Cecily's Portrait Page 8

  “Yes? What did you hope?”

  Could she confess to what she had longed for? Cecily took a deep breath and went on, “I hoped that perhaps Rosalind… Well, she would be a wonderful mother and Sam really likes her and so do I.”

  “But what about John? Does he like her? Is she more than an acquaintance? He hasn’t spoken of her to me.”

  “I don’t know. I saw them standing together in the street, once. Papa has said nothing about her and meanwhile, Miss Braithwaite is constantly here and today…”

  Aunt Lizzie stood up. “Go to sleep now, Cecily. I’ll speak to John. I shan’t say we’ve had this conversation. And I confess – though now it’s your turn to promise not to breathe a word – I’ve never had a good opinion of Miss Braithwaite. She is pleasant enough but rather tiresome in many ways. Goodnight, Cecily. I shall have to return to Sussex very early in the morning, so I’ll say goodbye, too. It’s been my best birthday yet. And I look forward to seeing your photograph of me. It will bring back very happy memories.” She kissed Cecily on the forehead and said, “Sleep well.”

  Cecily did not sleep well. She didn’t sleep at all for what seemed like a very long time. The grandfather clock on the first-floor landing ticked away the hours and she heard it striking ten o’clock as she lay in her bed, wide awake. She felt warm and pushed back the bedclothes and went to stand at the window. There was a carriage waiting at the gate of Number Six. Someone was speaking in the hall downstairs. Papa was saying goodbye to whoever had ordered the carriage to take them home. Only one person would stay so late…Miss Braithwaite of course. Perhaps, Cecily thought miserably, they’ve been discussing their wedding plans. If they marry, I will ask to go and live in Sussex with Aunt Lizzie. Would she have me? But what about Sam? I can’t leave him, and school and Amy and Papa and everything I know…and I don’t want to leave Rosalind.

  She crept out onto the landing and went down a few steps so that she had a view of the hall below. Yes, there was Papa and there was Miss Braithwaite, but she was sniffing and holding a handkerchief up to her eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, drifted up to where Cecily was sitting, crouched just below the turn of the stairs and out of sight. I’m eavesdropping, she thought, and felt a little ashamed of herself but not ashamed enough to go back to her room. She listened as hard as she could.

  “I was not deceiving myself, John,” Miss Braithwaite said. “I had every cause for my expectations.”

  “But I’ve said nothing.” Papa sounded indignant.

  “You had no need to say anything. I knew. I was such a frequent visitor. We did so much together. You have always been kind and courteous to me. We have so much in common, John. There was no need for you to say the words. I took them for granted.”

  “Then forgive me, Ellen. You should not have done so. I have never, not once, said I loved you.”

  “Ah, but can you say you don’t love me? In all honesty?”

  Papa sighed. “I don’t love you, Ellen. I’m so sorry…”

  “Sorry! I should think so! But sorry doesn’t help me. Oh, how will I live? What will I do?”

  Miss Braithwaite was wailing now, and wiping away a fresh flood of tears. Cecily tried to feel sorry for her, but she was so happy on her own account that she didn’t have any room in her head and heart for kindly feelings towards poor Miss Braithwaite. Papa was consoling her as best he could, while guiding her towards the front door and her carriage.

  “We will still be friends,” he said to her. “I like you enormously, Ellen, as you must know. I hope you will feel able to visit us sometimes.”

  “Never!” Miss Braithwaite swept out of the door. “Never again! Farewell for ever, John. I trust you will be happy all alone in this cavernous house.” And she was gone and Cecily watched Papa close the door behind her and lean against it, looking exhausted and pale. She crept back to her bedroom and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, she thought, I must go and visit Rosalind and tell her Miss Braithwaite is gone. For ever. Just before she drifted into sleep, she thought: how did Miss Braithwaite dare to call this beautiful house “cavernous”? What a foolish person she is! We shall all be much happier now she’s gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the Nick of Time

  The following morning, Cecily asked permission from Nanny to go and visit the Templetons. She was all ready with stories of how very urgent this visit was, and how she simply had to go, but Nanny was so preoccupied with setting the house in order after the party that she gave her permission at once. Cecily left the house quickly before she could change her mind, and ran to the Templetons’ house where she knocked at the door rather more loudly than she’d intended. When Elsie opened it, Cecily asked to speak to Miss Rosalind, urgently.

