What About Cecelia? (19 page)

Captain Wood

Penyclawdd Wales.

Dear Sir

You requested that any information about
a Miss Cecelia Wood be forwarded to you. A young woman arrived the
evening you did, and was scared of the crossing. She stayed the
night in our inn. Had I known of your interest, I would have
introduced you to her when you arrived. That morning I asked her
name and she said it was a 'Miss Jane Arnold'. She knew Miss Wood's
first name without my telling her, and after pressing admitted she
was a Miss Cecelia Wood. Despite her wishes, we stopped at the
Anchor, but you were gone. She caught the stage to Swansea with the
intent of lodging with her aunt and uncle. I made sure she was on
the stage. Something she said left me with the impression that her
uncle was a vicar or a clergyman of some sort. She didn't tell me
the name.

Sincrly

Josaiah Finch

Captain and proprietor, Aust Ferry

George stood speechless for a full minute. To
have come so close. Not just once, but twice. He walked into the
parlor in a daze and sat, still dumbfounded. Eventually he spoke,
“Meadows, I don't believe it. She was there. She was at the ferry
and I rode past her. I hurried out of Chepstow to search for her
and she would have been dropped into my arms had I delayed.”

Meadows sympathized, “Well, sir, these things
happen. I did inquire of the servants and found that her uncle was
a vicar somewhere in Glamorgan County.”

“Actually Meadows it must have been three times.
The stage undoubtedly arrived in Swansea while I was out looking
for her aunt, or in that blasted bridewell. If I'd tarried at the
White Swan, she'd have walked into me.”

“Most unfortunate, sir. It also occurred to me,
while you were out, to check which bank her family used. The
interest from her four-percents must be sent somewhere, and maybe
she has arranged for it to go to her current abode.”

“I suppose we can check. At least see if they'd
tell us where the interest is sent. Which bank?”

“Bevan's bank, there is a correspondent bank in
Abergavenny.”

“Keep Heulwen here, I'm off to Abergavenny, and
she can only get into trouble if she follows me.”

“Yes sir.”

It was approaching mid-afternoon in Abergavenny
when Captain Wood rode into town. He stopped at the King's head,
next to the farmer's market and arranged for his horse. Then he
strode out in search of Bevan's bank. Perhaps fortunately he ran
into Mr. Landor on the way.

“Captain Wood! What brings to you to
Abergavenny? I thought you were planning to walk in the hills. It's
such fine weather.”

“Meadows suggested I look at Cecelia's bank.
Maybe they've received a letter from her.”

“If they'll tell you.”

“Worth a try.”

“Speaking of banking, George, you owe me two
pounds.”

“Two pounds?”

“For this. Mr. Landor pulled a copy of 'A
Topographical Dictionary of The Dominion of Wales' from his pocket.
“It's the 1811 edition, and lists all the parishes. Dashed useful
if you're planning to search for a vicar, I'd say.”

“I don't have it on me, only a few
shillings.”

“You can owe me,” Mr. Landor handed Captain Wood
the book. “So Bevan's is where the Wood's banked is it?”

“That's what Meadows heard from the other
servants.”

“Then, tally-ho. I was on my way home, but Julia
won't mind my being late. Especially if I have an amusing anecdote
to tell her. She likes Cecelia, have to include her in your
wedding.” He led the way to the bank, and barged in.

A highly frosty version of, “What can I do for
you, sir?” passed through the air and greeted them. “We are about
to close for the day.”

“Yes, well, um.” George was,
uncharacteristically hesitant. So Walter spoke up for him, “I say,
old chap, have you received any correspondence from a Miss Cecelia
Wood, lately of Penyclawdd?”

The clerk gave them a stare that was, if
anything, even icier than his initial greeting, and replied, “We
don't discuss our client's private business with other people.”

“I'm not 'other people',” George shot back a
heated response, “I'm her cousin, Captain Wood from Penyclawdd. I
need to find out where to send her the payment for a horse she sold
last month.”

“Oh,” the man hesitated in thought, then
continued, “Well, then, I guess that's completely different. Didn't
she tell you that she's now using our bank in Swansea?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“You can just give me the funds, and I'll see
that she gets them at our correspondent bank in Swansea.”

