What About Cecelia? (22 page)

“I'd be very happy to. Meadows, can you see
about Heulwen?”

“I'm afraid, sir, she has run off. I'm sure
she'll return.”

The two men entered the house and were
introduced to the vicar. Mr. Hopwell inspected Captain Wood and
then said, “So you are this famous Captain Wood? The one my niece
won't tell us about.”

“I am.”

“You must know that I am now acting as guardian
for her. So I should inquire about your means and background.”

“I can support her, if that's what you mean. She
is here, isn't she?”

“Oh yes. She's just wandered off somewhere.
Takes a book of poetry and reads it outside.”

“Is she engaged to that curate?”

“Mr. Andrews? I don't think so. Mary, dear, did
she say she was?”

“No she's not.”

“Good. I should be sorry to hear that.”

Captain Wood exploded into laughter, “You'd be
sorry! How do you think I'd feel?”

“Before we talk about settlements, where did you
plan to wed?”

“Wherever Cecelia would like to. Since you're
her uncle, I expect you would like to officiate. This is a
beautiful place.”

“That could be arranged. I'll have to write the
bishop for a license, but that should not take long to do. That is,
unless you have another pastor who you would desire instead of
me.”

“No. The ones near Penyclawdd preach mostly in
Welsh. It's been so long since I've lived back in Berkshire that
the priests I knew there are long departed. I'd much rather you
officiate than someone I barely know or can barely remember if I
do.”

“Thank you.”

They could hear Heulwen barking in the
distance.

Captain Wood demanded, “What is that blasted dog
into?”

Meadows reminded him that Heulwen had run off
when they arrived.

“Blast! Sorry for the language vicar. Do you
mind if I go and call her? I don't want her getting lost. Cecelia,
Miss Wood, would be most upset.”

“Certainly, we can discuss the settlement
details when you return.”

Captain Wood rose, walked to the vicarage door
and began to call for Heulwen. Then he called “Meadows I've just
seen her!” and started to run.

Meadows dashed to the door, just in time to see
Cecelia dissappear over the crown of the hill that separated the
vicarage from the town. The Captain was sprinting uphill after her.
While not built for speed, he started after his master.

Cecelia looked out over Rhossili bay and the
Bristol Channel from her perch on the top of Rhossili down on a
fine Fall afternoon. Behind her the Gower stretched its rocky spine
back to the mainland. The wide sweep of the sea and land made this
one of her favorite places to be alone and read poetry. Whenever
she could steal a few hours away from helping her Aunt with the
children or her Uncle with his farm, she would climb the short
steep path to the top of the down. There she could revel in its
romantic solitude. Up there on the down neither the village nor the
vicarage were visible, and the solitude was a blessing. While she
still missed the hills around Penyclawdd, this came a close second
in her heart as a place she could love.

She opened her slim volume of Byron's verse and
began to read
^x
.

Whene'er I view those lips of thine,

Their hue invites my fervent kiss;

Yet, I forego that bliss devine,

Alas! It were – unhallowed bliss.

She sighed, remembering that quick kiss in Bath.
Then she shook her head and banished the memory. Miss Arnold must
have married Captain Wood by now. Perhaps, if he gained preferment,
Mr. Andrews would do for her. He certainly wanted her to be his
wife. While he wasn't an exciting man, he certainly was an
attentive one. He had even visited the vicarage several times since
he drove her here. Ostensibly his visits were to clarify 'important
points of doctrine', but it was obvious to everyone that in reality
were to call on the Vicar's pretty niece. Even Mr. Hopwell had
commented on it. She asked the birds, flying far out over the bay,
“Maybe, like Aunt Hopwell, I'm cut out to be a vicar's wife. I
wonder if Lord Charles has any open livings in his gift.” She
sighed again and continued reading.

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,

How could I dwell upon its snows!

Yet, is the daring wish represt,

For that, - would banish its repose.

If poetry be the food of love, she had her
surfeit with this. It would never do to read too much and get
carried away in alt. Besides, she knew that the Mr. Hopwell needed
her on the farm. Failing that, Mrs. Hopwell would want her to help
with the children when they returned from the parish school. So she
closed the volume, rose and started back down.