  “Miss Rosalind is packing,” said Elsie.

  Cecily was silent for a moment. “Why? I mean, please forgive me, but why is she packing?”

  “She’s going abroad.”

  “She never told me. She never said anything. Are you quite sure?”

  Elsie sighed and stood back from the door. “You’d better come in, Miss Cecily,” she said. “You look as though you’ve lost a sixpence and found a farthing.”

  “May I see her?”

  “I’ll ask. You wait here for a moment.”

  Cecily watched Elsie making her way upstairs and bit her lip to prevent herself from crying. If Rosalind was going abroad so suddenly, there must be a reason. Or maybe she’d been planning the trip for a long time. Cecily pondered this possibility and decided it was impossible. There would have been many opportunities for Rosalind to have said something. Only the other day, she’d been speaking about Venice, and telling Cecily she’d make a good Portia from The Merchant of Venice. She would have mentioned it. It looked as though Rosalind was running away, and Cecily wondered whether her flight could have anything to do with Papa. Cecily thought that it must have been the hint about wedding photographs that had upset Rosalind, but surely she couldn’t be thinking that Papa was really going to marry Miss Braithwaite? Rosalind must have noticed before how Miss Braithwaite always behaved as though she were already mistress of Number Six, Chelsea Walk, and she knew Miss Braithwaite would be invited to the party, so what must have upset her so much was her belief that Papa was considering an engagement and a wedding. It’s lucky that I’ve come to tell her what Papa said to Miss Braithwaite last night, Cecily thought. I’ll let her know that I heard him making it quite clear that he had no intention in the world of ever, ever marrying Miss Braithwaite and moreover, had never loved her.

  “Cecily!” Rosalind came across the hall to her and took both her hands and squeezed them. “Come into the parlour.”

  Cecily sat in one of the armchairs near the window. Rosalind stood at the mantelpiece. There were violet shadows under her eyes as though she had not slept well. She said, “I’m sorry I said nothing to you yesterday…I was not sure of my plans.”

  “Did you know you were going abroad?”

  “No…no it was something of an impulse. I suddenly felt I wanted to be…well, not here in London, at any rate.”

  “When will you come back?”

  “I don’t know. So much depends on…well, never mind.”

  Cecily had been wondering on her way to the Templeton house how she ought to tell Rosalind about Miss Braithwaite’s departure. Should she admit that she had seen Rosalind and Papa together? Should she mention that both she and Sam would be happy to have her as a mother? No, she decided. I’ll simply tell her what happened. She said, “Miss Braithwaite won’t be visiting us again, I think. She and Papa had a quarrel last night. She told him that she thought he wanted to marry her. She said that she thought he loved her. But he doesn’t. He told her so. She was most upset and left in a carriage. She was crying.”

  Rosalind turned even whiter than she was before, and then her face flushed scarlet. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit her knuckles. She said, “How do you know this? Were you there?”

  “I was on the
stairs. I couldn’t sleep. I went to see who was making such a noise so late at night.”

  “Did you hear him say that? That he didn’t love her?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  Rosalind sank on to the sofa and tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Cecily…I’m so sorry. I’m behaving like a schoolgirl. I can’t help it. I gave up hope yesterday in spite of everything.”

  “Hope of what?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you. Your papa said…he said it ought to come from him, but now that you’ve told me this…”

  “I saw you and Papa in the road. Amy said perhaps you’d been to an art gallery together.”

  “We have met…well, on several occasions since he came to this house when I was photographing you. But there was always Miss Braithwaite in the background.”

