Cecilia Or Flight From A Shadow

by Catherine Bowness

  “You what?”

  “I did not want him to waste his time pursuing you – and possibly leading you to form an attachment to him – when, in the end, he will be bound to take off when he discovers your circumstances.”

  Helen stared at him, furious, for a moment or two, before she said, “But he showed no interest in me at all. He spoke to no one but Miss Godmanton.”

  “Just so; but he is quite fly enough to play a long game. I can see you think I am wrong – and perhaps I am – but I am older than you and have been around the world for a lot longer. I have met many men like Mr Moss – handsome, charming and impoverished – and conceive it my duty to try to protect my little cousin from him.”

  “Just like my mama felt it her duty to protect me by never letting me out of the house!”

  “Touché! I own, though, that he has surprised me today, not only by his manful efforts to save his family, but also by his refusal to leave the ravine until the coachman had been brought up safely.”

  “Oh! Are you ready to admit that he’s a good man?”

  “In some respects, yes. But he’s still a fortune-hunter and you have no fortune.”

  “If he is, why is he not yet in possession of one?”

  “A valid question, but he’s young yet – not much older than you, I should guess. I can’t help feeling it may have something to do with his mother too and the fact that, while he has beauty in abundance, he has neither title nor, so far as one can see from the one parent he still possesses, breeding.”

  “I suppose the same can be said for his sister,” she reminded him sharply.

  “Indeed. You might well ask why the older one is not married for she is no longer in the first flush of youth. I can only surmise that there is something amiss with the family.”

  “Should I be warning you against her?” she asked, afraid that he had not caught her meaning.

  “No, because I’m in the fortunate position of having both money and breeding. I can afford to marry wherever I choose; you cannot.”

  “It’s not fair!” she exclaimed with childish petulance.

  “No, not in the least.”

  “It’s not fair either,” she went on, emboldened by his apparent understanding, “that you can decide whom to marry - and ask her if the fancy takes you - whereas I, even were you to consider Mr Moss suitable in other ways, would be obliged to wait for him to choose me.”

  “I have to run the risk of being rejected,” he pointed out. “Ah, here comes Mr Moss himself, an I mistake not! I believe it is time you returned to your companions if they are not to think you uncivil.”

  Endymion ran down the stairs with quite as much celerity as he had run up them; he seemed to have boundless energy. He had changed his apparel for something which, although clearly not expensive even when new, and now distinctly shabby, was at least clean and dry – and fitted him to perfection. He had washed his face and brushed his hair, which shone with renewed brilliance in the candlelight.

  “What – still talking? Did I not hear you say as I went upstairs that you were dining with some new friends?” he asked Helen.

  “Yes; but I rather think we had already run out of conversation when you arrived.”

  “I should think they must certainly have done so by now,” he agreed. “Have you left it all to your chaperone? I should suppose that must be stretching everyone’s patience.”

  “You found plenty to say to her last night,” she reminded him.

  “So I did, but it was quite taxing all the same. Has the doctor arrived yet?” he added to the Earl.

  “If he has, he must have come in a different way for he has not appeared while I’ve been standing here. Helen, I suggest you return to your hosts before they become disconsolate. I must, in any event, go upstairs myself to change.

  “Mr Moss, have you spoken to your womenfolk and, if so, are you under the impression that they will be joining us for dinner?”

  “They would like to but, most of their clothes having been scattered in the snow, they’re having considerable difficulty in finding anything dry.”

  “Goodness!” Helen exclaimed. “Would it help if I were to lend them something for tonight? I have brought a quite unnecessary number of gowns with me.”

  “That is an exceedingly kind thought,” Endymion said, clearly touched, “and I am persuaded both my sisters will be delighted to accept; unfortunately, I am by no means certain that anything in your possession would fit my mother.”

  “Oh, no, perhaps not – and Miss Godmanton is excessively thin.”

  “Just so. May I retail your offer to my sisters, Miss Lenham? I think they had almost become reconciled to dining in their chamber for want of anything to wear, but will no doubt be delighted that they need not – although it is a very comfortable room.”

  “Are they all sharing?” Helen asked.

  “No, but they are presently all in the same one. They have draped their wet clothes all over the room so that it looks like a laundry. My mama has twisted her ankle, I think, so that when the doctor does arrive, I would be grateful if he could take a look at her too.”

  “Certainly,” the Earl agreed. “I will leave you here to greet him when he arrives and direct him to whoever requires his services.”

  “I must return to my companions,” Helen repeated although she made no move to do so, having no wish to remove herself from the presence of the young god. “Will you let me know if your sisters would like to borrow any dresses and I will help them to choose?”

  “Most definitely,” Endymion agreed. “I will run upstairs and ask them now and then I suppose I had better wait around until the physician arrives. Apparently, he’s coming from Piedmont so that I daresay it will take him some time to get here.”

  They parted with what to Helen seemed a very ‘speaking’ look, she back to the parlour in which she had been dining, he up the stairs again. She found Miss Godmanton flushed with pleasure at having had the chance to hold court with two gentlemen without interference from self-centred young ladies.

