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Authors: Lizzie Church

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Even worse, Alfred having
similarly failed to find himself another partner, she had the embarrassment of finding herself back on his arm and being dutifully escorted by him into the tea room. Cecily had the chagrin of having him help her to the refreshments, which he did most attentively, though a little officiously, warning her about the richness of the fruit cake and the bilious potential of the soup. She looked around anxiously as he did so. The company in the assembly rooms had filled out with the break-up of private parties, and she had quite lost sight of Mr Forster in the crush. He had not spoken one word to her all evening, despite her conviction that he was well aware of her presence. All the enjoyment of the ball seemed to evaporate in an instant. For the first time in her life, she could hardly wait to get back home.

Chapter
17

I
n spite of the distraction of her cousin it was not too long before Cecily noticed a very marked change in Mr Forster’s demeanour and, in particular, a very marked change in his demeanour towards herself. From having become used over the course of the previous few weeks to having him almost constantly in her company he was suddenly nowhere ever to be seen. Miss Forster had vacated Bath for a few days, escorting her Aunt Forster back home to Box, so she no longer had a reason for visiting at Sydney Place. And though she constantly scoured his usual haunts – the pump room, the library, the evening assemblies - much to her vexation and bewildered surprise, of her erstwhile admirer she could suddenly see no sign.

At first she was almost successful in persuading herself that nothing whatsoever was wrong – that it was
quite within the realms of possibility that Mr Forster might be slightly indisposed – young gentlemen did occasionally bring these things on themselves, so she had heard -  or even engaged with his father, or attending his sister to their aunt’s.

But her hopes
soon faded. The realisation quickly dawned that all was not well in their relationship – that, for whatever reason, the gentleman who had seemed so affable, so assiduous, so happy to be by her side - no longer appeared to be anything of the sort. She wondered what she could possibly have done to offend him. Yes, she had danced two dances with Alfred – and accepted his arm in to tea. But young ladies danced with gentlemen at every assembly. She could not have danced only with
him
. Or perhaps she had been too forward in allowing his embrace after the concert? Perhaps she had disgusted him by eating codlin in the street? Perhaps her behaviour, her sense of propriety, had fallen short of what he would look for in a wife? Perhaps she had offended his fastidiousness? And yet – and yet, he was not a dreadfully formal young gentleman himself, and she had surely not been so exceedingly bad? Perhaps he had discovered that he just did not like her? Perhaps he had only thought of her as his sister’s friend? Yet his previous behaviour – his attentiveness, his admiring looks, his enthusiasm for being by her side – none of this had given her any indication that he wanted her elsewhere. On the contrary, she was convinced that he
did
like her and she knew that she liked him. And indeed the more she thought of it the worse it became. She realised, with a sudden jolt, that she had enjoyed his company more than she could say. She realised that it was in large part down to his attentions that she was enjoying her visit to Bath so much. She realised, dejectedly, that she had hoped for something more permanent to follow. After all, he was the most alluring gentleman that she had ever set eyes upon and she realised that despite her assurances to the contrary – despite her assurances that character was all - that it was his very personal attractiveness – his polish, his elegance, his liveliness, his charm - that she actually valued above almost everything else. It was all most annoying, most maddening, most infuriating. But how could it really be otherwise? If character was what she was looking for, then Alfred – ponderous, steady, good-natured Alfred - should most certainly be her choice?

And now that she
’d acknowledged all these inconvenient truths she found her spirits sinking and an unwonted weariness beginning to take their place. Suddenly, after thoroughly enjoying all the delights that Bath had to offer – thoroughly enjoying the shopping, and the gossip, the dining, the concerts and the balls – suddenly, after accepting all these diversions and fripperies without a second thought, everything seemed to lose its ability to enchant her and she could see and feel it all for what it was – a shallow place of gloss and affectation, which was making her grow dull.

Her misery
at not seeing him, though, and at having to put up with the indignity of being escorted and protected all day by Alfred, was as nothing to her misery when she did. For on the following Sunday, having successfully shaken off her dreary cousin for a while, she retired from church to take a stroll in the cold winter’s sun along the gravel walk, in company with her aunt. But no sooner had they emerged at the top of the walk than she caught sight of Mr Forster’s immaculate form way below her, sauntering in a leisurely manner, with a lady on his arm.

It w
as probably lucky that Mrs King was distracted just at that moment by the sight of a particularly ravishing fruit-basket with a gigantic brim, which was masquerading as a hat on top of a lady’s head. She failed to register Cecily’s startled gasp as Mr Forster came fleetingly into view, and by the time she had wrenched her gaze away from the delights of the fruit-basket the gentleman, together with his lady friend, had gone.

‘Well, of all things,’ she was saying admiringly, ‘
what an... I cannot say that I’ve ever seen the likes of that before.’

It took just a second for Cecily to realise that her aunt was not talking about Mr Forster’s
companion – who, indeed, from her swift manifestation half way down the hill, did appear to be a vision the like of which she had never seen before – but her relief at escaping her wondering astonishment was as nothing compared to her own mortification at what she had just seen. For despite the brevity of the lady’s appearance she had known in an instant who he was with. It was the self same person that he had so smilingly invited to dance at that miserable ball. So her suspicions were correct. Mr Forster had traded his allegiance. For whatever reason, just as she was growing attached to him, just as she was hoping to receive a violent profession of love from him, he had deserted her for some unknown reason in favour of somebody else.

