by Adele Geras
“Nevertheless, you will have a Bright family escort,” said Papa and Cecily realized that he was trying to be light-hearted. She looked to see whether he was hiding his disappointment, but he seemed to be quite cheerful.
Florrie had just closed the door behind them, and they were going down the front steps to the street, when Miss Braithwaite suddenly appeared at the gate.
“How do you all do!” she shrilled. “I am a little late, it seems, for you seem to be on your way somewhere.”
“We’re taking Rosalind home to her house!” Sam cried and Miss Braithwaite said, “How charming! I trust I can join the procession!”
She took Papa’s arm and everyone set out towards the Templetons’. Cecily was so angry that she could feel her teeth grinding together. How could Papa and Rosalind ever grow more familiar with one another if Miss Braithwaite made such a show of being his special friend? And how did it happen that she always appeared at exactly the wrong moment? It was enough to make a person weep with frustration. I shall have to talk to Amy about it, she decided.
The next day or two passed very slowly. Amy was in bed with a heavy cold and sore throat and Mrs. Chistlehurst had forbidden all visitors. Cecily didn’t mind at first, even though it meant she could not talk about what Rosalind had said (I love the Impressionists, as you know…) and what it might mean. How did Papa know such a thing? Cecily didn’t wish to catch any germs, so she was waiting for Amy to feel well enough for a visit. She spent her time meanwhile drawing at the nursery table and playing with the da Pontes and when the weather was fine, sitting on a cushion under the walnut tree with Mr. Lewis Carroll’s book, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
Now she was standing at the drawing-room window, waiting for Papa to come home. He was rather late, as he had been yesterday and the day before that, and Cecily supposed that there must be a great deal of work to do at his office. She gazed out into the road, not really looking for him, but wondering if she might see his approach. She noticed two figures in the distance: a man and a woman, walking together. I wish that Papa and Rosalind might walk home like that, she thought, but it seems as if they never will. She hadn’t visited the Templetons’ house since the photograph had been delivered and she decided that this very evening she would ask Papa for permission.
The couple was coming closer now and she could make out…could it be? Cecily brought her face so close to the window that her breath misted the glass. It was! It was Papa and Rosalind was at his side. He was standing close to her, and now he was taking her hand…and she was saying something to him. Now he’d turned to walk home, and she began to walk in the opposite direction, going towards her house. Where had they come from? Could they have met somewhere and walked to Chelsea together? Had they met by accident? Should she ask Papa when he came in? Or Rosalind? She wished more than anything that Amy was there to talk to. Papa and Rosalind alone together… However the meeting came about, surely it meant something?
“I am quite sure,” said Cecily. She and Amy were in the Chistlehursts’ morning room. Amy had been allowed a visitor at last, but Mrs. Chistlehurst insisted that she stay indoors, even though the weather was fine. “I know what I saw. He was bending over her hand. I never saw him do that to Miss Braithwaite. And he invited her to Aunt Lizzie’s party. And he knew she liked the Impressionists. How did he find that out, if he has never been alone with her? She hasn’t spoken about such things when I’ve been with them.”
“He’s been calling on her and not telling you,” Amy said. “They’ve probably met at an art gallery and looked at paintings together.”
“Then that means he likes her, doesn’t it?”
“I think it’s most romantic… Perhaps they will elope.”
“That’s stupid. Why would they need to elope? No one is stopping them from seeing one another.”
“There’s Miss Braithwaite, though. Don’t forget her.”
Cecily buried her face in her hands. “I like forgetting about her, Amy. But why should she make any difference to what Papa does?”
Amy considered. After a while she delivered her verdict. “Perhaps your papa does have an understanding with Miss Braithwaite. Indeed, perhaps he’s asked her to marry him. Have you thought of that?”
“Oh, no…he’d never…surely he wouldn’t? She’s so dull. He couldn’t. Could he?”
“Yes, he could. And the reason he’s not spoken about it to you is because he knows what you think of her…and he’s plucking up his courage.”
“But what about Rosalind?”
