Cecily's Portrait Page 6

  Chapter Ten

  The Bright Family Photograph

  “…and it isn’t just me, Amy. Sam thinks almost the same thing, even though I’ve not spoken to him about it. I know he’d love Rosalind to be our mother.”

  Cecily and Amy were sitting under the walnut tree in the garden of Number Six, Chelsea Walk. Nanny Mildred had forbidden all climbing among its branches, but as the girls were busily occupied making a daisy chain, and talking about Cecily’s latest idea, this was no hardship. Amy said, “But Cecily, it’s a ridiculous daydream. Why on earth should Rosalind want to be your mother?”

  Cecily decided to ignore the rudeness of her friend’s remark, which meant, as far as she could see, that Amy considered being a mother in the Bright household a less than pleasant task. “Why,” she said, “anyone would think Sam and I are horrid children. You don’t think so, do you, Amy?”

  “No, of course I don’t, but I’m your friend. Someone who isn’t accustomed to you both might have a different opinion. You want your papa to fall in love with Rosalind, don’t you? And she with him.”

  “Yes,” Cecily admitted. She imagined her papa and Rosalind, sitting in armchairs beside the fire in the drawing room, with herself and Sam at their feet, and chided herself for her daydream. But Amy’s remarks were often double-edged. Cecily didn’t know whether to feel relieved that Amy had said she was her friend, or offended because she’d managed to imply that she’d had to grow “accustomed” to Cecily before she became one. She’d also made it sound as though Papa and Rosalind falling in love was so unlikely as to be all but impossible.

  Amy continued, “You said Miss Braithwaite was there when Rosalind came to your house?”

  Cecily nodded, miserably. “She behaved as if she was the mistress of the house. She poured the tea. She stood at the door to say goodbye to Rosalind when the time came for her to go home. She and Papa stood arm in arm.”

  “Then all is lost,” said Amy, using her fingernails to nip a daisy through its fat stalk. “Rosalind probably thinks Miss Braithwaite is your father’s fiancée.”

  “Then I shall tell her the truth. That Papa and Miss Braithwaite are friends and no more.”

  “Are you quite sure that they aren’t more than friends?”

  This made Cecily pause in alarm. “I don’t think they are. Papa does not act as though he loves her. Not at all. I am sure I would see something in his manner. Don’t people behave…well, not as they usually do…when they’re in love? And besides, you were the one who said Miss Braithwaite was too plain for someone to fall in love with.”

  “I did say that, it’s true, but I think I might have been wrong. If you look about you at married people, they are often far from beautiful, aren’t they? It’s possible,” Amy suggested, putting the daisy chain over her head so that it hung down almost to her waist, “that they want to hide their devotion from you. They might wish to keep it a secret.”

  “My papa would never keep a secret from me,” Cecily said firmly and Amy smiled.

  “You think he wouldn’t,” she said, “but he would. All grown-ups keep secrets from us. They don’t even think of it as keeping secrets. They just say: we mustn’t tell the children and think they’re doing it for our good.”

  “Stop! You’re making me feel gloomy!” Cecily said. “I’m going to try and bring my papa and Rosalind together as much as I can. She’s so pretty that he’s bound to fall in love with her, don’t you think? If he sees her often, he’ll get used to her and think of her as a friend.”

  “I thought you said he was rather cold when he spoke to her.”

  “He was at first,” Cecily said, “but now that she’s visited the house, he’ll be more cordial, I’m sure.”

  “But,” said Amy, “what will happen if he starts to like her better but she will have none of him? Perhaps your papa isn’t to her taste. Are you certain she hasn’t a beau we know nothing about?”

  Cecily fell back on to the grass, not caring that there would probably be green marks all over her white blouse and Nanny would scold her and Florrie would make tutting noises as she took it downstairs with the laundry. There were little scraps of blue sky visible through the leaves of the walnut tree and Cecily blinked hard to stop herself from crying. What Amy said must be true. Why had she not realized it herself? Of course someone as lovely as Rosalind must have any number of young men in pursuit of her…oh, it was so dreadfully disappointing! Rosalind would never become a mother to her and Sam and that was that.