  Cecily’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Has…have you and Papa…did you say anything…?”

  “No, no, child.” Rosalind smiled. “We have discussed many things but not our feelings. He’s said nothing that might…well, that might lead me to have any expectations. And then yesterday, with Miss Braithwaite hinting about marriage, I could bear it no longer. I felt I must go…get far away from everything here.”

  Cecily looked down at her shoes. What did it all mean? Why had Papa not said anything in the least romantic to Rosalind when they’d been together? I’ll say something, she decided. I’ll tell Rosalind. She said, “Sam and I would be so happy if you were our mama. I wish Papa might have fallen in love with you and married you and then we might all have lived together in our house and been happy.”

  “Oh, Cecily!” Rosalind buried her head in her hands. “I’ve wished for that too… I fear it will not happen now, for surely a gentleman would have made his feelings known and his intentions clear before now. Even with Miss Braithwaite still on the scene. There were many times when he could have spoken and still he said nothing, though he must have known… Never mind. It’s too late now.”

  “But it’s not too late! You don’t have to go abroad. You could stay and find out for yourself… You could go and ask him, face-to-face.”

  “Oh, never. I could never do such a thing. What would he think of me, if such thoughts have never been in his mind?”

  “But there’s no one else. I told you what he said to Miss Braithwaite. He doesn’t love her. He said so clear as clear.”

  “Just because he doesn’t love her, it doesn’t necessarily mean he has…well, tender feelings for me. I’m sure that if he had, he would have found a way to tell me, in spite of all Miss Braithwaite’s schemes.”

  “Papa is a very quiet person,” Cecily said. “He doesn’t do things rashly, or without thinking about them for a very long time. Perhaps he thinks you don’t share his feelings.”

  Rosalind thought about this for a moment. “That’s possible, I suppose, though I did think that I…well, never mind. I will recover from my disappointment while I’m abroad and when I return, I am sure we’ll still be friends, will we not?”

  “You’re determined to go? You won’t change your mind?” It was Cecily’s turn to blink her eyes to stop herself from crying.

  “I must… Kiss me goodbye, Cecily, and make sure to give Sam a hug from me.”

  “He’ll be so sad…we both will.”

  “I know and so will I…but it can’t be helped.”

  Rosalind went with Cecily to the front door. They clung together on the doorstep and then Cecily went down the steps to the street and started to walk home. Why hadn’t Rosalind believed her? She was obviously not entirely persuaded that Miss Braithwaite had gone for ever…yes, that must be it. Why had Papa said nothing to her of his feelings? Really, he was too shy and you couldn’t blame poor Rosalind for thinking as she did. Cecily was so distracted by her misery that she almost bumped into her father, who was striding swiftly in the opposite direction.

  “Cecily?” he said. “Where have you been? You look quite pale and there are shadows under your eyes. Are you ill?”

  “Papa! I’ve been to see Rosalind. She’s going abroad. She’s packing.”

  Papa left Cecily where she was in the middle of the pavement and began to run towards the Templeton house. Cecily followed, as quickly as she could and was in time to see him disappear inside. The sun was shining quite brightly and she decided to wait for him. She imagined the terrible scene that would be going on in the parlour. Rosalind would tell Papa she was going abroad. Would he be broken-hearted? How Cecily wished she had a father whose feelings were easier to guess at! He would probably come out looking crestfallen and sad and they’d go home together. She gathered her skirts about her and perched on the low wall with her back against the railings of the Templeton house. She was sure she wouldn’t have long to wait.

  Cecily was trying to write to Aunt Lizzie with Mossy lying curled up on her lap, which was rather trying. Nevertheless, she had to tell the story of what happened after she’d said goodbye to Rosalind.