Joyous barking greeted her when she reached the
start of the lane that led to the vicarage. “Heulwen! Did you
follow me here, all the way from Bath?”

She played with Heulwen, throwing a stick for
her to fetch it as they walked along the lane to the vicarage. As
soon as the crested the small hill that obscured the house from the
village, she stopped. There was a carriage there. A strange
carriage. Someone was visiting the vicarage.

A familiar man appeared at the vicarage door.
Despite the distance, Cecelia could hear him as he said, “Where is
that dratted dog? Heulwen! Heulwen! Come.” Heulwen barked.

He looked up and saw her. Locked in mutual
recognition, they froze for a moment. Before he could shout his
love for her she started to run. Heulwen followed her, barking
encouragement.

Captain Wood turned quickly back into the
vicarage door and yelled, “Meadows I've just seen her!” before he
sprinted uphill after her. She had the advantage of height and when
he arrived, breathless from the exertion, at the village of
Rhossili, he could see her running down the path to the point.
Heulwen was running and barking alongside her. He called, “Cecelia,
I love you, Please don't run!” She didn't hear him, or if she did
she ignored it. So he followed her. Meadows struggled along behind.
He was followed by Aunt Hopwell and eventually the vicar himself.
The commotion attracted a small crowd from the village which
followed along behind at a more sedate pace. The path descended to
the headlands. A rough rock causeway connected the islands of
Worms' Head to the mainland from there. It was only open at low
tide. As he stood there and panted he could just see Cecelia
working her way to the first island. Heulwen, disliking the rocks
and water had remained on the headland and barked at her. The tide
was rising, and would soon flood the causeway. She would be trapped
on the island. Meadows arrived, and asked him, “Sir, what now?”

“Give me your cloak.”

“Sir?”

“I'm going across, but I doubt I'll return until
the next low tide. Possibly later if the moonlight is not bright
enough to make our way clear. Miss Wood will need something for
warmth.”

Meadows readily handed the Captain his cloak and
wished him the best of luck as he climbed down the steep bank and
out onto the rocky causeway.

The Captain was splashing across the shallow
part midway that flooded first when the Vicar and his wife arrived.
They all watched as he raced the tide to the island, and breathed a
sigh of relief as they spied him climbing onto the first island in
the chain. The tide, quickly rising behind him, locked the two of
them onto the island.

Mrs. Hopwell turned to Meadows and asked him,
“Mr. Meadows, was it?”

“Meadows, Ma'am. Please just Meadows.”

“Your master, this Captain Wood, is he a decent
man?”

“One of the best, Ma'am. I am honored to serve
him.”

“You know they will have to get married if they
stay on the island. His presence overnight will compromise
her.”

“I'm sure he will behave as a gentleman.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know Ma'am.”

“I could try to find a fisherman willing to
pluck them from the island in an hour or so when the tide is high
enough for his boat to land.”

“That would not be advisable, Ma'am. It would
certainly be the worst thing you could do for him, and I strongly
believe for her as well. It is my considered opinion that they will
make an excellent match.”

“That is what I hoped to hear from you. Cecelia
has been moping for the last weeks, and while Mr. Andrews is an
estimable curate he would not do for her. Lacks the strength of
personality to match her spirit.”

Heulwen, whined in her anxiety. The rocks and
now the tide dissuaded her from crossing. She wouldn't and now
couldn't follow her masters. Meadows unbent to stroke her and
reassure the poor animal that her masters were fine.

Cecelia sat on the grassy slope of the first
part of Worm's head facing out to the Atlantic Ocean. She was out
of sight of the mainland, and the crashing of the waves on the
rocks below hid any sounds that came from the mainland. She put her
head between her hands and wept. The tension of the last few weeks
found voice in her sobs. Not even Mr. Andrews the curate could want
her now. Not once the story of what she did to Captain Wood was
common knowledge.

There was a gentle tap on her shoulder. She
looked up and started. It was George. He was smiling at her, and
said, “Don't cry my love.”