  “Where in the world have you been?” she asked accusingly, but Helen did not think she had been missed by her chaperone, although she thought she did detect a degree of irritation on the older gentleman’s face and one of boredom on the younger’s.

  “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. It was my cousin returned – and he had succeeded in rescuing the whole family. They had fallen into a ravine!”

  “Good God!” Lord Merdle exclaimed. “I should have ordered my coachman to stop when we met the horseman. I feel very bad now that I did not examine the terrain more carefully. Is anyone hurt so far as you know?”

  “I think one member of the family may have sprained her ankle – which is not a large injury in the circumstances – but it sounds as if the coachman has been quite badly hurt. A doctor is expected – we sent for him earlier at my cousin’s request – so we can only hope that he will not be long delayed.”

  “Where in the world will they find one up here?” Lord Merdle asked, probably rhetorically for it was not to be supposed that Helen would know the answer.

  “Somewhere in Piedmont, I understand.”

  “Good God! I should not think he will be here before morning in that case.”

  “We sent for him several hours ago,” she explained. “As soon as we began to suspect there might have been an accident.”

  Lord Merdle was saved from having to reply to this by the arrival of a couple of servants bringing more – hot - food which he had requested when Helen returned.

  “I am so sorry!” she repeated, embarrassed, as the men began to unload their trays.

  “The situation is not usual,” Mr Merdle told her kindly. “It is quite understandable that you would wish to ascertain the state of health of your friends.”

  “Thank you,” she said, bestowing upon him such a warm look that her chaperone, more accustomed to dealing with a sour, petulant girl, wondered what could have caused such a radical change.

&nb
sp; Whether Lord Merdle was aware of any change in Miss Lenham, and to what he might have ascribed it if he had noticed, he disclosed neither by word nor gesture, but refilled their wine glasses with an air of expansive generosity and leaned back in his chair in a pose of not altogether convincing ease.

  They had barely begun to eat again when they were startled by a loud rapping upon the outside door.

  “Is there nobody to let that person in?” Helen asked, beginning to fidget as the knocking continued.

  “I am sure someone will do so,” Lord Merdle told her, peering at the dishes laid upon the table and giving serious consideration to a handsome fish lying in a bed of lettuce and cucumber.

  Helen, listening for the sound of the door being opened, was relieved when the knocking ceased and she heard people speaking outside, amongst whose voices she was able to discern the mellifluent tones of Mr Moss.

  “Pray excuse me once more, my lord,” she said, rising. “I promise I will not allow my dinner to grow cold again, but there is something of a pressing nature which I must impart to the man in the hall, whom I believe to be the doctor.”

  Across Lord Merdle’s face there flitted an expression of something not unlike rage but Helen, already thinking of her next encounter with Mr Moss, was not looking at him as she laid her napkin upon the table and prepared to leave the room again.

  “My dear …,” Miss Godmanton intervened. “You cannot leave the table again. Whoever is in the hall has been admitted and will no doubt be directed to the right place by whoever else is there. There are at least two male voices speaking so I really do not think you need to concern yourself with matters which, really, are nothing to do with you.”

  She received an approving smile, rather stretched and revealing more of his teeth than was perhaps quite natural, from his lordship, but her attempt at preventing her charge from leaving the room failed. Helen pushed back her chair and went out.

  Chapter 22

  Dinner, in spite of the many interruptions, eventually drew to a close for the party hosted by Lord Merdle, after which his lordship, citing an early start the following morning and a late night the previous evening, rose from the table with almost indecent haste and shepherded his son out of the parlour and up the stairs, choosing a moment when there were no voices in the hall and therefore little likelihood of their encountering the other party.

  Miss Godmanton took this rapid departure as an insult. She had been forced to carry the major part of what she considered, in her old-fashioned way, to be appropriate social behaviour ever since they sat down and, having grown almost as tired of the Merdle gentlemen as they had of her, was in a sour mood and eager to lay the blame at her charge’s door.

  As the gentlemen were making their adieux, she sought to explain Helen’s jack-in-the-box conduct as being due to her concern for her absent cousin.

  “Yes, of course; it is perfectly understandable,” Lord Merdle said in long-suffering accents. He was already on his feet and clearly had no wish to prolong the conversation. “She will no doubt wish to congratulate her cousin on his heroic actions as well as make certain he has taken no injury.”

  Miss Godmanton, nodding enthusiastically in response to this analysis, thanked him for the dinner, assured him that the evening had been perfectly delightful and, trying to mitigate a portion of what she perceived as the Merdles’ sudden and unexpected rejection, expressed the hope that they might meet again in the not too distant future.

  “Oh, I do hope so,” Mr Merdle said. He did not seem so eager to escape from the dinner table as his father, who had been fidgeting anxiously ever since the first sound of people arriving in the hall had been discerned.

  “I should not like to think that I had seen the last of Miss Lenham,” he added with what appeared to be genuine feeling. “Perhaps we could meet in Switzerland one day? I suppose you will be staying with Lord Waldron?”

  “Yes; I understand he has a residence on the shores of Lake Geneva, although I believe it is nearer to Lausanne than Geneva itself.”

