, I would be honored if you would accede to become my wife.”
He stood up and then bended one knee before Celia. As Celia opened her mouth to speak he went on hurriedly:
“I know that I should have spoken to your Uncle Worth first but I wanted to have your permission before embarking on that errand.”
“Errand!” thought Celia. She was about to answer but Liddell continued,
“I am at that point in life when a wife is most desirable, nay, necessary. I had not bothered to think of marriage yet, but meeting you has changed my mind in that regard. It would be a most happy completion of the circle. I have inquired around and have found that you have no dowry at your disposal, Miss Meade. And as to that, let me tell you at once that it matters to me not a whit. In fact, I welcome the fact you have none, for it will be of more value to me to lay everything I own at your feet.
“There is that little bit about your painting, of course,” he went on, “but it has not bothered me overmuch. I’m certain, Miss Meade that you will forget all about it once we start a family. In fact, you may be certain I will insist on it.”
Celia didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. “Let me interrupt you before you continue, Mr. Liddell,” she said. “And please rise. I’m very sorry you have formed marriage notions about me. Had I known that was your intention I would have advised you to desist.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Liddell, his eyes wide. “Am I to understand from your words that–that you are declining my offer?”
Celia could see that rejection had never occurred to Liddell when he had probably practiced his speech in private.
“Yes, Mr. Liddell. That’s my intention,” she said firmly, and added, so that there would be no misunderstanding. “I appreciate your offer but my answer is no.”
“Upon my word,” said Liddell, and the phrase seemed quaint to Celia. A phrase more suited for an older man to utter. “I can hardly believe this,” he added. “May I ask what the reason for your rejection is?”
“Simply put I have no wish to marry you, Mr. Welsh.” Celia said.
“No wish to marry me?” Liddell asked, with a look of a man who has been astounded beyond words.
“But I must have a reason for your rejection.” Liddell’s voice had now become brittle.
“Well, if you must have a reason,” said Celia, now feeling highly uncomfortable, “the fact that I am not in love with you is reason enough.”
“Love?” Liddell looked puzzled. Celia could tell he had not thought of love as a consideration for his proposal and now the word, introduced by Celia, seemed alien to him.
He must have handled the matter in the same way he handled business, Celia thought and suppressed a smile. He must have squeezed her into a ledger and determined her to be agreeable for the position of his wife.
“I had come to the idea you were becoming quite fond of me,” said Liddell
“I have considered you only in terms of friendship, Mr. Welsh,” said Celia, “I am at ease in my mind that I have done nothing that would lead you to expect anything but friendship from me in the few days I have known you. If I have, sir, please be so kind as to explain my behavior so that I may curb it in the future.”
“No, no, Miss Meade,” Liddell hurried to assure her. “There has not been the slightest encouragement toward a marriage proposal from you. Not the tiniest bit, I assure you. It is I who has made more of what was definitely just friendship on your part.”
Celia could well imagine that Liddell could never have thought that a girl “on the shelf” such as she, with no dowry and dependent on wealthy relatives for her upkeep could reject an enterprising young man such as himself. She was sure there were many girls who would give their eyeteeth to marry him.
And having had a bit of experience with rejecting unsuitable advances, Celia could tell Liddell was not persuaded that Celia was beyond his reach. She suppressed a sigh, for he appeared to be considering, a different approach. He was probably thinking he would solve it as he did when confronted with a problem in his business.
To Celia’s relief, he let go of it and spoke in the light-hearted way Celia liked, joking and making her laugh.
The afternoon ended in a pleasant manner, in spite of its difficult beginning and Celia breathed a little easier as she waved good-bye to him. Tomorrow she would be working again with his father and Celia would have little time to spare for Liddell. It was a pity that he was set on marrying her, for she did so enjoy his friendship and this marriage thing was bound to ruin it.
Not for a
minute did Celia believe he had given up. Thankfully, in regards to Liddell, her visit was coming to its end and she doubted Liddell would chase her to Rook’s End.
* * *
Next morning the post brought her letters from her mother and Bella. Celia sat by the small hearth in the little parlor and opened her mother’s letter with happy anticipation.
“Dearest Daughter,
Are you ever to return? I find I miss you more than I thought I would and it is most unlike you to think only of your comfort and not of mine. Although Henrietta and her family are old friends, they can hardly be called family. It is with your family that misses you that you should be.
One cannot escape the past but it must drag after us, pulling at our skirt’s hems. I received a letter from Spitalfields, from Mrs. Bundy. You will be surprised to learn she has moved to Shelton! She professes to have been lonely beyond description and to have missed us terribly.
Her main losses: conversation with you and me and doting on Bella and her dear Fred, who as you know she loves dearly. I believe she may inherit him yet the few pounds she has, if she doesn’t decide to leave it to that run-down orphanage of which she is the sole patron.
Her coming has given me nothing but restless nights, for I feared that Mrs. Bundy, as I mentioned to you before, would be objected to. I searched my mind for a way to tell her in a tactful way but kept putting it off, until the day came when she boldly called at the house.
It gave Caroline a fresh reason to scoff at us, Celia, for that tiresome girl misses not the opportunity to demean us. But other than a nasty remark to that smirking cousin of hers with the long face and no suitors about ‘birds of a feather should flock together’ said loud enough for us to hear, she did not object to Mrs. Bundy. Have you ever seen such ill manners?