What About Cecelia? (18 page)

“I'll ask her tonight. Poor Giles' last letter
boasted about how good she was at managing Penyclawdd. He said that
he wasn't worried about the health of the farm as long as she was
in charge of it.”

By the time Mrs. Hopwell left her husband's
study, Cecelia and her children had left for the parish school.
Cecelia was returning down the lane that led from the town below
the towering Rhossili down. Mrs. Hopwell dashed out and caught her
niece. “Cecelia, I have an errand in Swansea, and I need you to
come with me.”

“Aunt, what is it?”

“I assume you have a settlement on you from my
late brother Giles' will?”

“Yes, it was a thousand pounds in the
four-percents.”

Mrs. Hopwell paused, it was terribly impolite to
talk about money with a guest. Then she steeled herself to the
task, took the bit in her mouth and asked, “You know this is not a
rich parish?”

“What it lacks in funds, it more than makes up
in beauty.”

“Beauty is nice, but you can't eat it and it
doesn't clothe your children. That takes money.”

Cecelia quickly understood what her aunt was
asking and was not offended by it, “Oh, Aunt. Of course I shall
help pay my way. What did you want me to do?”

“Can we get your interest paid to our bank in
Swansea?”

“I don't see why not. I'll need some of that
money too. This Bath gown may be elegant, but it's hardly fitting
wear if I'm helping around the vicarage and its farm. My farm
dresses are all back in Penyclawdd, and I need something to wear at
the farm here.”

They had the groom harness a horse into the gig
and set off for Swansea. They were mostly silent for the several
hours it took to drive to the city. Mrs. Hopwell was silent largely
because of her concern about Cecelia's troubles. She spent the time
wondering how to ask Cecelia what was wrong without bringing on
another display of tears. Cecelia was silent as she took in the
beautiful country. It was almost as pretty as Penyclawdd.

Once there, they quickly accomplished their
goals. The young man at the bank was especially helpful with this
beautiful young customer. Cecelia requested that the bank exchange
credentials with their correspondent office in Abergavenny. This
would allow her access to her funds in time. Then they repaired to
the circulating library where Cecelia added her name to the list of
subscribers. She immediately took out her quota of books. A quick
stop at the milliner's provided the fabric she'd need for country
wear. After a brief nuncheon at one of the inns, they retrieved the
gig and started back.

On the way back from Swansea, near Reynoldston,
Mrs. Hopwell stopped the gig to rest her horse. She asked her
niece, “Last night when I asked you about what happened, you broke
into tears.”

Cecelia paled and shook, “Yes I did, didn't I?
You aren't going to ask me about that again, are you?.”

“I am, and I want answers from you and not
tears, this time. You're almost a grown woman, Cecelia. Act like
one.”

“Yes Aunt.”

“What happened in Bath?”

“C-captain Wood.” Cecelia dried up, on the verge
of tears.

“Is he the heir to Penyclawdd?”

“Yes.”

“I assume he is a young and handsome man.
Otherwise, I don't know why you'd be so bothered about him.”

“Yes he is, very handsome,” Cecelia paused, then
blurted out in one breath, “he and his fiancée Miss Arnold and I
rented a house in Bath. Miss Arnold ran off because of me. I ruined
his happiness.”

“Slow down. I couldn't follow that. Let's start
from the beginning. Why were you in Bath?”

“Miss Arnold was lonely at Penyclawdd. Both she
and G-g, Captain Wood were going to help me find a husband in Bath.
Introduce me to society.”

“Fine. It sounds like they had a fitting plan
for you. What next?”

“We took a house, went to concerts and balls. It
was so nice.”

“So nice? What then.”

“I introduced Miss Arnold to Mr. Ames. She and
he ran off leaving Captain Wood.”

“Is that all?”

“I think George likes me.”

“George?”

“Captain Wood, I think he likes me and I've done
him such an evil turn. I can't face him again.”

“What do you think of him?”

“Everything, he's handsome, kind, and fun. I
l-love him.” Cecelia's attempt at iron discipline rusted and she
broke into tears. Her aunt hugged her like a little girl and said,
“There, there Cecelia. Dry your eyes. These things have a way of
working out.”

“They do?”

“They do. Trust me. You know I'm very happily
married to Mr. Hopwell?”