“Rosalind,” said Amy triumphantly, “truly is just a friend, but your papa is keeping their friendship secret out of consideration for his betrothed, who’d be most put out if she found out that he was going to art galleries with another lady. I’m sure I must be right.”
What could Cecily say to contradict Amy’s version of what was happening? It all seemed to fit the case perfectly, and she wondered what, if anything, she could do to stop her father making such a mistake. Perhaps she might ask Aunt Lizzie. She was always very sensible, but would she want to be plunged into the depths of this problem right in the midst of her birthday visit?
Chapter Twelve
The Birthday Party
“I see that my birthday weather is going to be perfect,” said Aunt Lizzie. She was in the nursery with Cecily and Sam, having been banished from the kitchen by Cook, and asked to stay out of the drawing room while Florrie arranged the flowers which had been delivered very early that morning.
Aunt Lizzie was already dressed for the party. Cecily looked at her as she stood next to Sam by the window and thought that although no one could call her a beauty, and although she was celebrating her fiftieth birthday, she was very handsome: tall and slim and always with a smile on her face. Others (like Amy) might think her complexion had seen too much of the sun, from her work outdoors, but Cecily thought she looked splendid in a periwinkle-blue dress, which had been bought for this day.
The sandwiches, some filled with sliced cucumber and some with poached fresh salmon and all looking dainty with their crusts cut off, were ready in the larder. The cakes had been baked and were ready on the cake stands, and neighbours had lent the Brights their garden chairs to accommodate the guests. Florrie had enlisted the help of some of the staff from other houses in Chelsea Walk to assist with handing round the food and drink. Twenty visitors were expected and would be arriving very soon. They would take tea and cordial and other refreshments from a long table that had been set out at the bottom of the garden.
Papa and Aunt Lizzie and the children had eaten luncheon at the morning-room table (“Not a proper luncheon, but just a stopgap till this afternoon,” said Cook) so as not to get in the way. Mossy, who had decided that she did not approve of so much disturbance, disappeared early in the morning and Sam, after a long search, found her in the Mouse Hole Room as he called it: the room where they’d found the antique card hidden behind the panelling. She was curled up on one of the beds, almost invisible in the folds of the dust sheet.
“Lizzie?” Papa came into the nursery. “Are you ready to come down to the drawing room? We have a gift for you, and I should like to give it to you before our guests arrive.”
“Certainly,” said Aunt Lizzie and Cecily took her hand and pulled her to the door.
“At last!” she said. “Come on, Aunt Lizzie. We’ve been so longing to show you…”
“I’m not allowed to say yet, am I, Cecily?” That was Sam and Cecily whirled round immediately and put her hand over her brother’s mouth.
“No…oh, no, Sam. Don’t utter a squeak.”
This made Sam laugh and he started squeaking at once. Cecily wished she’d said something else. She’d spent the last few days impressing on her brother the importance of complete secrecy and silence, but since Aunt Lizzie’s arrival last night, she’d made it her business not to leave Sam alone with her even for one moment. He’d been very good so far, but she was determined not to take her eyes off him until the pho
tograph was safely in Aunt Lizzie’s hand.
In the drawing room, Papa handed the parcel to Aunt Lizzie. She looked at it and turned it over once or twice.
“Not a book, I think. And not any kind of plant, I’m quite sure. Perhaps…could it be…?”
“Open it, Aunt Lizzie!” Sam cried. “Open it now.”
“Very well.” Aunt Lizzie sat down in an armchair and began to unwrap the package. When the photograph was revealed, she gasped and turned bright red and Cecily saw that there were tears standing in her eyes.
“How beautiful! All my loved ones! And under the walnut tree. Oh, it’s so wonderful! How…when…you must have…”
Now that the secret was revealed, Sam flung himself at Aunt Lizzie and said, “Rosalind took our photograph. We had to stand so still. And Mossy didn’t want to, so she’s not in the picture. This is me, can you see? Does it look like me?”
“It looks just like you, dear boy! And like Cecily and you, too, John. I am overwhelmed. Truly. I never expected such a fine gift. I will treasure it for ever. And who is Rosalind?”
