Mr Forster's Fortune by Lizzie Church

sister. And then, for the first time in almost thirty years, he put his head in his hands, and wept.
    For some strange reason Cecily felt a shadow fleetingly descend upon her – just the faintest shadow of sadness – and a moment later it was gone.
    ‘I’m glad we agreed on a walk, Miss Forster,’ she said, rousing herself once more. ‘I have always loved to go walking when the days are cold and bright like this. I must admit to feeling quite cooped up if I am stuck inside for long.’
    ‘Oh, so do I, my lady. I should be out all the time if I could. I am always outside at Brandrigg. My mother quite despairs of me at times.’
    ‘We had some lovely walks in the Cotswolds. I was fortunate in living quite close to the canal. Its towpath, though muddy at times, provided a beautiful waterside walk with all the little birds upon it. I used to ramble there for hours together. I enjoyed standing by the locks in particular. I have always enjoyed the sound of rushing water.’
    ‘ But did your papa not mind you wandering about there on your own?’
    ’ No, it never concerned us, to be honest – I never felt in the slightest bit under threat. I should find it much more difficult nowadays. Even were my uncle to allow me the freedom that my papa used to do I’m afraid that my cousin, Alfred, would endeavour to keep me at home. Alfred is always most – well, particular. Particular and sedate. It takes all the fun away when he’s at home. It drives me quite to distraction.’
    Their walk that day was sedate enough even to satisfy an Alfred, though the young ladies’ delight in it was multiplied by the discovery of a song thrush, seduced by the early sun, practising his springtime song from the privacy of a laurel. His singing was rather subdued, as if in embarrassment, but even so they both instantly stopped, delighted, to listen to him. Together with the brilliance of the winter sunshine and the blueness of the sky they both agreed that it was a promising portent of spring.
    They meandered their way through the gardens and up the hill towards the canal. Ahead of them they could see the green hillsides to the east of the city, thrown into exaggerated relief by the gently slanting sun. A number of blackbirds – less optimistic, or more experienced, than their cousin the thrush – were busily engaged in a clucking exchange of hostilities from towpath and park. A robin was singing wistfully nearby. Where the ground faced north and the sun couldn’t reach it the plants retained a faint mantle of white frost, with here and there a symmetrical cobweb, glistening silver between the twigs. The weather had attracted a number of nursemaids with their charges into the gardens. Little boys, still in smocks, raced around noisily in scuffy boots. Little girls skipped hand in hand together, laughing and giggling in some private world of their own.
    The cold of the afternoon gradually became more intense, not helped by a developing easterly wind which penetrated even Miss Forster’s thick woollen pelisse like a knife. They had talked hopefully of trying their luck in the labyrinth, but after a while, albeit reluctantly, the two young ladies had to admit defeat and retrace their steps back down the hillside to the unwelcome noise and bustle of the road at Sydney Place.
    ‘ Shall we take some tea at my house, my lady, rather than going all the way back to yours?’
    It was very well done, for no sooner had they achieved the warmth of Lord Barnham’s now deserted drawing room than Mr Forster appeared, book in hand, apparently intent upon reading it. But he cast it aside as soon as he saw that he was not alone and, pulling up a chair close to the ladies by the fire, enquired about their afternoon instead.
    ‘ The cold air and exercise have certainly brought the roses to your cheeks,’ he informed them, pleasantly. Cecily’s cheeks immediately blushed even rosier than before. It was most embarrassing, though she could do nothing to