  “I daresay we are bound to meet again,” Lord Merdle interrupted smoothly, perhaps afraid that his son was about to fix upon a date. “After all, there cannot be a great many English people in that part of the world.”

  “No,” Miss Godmanton agreed doubtfully. She had no idea how many English people there would be, nor indeed whether Lords Waldron and Merdle would be likely to move in the same circles.

  Mr Merdle told her they would be staying at the Angleterre in Lausanne so that they were almost bound to run into each other as he was certain it was not a particularly large town. In any event, he would make sure they did.

  On which promise, his father managed to reach the door and bear him away.

  Miss Godmanton, finding herself alone amongst the remains of the dinner, was all too aware that she had not only failed dismally to keep her charge under control but was uncertain what she should do now. There were no voices in the hall so that, if she were to retire to her chamber – as she was much inclined to do - Helen, when she returned from wherever she had gone, might wonder what had become of her. It seemed to her that, if she had ever had any influence over the girl, it had begun to melt away as soon as they met Lord Waldron, and almost vanished when their party had mingled with the rowdy Mosses.

  Of course, she made a partial exception to her disapproval of the new family for Mr Moss, but she doubted if even he would have much time for her this evening after his adventure on the mountain.

  While she was contemplating her next move, the servant brought in the tea which Lord Merdle had ordered before leaving. She retired to an armchair to drink it while the servants cleared away the remains of the dinner.

  It was some half an hour later, and she was on her third cup, when Helen returned. She expressed surprise at finding the gentlemen already gone, although she did not appear perturbed.

  “Mr Merdle seemed hopeful that we might meet again in Switzerland,” Miss Godmanton said by way of reproach.

  “Truly? Did he say that?” Helen asked, blushing, and ignoring the censorious tone. She was not accustomed to gentlemen showing interest and was young enough to be ridiculously pleased by such a compliment.

  “Yes, he did, although whether his father will permit it, I am not certain. It’s my belief that he, Lord Merdle, was outraged by your conduct - constantly jumping up and leaving the room - and I own I was too. I only hope your mama does not ask me for a report on this evening’s work.”

  Helen laughed. She was growing not only more confident by the minute but also more light-hearted. Miss Godmanton, who had thought the girl rather plain when they first met, was beginning to revise her opinion: there had been those tiresome Romans and now Mr Merdle; she was beginning to think that chaperoning the girl might become positively onerous and she wished Waldron would do what he was expected to do and make her an offer.

  “Mama will know nothing about it unless you choose to write her a letter and, if you do, I give you fair warning that she will have a spasm, possibly a whole string of them, and very likely never recover.”

  “I hope,” Miss Godmanton said, pursing her lips, “that you are not trying to blackmail me.”

  “Good Lord, no! I am only thinking of poor Mama, who is bound to be wracked with anxiety while I am away. It would be excessively unkind to add to her burden. After all, whether Merdle disapproves or not is really of no significance.”

  “On the contrary, it might prove highly significant. He said he was retiring early because he wishes to continue his journey early tomorrow – although I am of the opinion that he was annoyed by your conduct; in any event, he is bound to arrive before us – particularly when one can be almost certain that the Mosses will cause more difficulty and delay us further. He will have ample opportunity to tell everyone he knows what an ill-mannered female you are. No one will wish to invite you anywhere.”

  But Helen seemed untroubled by this dark prediction. She said, “Well, I don’t believe Lord Merdle will have mo
re influence on Swiss society than Horatio. Why, he has never visited Switzerland before, if what he told me is true - which it may not be.”

  “I cannot see why he should lie about such a thing,” Miss Godmanton said mildly.

  “I think he is a man given to manipulation of the facts,” Helen said austerely. “I own I did not like him.”

  “Did you not? Why then did you approach him earlier?”

  “I was only trying to be helpful. He was standing in the hall looking exceedingly disgruntled because no one was attending to him – and I felt sorry for him. That is all.”

  “I see. Well, where is Waldron now?”

  “He went upstairs to change, which reminds me that I have offered to lend gowns to Miss Moss and her sister as theirs are wet.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes; apparently their trunk burst open when they had the accident. Why do you not return to our parlour and wait for us there? I am certain Horatio will be down directly.”

  “Very well.” Miss Godmanton tried unsuccessfully to conceal her relief that she was not to be cast out by her own party. She was suffering from a high degree of dejection on account of Lord Merdle’s precipitate departure.

  “I am sure it will not take long to find something suitable,” Helen said, opening the door and holding it for her chaperone.

  “Should I not come with you?” the older woman asked, suddenly wondering if her chaperone’s duties extended to this unprecedented situation.

  “Why in the world would you want to do that? I cannot conceive that I will be compromised by lending a couple of gowns to two women who find themselves in an awkward spot.”

  “They cannot be said to be precisely respectable females,” Miss Godmanton muttered darkly.

  “Possibly not; all the same I do not see what harm can come to me. If I am not downstairs within a half hour, you may send someone to rescue me.”

  Helen found all three female Mosses huddling in blankets before a blazing fire. They each had their feet in a steaming mustard bath and the two young ones were drinking tea. Mrs Moss held a glass of brandy and, judging by her complexion, had already imbibed a good deal.