“She’s the photographer who took the picture. Rosalind Templeton. Her father is the well-known painter, Roderick Templeton. She has a very good eye, I think,” said Papa. “You will meet both her and her father this afternoon. She wishes to take some photographs of you most particularly, Lizzie.”
“Oh, no, I could never…I’m not…”
“Nonsense, Lizzie. I won’t hear a word of objection. Have you thought how much we would like an image of you to remind us of what you look like when you’re down in Sussex?”
Aunt Lizzie hugged the framed photograph to her bosom. “If you put it like that, I suppose you are right. The day will come when everyone will have photographs at hand of everything they wish to see… It’s like magic, is it not? Thank you, all of you. More than I can say.”
The afternoon sunshine lay in golden stripes across the lawn. The guests had marvelled at the photographic equipment, eaten the food provided, and talked and laughed. Cecily was quite surprised to be approached by Mr. Templeton, who seemed to be waving his sandwich aloft, as though it were a flag.
“Cecily my dear,” he said. “D’you remember how I met you shortly after attending the first night of Mr. Wilde’s play, The Importance of Being Earnest? I believe I told you then that one of the heroines was a Cecily, did I not?”
“You did, sir,” said Cecily, still puzzled.
“Cucumber sandwiches figure in the play as well… They are quite a feature in their own way, in the very first scene! How remarkable!”
He ambled off across the grass, lost in thought and now eating the sandwich instead of flourishing it above his head. Rosalind was sitting down quite near the house with her camera at her side and Cecily went over to stand next to her.
“I think,” Rosalind said, “that you should be the one to take the photograph of your Aunt Lizzie.”
“Really? You’d let me do that? Oh, how lovely… I would love to! But is there enough light? It’s getting quite late.”
“No, the light will do very well. I’ve seen how interested you are in the process, and you’ve seen how I work… I can help you. You’d enjoy taking this photograph, wouldn’t you?”
Cecily was speechless and could only nod her head. Rosalind went off to fetch Aunt Lizzie. How wonderfully everything was turning out! Rosalind understood Cecily’s longing to be the person behind the camera, the one who saw the image upside down and covered her head to compose the picture and make sure the focus was true and clear. The one who decided which single moment, from all the possible moments at this point in someone’s life, should be the one that lasted for ever.
“What’s this, Cecily?” Aunt Lizzie came over quickly with Rosalind following behind her. “This is the time for that photograph of me that you mentioned? I’m very excited at the prospect…and honoured…and you’re going to take it, I believe. Such a treat!”
“Will you please stand there, Aunt Lizzie? Next to that branch that slants down a little…that’s right. You have to be very still.”
Cecily let Rosalind cover her head with the cloth.
“When you look through the lens and see something that you think would make a good picture, Cecily, come out and then slide the film in and just squeeze this bulb…so.” She put the bulb into Cecily’s hand where it felt rubbery and smooth. She did what Rosalind had told her to and peered into the lens and there was Aunt Lizzie, upside down but still recognizable. It was strange, but somehow Cecily could tell how the image would appear when it was the right way up… Aunt Lizzie was smiling. Her face was in shadow, and there were sprinklings of sunshine on her skirt. Were they too bright? Would they spoil the picture? No, that would do very well. She emerged from beneath the cloth and took a deep breath. She slid the film in carefully and squeezed the bulb. There was general applause, and Aunt Lizzie smiled.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll look forward to seeing this picture…very much.”
She bent nearer to Cecily and whispered in her ear. “You look so happy, dearest child.”
“I am, I really am, Aunt Lizzie. More than anything, I wish I could be a photographer when I grow up.”
“Then I’m sure you will be. I’ve always believed that if you want something enough, you should try your hardest to achieve it. And those who try hard very often succeed.”
Amy ran over to Cecily and asked her how she’d felt, looking at the world from under a stifling black cloth. How can I possibly explain how exciting it was? Cecily asked herself. She didn’t have the words to express what she felt, so said only, “It was strange but I liked it.” She wondered how soon it would be before she looked through the camera lens again.