  I sat on the wall, she wrote, for ever such a long time. I didn’t dare go and knock on the door at the Templetons’ again, so I went to see Amy and tell her and then we looked out of their front bedroom window for the rest of the afternoon. In the end, Papa and Rosalind came out together arm-in-arm and went off to the river. They are in love, Aunt Lizzie. Amy says so. They spend a great deal of time together and Rosalind comes to Number Six almost every day. Amy says Papa is out of practice because he hasn’t been in love for the six years since Mama died.

  Cecily put down her pen and fell to stroking Mossy’s back. She wouldn’t tell Aunt Lizzie, and she hadn’t yet told Amy, that she’d looked out of the nursery window last night, at twilight, and seen Papa and Rosalind kissing under the walnut tree. She and Sam might have a new mama after all. If there was to be a wedding, she would redecorate the doll’s house in honour of the occasion. The Willow pattern wallpaper Rosalind had given her a few weeks ago lay in her chest of drawers and she would take it out and measure it for some of the main rooms. Cecily leaned her head on her hand and lost herself in happy daydreams, her letter unfinished on the table in front of her. Perhaps Rosalind would let her become a kind of apprentice and come sometimes to the studio where she worked. She would learn very quickly and soon she’d know enough to take every kind of photograph. “Ah yes, Miss Rosalind’s young assistant,” everyone would say. Cecily smiled to herself as she imagined the scene.

  She moved her legs a little and startled Mossy, who jumped down and made for the door, with her tail held high.

  “Goodbye, Mossy,” Cecily said and then turned to write her letter again. Can you keep a secret, Aunt Lizzie? Do not tell anyone, but I think Papa will soon ask Rosalind to marry him and we will have a new mama…

  Cecily had a vision of herself in a bridesmaid’s dress taking off a pretty hat trimmed with roses and ribbons and lace, in order to cover her head with the black cloth again, ready to look through the lens and compose the perfect image of her papa and his new bride. She sucked the end of her pen and wrote: If there is to be a wedding, I might be allowed to take some of the pictures, for a bride cannot photograph herself, can she? I hope so much that Rosalind will let me take her place behind the camera on that day…

  Then she wished her aunt an affectionate farewell, signed the letter with her name, and added a whole row of kisses.

  Author’s note

  I was very happy to be asked to join Linda Newbery and Ann Turnbull in writing another trio of stories about the inhabitants of Number Six, Chelsea Walk. It was a particular pleasure to work on what is actually a sequel to Lizzie’s Wish. In this book, the baby who was born at the end of my first Historical House novel now has children of his own, and it’s his daughter, Cecily, who’s the heroine of this story.

  I love the 1890s…I like the art, the literature and especially the theatre of those years, and when I discovered that the first night of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest was on the 14th of February 1895, I had a jumping-off point for my book.

&nbs
p; I’m interested in photography and the way in which it’s both an art and a craft. At the end of the nineteeth century, it was at the cutting edge of technological development. I’m very grateful to Angelo Hornak, himself a wonderful photographer, for sharing with me his encyclopaedic knowledge of everything to do with this fascinating way of recording what we see. Thanks also to Laura Cecil for her help and advice.

  As always, it’s been a pleasure to work with Linda and Ann, and because I wrote my book after I’d read theirs, I was able to incorporate references to their stories in my own. Megan Larkin has been a wonderful editor, and I hope everyone enjoys reading this book as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

  About the author

  Adèle Geras was born in Jerusalem and before the age of eleven had lived in Cyprus, Nigeria and North Borneo. She studied languages at Oxford University and taught French before becoming a full-time author. She has written more than ninety books for children and young adults, including Troy, which was shortlisted for the Whitbread Children’s Book Award and Highly Commended for the Carnegie Medal, and its companion volume, Ithaka.

  To find out more about Adèle Geras, you can visit her website: www.adelegeras.com

  Usborne Quicklinks

  For links to interesting websites where you can find out more about life at the end of the nineteenth century, see some of the first photographs ever taken and discover what else the Victorians invented, go to the Usborne Quicklinks website at www.usborne.com/quicklinks and enter the keyword “cecily”.

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