Cecilia Or Flight From A Shadow

by Catherine Bowness

  “Precisely. It’s my belief they went the other way – never had any intention of meeting us again!”

  “But why? Horatio bent over backwards to help them.”

  “Indeed, but they struck me as exceedingly mysterious, not to say sinister. I think they’re running away from something and were afraid that he’d find out what it was.”

  Helen stared aghast at the older woman. “Something criminal, do you mean?”

  “Well, yes; they have no money to speak of and are, when you think about it, a very odd combination of persons.”

  “What in the world do you mean by that? They’re a family like any other.”

  The two women had by this time taken refuge in Helen’s chamber where Miss Godmanton seemed to feel perfectly comfortable in voicing her suspicions.

  “I disagree. They do not bear much resemblance to each other – at least the two young women are similar with their black hair – and I suppose the mother, who clearly dyes hers, must have had black locks originally or she would surely not have chosen that colour, an unflattering one for an ageing female. The young man’s hair is quite different. It would be remarkable if he were related to them; why, his is almost golden!”

  “Yes, but his eyes are a very similar colour to Miss Moss’s. Really, Miss Godmanton! I am quite surprised at your indulging in such a flight of fancy! Do you think they are a criminal gang?”

  “That was what I thought in the beginning, if you recall, and I have had no reason to revise my opinion. The younger girl is not quite right in the head and the mother is excessively vulgar. I do not get the impression that she has a particularly high moral standard and she seems to be opposed a good deal by the elder girl. But the boy – the young man …”

  “I thought you were rather taken with him,” Helen suggested weakly. She was so startled by her chaperone’s peculiar interpretation of the Moss family that she hardly knew what to say.

  “He is excessively charming,” Miss Godmanton said stiffly, her colour rising. “I defy any woman subjected to the full force of his attention to resist him.”

  “Handsome,” Helen corrected. “Certainly, remarkably handsome. So, where, in your opinion, does he fit in?”

  “I should suppose him to be Miss Moss’s paramour,” Miss Godmanton said with a little curl of her lip.

  “What?”

  “They seemed unnaturally close for a brother and sister,” Miss Godmanton muttered, now crimson with embarrassment. “I could not help observing them exchanging what they clearly believed to be covert looks. I am persuaded he noticed how keen Horatio was in involving himself with Miss Moss and her future employment, and decided that he wasn’t ready to cede her to him – and she tried to allay his suspicions.”

  “Lud!” Helen exclaimed. “It sounds like a lurid romance! I had the impression that it is Miss Moss who makes the decisions so that I cannot conceive it likely that she would allow Mr Moss – what, in your romantic tangle are their names, do you suppose? – to make the decision to turn around and go back to Turin, or wherever it was they came from?”

  “Oh, I don’t think they came from there. Indeed, I don’t believe a word they said. I think they told us a pack of lies; why, they said one thing one moment and something altogether different the next. And all this nonsense about Horatio having paid for a room for Miss Moss? Well, he may have done, but I don’t suppose for a moment she was alone in it.”

  “Even Horatio, who is the kindest, most generous man I know, would surely not pay for a room which she could share with Mr Moss, would he?” Helen asked, relieved to have found proof of the Mosses’ genuineness and her chaperone’s error.

  “No, I should think he shared it with her himself and, when Mr Moss found out, he decided to go back the way they had come.”

  “So where is Horatio now?”

  “Nearly at Turin, I should imagine. I don’t doubt there’ll be fireworks when he catches up with them.”

  “I shouldn’t think he would though,” Helen said, “if that’s really the way they’ve gone. They’re several hours ahead of him. Horatio won’t go further than the inn we stayed in last night. If he doesn’t see them before then, he’ll know they’ve done a runner and come back here.”

  “Depends on how much he values Miss Moss,” Miss Godmanton pointed out. “Men can be very stubborn about females.”

  “Really? I don’t believe it – in any event, I don’t believe it of Horatio.”

  “Women who are the object of men’s attentions see a wholly different person from the one their doting relatives know,” Miss Godmanton opined with a pitying look.

  Helen flushed angrily; she knew that Waldron was not interested in her as a woman, indeed she had never met a man who was. She was, in addition, still smarting from the handsome Mr Moss directing all his attention towards her chaperone. She had seen no evidence of his charm the previous evening, except in so far as the object of his attentions had, in Helen’s opinion, made a complete fool of herself, blushing and bridling beneath his compliments which, when you looked at Miss Godmanton and perceived her age, must have been entirely false.

  “Well, I don’t believe it of Horatio,” she said firmly. “No doubt he thought Miss Moss very pretty – she is, excessively so, but I cannot conceive it likely that one evening spent in her company would lead him to gallop after her to the ends of the earth.”

  “I did not say he would go that far, but, when the blood’s up, men behave with remarkable foolishness,” the older woman said, perhaps thinking of Mr Moss dragging Miss Moss to the ends of the earth in order to prevent the Earl getting hold of her.

  “If we are not to keep Lord Merdle waiting for his dinner, I believe it is time we left off speculating about other people’s peculiar habits and set about changing for dinner,” Helen said dismissively, raising her chin with some idea that this might deter Miss Godmanton from usurping her position any further.