She jumped up and shouted at him, “Go away! You
can't want me! I spoiled your best chance at happiness.”

“Let me be the judge of my happiness.”

“I'm ruined. What I did is unforgivable.”

“Cecelia, please listen to me. I can't be happy
without you.”

“No! Maybe you can be happy, but how can I face
your family, the Somersets or even the Landors? Everyone expected
you to marry Miss Arnold and I broke your engagement by letting you
pay attention to me. Even if you don't, they'll see me as soiled
goods, a designing hussy of a trollop who stole her husband. I'm
ruined and I've ruined you.”

She stomped to the far end of the grassy area
and sat down facing away from him. George wasn't sure what he could
do, so he waited. Finally, the disk of the sun disappeared beneath
the horizon and the chilling mists blew in from the ocean. He
quietly walked to Cecelia and put the cloak around her shoulders.
He told her, “You'll get cold. Wear this.”

He quietly sat next to her, and waited.
Eventually her hand found its way over to his. He began to talk
with her again and whispered, “Cecelia?”

“Yes?”

“I wouldn't worry if I were you about how you'll
be seen by our friends. Mr. Landor already asked to give a speech
at our wedding breakfast.”

She laughed at the thought, “Maybe we should get
married before we meet him again. I'm not sure I could stand
that.”

“Your Aunt and Uncle expect us to as soon tie
the knot as we can. I think he was on the point of writing the
bishop for an ordinary license while Meadows and I were talking
with them.”

“Ordinary license?”

“So we don't have to post the banns in our home
parishes, and can get married in his church, St. Fili's.”

“That would be nice. I'd rather be married by my
uncle than some stranger.” She nestled closer to him. His warmth
felt nice, especially in comparison to the cool Fall evening.

“I had another letter from Jane. From Mrs.
Ames.” Cecelia stiffened. This was it, the accusations of
home-wrecking. “She and Mr. Ames had a long-standing acquaintance.
They were engaged and then not engaged long before we met. They met
long before she met you. You didn't introduce them to each other in
Bath, because he came in search of her. So it was a very lucky
break for me and, honestly, for her when she met him again in Bath.
By the way, she wishes us the best luck in her latest letter.”

“Miss Arnold wrote you a pleasant letter? After
running off?”

“I think she was angling for an invitation to
our wedding, or failing that more riding lessons.”

“Oh, I think not. It would be rather awkward.”
She paused in thought, then continued, “You mean I was upset over
nothing?”

“Not nothing, but I wish you had waited for me.
You know I nearly found you three times when you ran off?”

“Yes, I do. Two times at least, when was the
third? I thought it was my good luck that you missed me. I was
wrong wasn't I?”

George squeezed her hand. “Very wrong. The third
time was in Swansea. I was looking for you elsewhere when you
arrived on the stage. You did give me an interesting chase. I know
the south of Wales far better than I did. Though I could have done
without a week in the Swansea bridewell.”

“What did you do to deserve that?”

“I was asking about your aunt by trying to knock
at every door in Swansea. The town watch did not approve of it.
I've become notorious in Swansea.”

Cecelia laughed at the thought, then added, “It
is funny. You're such an honest man, to be put in the bridewell.
Still, I'm sorry for you.”

“At least I wasn't pressed into the navy.”

They sat together for a few more minutes, in
silence, then George pulled Cecelia's face towards his. He gave her
a solid, meaningful, kiss, which she gladly reciprocated. Then he
stated, “You know, Miss Wood, I haven't asked you to be Mrs. Wood
yet. What do you say?”

She squeezed his hand, “What do you think?” Then
she pulled him close and they kissed. “Yes, of course.”

The chill in the air deepened as the night wore
on. George and Cecelia held each other closely underneath the cloak
for warmth. George explained to her, “This is what we did in Spain,
when we were caught out in the Pyrenees in winter.” Cecelia didn't
object, since it involved holding George as close to her as she
could. Their mutual warmth allowed them to sleep fitfully through
the night. It was too cold to think of much other than staying
warm. Marginal hypothermia is not conducive of romantic activity
even in the best of times.