A Flight To Heaven (3 page)

Elizabeth looked a little anxious. Her Papa was a tall broad-shouldered man with thick bushy brows and a mane of iron-grey hair and, in the dark clothes he wore as Dean, he could look very stern and forbidding.

“If Arthur loves you, he will not allow your Papa to upset him,” Chiara suggested. “You must not worry.”

She could see that Elizabeth was very nervous.

“And you must not think about me this morning,” Chiara continued. “I shall take myself out for a walk – look what a beautiful day it is – and you and Arthur can spend a little time together.”

“Oh, but dear Chiara! You have only just arrived. I would not dream of turning you out of the house.”

Chiara shook her head.

“I am longing for some fresh air and I shall come back in good time for luncheon.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“Oh, I do hope that Papa will be pleasant to Arthur. But you must be hungry. I have brought you some toast. You cannot go out without eating anything.”

Since her Papa died, Chiara had no appetite at all. But she nibbled a piece of the toast to please her friend and was surprised to find that she quite enjoyed it.

There was so much sky, here in the Fen country, Chiara thought, and on a bright day like this everything seemed to shine with a bright clear light.

She was warmly wrapped in her own cloak with its fur-lined hood and Elizabeth had lent her a pair of thick gloves to keep the icy wind from her hands.

She walked through the winding streets of Ely and soon found herself at the edge of the town, looking out over a wide expanse of grass and glinting water, where the rivers and dykes ran through the fields.

There was still a long while to go before luncheon and Chiara decided to explore one of the green tracks that ran between high hedges leading out into the countryside.

Chiara walked briskly to keep warm. There was no one about on this cold day and no birds were singing.

She was just thinking that perhaps she should turn back, when she heard a strange noise in the air above her head. A sort of creaking sound, the like of which she had never heard before.

Chiara then looked up to see a flock of great white swans flying with their long necks stretched out and their wings beating swiftly.

“Oh, you are just so beautiful!” she cried, as they sped past her like white arrows, the sun shining on their feathers. “Wait! Where are you going?”

She gathered up her skirts and ran after the swans, leaping over clumps of grass as she struggled to keep up.

‘I will never catch them,’ she thought, ‘they are so wild and free, but I cannot bear to lose sight of them.’

Ahead of her, she could see a mirror-like expanse of water, where one field had flooded with the winter rain and she gasped with delight as the swans turned in the sky and headed for the water. They were going to land there!

She then threw her hood back and stood, panting, to watch them, one by one, as they splashed down onto the water, legs waving and just for a moment she thought that they looked rather clumsy.

But next they ruffled and tidied their feathers and then they were gliding serenely over the water, their lovely necks arched and their proud eyes gazing all around.

There were five of them.

Now that she was close to the swans, Chiara could see that three of them still had some grey feathers, which meant that they were young, while the other two were both pristine brilliant white.

“Oh, you must be a family,” she whispered.

The two white swans were circling close to each other, now brushing their wings intimately and suddenly they arched their beautiful necks and twined them together in a gesture of affection.

It was almost as if they were creating the shape of a heart with their necks.

Spellbound, Chiara watched them. It was the most unexpected and exquisite thing she had ever seen and she could have stayed and watched for ever.

But now the swans were separating and gliding off, dipping their heads under the water to search for food.

It was time for Chiara to go back to Elizabeth’s house for luncheon and her heart sank. While she had been chasing the swans, all her sadness had disappeared.

Why could she not be like these swans, free to fly wherever she chose, living out in this glorious world of light, space and joy?

And how could she bear to feel so alone?

Watching the two adult swans caressing each other with such perfect beauty had left her with a strange pain in her heart.

‘Is that what it is to love?’ she thought. ‘Will I ever find anyone who will touch my heart? Elizabeth has done it, but what lies in store for me?’

And with slow steps she made her way back into the town.

“Chiara, this is Arthur,” Elizabeth said and the tall fair-haired young man who sat beside her on the sofa leapt up to greet her.