  Amy left the garden a little while later and it was only after she’d gone home that something else occurred to Cecily: how did her friend dare to suggest that Papa wouldn’t be to Rosalind’s taste? Anyone could see that he was handsome and kind and ever so much younger than portly Mr. Chistlehurst, who looked just like Humpty Dumpty, with his bald head and round stomach. So there, Cecily said to herself, knowing that she’d never have spoken out loud if her friend had been there to hear. Amy was probably jealous because Cecily had a father who was far superior in every possible way.

  “A little to the left, Cecily, if you please…”

  Cecily moved nearer to her father. Rosalind was arranging her and Papa and Sam before taking the family photograph. She had visited the house twice more, since the Sunday when Sam had fallen out of the walnut tree. Rosalind and Papa had talked most pleasantly on each occasion, and Ellen Braithwaite had been absent, which made Cecily feel that perhaps there might be hope for her impossible dream.

  They were out in the garden, and fortunately the day was sunny, with high, white clouds drifting across the sky. Rosalind had set up her tripod on the lawn and Cecily noticed that she’d brought her smaller camera with her. A white wrought-iron chair and table had been moved from their usual place beside the trellis to a shady spot under the walnut tree and Papa had been directed to sit down and look as though he were about to drink a pleasant cup of tea in the open air.

  “Not,” Rosalind told him, “as though you were about to be sentenced by a particularly harsh judge to a very long jail sentence.” That had made Papa smile, which was, Cecily knew, exactly what Rosalind had intended. Cecily was behind him, leaning over his right shoulder and Sam was on Papa’s left, with Papa’s arm around him, which would look delightful and had the added advantage of keeping her young brother in position while the photograph was being taken. Mossy had wandered over to the table to see what was happening, and Cecily wondered whether perhaps composing the photograph might take so long that she’d feel like jumping on the table and would maybe even fall asleep there, but her hopes were in vain. The silly cat, quite unaware of the importance of this picture, decided that more amusement was to be had chasing a stray leaf that was whirling about in the breeze, and off she went in pursuit of it. Well, thought Cecily, she won’t be in the family portrait but that can’t be helped.

  “Now, Sam, stand very still, please,” Rosalind said, her voice muffled from her position under the black cloth, and Papa added, “I fear you’re asking the impossible, Miss Templeton.”

  “Please call me Rosalind. Miss Templeton sounds like someone’s rather strict teacher.”

  “I feel that would be a little… We hardly know one another.”

  “On the contrary, I know you very well, Mr. Bright. I always learn a great deal about someone I’m photographing.”

  Papa was blushing! Cecily could scarcely believe it. Oh, I wish I could tell Amy! she thought. Surely blushing means something? It might only have been embarrassment, but there was hope it might be something else, Cecily felt sure.

  “That’s perfect, Cecily. Now try to look into the camera as though something you like a great deal is there, in the lens… That’s right, Sam…some wonderful thing…another cat…a dog…a train.”

  “Yes, a train!” said Sam and he was on the point of setting out across the lawn making steam-engine noises when Papa, gripping him even more tightly round the shoulders, said, “Do not move, Sam! Rosalind has said you must be still and we are at her merc
y.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bright. I’m grateful for your help. Ready?” She emerged from under the black cloth, and slid the film into the camera. “Do not move for a moment,” she said and squeezed the bulb to take the photograph.

  Cecily became a statue. She gazed into the round darkness of the lens. She tried to imagine what Rosalind was seeing. I wish I could look through the lens and take a picture myself. How strange I must look, upside down! She thought about the occasion, a few days ago when she’d been allowed into the darkroom for the first time. What a magical and mysterious thing it was, to see the picture emerge gradually when the plate was dipped and soaked in the strange-smelling chemicals! Developers, emulsion, fixers… Cecily hadn’t been allowed to touch anything, but she looked and looked and tried to keep everything in her mind to think about when she was alone.

