ADJUSTING HER HAT in the mirror above the coat stand in the hall, Cecilia slipped on her kid gloves and started for the door. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Mrs Clark, standing in the entrance to the drawing-room with her hands on her hips.
‘Out. There are several things in town I must attend to.’
‘You know how much I disapprove—’
‘It’s none of your affair,’ said Cecilia with asperity, scolding herself for telling a lie and for allowing her employee to attain the status of a virtual equal.
‘I’m aware that you’ve been seeing the doctor.’ As Cecilia’s private secretary, Mrs Clark saw, even if she left unopened, all of Cecilia’s private correspondence, including the envelopes with the return address ‘Orwell Lodge, 21 Bedford Hill Rd, Balham.’
Cecilia eyed her coldly. ‘If it’s Mr Cranbrook you’re worried about,’ she said, ‘you needn’t. I fully expect a marriage proposal any day.’ Mrs Clark responded with a dispassionate stare. ‘And, frankly,’ said Cecilia, ‘it’s partly why I want to see the doctor. To seek his advice.’ With that, she turned, let herself out and started out on a brisk, five-minute walk into the village. She arrived before noon on a fine midsummer day, and stood for a moment at the iron railing, studying the ivy-covered cottage with the profusion of day lilies in the neatly tended flowerbed and bright red geraniums in the window-box, wondering if she might have found true happiness in a simpler life with the genial doctor – if only it weren’t for his elderly, estranged wife. Walking up to the door, she gave the brass knocker a rap. After a moment Gully appeared and, with a kind smile, welcomed her inside.
A tea tray sat on a table in the parlour before a sofa and two armchairs. Cecilia chose the sofa and Gully, pouring their tea, sat in a chair alongside her. ‘You’re looking very well,’ he began, as he handed her a cup. ‘Though perhaps a bit too thin.’
‘That’s what Jane always says.’
‘Jane?’
‘Mrs Clark.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Gully with a frown. ‘In any case, what matters is your diet, dear. Plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables, especially leafy greens, fish, and the avoidance of sugar and fats, including butter.’
Cecilia looked briefly at the tea tray, noting the absence of pastries, sugar, or jam. ‘And you’re looking well,’ she said. ‘How was your trip abroad?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Gully, after taking a sip of tea. ‘The July weather was perfect in the Alps, so many opportunities for long, strenuous walks. Do you recall Bodenlaube Castle in the hills outside Bad Kissingen?’
‘Yes,’ said Cecilia, thinking back to their trip to Bavaria, when Gully first made love to her. As he continued to talk, she thought about how, after the frustrations of love-making with her husband, Gully had awakened her to sexual fulfilment she’d never imagined possible, an experience that now she expected would be exclusively reserved for the male of the species.
‘I say,’ said Gully. ‘Cecilia?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘My mind wandered.’
‘I was merely enquiring about your father,’ he said. ‘Whether you’ve seen him.’
‘No. He still won’t answer my letters.’
‘What a pity,’ said Gully with a shake of his head. ‘Some men.’
‘If I were to remarry,’ said Cecilia, putting her cup and saucer aside. ‘The right sort of man, of course, I expect I would be welcomed back into the bosom of the family.’
‘You’re probably correct,’ said Gully, reaching for the pot to pour each of them more tea. ‘Is such a prospect in the offing? Is that what you’ve come to discuss?’
‘No,’ said Cecilia. ‘I mean, it … that isn’t why I wanted to see you, though I do very much want your advice, James, dear.’
‘Very well.’
‘Frankly, I miss you very much. I expected, after everything that happened, that you would have gone back to Malvern and I’d never see you again.’ Looking her in the eye, Gully nodded gravely. ‘But as you’re here,’ she continued, ‘so close by, of course I desire to see you. I only wish—’
‘Don’t say it,’ said Gully. ‘We both know it can’t be.’
Cecilia nodded. ‘But to answer your question,’ she said, ‘I have been seeing someone. A man my age, a barrister at Gray’s Inn who’s the stepson of a wealthy man named Cranbrook. Sir Harry Cranbrook. Mrs Clark’s late husband was employed at his coffee plantation in Jamaica.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Gully. ‘I recall Cranbrook from my days in the colony. One of the more successful planters.’