“My fiancé!” Elizabeth continued, her eyes shining with happiness.

Arthur bowed low over Chiara’s hand.

“I am delighted to meet you,” he said. “Elizabeth has told me so much about you

And then, as if drawn by a magnet, he was back on the sofa again, slipping his arm through Elizabeth’s.

Chiara was reminded of the beautiful swans she had just seen on the Fens and how they had twined their necks together so tenderly and passionately.

“I am very very happy for you both,” she sighed.

“Papa says that he has given us his blessing, but I think he might need a little while to get used to the idea,” Elizabeth added with a smile.

“Not at all!” the Dean came and stood behind his daughter, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I must admit, I was taken a little by surprise, but I have spent a long time this morning talking to Arthur and I can see that you two are not only completely besotted with each other, but also very well suited and will be happy together.”

Chiara’s eyes stung with tears as she thought of her own Papa and how he would never see the man that she might marry and would never have the same proud look in his eyes that the Dean had now as he gazed at Elizabeth.

“Choosing the person you marry and spend the rest of your life with is the most important decision you will ever make,” he said.

Arthur let go of Elizabeth’s arm and sat up straight on the sofa, looking serious.

“Oh, Papa! Please don’t give us one of your long sermons, not today!” Elizabeth cried, recapturing Arthur’s hand. “Let’s just be happy and enjoy ourselves.”

“It’s so easy to forget with all the excitement what a great venture you are embarking upon, becoming man and wife in the eyes of God,” the Dean continued, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his grey eyes.

“And let’s remember that there are serious matters to be attended to before Arthur’s next leave is granted and the wedding can take place. There will be an inordinate number of dresses and other fripperies to be bought and a myriad of arrangements to be put in place.”

He turned to Chiara and smiled at her.

“How fortuitous, my dear Elizabeth, that you have your friend, Chiara, at hand to help you and your Mama with the arduous task of choosing pretty clothes!”

He held out his elbow to lead Chiara into luncheon.

When they had finished eating and were leaving the table, Elizabeth said that she would like to show Arthur the garden and the shrubbery.

“There will be very little to see, my dearest, at this time of year,” the Dean said.

His wife put her hand on his arm and gave him a meaningful look.

“Of course, Elizabeth, do take Arthur out for some fresh air. You can tell him about all the plants that will be coming up later on the in the spring and summer.”

Elizabeth gave her Mama a grateful hug and left the dining room, her hand in Arthur’s.

The Dean shook his head in disbelief as the door closed behind them.

“Why on earth would anyone want to walk around the garden on a cold day like today with nothing but bare earth and leafless stems to look at?” he asked.

“My dear, they are in love!” his wife replied. “It does not matter if the garden is completely bare. It might just as well be a hothouse full of tropical blooms for all they will notice it. They only have eyes for each other.”

“Of course, you are right and I have spoken quite enough on serious matters already. Young Arthur seems a fine, sensible and well-brought up young man and I have no doubt that I can trust him to look after Elizabeth.”

The Dean turned to Chiara,

“I usually take a cup of coffee in my study after luncheon. Would you care to join me?”

Chiara was surprised at this. The Dean was always such a busy man, either writing sermons or talking to his parishioners, who came to him with all their problems.

“I should love to,” she replied, “but I don’t want to take up your time, if you have important things to do.”

The Dean smiled at her.

“And what makes you think you are not important, young lady? We have been neglecting you badly in all this excitement and that is most remiss of us.”

She followed him into his study, where books not only lined the walls, but were heaped upon the chairs and even piled in towers on the floor.

Chiara moved several large volumes from the chair that faced the Dean’s desk and sat down.

“These are hard times for you,” he began, “and it is always difficult for a young girl to lose her Papa.”

Chiara nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.

“And you have come here to stay with us so that you can enjoy the company of your friend Elizabeth – and the thoughtless girl has gone and fallen in love and has got herself engaged!”

The Dean’s eyes looked at her kindly from under his bushy brows.