Most of the guests had gone, but a few were still left, sitting on chairs in the shade of the house, chatting to Aunt Lizzie. All the friends she’d known when she lived in Number Six, Chelsea Walk had come and they’d brought every kind of gift, but not one of them (so Aunt Lizzie told Sam, and Cecily had overheard them) was as delightful as the photograph of the Bright family.
Amy and all the Chistlehursts had gone home. So had Mr. Templeton because he was expected at an evening gathering in Mayfair. Miss Braithwaite was hovering near Papa, and Cecily stopped feeling relieved that she’d spent the afternoon speaking to other guests for the most part. Cecily and Sam were now sitting under the walnut tree and Mossy had been tempted out by the smell of the salmon in the sandwiches. She’d found a few morsels on the grass and eaten them, and was now fast asleep on Cecily’s lap.
“Try very hard not to move, Cecily and Sam.” Rosalind was there, a little to their left, and she had moved up on them so quietly that they hadn’t noticed. “I’m going to take a picture of you both as you are now…such lovely patterns of light and shade on your dress, Cecily. This image will be dappled all over with light…just like an Impressionist painting…”
Cecily sat as still as she could. While she was not moving, she noticed that Miss Braithwaite had now attached herself to Papa and was clinging to his arm and leaning against him in a very familiar way. As soon as I can move, Cecily thought, as soon as the photograph is taken, I will go over to them and they will have to separate.
“There,” said Rosalind. “You may move now, children.”
Cecily got to her feet, but Miss Braithwaite was quicker.
“Miss Templeton,” she called out to Rosalind. “Please allow me to thank you so much for coming and marking the occasion with your truly wonderful photographs. John, dearest, I’ve been thinking. Perhaps we may have a picture taken of the three of us, while Miss Templeton is here…you and Lizzie and me. I am, after all, almost a member of the family, am I not?”
Papa looked quite shocked, but said nothing. Rosalind, Cecily saw, turned very pale. She said, “I would like nothing better, but alas, I have not brought enough supplies… I can only carry a limited amount with me. I’m so sorry. I used my last plate taking the photograph of the children.”
�
�Never mind,” said Miss Braithwaite. “There will be another occasion. Perhaps an even happier one than this, I daresay.”
She means a wedding, Cecily realized. Does she? Is that what she means? How could that be?
Rosalind said, “I have to go home now. I’m late already. I’ll say goodbye to all of you and thank you for a very pleasant afternoon.”
She began to pack up her equipment rather hastily. Papa was moving to go with her to the front door, but Miss Braithwaite was there before him.
“I’ll show Miss Templeton out, John. You have your other guests to attend to.”
“I need no accompaniment, thank you, Miss Braithwaite,” said Rosalind. “I will do very well alone.”
She was gone so quickly that neither Miss Braithwaite nor Papa could keep up with her. Cecily felt a shadow fall over the whole afternoon.
Chapter Thirteen
Telling Aunt Lizzie
Aunt Lizzie sat down at the end of Cecily’s bed. “I think,” she said, “that you should tell me what’s wrong. I can see you’re not as happy as you were earlier this morning. Has something happened? Did you perhaps have a disagreement with your friend Amy during the party?”
Cecily said, “No, it’s not that… It’s only…” She didn’t know what to say next. Perhaps she ought to keep quiet? But how wonderful it would be to tell someone of her fears and hopes!
“Will you promise not to tell Papa? Promise?”
“I can’t promise that, Cecily, but I won’t tell him unless I consider it absolutely necessary for him to know. Do you think it will be?”
“No… It’s not anything that I couldn’t say to him, but…”
“I know. Sometimes it’s difficult to talk to those who are closest to you…”
Cecily spoke in a rush because she knew that if she hesitated, she would say nothing at all. “I think Miss Braithwaite wants to be our new mama. I think Papa’s going to ask her to marry him and I don’t like her and don’t want her to live with us. I’d rather have no mother at all, truly. And I hoped that…”