“Yes. I even, barely, remember going to your
wedding after he was ordained in Bath as a little girl.”

“That was a long time ago, I'm glad you remember
it. If you'd known me a few years earlier, you'd have seen me in
tears over a dashing army captain. Your grandfather forbid our
marrying. It was one of the best things he ever did for me.”

“You were in love with someone other than Mr.
Hopwell?”

“Oh yes, or at least that's what I thought at
the time. I was a silly young thing in those days.” She left
unspoken, “like you.” After a pause to let her words sink in, she
continued, “I thank God every day for my good fortune. That captain
would have been an awful husband.”

“So you're not sorry?”

“Not at all. As I said, I was a silly girl and
these things usually work for the best.”

“I'll try to comport myself with more
dignity.”

“Cecelia, your conduct is becoming. Just try not
to be so weepy.”

Cecelia gave her aunt a weak smile, “I'll do my
best.”

Captain Wood sat alone in the front parlor of
Penyclawdd house a few days after quitting Swansea. It was a lovely
sunny morning where bright white clouds scudded through a clear
blue sky. In his opinion the weather should be stormy with rain,
floods, thunder that could break windows and hail by the bucket.
The morning's good weather only mocked his internal despair. An
untasted glass of Madeira sat on the table in front of him. He'd
asked for it first thing in the morning. Living in an alcoholic
haze seemed the only thing left for him to do. Being thoroughly
drunk would make life tolerable again. He took a sip, grimaced and
threw the glass and its contents in the fireplace with a resounding
crash. There had to be a way to find that woman. There just had to
be a way. He called for his valet, “Meadows!” Meadows was a brainy
chap. He'd know what to do.

Meadows quickly arrived. “Sir? What is it?”

“Meadows, I don't want to drink myself to a
stupid death. Do you have any ideas of how we could find Miss
Wood?”

“Unfortunately, no. Not at the moment, Sir.
However, I am glad that you don't want to drink yourself ill.”

George rose from his seat and paced. “I wish I
knew what Cecelia was doing. Did she ever care for me at all? She
must have.”

His, well Cecelia's really, dog, Heulwen watched
from where she was sitting. Her ears pricked up at the mention of
the word 'Cecelia', then turned flat again when she didn't appear.
She whined her distress at the thought.

“Heulwen, what is it girl?”

Meadows interposed, “I think, sir, that your dog
needs a walk. I could release her to the garden. Sir.”

“A walk! Meadows you are a genius, that's what I
need. A walk will clear my mind, and maybe I can think of a way to
find Cecelia.”

Hearing the word 'walk' in close juxtaposition
to 'Cecelia', Heulwen jumped up and started barking with
excitement. “That's right sunshine. A walk will brighten our
day.”

Meadows continued, “I will endeavor to see if
any of the local servants have more information about Miss Wood's
relatives, sir. Where will your excursion take you?”

“I don't know. I might go up Cwm Bwlch, then
climb one or the other of the hills. Be back for supper.”

“Very good idea sir. Exercise soothes many a
tormented heart. Be assured that in the meantime I shall do my
utmost to establish information as to the whereabouts of Miss
Wood's relatives.”

The narrow, stone-fenced and wooded farm lane
from Penyclawdd up Cwm Bwlch leads past Llanthony. When not
stone-fenced, it was bounded by thick hedges. Captain Wood and
Heulwen walked along it, the captain deep in thought and Heulwen
carrying a trophy stick. Every few minutes Heulwen would bother the
captain until he would throw the stick through a gap into the woods
or along the lane. She'd bring it back to repeat the game.

They met Mr. Landor riding down the lane towards
town. He cried, “Hallo George! Haven't seen you in a while. How's
Jane? I can see Heulwen's grown well, fine dog that.”

“She broke our engagement in Bath and ran
off.”

“Really? You don't seem too distraught. Not the
devastated bridegroom are you? Mind you I always thought you
weren't completely suited to each other. Not like Julia and
me.”

“We weren't. It was a blessing in disguise for
both of us. I sincerely wish her luck with her Mr. Ames.”

“Now if you'd been talking about Cecelia. That
would be a different matter. You and Cecelia, now that's a fine
match.”

“Walter, do you know where Cecelia's aunt
lives?”