“I am happy for her,” Chiara replied. “It’s just – ”

Suddenly she found herself telling the Dean how upset she was to think that her own dear Papa would not be here to meet her own fiancé when she became engaged.

The Dean nodded.

“That is, indeed, a great pity,” he said, “but is there a young man?”

Chiara was horrified to find that tears were spilling out of her eyes and running down her face.

“No, no – there is no one,” she replied, struggling to control the sobs that threatened to overcome her. “I am quite sure that I will never fall in love – or that anyone will ever fall in love with me.”

The Dean shook his head.

“Nonsense! You have only just suffered a terrible bereavement and you are feeling very low and sad because of it. Also it is January, the darkest time of the year. Only someone as impulsive and foolish as my dearest Elizabeth would think of falling in love in January!”

The proud look Chiara had noticed earlier returned to his face for a moment.

“I really
am
so happy for her,” she said, blinking back the tears, “and I think it will be great fun to help her with her trousseau.”

“Bravely spoken, my dear. You will pull through this dark time and you are a charming girl. Very pretty indeed. You will have any number of young men pursuing you before too long. I shall be delighted to look them over for you and give my approval!”

In spite of herself, Chiara found she was laughing.

The idea of bringing all her prospective beaux to Ely to be interviewed by the Dean was very amusing.

“I shall not like any of them, I am sure!” she said. “I shall never fall in love.”

The Dean’s expression became serious now and he looked into her eyes.

“You must trust in Providence, my dear. Love will come to you in its own good time and, when it comes, you must welcome it and give thanks to God.”

Once again Chiara was surprised. She had certainly not expected that Elizabeth’s Papa would give her a lecture about love.

“But – how will I know?” she asked.

“I think you had better ask Elizabeth about that. I am sure she will have plenty to say on that subject. And now I really must think about Sunday’s sermon.”

He picked up a pen and began to shuffle the papers on his desk.

Chiara thanked him for speaking to her and, as she left the study, the Dean looked up at her in a steady grave way that made her suddenly feel strong and, if not actually happy, brighter than she had felt since her Papa’s death.

Elizabeth met her in the hall.

“Arthur has gone,” she said in a shaky voice. “He has to go back to his Regiment this afternoon. I shall not see him now for ages.”

She looked flushed, as if she had been crying.

“Perhaps we should go into the town and have a look at the local shops,” Chiara suggested, remembering the Dean’s words before luncheon. “You are going to need so many new clothes.”

Elizabeth gave a little sniff and wiped her eyes.

“There’s a new shop that has just opened,” she said. “Les Cygnes. It’s run by a Frenchwoman and Mama says that the dresses are lovely.”

“Then let’s go there right away!” Chiara proposed and the two girls hurried to fetch their cloaks and gloves.

*

“So – just how big is your Palace in St. Petersburg, Count Dimitrov?” Marigold, the younger one of the Misses Fulwell, asked.

Arkady was now beginning to regret his decision to invite the very charming widow, Mrs. Fulwell, and her two daughters for Russian tea.

Marigold was most definitely the prettier of the two sisters, he surmised, with her soft round cheeks and pale blonde hair. In fact she was probably one of the prettier girls he had met in his stay in London. But her constant questions were beginning to irritate him.

“I have never actually measured it,” he replied, “but I believe that, after the Czar’s residence, it is one of the finest Palaces in the City.”

Marigold gave a little giggle.

“Is it as big as Buckingham Palace?” she enquired.

Arkady was saved from having to reply to this by the entrance of his impeccable English butler, Jesmond, followed by a footman carrying a large samovar.

This exquisite piece of tea-making equipment was silver, decorated with brilliant blue enamel.

The footman set it down on a small table and then a parlourmaid placed a tray of tea-glasses with pretty blue and silver handles next to the samovar.

“I hope everything is to your satisfaction, Count Dimitrov. The lemons are fresh from Covent Garden this morning and the plum jam is from the country estate of my previous employer, Lord Hunsbury,” the butler stated in a low voice.