‘How ironic,’ said Cecilia. ‘That you should know the family of the man I may—’ Halting, she looked at Gully with a trembling lower lip.
‘That you may marry,’ he said.
Nodding, she softly said, ‘Yes. I expect he’s going to propose.’
‘I believe I understand,’ said Gully, looking her sternly in the eye.
‘You do?’ she said doubtfully.
‘Mrs Clark,’ said Gully with a frown, ‘that mischievous woman, having persuaded you to sever all relations with me, has now cleverly arranged for you to marry the stepson of her former employer in Jamaica.’
‘That’s not so….’
‘It patently is so.’ Gully glared at Cecilia. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Do you love him?’
‘I’m not sure romantic love,’ she answered, ‘is necessary to be married. I like Charles, he amuses me, and he’s, well, from the proper social background.’
‘I see,’ said Gully. ‘You regard marriage as a means of restoring your sullied reputation; I see it as a highly perilous experiment.’
‘But how could you, James, when you don’t even know the man.’
‘Because I know you, my dear. I know that you need to be loved. And I fear with your great riches, there are many men who would—’
‘What? Marry me for my money?’
Looking her in the eye, Gully nodded and said, ‘Yes, Cecilia. Marry you for your money.’
‘But Charles,’ she said, nervously wringing her hands, ‘comes from a very wealthy family. He studied at King’s College and Oxford, is a member of Boodle’s and White’s. Why, he doesn’t need my money. He’s a very attractive, eligible man-about-town. Why shouldn’t I want to be married to him?’
‘You mentioned that Harry Cranbrook, the Jamaican planter, is his stepfather.’
‘Yes, Charles’s mother married him after the death of Charles’s father.’
‘Well,’ said Gully with a shrug, ‘one never knows. But there are plenty of young men about London with an Oxford pedigree but hardly a sovereign to their name. And while I appreciate your beauty and charms as well as any man, it would be a grave error to underestimate the importance of your wealth to a man considering marriage.’
‘Very well,’ said Cecilia. ‘A point well taken. But that’s not what I came to discuss.’ Gully smiled in his well-practised, encouraging way and sipped his tea. ‘Assuming Charles asks for my hand,’ she began, ‘what should I disclose to him? About us?’
‘Hmm,’ said Gully, putting his cup aside and scratching his chin. ‘A moral as well as a practical dilemma.’
‘I’m inclined to say nothing, of course. But with all the vituperative gossip-mongers about, in particular that wretched sister of Throckmorton, there’s always the risk …’
At the mention of the solicitor, Gully swallowed hard with the expression of someone who’s taken a bite of rotten fish. ‘Well,’ he said after a moment, ‘I think it almost inevitable that after the announcement of your betrothal, which will no doubt be widely reported in the society pages, someone or other will come forward and inform Cranbrook of our affair in the most scandalous terms, intending, of course, to destroy your engagement.’
‘Oh, it’s too dreadful,’ said Cecilia with a groan. ‘If I tell him about us he’s almost certain to reject me.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Gully with a nod, considering that such an outcome would suit his own interests very well. ‘But better to take that chance, my dear, than to run the risk that he discovers it after you are married.’
That eventuality had not occurred to Cecilia. ‘Oh,’ she said, placing a hand on her brow. ‘I suppose he would be quite spiteful.’
‘True,’ said Gully, ‘though I have no idea whether he’s a harsh or a gentle man.’
Harsh, considered Cecilia. Very harsh.
‘In our society,’ continued Gully with the air of a distinguished lecturer, ‘there are public mores and private mores, and especially among the upper classes, the two are frequently in conflict.’
‘How so?’
‘The gentleman would no doubt react to news of our affair with shock and censure, whereas privately he may very well have engaged in such conduct himself.’
This was the second possibility that had not occurred to Cecilia. ‘How very wise of you,’ she said. ‘I knew I could depend on your sagacity. My mind is made up. If Charles should propose, and I should accept, I shall make a clean breast of it and inform him of our affair, that it’s a thing of the past.’