“Cecelia, that's the woman for you, Miss Wood.
I'd be pleased to give a toast at your wedding breakfast. Not just
a toast, why I'll give you a whole speech, an epic poem if you'd
like. Why don't you propose to her now that you're free?”

“I don't know where she is.”

“She's good with animals, sweet, well-tempered.
Even that Jane of yours liked her much of the time, and that could
take some doing. Jane was a difficult woman to please.”

George raised his voice in frustration, “Would
you listen to me!”

“Don't shout, now what is it?”

“I want to marry Cecelia.”

“Good, when is the ceremony?”

“I have to find her first, and get her to agree
to marry me.”

“How on Earth did you lose her? It's not like
she is a key or a shilling. Always loosing those. Tell me
everything. Start from the beginning.”

“We were together in Bath and she ran away.
Meadows and I think she went to find her aunt. Do you know where
her aunt lives?”

“Now why would she flee from Bath?”

Captain Wood’s teeth could be heard grinding as
he worked to control his temper.

“Calm down George, I'm only trying to get the
facts straight.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you were damned
annoying?”

“Many times. Julia does so at least once a day.
So Cecelia fled from Bath, did she? Where did she go, and more to
the point why aren't you there?”

“I don't know where she is.”

“That will make proposing marriage difficult
won't it?”

George paused to catch his temper before
answering, “She's probably with her aunt in Swansea.”

“Why don't you look there for her?”

“I did. The town watch threw me in gaol for
trying to find her.”

“They did? What on Earth were you doing? They
must be hiring a more temperamental sort of watch than when I was
your age. We got up to all sorts of larks and nobody much minded.
Did I tell you about the time?”

George interrupted what promised to be an
extended recursion into Mr. Landor's past. “You are my age, or
close enough. Meadows looked too, and neither of us could find
her.”

“Brainy fellow, Meadows. If he couldn't find
her, then she's not there.”

“Walter, before I cut you up into little tiny
pieces of dogmeat for Heulwen's dinner, please tell me what you
know about Cecelia's aunt.”

“Don't know anything much about the aunt, she's
just some dashed female or another. Lives in Swansea, or
thereabouts.” George was about to scream in frustration. “Wait a
moment, Cecelia did once tell me something. Not much, but I suppose
every little thing I can say helps.”

“What is it?”

“He's a vicar. Not in Swansea but near Swansea.
That must be where they pick up their mail or something.”

“A vicar? There aren't that many parishes in
Glamorgan County are there?”

“No, not many. Only a hundred or so. I was
heading into Abergavenny to see if I could talk some sense into
that bloody solicitor of mine, Gabble. I can see if there's a
directory of parishes. See if there are any vicars named
'Wood'.”

“Thank you. Can you also find me a list of where
the parishes are around Swansea?”

Mr. Landor wrote that down on his list. “Keep a
list, you know. Tend to forget things if I don't write them
down.

“I'm not surprised.”

“Now I'll walk with you until we get to the
Queen's head. Tell you about my new idea for an epic poem. It's
about this dog, Gelert. Famous Welsh legend about a loyal
creature.”

“Don't you need to see about Mr. Gabble?”

“Oh yes, him, damn fool. Just because I'm a
poet, he and his partner in crime, Mr. Gabb, must think I'm a
simpleton. I'll tell you about my new epic poem some other time.
It's about this dog, Gelert.” He tipped his hat and urged his horse
into a canter.

George looked at Heulwen and said, “Well
Heulwen, at least we're spared an epic poem, for now. I just
couldn't stand it at this moment.”

The dog waggled her trophy at him. It was time
for another throw. George took the stick from her. As he tossed it
down the road, he wondered, “Why the hint about Gelert? Maybe
Meadows would know.”

When Heulwen brought back her stick, George said
to her, “Sorry about this girl, but I think we're having a short
walk today. It's back to Penyclawdd for us.”

Meadows met them at the door. He was holding a
letter, “This arrived for you, sir. I was of two minds as to
whether to open it and send for you if it were important. Since you
have arrived, you may see for yourself.”

George looked at the letter, which was poorly
addressed and was written in a relatively uncultured hand. It was
something of a small miracle that it had arrived at all. What he
found was well worth the few shillings he paid for it.