Cecilia Or Flight From A Shadow

by Catherine Bowness

  Bidden to enter, Helen thought they looked like an illustration from a fictional work depicting the inmates of a harem. The young ones had their hair flowing all over their shoulders in gleaming black waves, their legs, partially revealed by the way the blankets fell about them, were smooth and creamy – as were their shoulders, also visible from time to time when their coverings slipped; their faces, intermittently obscured by the steam rising from the mustard baths and cups of tea, glowed from the warmth. The matriarch, also swathed in a blanket, still had most of her hair pinned up although there was a considerable quantity making its way down her back where a thin trickle of black dye could be discerned.

  Helen paused in the doorway, aware that she, with her ice-maiden looks, did not by any means belong amongst this group of exotic-looking houris.

  Cecilia stood up.

  “We got exceedingly wet on the mountainside,” she explained. “It was Lord Waldron who ordered the mustard baths.”

  Helen smiled nervously. She wondered whether her cousin had seen the Moss women enjoying his idea of a remedy for the ill-effects of their adventure – and almost pitied him because she was certain he had not.

  “I know,” she said sympathetically, “and I wondered whether it would help if I lent you some clothes until yours are dry.”

  “Goodness!” Cecilia exclaimed. “That is excessively kind of you! Are you sure you can spare them? I am persuaded ours will be dry by morning, but I own I am a little anxious that we will have nothing to wear for dinner – which his lordship has kindly invited us to share with you.”

  “Oh, I have already dined – with some other gentlemen who are staying here,” Helen said, blushing as she mentioned the other gentlemen for, really, it sounded as if she too had found some male admirers; she was certain that her cousin’s extraordinary degree of kindness towards this helter-skelter family was inspired by the admiration he had conceived for at least one of them.

  “Oh, I am sorry you will not be joining us – although perhaps you could – as a sort of observer. But, yes, thank you, Phyllis and I would be extremely grateful for gowns. I do not think, though, that you will have anything to fit Mama.”

  “No,” Helen agreed with a rather embarrassed glance at the matron.

  Mrs Moss, however, was not in the least embarrassed to find herself being sized up and rejected as too large. She said, “Oh, you young creatures are nothing but beanpoles. I am persuaded there is no need for me to come downstairs at all; I can perfectly well have something sent up on a tray. Cecilia will not be backward in looking after her sister.”

  Helen, who had been intending to take the young women to her chamber to choose their gowns, now thought better of it since they seemed to be in such a very extreme state of undress.

  “Shall I fetch a selection from which you can choose?” she asked.

  This offer being immediately agreeable to all three, Helen went off to her own room where she found her maid laying out her night things. Confiding what she had promised, she requested Hannah’s help.

  Hannah, at first rather surprised by this evidence that her mistress could, on occasion, be altruistic, entered into the spirit of choosing gowns for the unfortunate women and the two of them went through Helen’s wardrobe and chose four – in case the first two did not meet with approval. They agreed that Hannah would accompany her to the Mosses’ chamber and would help to dress the beneficiaries of her mistress’s kindness.

  Having introduced Hannah and assured Miss Moss and her sister that, if the dresses she had brought proved unsuitable, the maid would find something else, she took her leave and went downstairs.

  She found Miss Godmanton and her cousin in the parlour and was able to report that she hoped the Mosses would soon be able to come downstairs, although she rather thought Mrs Moss would prefer to take her dinner in her chamber.

  “Does – will you be obliged to lend Mr Moss something of yours, Horatio?” she asked when she had explained the reasons for the delay.

  “No,” he replied, laughing. “His trunk did not fly open and deposit his belongings in the snow. He is presently with the doctor, who is attending the coachman. I have requested the physician visit Mrs Moss and her daughters as soon as he has finished there.”

  “Oh, I see. You know that Miss Godmanton and I have already dined?”

  “Indeed; you were, as I recall, in the midst of dinner when we arrived. It was a wise decision to go ahead as it is already late and it would not have suited Miss Godmanton to wait so long. I gather your host was Lord Merdle.”

  “Yes; do you know him?”

  “I can’t say I do, but then I have not lived in England for some time and have very little knowledge of English society. I gather he is a middle-aged man with a son about your age who, Miss Godmanton, informs me, seemed quite taken with you. If they do turn up in Switzerland, I suppose it will be my duty to try to discover just who they are and what their situation is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, if Mr Merdle were to form an attachment to you – and you to him – I believe it would be incumbent upon me to make certain he is a suitable parti for you. I am, after all, acting in loco parentis while you’re in Europe.”

  Helen grew very red at this and said, “There is not the least likelihood of my forming an attachment to him.”

  “I see. Respectable, did you think?”

  “Perfectly, but surely that is not the only – or even the most important - criterion?”

  “Certainly not the only, but I think arguably the most important – although I believe your father would also place a good deal of weight upon his means.”

  “I am aware that is your belief,” she replied stiffly, remembering his earlier animadversions on the unsuitability of Mr Moss.

  “I suppose you would not wish to spend your life living out of a trunk and circling the world in order to escape your creditors,” he replied, half teasing.

  “Is that what you think the Mosses are doing?”