‘The soundest course,’ said Gully with a nod. ‘However, I must repeat my deep reservations, Cecilia, about entering into a marriage to a man who doesn’t truly love you and whose motives may be largely pecuniary.’
Seated in an armchair in her bedroom with her feet on a footstool, Cecilia gazed down at her fancy mauve satin boots, tightly laced up to mid-calf, with patent leather toes and one-inch heels. Intended to distract men’s attention from a lady’s comely ankles, she considered with a smile that they had the opposite effect. Returning to the sheets of stationery in her lap – the latest letter from Charles – she reread his humorous description of a lawn tennis match and his boasts of triumphing in the weekly chess tournament at White’s, the venerable gentlemen’s club on St James’s, closing with professions of love for his ‘dearest Cissie’. Did he love her, and what, exactly, was love? Something more than physical attraction or mere affection, she was sure of that. She’d never loved her husband, nor had she really been in love with James but rather had deeply revered him and found his physical, sexual qualities irresistibly seductive. Putting the letter aside, she picked up her pocket calendar and turned to the month of January, the date of her visit with Mrs Clark to the Cranbrook mansion on Palace Green. Almost eight months had passed since she first met Charles. Eight months and tonight she expected matters would come to a head. What should she wear?
Arriving at The Priory punctually at seven o’clock, Charles Cranbrook was welcomed by the butler and shown into the drawing-room, where Cecilia was seated in one of the rosewood armchairs. ‘Hallo, darling,’ he said as he walked up to her. Rising, she took his hand and turned her cheek for a kiss.
‘How pretty,’ she said, glancing at the nosegay he was clutching.
‘You’re the pretty one,’ said Charles, looking admiringly at her décolletage, tightly corseted red dress and the spectacular sapphire pendant at her throat and matching ear-rings.
‘Sawyers,’ said Cecilia, ‘would you bring us two glasses of champagne?’
Cranbrook, who as usual was impeccably dressed in a black frockcoat, cream-coloured waistcoat, and dove-grey trousers, waited for Cecilia to sit and then settled comfortably on the settee. Crossing one leg over his knee, he said, ‘I came directly from Gray’s Inn, without stopping at my flat. A journey of precisely forty-six minutes.’
‘Not so long, really,’ said Cecilia.
‘Not at all,’ said Charles. ‘One could easily become accustomed to it.’ The butler reappeared and served their champagne from a salver. Holding up his glass, Charles said, ‘Cheers’, and took a sip. After waiting for Cecilia to sample her drink, he said, ‘I believe the time has come, darling, to discuss our plans.’
‘Not now,’ said Cecilia. ‘But after dinner. For now, I’d like you to finish that amusing story about the judge who fell asleep in the middle of the trial.’
Cecilia had arranged a sumptuous, three-course dinner of vichyssoise, stuffed goose with French beans, and a chocolate soufflé, accompanied by more champagne and a bottle of vintage claret. She was careful to steer the conversation to banalities during the drawn-out affair, so that when dessert was served, the mood was pregnant with anticipation of the unspoken topic of their future. Pushing back from the table, Cecilia said, ‘Let’s take our coffee or liqueur in the drawing-room.’ Helping her up, Charles walked wordlessly with her to the adjoining room, illuminated by flickering gaslights on sconces, and helped himself to a glass of brandy as Cecilia sat in her favourite chair.
Standing before her, he said, ‘I feel as I often do when making a closing argument to a jury.’ Cecilia smiled encouragingly. ‘Having rehearsed all the things I want to say,’ he continued, ‘at least a dozen times.’ Taking a sip of brandy, he began to pace. ‘You may recall,’ he said, ‘when we were first together in Brighton, I expressed my desire one day to have children.’
‘A brood of them,’ said Cecilia.
‘Yes,’ said Charles, halting with a crooked smile. ‘And you said, “but first you must find a wife”.’ She nodded. ‘My dear Cecilia,’ he said, looking her in the eye. ‘I want you for my wife.’ Dropping to one knee, he said, ‘Will you be mine?’
‘Oh, Charles,’ said Cecilia, rising from her chair. ‘Nothing would make me happier.’
Standing, he put his hands on her shoulders and then kissed her and held her close. ‘Charles,’ she said softly after a moment.