“Will you take a draft on my bank?”

“Of course sir.”

Ten pounds poorer, and with very little
enlightenment resulting from the expense, Captain Wood and Mr.
Landor left the bank.

George remarked, “Walter, I suppose you wouldn't
say no to a pint before we rode home? At least I know she really is
in Swansea. Not sure it was worth ten pounds, but at least I know
she really is there.”

“Just a pint?”

“Just one, and I'm paying.”

“For that I'll tell you about Gelert.
Interesting story.”

George patiently endured Walter's digressive
explanation of the Gelert legend
^viii
at the pub.

“So this dog, Gelert, saved the King's infant
son from a wolf?”

“Yes, and the King killed the dog, thinking that
she had killed the child.”

“And he never smiled again?”

“Never.”

“Melancholy tale, isn't it. It's not really your
style Walter.”

“I suppose not. When I tell it to you, it smacks
of commonplace maudlin sentiments.”

“Where you trying to tell me something with
it?”

“Me? Not that I can think of. Unless maybe.”

“Maybe what?”

“Just an idea, no it would never work. It's too
daft.”

“What!”

“Why don't you take that dog of yours, Heulwen
wasn't it?”

“Take her where?”

“To Swansea? She'll recognize Miss Wood, won't
she?”

George was awestruck with the simplicity of the
idea. “That's fantastic! Heulwen would know Cecelia anywhere. I'd
buy you another pint, but I really must be on my way back to
Penyclawdd. Got to see a man about a carriage and get packing.”

Landor, oblivious as usual, replied, “If you say
so, I'm due back anyway. Julia will be worried about me if I'm away
too long. Seems to think I'm always ready for an argument.”

“Aren't you?”

“An argument no, a good friendly heated
philosophical discussion, any time. It's just that too many people
get them mixed up.”

George pushed his horse to a gallop on the way
back to Penyclawdd. He shot up Hereford road, then off onto the
farm lane and into the farmyard. He shouted for his groom. The
groom came out of the stables, “Captain Wood, sir! What is it?”

He tossed the groom his reins, and shot back,
“I've found her! I'll need the carriage tomorrow.”

“Found who?”

“Miss Wood, that's whom.”

The groom smiled. If it were it his place he
would have congratulated Captain Wood with a hearty slap on the
back. As it was, he would pass the news to the other servants and
the tenant farmers. There would be a quiet gasp of relief across
the estate as the news spread.

“Sir! Speaking of Miss Wood, Mr. Jones has a
question about his farm. Miss Wood usually handles these questions.
She's been acting as the steward ever since her father fell
ill.”

“What does it have to do with either her or
me?”

“He's one of your tenants. He wants to harvest
lumber from the Coed.”

“Coed?”

“The woods.”

“Why?”

“To sell in Abergavenny.”

“What would Miss Wood have said?”

“Mostly likely no, sir.”

“Tell him I'll be here this evening, and only
this evening, if he wants my answer.”

“And sir?”

“Yes?”

“How far are you going with the carriage?”

“Swansea.”

“Then I'd best see about hiring postilitons and
horses.”

“Do whatever you think best. I just want a
carriage, here, in front of the house ready to take you, me,
Meadows and Miss Wood's maid to Swansea early in the morning.
Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Please see that it happens. Oh and
Heulwen is coming as well.”

“The dog, sir?”

“Especially her. I need that dog with us. She is
going to find Miss Wood for us.”

The tenant farmer, Mr. Jones, called on Captain
Wood that evening. He stood in the front hall and waited while the
Captain hurried down to meet him.

He asked, “Sir, What's happening?”

“Just getting ready to make a trip to Swansea.
Miss Wood is there or more likely nearby. Staying with her aunt. At
least that's where the evidence points.”

“Did you hear about my request?”

“You want to harvest timber from the Coed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand that Miss Wood did not approve of
this activity.”

“No, sir. She didn't.”

“Explain to me why I should alter her wishes?
How much wood and why?”

“Well sir, there's a good market in Abergavenny
for lumber right now.”

“So you'd like to strip the hillside and make a
few pounds?”