  “I should think it would be a wonder if it is only creditors they are trying to avoid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come, Helen, they are exceedingly helter-skelter although perfectly charming and absurdly handsome. It would not surprise me if they were fleeing justice. I may be the head of our family, but I would not like to have to explain my actions to your father if I allowed you to have too much to do with that family.”

  “Is this lecture prompted by my having offered to lend them a couple of paltry dresses?” she asked, beginning to work herself up into a temper.

  “No, not at all. That was a kind gesture and exactly the right thing to do in the circumstances. It is merely that I do not think either your mama or papa would wish you to form an attachment to any member of that family.”

  “I suppose you – and, in your opinion, they - would prefer me to become attached to Mr Merdle?”

  “I cannot say, not having met either him or his father. Don’t look so angry – you must know that I have your best interests at heart.”

  “I’m not convinced you know what they are,” she argued, adding plaintively. “I have never had a friend outside my family.”

  “I am aware of that; I hope you will find one or two people whose company you enjoy when we reach Switzerland.”

  “You intend to choose my friends for me?”

  “No, of course not. I mean only to introduce you to a number of people, from amongst whom I am persuaded you will find one or two with whom you can feel comfortable.”

  “But not the Mosses?”

  “No.”

  It was at this inauspicious moment that the door opened to admit Mr Moss. He had changed into evening attire, brushed his hair and looked, as always, more or less the complete gentleman. It was only his astonishing beauty, together with the unfashionable vivacity of his regard, which gave him the dangerous air of a wolf. A sort of collective shiver ran through the frames of both the women as he came in.

  He gave no ind
ication of whether he had heard the last couple of remarks, greeted Miss Godmanton and Helen with an unexceptionable bow and, in response to a gesture from the Earl, sat down.

  “Has the doctor left?” his lordship enquired.

  “Yes – and promises to return in the morning to look at Mario again.”

  “And your family? Did he visit them?” Helen asked. “Your mother seemed to be in a good deal of pain from her ankle.”

  “He did not think it a serious injury but bound it up and advised that she should not attempt to walk too far until the swelling had gone down. My sisters are almost ready to join us,” he added to Helen. “They are delighted with the gowns you have so kindly lent them.”

  Chapter 23

  Endymion, clearly enjoying having everyone’s attention, continued with ironic expansiveness, “I believe Fortune must have been smiling upon my family the day we met you, my lord, for you have saved our lives - and Miss Lenham’s generous and thoughtful gesture has saved my sisters’ pride. Thank you.”

  “Not at all,” the Earl murmured at the same time as Helen said, “I’m looking forward to seeing them.”

  Even Miss Godmanton, who had not been mentioned by name, felt herself to have been included in his embracing glance so that she was afterwards convinced that his eyes had softened most particularly when he looked at her.

  He had been provided with a glass of wine and was explaining to the Earl that the coachman’s condition had improved noticeably while the doctor was with him - the man opening his eyes and uttering a series of groans – when his sisters entered the room.

  It was a peculiar sensation for Helen to see the two black-haired beauties wearing her clothes. She had, unselfishly, chosen gowns whose colours she thought would flatter the other women and saw that her choice could not have been better.

  Miss Moss was wearing a claret silk which she, Helen, did not wear often because, in spite of thinking the colour quite ravishing, she did not believe it flattered her. She had guessed that it would become Miss Moss’s exotic beauty much better. It did. The creamy skin and gleaming darkness of her hair were both shown to great advantage by the warm shade. It fitted perfectly, outlining the slightly more mature curves of the other woman in a way that it never had on the angular frame of its owner.

  The younger girl wore one of Helen’s many dark blue gowns; it was a trifle long but, apart from that, fitted well. It could be seen that, not only was Phyllis shorter than Miss Lenham, but her form was more ample. Helen could not help thinking that, if she was not careful, she might end up – in twenty years or so – with her mother’s rather too abundant curves.

  Both young women entered the room rather as if they were taking part in a fashion parade, Phyllis hanging back shyly behind her older sister and holding up the trailing skirt.

  “How well you look!” Helen exclaimed at once, demonstrating the new ungrudging spirit which she had acquired in the last few days. “You will have to take care not to trip over the hem, Phyllis.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Lenham!” Cecilia responded. “It is the most beautiful gown! I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so lovely – and see how pretty Phyllis looks!”

  As she spoke, she drew her sister forward. The girl, with a charmingly shy glance at her benefactress, dropped her a little curtsey.

  “Thank you, Miss Lenham,” she murmured.

  “It is the greatest possible pleasure,” Helen said with genuine warmth.

  “I feel as though you have become part of my family now,” the Earl said, with what Helen considered a really quite exceptional degree of affability. He had stood up as they came in and bowed them to their seats at the table before ringing the bell for dinner to be served.

  “Are you not joining us?” Cecilia asked Helen, who had sat down again beside the fire.

  “No; Miss Godmanton and I dined earlier.”

  “Will you not sit at the table with us?” her cousin asked. “If you remain over there, it will be difficult to include you in the conversation.”

  Helen glanced interrogatively at her chaperone, who nodded.