  “Indeed. Will you knock upon my door when you are ready so that we can go down together?”

  “Are you afraid Lord Merdle might make a pass at you if you go in by yourself?” Helen asked unkindly.

  “Certainly not! He seems a very pretty-behaved gentleman.”

  “He may do at present but then, as you said yourself, one can never tell how a gentleman will turn out if he conceives what you call an ‘interest’ in a female.”

  This sharp put-down was successful in driving Miss Godmanton away to her own chamber. Helen lost no time in ringing the bell for her maid, thinking that, now that she appeared to have acquired a rival in her chaperone, she had better make some sort of an effort to capitalise on her own advantages so far as gentlemen were concerned. She could not immediately think of any, save that she could give Miss Godmanton at least twenty years and she supposed that must count for something.

  The maid had been part of the household in Helen’s family home but had not been Helen’s particular dresser. In spite of being the cousin of an Earl, she and her parents did not live in a noticeably aristocratic fashion, mainly on account of not having a great deal of money, but also because her father, Lord Charles Lenham, was a penny-pinching introspective who had no interest in Society, and her mother was subject to sporadic – and sometimes quite prolonged – fits of nerves. They did not entertain and, never having made the least effort to forge friendships with their neighbours, were not entertained by others.

  Helen had only once been taken to the local assembly rooms where she had danced with a man whom she had, at the time, found headily attractive. Indeed, the whole evening had been enormously stimulating. It had not been repeated; her mother had retired to her chamber suffering from a crise de nerfs, which had barely abated over the following six months. She realised that it was this – rather than her own relatively mild bout of influenza - that had persuaded her mother to make one last attempt to skewer the evasive Lord Waldron in his lair.

  Chapter 17

  The horses harnessed, the women’s trunk repacked with what little remaine
d of their clothes, and everyone, including the still-moribund coachman, loaded on to the home-made sled, the Mosses were ready to set off on the next stage of their journey.

  Cecilia took up her place at the back where, holding the reins of the lame animals, she prepared to lead them up the mountain in their wake.

  The pair designated to pull the makeshift vehicle showed little enthusiasm for the task ahead of them. After a lifetime of pulling coaches, it was probable that they did not recognise the collection of pieces of wood bound together with an assortment of women’s underwear as representing their next task. They stood sullenly where Endymion had positioned them and, when he took up the reins and told them to walk, refused to move a step. He tried to encourage them with judicial use of the whip, but they merely looked at him as though he were mad, although one blinked disdainfully.

  “Walk on for God’s sake!” he begged them. “Or do you want to die down here?”

  “They’ve been trained to pull a carriage,” Cecilia said. “I don’t suppose they recognise this ingenious contraption.”

  “We all have to adapt to circumstances,” he rejoined irritably.

  “I think you will have to lead them at first,” she said, “until they get the hang of it.”

  “I think it would be better if you led them – just a little way, not all the way up – while I hold the reins because, if they suddenly take it into their heads to make a run for it, I should be more able to hold them back; we don’t want them dashing off too fast because the sled will almost certainly fall apart if much stress is put upon it.”

  “Very well; I’ll give these ones to Phyllis.” As she spoke, she handed the reins of the injured beasts to her sister, telling her to hang on to them for as long as she could but not to let herself be pulled off the sled if they proved reluctant to move.

  She walked round to the front and told the mutinous pair that she believed it would be a good idea if they were to get going as soon as possible. Cecilia had been used to enjoy riding – and indeed hunting – during the time when her father had been alive and they had lived like Quality in a grand house with all the accoutrements of wealth, but she had not had much to do with horses since. She had always been obliged, because of her sex, to work in kitchens while Endymion, because of his, had frequently been assigned to the stables.

  “For God’s sake, don’t pussyfoot around being kind to them,” her mother exclaimed, exasperated. “They won’t understand all that nonsense.”

  Endymion said nothing for he knew that criticising or attempting to command his sister generally had a poor effect upon her compliance.

  “Come along then,” Cecilia said encouragingly, patting the horse beside her. “Let’s go up this little hill and try to get somewhere where you can have a good supper as soon as possible. You would like that, would you not?”

  She stepped forward, attempting to draw the horse with her but it stood its ground.

  “You’re not being helpful,” she told it severely, but it would not meet her eyes. “I’ll try the other side,” she said with the air of a parent having to deprive a recalcitrant child of a promised treat.

  The other horse was no more obliging than the first. It looked at her sideways, showing the whites of its eyes in a way that she found positively intimidating.

  “Don’t you threaten me, old boy! We’re in this together and your co-operation will enable us all to eat our dinner and lay our heads somewhere warm and dry.”

  The horse made a disapproving noise in response.

  “I know,” she said, nodding her head vigorously. “But it won’t do, you know. Come along.”

  She hit it quite hard with the flat of her hand and pulled the reins. The horse, more accustomed to rough treatment than persuasive argument, gave another snort but began to move forward.

  “Good!” she said approvingly. “I wonder if you could move a little faster. Walk on!”