“Not as such sir.”

“Then what?”

“A few trees are getting old and overgrown. They
need to be thinned if the forest is to be healthy.”

“I see. Which trees?”

“I can show you. Sir Giles, before he took ill,
would let us do this.”

“You are aware, that I'm in a hurry right this
instant, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there any reason to rush this decision?”

Mr. Jones thought, then replied, “Not really
sir. The trees aren't going to walk away, are they? It will take
some months to season the lumber for sale.”

“Good, then when I get back, hopefully with Miss
Wood, we'll examine this in more detail. If you're right about the
trees, there won't be a problem. If you're telling me a fable,
though I may have to look into the matter of rents.”

“No, no sir. The gospel truth.”

“Then you don't have anything to worry
about.”

“Thank you sir.” Mr. Jones turned to leave when
the Captain interrupted him.

“Mr. Jones?”

“Sir?”

“You wouldn't know anything about Miss Wood's
Aunt or Uncle per chance?”

“Well sir, now that I think on it. I remember
that he was a vicar.”

“I knew that, anything else?”

“Don't rightly remember his name, but his church
wasn't in the big part of Glamorgan. It was in a little place off
to the side, somewhere they called the Gower.”

“If you'd wait and let me run through some
names. Maybe you'd recognize one?”

“You can try, sir. If I remember I'll tell
you.”

Captain Wood retrieved the topographical
dictionary and started down the list of incumbent vicars.
Unfortunately none of the names triggered a response.

“Sorry sir, that I couldn't be more
helpful.”

“That's the way it is. Thank you, and don't
forget. Don't harvest any lumber until I return and approve
it.”

“Yes sir.”

“Anything else? I have to see that we're ready
for our trip tomorrow.”

The carriage from Penyclawdd pulled into Swansea
late in the afternoon. Captain Wood, Meadows and Heulwen left the
groom and Martha to arrange things at the White Swan. Standing in
the middle of high street, they debated what to try.

Meadows suggested, “I was wondering sir, if we
might ask at one of the larger churches?”

“Why?”

“It occurred to me that the local clergy must
know each other, by repute if nothing else.”

“It's worth a try.”

It took them asking directions several times,
but eventually they found themselves at St. Mary's. Captain Wood
asked, “Meadows, if you would restrain Heulwen here, I'll go ask at
the rectory.”

“Sir. I'll ask any persons who appear to be
wearing clerical garb.”

“Excellent. One of us will catch ourselves a
cleric.”

Mr. Andrews answered Captain Wood's knock on the
vicarage door.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I'm looking for a Miss Cecelia Wood.
Her uncle is a vicar in a local parish. I was -.”

Mr. Andrews rudely spat back, “Never heard of
her. I'm sorry.”

He attempted to shut the door but George's foot
was in the way.

“Are you sure? That was a very hasty
answer.”

The vicar's voice could be heard from inside,
“Mr. Andrews, what is it?”

“Sir, a stranger. He's requesting information
about one of the local parishes.”

“Bring him inside. Remember what our Lord said
about refuge for strangers?”

Mr. Andrews bristled. This was obviously the man
Miss Wood had warned him about, and now his vicar would request
that he betray his trust to her. Nonetheless, he opened the door
and escorted Captain Wood to his superior.

“Mr. Andrews, who is this and what does he
want?”

“I- I- didn't get his name.”

“And yet you were willing to send him off in a
brusque and rude manner that was ill-befitting a man of the
cloth?”

“Sir, He was asking me to betray a trust.”

“Interesting.” The vicar addressed Captain Wood.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I'm Captain George Wood. I'm trying to find my
cousin, Miss Cecelia Wood. She ran away from my household in Bath,
and I think she is living with her aunt and uncle. Her uncle is a
vicar in the county of Glamorgan, I believe on a place called the
Gower.”

His vicar could see Mr. Andrews swell with a
mixture of rage, frustration and impatience.

“Mr. Andrews, until you can comport yourself
with more dignity, you will remain a curate. Now, Captain Wood, my
understanding from Mr. Andrews is that Miss Wood's whereabouts are
a matter of trust. Isn't that correct?”