No longer could Cecily appreciate the blueness of the sky, the brightness of the wintry yellow sun. For suddenly all she was aware of was the cold – the intense, biting cold from an easterly wind
which penetrated her light pelisse as if it was not there, and the equally cutting cold that had somehow claimed her stomach for itself and held her tenaciously in its icy grip. She felt anxious - anguished – mystified - distressed. It was as if a terrifying monster – a monster made up of all her worst misdeeds and all of her fears, the monster that used to visit her in her sleep and frighten her half to death in the night  – it was as if this terrifying monster had suddenly materialised before her and held her in its zealously malevolent grip. Whatever had she done to frighten him away? None of her previous conjectures had fully convinced her, but discounting them left a mystery in their wake. Whatever had she done to frighten him away? She really couldn’t think. 

She was aware that she was shivering
, and her aunt, suddenly feeling a shiver of her own, suggested that they should step on down the walkway and get themselves back in the warmth.

‘For I am sure that Alfred will be back by the time
... my dear, or, if he is not, I daresay he will not be very long – he had a visit that he wished to make, I recall, or, rather, his father wished him to make with him, though it would not take more than a moment.... I hope we shall get back before we freeze half to death... I fear most particularly exposure to a chill. Perhaps we should take some honey... or some stewed quaker... I really must set my mind to finding a new fur...  there was quite a pretty one in Goodes’ – fox, I think, or maybe... – quite a good colour, though dear Mrs Springfield had one quite similar and... Perhaps he may read out loud to us before we go to the fete.’

Cecily cast her aunt a
dull, wintry smile. The thought of Alfred’s deathly reading skills – for his articulation allowed for no variation in pace, tone or mood and sounded precisely the same whatever he was reading, whether tragic, comic, serious or light – was not exactly calculated to make her feel any better. But at least it would give her an excuse to be quiet for a while. She should focus on her embroidery and pretend to listen to him, while all the while submitting to the secret misery that Mr Forster had truly quitted the field.

Chapter 18

The reading – no better than Cecily had fe
ared but thankfully quite short-lived – was duly survived and later that afternoon Cecily accompanied her cousin, uncle and aunt to a fete at the Sydney Hotel. It was in celebration of a local dignitary’s birthday, and the great and the good of the city were intent on gathering together to commemorate the occasion in style.

She half hoped, half feared, to see Mr Forster there, for she didn
’t know whether he would be on his own, and whether they should speak to each other if he were. So it was with some feeling of trepidation that she clasped her cousin’s arm as they approached the entrance to the hotel and stepped through its arched portico into a beautiful, well-lit hall.

She
tried to set her concerns aside, however, as she preceded her aunt and uncle into the grand reception room at the front of the building. She had never been into the Sydney Hotel before and, though she had not previously thought about it, she had not really known quite what to expect. She looked around with a mild but growing interest. Everything looked extremely grand, from the velvet-covered Adam-style dining chairs and delicate round tables to the rich, burgundy velvet curtains which were just then festooned most elegantly around the splendidly arched windows overlooking the road.


How beautiful it all is, Alfred,’ she whispered, as they found a table and accepted some sandwiches from a somewhat obsequious waiter in a liveried jacket. ‘I must say I am rather surprised. Why, it reminds me most strongly of your parlour back at Ascot House. Do you not think so, Alfred – those curtains are draped in exactly the self same way?’

Alfred looked at them. Cecily could see that he wouldn’t have been able to describe the curtains at
Ascot House were his life to depend on it. But he nodded dutifully at her and agreed that they probably were.

Cecily continued her perusal of the reception room, though she was examini
ng the people rather more than her environment. She recognised many of them – some speaking acquaintance, others mere nodding acquaintance, none of them meaning anything particular to her at all. A few of them came up to speak to her. She exchanged some pleasantries – ‘Yes, exceedingly cold – I understand that snow is expected again in the north’ – ‘Yes, the orchestra is most fine. I particularly enjoy listening to the waltzes, though I have never yet dared to perform one for myself’ – ‘It is of very great concern. I understand the Prince to be in contact with Mr Perceval on a daily basis’ – but the absence of the one person whom she most desperately wanted to see (but only if he were to come smilingly upon her and whisk her quite away) made everything – and everybody – else appear pedestrian and dull. Even poor Alfred noticed it.

‘Are you
quite well, Cess?’ he asked at last, after a further nervous scan of the room. His interjection made her start. Her mind had been a distant world away. She knocked her pastry quite onto her lap. She flicked the crumbs away in irritation.

‘No, not really, Alfred. I am suffering most awfully from the headache this afternoon. I fear the cold must have affected it.’

‘I hope you have not caught something nasty, my dear. I did warn you of the cold before you set out for church. You should have dressed more warmly, in your furs. I thought you might suffer. Do you wish me to escort you home?’

She looked across at him gratefully.
She realised that, yes, above everything else (bar one) the thing that she wanted at just that moment was to escape from the noise and chatter and get herself back home.

‘Thank you,’ she said, with a faint smile. ‘I should like that very much.’

They retrieved their outside things – Cecily her sable cloak and muff, Captain King his greatcoat, beaver and umbrella, which he insisted on holding, much to Cecily’s embarrassed but wry amusement, in the same way as a rifle – and stepped out briskly into the cold winter air. The evening had drawn in by now but the front of the hotel was lit up brightly, its own oil lamps supplemented every now and then by the flaring lights of carriages as they dropped their passengers and made their way to the stables round the back. Captain King drew her hand dutifully under his arm as they waited together to cross the road. Cecily looked straight ahead, determined to prevent her eyes from straying towards the house almost directly across from where they stood, in Sydney Place. Had she not done so she might just have perceived the shadowy figure of a handsome young gentleman, standing morosely at an upstairs window, watching their progress as they eventually passed out of sight.

Chapter 19

‘How is your head
ache now, Cess?’ asked Captain King. They were sitting together in the drawing room, warming themselves by the golden glow of the fire. ‘Is there anything I can do to alleviate it?’

BOOK: Mr Forster's Fortune
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