  To her surprise, it did, although the other seemed reluctant to follow suit. Cecilia looked back at Endymion questioningly. He smiled encouragingly and flicked the whip at the immobile animal. It flung up its head, felt the pull on the harness from its companion and, with another disagreeable complaint, began to walk.

  At first Cecilia was so pleased with her success that she began to think about what she would have for dinner, a meal she would no doubt find herself clearing up afterwards. Unfortunately, her optimism turned out to be premature as they soon came to a halt, not on account of the horses’ lack of co-operation but because the ground, beneath its thin covering of snow, proved to be far more uneven than Endymion had expected. The animal, now that they had got going, plodded on but she, inadvertently putting her foot into a small, hidden declivity, lost her balance and found herself being dragged along until it interpreted this brake upon its harness as a signal to stop.

  “Are you hurt?” Endymion asked anxiously.

  “No, but, Dym, they’ve stopped again.”

  “Very thoughtful of them. But I’m afraid it may happen repeatedly as it’s hard to see what’s ahead – especially now it’s getting dark. Do you think you could ride one of them?”

  “I don’t know. They’re not used to being ridden, are they?”

  “Probably not, but I’m sure they have been at some point. Shall I throw you up?”

  “Yes, I suppose you had better.”

  “Which one do you prefer?”

  “I don’t know. Which do you recommend?”

  “The one you’re standing beside; I suppose he’s grown accustomed to you and was thoughtful enough to stop when you tripped.”

  “I don’t think it was thoughtfulness; I think he took it as an excuse to give up.”

  “Possibly; he’s about to find out his mistake. We all do eventually with you, dear Cissy. Ready?” He was beside her.

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to sit astride?”

  “I think I’ll have to if I don’t want to fall off. He’s very big,” she added as her brother, not waiting for any further argument, lifted her on to the animal’s back. It took this new assault in its stride, merely standing there, probably no longer surprised by its human companions’ actions.

  Endymion held it steady, although there was little sign of its being about to bolt, while Cecilia settled herself on its broad back and tried to rearrange her skirt to cover at least a portion of her legs.

  “You remember how to ride?” he asked. “How to communicate with the horse?”

  “Yes, although I think this one is remarkably uncommunicative and will very likely pretend to misunderstand me. Will you be holding it back? It won’t suddenly take it into its head to gallop up the mountain, will it?”

  “It might, but I think we’ll have to try. Be firm, Cissy, you’re in charge and must make it do what you want – and I’ll try to hang on behind. Be off with you!” he added, giving the animal a slap on the rump before jumping back on to the sled as the horse, startled and annoyed, set off in its lumbering way up the mountain.

  It was not an animal bred for speed or elegance and it was by no means youthful. It had spent its life pulling carriages of one kind or another, mainly up mountain roads, and was a great deal more accustomed to the whip than the knees and feet of a young woman, but it must indeed have been ridden in its youth for it recognised its rider’s signals and plodded forward.

  “Oh, you excellent creature!” Cecilia exclaimed, patting its neck.

  “Don’t give it too much praise until we get to the top,” Endymion advised. “It might get carried away.”

  “But it is doing well,” she said, turning to grin at him.

  “Yes, at present. Slow and steady should be your watchword. Remember, the sled is held together with stockings – it won’t stand much speed or racketing.”

  “No.”

  They went forward – and up – for some way in this manner so that everyone was beginning to feel more optimistic until, in the gathering gloom, the other horse stumbled, jerking its companion sideways
.

  Endymion wrestled to hold the pair together and Cecilia tried to calm her mount, but they had become disoriented and each seemed to blame the other for the split. The riderless horse fell into a state of panic and strove to separate itself from its companion with such energy that it succeeded in dragging the fragile sled apart.

  Endymion, realising that he could no longer hold the horses and sled together and afraid that Cecilia might be unseated, shouted, “I’m going to let you go! Ride up to the top and either fetch help or wait for it to arrive! It can’t be long but for God’s sake don’t wait for us.”

  The next moment she felt the reins her brother was holding slacken and drop and suddenly she and her horse were on their own. Scenting freedom, the animal gathered itself together and set off at what could only be described as a sprint.

  At first preoccupied with trying to keep her precarious seat, it was not until they had gone some way that Cecilia realised that it was not the right way – or not the way she had originally intended to go. They were not so much going up as sideways, encircling the mountain rather than climbing it. It was only when she managed to master the animal sufficiently to halt its progress and turn its head, that it occurred to her that its method of proceeding was not so very mistaken.

  It could not be expected, especially with a burden upon its back, to run straight up a steep incline. They must adopt the method used by whatever other animals lived in the mountains and follow what she now saw was a winding path making its way upwards by degrees towards the road. Accordingly, having brought the horse under control and slowed it to a walk, she allowed it to choose its own route. Eventually, when she felt confident that it knew what it was doing, she looked down to see what had become of the rest of her family.

  What she saw filled her with despair. They had stopped, their belongings were once again scattered in the snow and Endymion was engaged in binding up the sled again. Their mother stood watching him – and no doubt complaining - while Phyllis was running around picking up their clothes again; at least they did not seem to have been hurt for both the women were on their feet.