  Soon, there was a small click and it was all over. Rosalind smiled. “That was lovely. I’m grateful, Mr. Bright, for your cooperation. I will try to make a delightful present for your sister and I will call on you soon to show you the finished portrait.”

  “John, I think,” Papa said, taking Rosalind’s hand. “If you are not to be Miss Templeton, then I can’t be Mr. Bright.”

  Cecily concentrated on watching her father to see how he appeared and it seemed to her that he was speaking in much warmer tones than he had before. He smiled as he looked at Rosalind. Was he just happy, pleased that the sitting had gone well? Or was his affection growing?

  “Very well,” said Rosalind. “John it will be.”

  At that moment, the garden door opened and Miss Braithwaite came across the lawn almost at a run, looking much more animated than she normally did. She started speaking even as she approached the spot where Papa and Rosalind were standing.

  “Oh, dear Miss Templeton, how sorry I am that I’ve missed the sitting! I did so want to be in attendance! I’m mortified that I wasn’t here to greet you.”

  Rosalind murmured an answer, which Cecily didn’t hear because she was looking at her father. He had stepped away from Rosalind, as though he was a little ashamed of being caught standing so close to her. Miss Braithwaite was now whispering in Rosalind’s ear. Rosalind was frowning. She said, “I’m so sorry…I would need to arrange a special sitting, Miss Braithwaite, for that.”

  “For what, my dear?” Papa asked.

  “Why, John, I have asked whether Miss Templeton might take a photograph of the two of us!”

  Cecily felt as though she might faint. Oh, please, she thought. Not that. Anything but that… How could Miss Braithwaite suggest such a thing? What will Papa say? If he says he’d like that, Rosalind will definitely think they have an understanding.

  Then Papa said, “We have kept Miss Rosalind for far too long this afternoon. She must be anxious to return to her own house…perhaps another day.”

  Thank goodness, Cecily thought, closing her eyes in relief. Thank goodness for that. Next time I see Rosalind alone, I’ll tell her that Miss Braithwaite is simply a good friend of the family. And I’ll try to find out whether there are any young men calling on Rosalind. She was still wondering whether she could ask her such a thing directly, when Papa and Rosalind and Miss Braithwaite went back into the house together.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cecily is Puzzled

  Cecily was so excited that she could hardly hold her pen steady and she had already made several blots of ink on the paper. Never mind…

  …You will soon be with us, dear Aunt Lizzie! she wrote. Sam and I are so excited we can hardly bear to wait another two weeks. I have very little to write about because everything I want to tell you is VERY SECRET and cannot be revealed…

  Cecily paused, put her pen aside and gazed out of the window. She was looking forward to Aunt Lizzie’s visit, but what was the point of writing to her when there was so little she could tell? Several days had gone by since Rosalind took their picture and although Papa had given permission for Cecily to visit the Templetons on two occasions, there had been no opportunity to find out more about whether or not Rosalind had a beau, nor discover what her opinion of Papa was. Cecily had mentioned that Miss Braithwaite was just a friend of the family, but Rosalind seemed eager to change the subject. Meanwhile, Miss Braithwaite visited almost every day, and once or twice she told them when she arrived that she had “passed that nice Mr. Templeton and exchanged a few words with him”.

  This made Cecily very gloomy. She was quite sure that Mr. Templeton would tell his daughter of these encounters and she would think that Miss Braithwaite was constantly visiting Number Six, Chelsea Walk, which was quite true. Cecily wished she could speak to Rosalind about it all, but was not sure what else she could say.

  “Cecily, dear,” said Nanny Mildred, sounding rather flustered as she came into the nursery. “You must come downstairs at once. Miss Templeton is here with the photograph. Please go and find Sam. He’s in the garden I believe.”

  Cecily flew to the open window and saw Sam lying on the grass, trying to tempt Mossy into chasing a stick, when she was intent on hunting butterflies.

  “Sam!” she called. “Rosalind’s come to show us the photograph. Come inside and see.”

  He jumped up at once and Cecily turned to leave the nursery. Nanny Mildred shook her head. “Well, really, how common! Calling out of the window like that! If I’d wanted someone to call out of the window, I might have done so myself. You should know better, Cecily. Such behaviour is far from ladylike.”