‘Yes, dear?’
Pulling away, she took his hands and said, ‘There’s something you must know.’ He gave her a puzzled look. ‘About my past …’
‘Your previous marriage—’
‘No. Something that may cause you to change your mind.’
‘Don’t be foolish,’ he said. ‘Nothing could cause me to change my mind. I’m quite in love with you.’
‘Oh, Charles,’ she said in an anguished voice, slumping back down in her chair and moving her knees against the silks of her petticoat. ‘If only I could spare you.’
‘What? Spare me?’
Cecilia nodded, wiping away a tear. ‘Please sit,’ she said. Once he was seated on the sofa, she said, ‘I was involved in … well, in a love affair. With an older man.’
‘I see,’ said Charles with a frown. ‘But I don’t see the point….’
‘A man named Dr James Gully. A very distinguished man. The personal physician to Lord Tennyson and Charles Darwin.’
‘Gully,’ repeated Cranbrook. ‘I seem to have heard of him.’
‘It was during the time I was separated from my husband.’
‘Separated?’
‘Yes. Robert suffered terribly from alcoholism. Life became unbearable; we separated, and I was sent by my father to Dr Gully’s hydro for treatment. And then Robert died.’ Though determined to confess her transgression, she saw no point in admitting to adultery.
‘I see,’ said Cranbrook with a shake of his head. He took a large swallow of brandy.
‘Doctor Gully was exceptionally kind to me,’ explained Cecilia. ‘And I was very, well, vulnerable, I suppose. We had an affair.’
‘Well, damn it all,’ said Cranbrook, suddenly rising from the settee. ‘Damn it all to hell.’
‘There’s more,’ said Cecilia quietly. ‘Doctor Gully, you see, is in his mid-sixties. And married.’
‘What?’ Cranbrook’s eyes flashed with anger.
‘His wife is quite elderly and confined to an insane asylum. He hasn’t seen her for years.’
‘Good God,’ said Cranbrook, downing his drink and walking over to the sideboard to pour another.
‘We tried to be very discreet, of course,’ said Cecilia, fidgeting with her cuffs. ‘But my solicitor found out, and has spread the most vicious rumours. All lies, of course,’ she said looking up into Cranbrook’s eyes. Suddenly bursting into tears, she muttered, ‘It’s over now, I swear it.’
‘An affair with an old man,’ Cranbrook muttered. ‘And word of the scandal spread around town. Damn.’
Cecilia wiped the tears from her eyes, rose from her chair and took a step toward Cranbrook, who eyed her warily. ‘I think I should leave you alone to your thoughts,’ she said calmly, obviously having anticipated his surprise and outrage. ‘You may help yourself to another drink, or coffee, if you prefer. In a while I shall return, and you may give me your decision.’
Cranbrook nodded, sipped his drink, and said, ‘All right.’
Cecilia went to her bedroom to undress, satisfied that Mrs Clark had retired for the evening. Half an hour had elapsed when she emerged from her boudoir, wearing an elaborately embroidered silk dressing-gown and slippers. With a final, resigned glance at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing-table, she left the room and quietly descended the staircase. She found Charles where she had left him, standing before the fireplace with a glass in his hand, his face a blank mask. ‘Well,’ she said as she walked up to him. ‘Have you reached a decision?’
Cranbrook placed his glass on the table at the end of the sofa, raised his chin, and said, ‘Yes, I have. The fact of the matter, Cecilia, is that I too have been guilty of this sin.’ Cecilia responded with a searching look. ‘In my anger, or jealousy, regarding your affair with this man Gully, I very nearly failed to consider my own past.’
‘I see,’ said Cecilia, lowering herself to the sofa.
‘I had a kept woman in Maidenhead for a number of years,’ he continued, ‘with whom I was engaged in an illicit affair. And so’ – Cranbrook took a step toward her – ‘who am I to condemn you?’
‘Oh, Charles,’ said Cecilia, jumping up and throwing her arms around him. ‘Please, please forgive me.’
Holding her by the shoulders and looking in her eyes, he said, ‘I shall marry you. But on one condition: you must never, never see that man Gully again.’