  Mr Moss stood up again and fetched two more chairs, after which everyone had to rise again so that the chairs could be fitted around the table.

  “Miss Lenham?” he enquired, pointing to a seat next to his, “and Miss Godmanton? Now we are quite cosy,” he continued, affording each of his neighbours a glimpse of his brilliant smile as the soup was borne in.

  The conversation began with him giving everybody a report on the coachman’s condition and the doctor’s belief that the man would soon – perhaps within the next few hours – recover consciousness fully.

  “Apparently the extreme cold sent him into a sort of semi-hibernation. He has seen such an effect before up here.”

  “How fortunate that you were not all afflicted in a similar manner,” Helen said.

  “Indeed. The thing is, of course, that the poor man was up there on the box – probably already half frozen – and fell much faster and harder than the rest of us, who were rattled about like dice at the start. We have been exceptionally lucky. I own it has given me quite an appetite.”

  “My brother has never been known to lack appetite,” Cecilia said, “but on this occasion he has perhaps a more genuine reason than usual. We have had nothing since breakfast, which now seems almost a lifetime ago.”

  “Lud!” Miss Godmanton exclaimed, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. “You must be famished!”

  “I am,” he agreed, “and this soup is first-rate. What do you suppose it can be made from?”

  “I’ve not the least idea,” the Earl replied, “and believe it is probably best not to ask. Mr Moss,” he went on to his cousin and Miss Godmanton, “was engaged in trying to fashion a sled out of the remains of the coach when we arrived so that, not only has he not eaten a morsel for more than twelve hours, but he has also expended a great deal of energy.”

  “Cissy has too,” the young man said fairly, although unable to resist teasing his sister at the same time. “She was much employed in picking the contents of her trunk out of the snow – more than once - and then she rode that previously recalcitrant nag up the mountain. That was an impressive sight, I can tell you. She had no saddle and was wearing quite extraordinarily unsuitable clothes, but she got it going quite fast, largely by dint of flattery, so far as I could tell from what I heard. At one time I was afraid she might fly off out of sight.”

  “Pray don’t be absurd,” Cecilia besought him, laughing. “We never went much faster than a walk, but it did at least consent to move, which I own I had been afraid at first that it would not – or that it would restrict its movement to bucking. I have not ridden for a number of years and I would be surprised if anyone had ever got upon that horse in its life, so it was a new experience for us both.”

  “You did very well,” Endymion told her more seriously, “but I think it would certainly have thrown you off if no one had ever got upon its back before. I made certain it had an extra portion of mash as a reward when we got back!”

  “Have you been in the stables again?” she asked, rather surprised. “I thought you to have been far too taken up with the doctor and Mario to have had time to do anything there.”

  “I hope you will not feel obliged to earn your keep in the stables tonight,” the Earl said. “I am footing the bill for your board and lodging so that there is no need to be mucking out the stables or feeding the horses.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Endymion said with a warm look which made Miss Godmanton wish she was in a position to buy him something. “I went only to make sure they were all comfortable – which I am pleased to report they were.”

  The soup bowls were cleared away and a quantity of dishes bearing an assortment of fish, apparently from the nearby lake, meat and vegetables were brought in and laid upon the table, to which not only Endymion but also his sisters did full justice. The Earl called for more wine and everyone began to enjoy themselves. There was, amongs
t the whole party, a feeling of joy and relief that an accident which might have proved disastrous had not turned out so badly after all. Everyone felt they must have been spared for a reason – and most believed this to be intimately related to their personal qualities. There was in addition, for Cecilia, a heady sense of liberation at being able to spend a few hours without having to try to prevent her mother from throwing Phyllis at Lord Waldron.

  He spoke to the girl, who was sitting on his left, but Cecilia could detect no innuendo nor indeed admiration of the kind she dreaded in his manner. He treated her like a child, seeking her opinion on simple matters and responding wholeheartedly to what she said so that the girl lost some of her shyness and began to display a good deal of what looked worryingly like hero-worship.

  As soon as dinner was finished, Cecilia said she thought she would go upstairs to make sure her mother was comfortable.

  “Well, you need not spend more than ten minutes with her,” Endymion told her. “She has most likely fallen asleep by this time in any event – and you will break up the party if you go away for too long.”

  “Shall I come with you, Cissy?” Phyllis asked.

  “If you like.”

  The two women went out and Endymion said to Helen, “Do you think I should have offered to go?”

  “I am ignorant of how much comfort you would be able to offer your mother,” she said. “With mine, I always feel I am not the best person to soothe her and that my brother – when he was at home - was better placed to do so, but I don’t think that was because of our sex so much as because I am too much like her. My brother is of a more sanguine temperament.”

  “Not everybody wishes to be soothed,” he said. “Some people prefer to be excited.”

  “Not when excitation invariably leads to argument. My mother has a tendency to fly into pets, followed by spasms, if she feels unsafe.”

  “Indeed? Do you live on the edge of a volcano – or in the midst of a civil war?”

  “We live in Kent,” she said repressively, “but I suppose it would not be entirely unreasonable to liken our household to a country engaged in a civil war. I have always suspected that to be the reason why Horatio won’t come home.”