  “Never mind, Nanny dear!” said Cecily, smiling happily. “I was excited, that’s all. Will you come down and look at the photograph?”

  “I daresay,” said Nanny Mildred, allowing herself to be wheedled into a better temper. “It’s a fine thing, this photography. My niece has had a portrait done to mark her engagement… She is going to send me a copy.”

  “You must show me, Nanny! I would love to see it when it comes.”

  Papa was sitting at his desk when Cecily went into the study. Sam was holding Rosalind’s hand. Rosalind was standing beside Papa and pointing at the photograph.

  “Ah, Cecily, come and have a look,” said Papa. “It’s most astonishing…most unsettling too, to see oneself portrayed like this…fixed on paper for ever. And you children too. Come and see. Miss Rosalind has worked wonders with her enchanted box.”

  Papa had asked for the photograph to be framed. This made the picture look like one of Mr. Templeton’s and much grander than many of the photographs Cecily had seen, which were simply mounted on dark grey cardboard. She stared down at the three of them: herself, Papa and Sam. I know Papa and Sam better than anyone, she thought, and myself too, but we look…she couldn’t decide how to describe the way they appeared in the image on the desk.

  I’m quite pretty, Cecily thought, and she immediately blushed at her own vanity. She had seen herself as Cinderella, as Miranda, as Cecily from Mr. Wilde’s play but never before had she looked at a photograph of herself as who she truly was. Her dress seemed to glow with the sunlight that fell on it through the leaves of the walnut tree, and the folds of her skirt were so clear that you felt you could reach in and touch the fabric. Sam was smiling. How happy he looked! His hair fell on to his brow and his eyes were shining. Papa…well, Papa looked very handsome. His hand, resting on the table in front of him, was so lifelike that you felt it had just stopped moving. Rosalind had composed the photograph so that the three of them were framed in an arch of branches and she’d made sure that the shadows made by the sun shining through the leaves fell in such a way as not to spoil the image. That’s the most important part, Cecily thought. Finding the right picture to begin with: the exact right way to remember everything.

  “It’s lovely!” she said. “Aunt Lizzie will love it.”

  Papa stood up and said, “Rosalind, I cannot thank you enough. When Cecily came to me with this idea, I was doubtful, I confess. But you have made us all look…well…” He glanced down at his feet and he was, Cecily was glad to see, blushing again. She knew her f
ather was not good at being fulsome, but he was clearly very pleased. He went on, “You’ve made us look very fine, and the tree looks magnificent, which I know will please my sister greatly. I would be delighted…more than delighted…if you would join us for the party on Lizzie’s birthday. You and your father too, of course. May 18th is the day. We will be outdoors, if the weather permits, and I shall present her with this gift. Perhaps, if you wouldn’t mind bringing your camera with you, you might photograph my sister, too… Would that spoil the day for you? I don’t want you to feel you are working when everyone else is celebrating.”

  “I never feel that taking photographs is work,” Rosalind said, smiling at Papa. “And I like bringing my camera outdoors more than anything. I’m interested in light, you see. I enjoy seeing whether the camera can match the paintbrush when it comes to giving an impression of a scene. I admire the Impressionists very much, as you know, but I think my little wooden box does very well. So thank you…that would be delightful. I must go home now,” Rosalind said.

  “Then please allow me to accompany you,” Papa said.

  Cecily could hardly believe her ears. Rosalind had said: “as you know”. This meant that she’d spoken to Papa already about her tastes in art. When had they spoken? Cecily had heard no such conversation. Was it possible that Rosalind and Papa had had a private talk Cecily knew nothing about? When? How? And now her father was offering to take Rosalind home. Did this mean…could it mean…that they were better friends than Cecily knew? Might they become even better friends? Might they… Before she could finish the thought, Sam spoke up, “I want to come too! I want to go with Rosalind and Papa.”

  “Of course you may come, dear,” Rosalind said. “And Cecily too, if you’d like to, though of course I need no such accompaniment. It is only a short distance to my house, after all.”