We finally left the city behind and reached the turnpike road. It was a relief to see that it was in good condition in spite of the recent rain, and that it had fewer potholes than the route we had followed just over a week before from Mansfield Park. The journey to Bath was as tedious as the journey to London, but after hours of being shaken about in the carriage at high speed, we reached our destination just as the sun was setting.
Bath was a handsome place, with substantial new buildings in polished, honey-coloured stone and the promise of amusements that comes with fine urban living. The carriage avoided the city centre and instead went up one of the hills towards what looked like a quiet part of town. When we alighted at Camden Place we were all happy to have arrived, with one exception. When Lady Bertram put her pug on the ground, the little dog grumbled. I thought it odd, even for such a remarkably lazy animal.
In the hallway, I was thrilled to find an Oriental cabinet remarkably similar to the one Mrs Admiral Maxwell had in her Portsmouth front room. Mrs Maxwell was a wealthy widow who lived in a grand Elizabethan home in the best street in Portsmouth. She was also my sister Mary’s godmother, and the one who had gifted her the silver knife that was now my most prized possession. My father had served under the Admiral with great honour for a number of years, so when he was declared disabled for active service, the woman took pity on our family and made us occasional presents of fish, game and small sums of money. Mrs Maxwell was fond of babies, so every time my mother came out of confinement with a little one, she would take us girls and the new addition to pay our respects. For little over a quarter of an hour, we would be welcome into the widow’s front room. The new baby would be admired, Mary would be queried about her goodness, and I would be free to observe the richness of the room at will.
From an early age I decided that the lacquer Chinese cabinet placed by the window was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. It was exquisite, just like the one now in front of me, in the Camden Place house. A more solid piece of furniture than its delicate appearance suggested, the cabinet had carrying handles and lock-plates made out of copper, and was decorated with landscape scenes on the door and intricate foliage and flowers on the sides. I smiled, for I saw its presence in the house as a good omen of what was to happen in Bath. My impressions were confirmed when I was assigned a room on the family floor by my uncle. It was heavenly not to have to share my sleeping quarters with Murphy, so when I slipped between the sheets of the creaking bed later that night, I let out a contented sigh. I was sure my luck would change in the weeks to come.
“So, miss, how do you like the house?”
I had just left my bedroom and was standing at the top of the staircase, ready to go downstairs for breakfast. Murphy, who emerged from a room on the same landing, was looking at me intently.
“It is very handsome,” I said, hoping my short answer would signal my little interest in engaging in conversation.
“Waller told me that the only reason Mr Shillington was able to secure it was because the lady who always rented the house died a few weeks ago.”
“Oh.”
Murphy was scratching her neck now in a very unbecoming fashion.
“There is something I wanted to tell you, miss, about our stay at Mr and Mrs Yates in London.”
“I am afraid I do not indulge in idle gossip, Murphy,” I replied curtly, before turning my back and descending to the breakfast parlour without a glance back. Murphy’s familiarity had grown very insistent since we had been forced to share the small attic room on Berkeley Square. Now that I had been restored to my rightful place in the household, things had to change.
The house at Camden Place had grand windows, fine furnishings, freshly painted interiors and a convenient arrangement of rooms. It was a bit far from the centre of town, but the elevated outlook gave it a pleasant view over Bath. I was saying so to my uncle over breakfast when I saw that my aunt was standing at the doorway, dressed in her favourite lavender dress. I almost dropped the cutlery. Sir Thomas appeared equally surprised, but he quickly regained his composure.
“Dearest, are you well? You must surely be fatigued after our long journey.”
“I thank you for your concern, dear Sir Thomas, but I am feeling rather refreshed. Perhaps it is the Bath air. We must go into town today and also to the Pump Room. Is it Susan’s first time in Bath, is it not?”
“It is, indeed,” I replied, as I fetched her medicine from the cabinet it was kept in. The doctor had specified that it must be taken on an empty stomach, and I took my nursing duties very seriously.
“It is a very handsome place, always full of elegant people, is it not, Sir Thomas? As a young girl, my father suffered from rheumatism, and every spring we would come to Bath for a few weeks so he could take the waters. The merry days your mother and I had, walking arm in arm down George Street, jolly and carefree!”
It was easier to picture Lady Bertram, in her eternal indolence, as a careless young lady than my poor mother, worn down by mothering and the hard work that comes with caring for a large brood with just the help of a couple of servants. Lady Bertram’s eyes glazed over and a smile appeared on her lips.
“Yes, we had some very happy times together. How we used to laugh! Your Aunt Norris, however, did not like Bath one bit. She used to walk behind us, grumbling about our unmaidenly and coquettish behaviour.”
My aunt had a mischievous look about her now, and for an instant I saw the girl she once was, delighting in upsetting her serious older sister, whose character and disposition were so different from her own.
An hour later, we descended into the centre of town in the pleasant morning air. The sky was blue, and in the bright light the straw-coloured buildings appeared to be glowing. As we approached the amenities, the crowd thickened, flowing slowly through the industrious streets, until we reached our destination.
The Pump Room was a large space, tastefully decorated and of a suitably grand appearance. What I had not counted on was on how busy it would be, even at this relatively early hour. The many souls gathered in the space, from all sorts of ages, conditions and states of health, were buzzing like flies over a sugared cake on a hot summer day, gossiping and shouting and laughing and sneezing and belching all at once. As well as the constant murmur of conversation, an orchestra was playing at one end of the room, which added to the general confusion. An usher invited us to add our names to the subscription book. I sensed some reluctance in my uncle, but he did it nevertheless.
“There is the world-famous pump,” said Lady Bertram, pointing towards the other side of the room. I looked towards the attraction that every Bath visitor comes to benefit from. It was a fountain, no grander than the ones in Mansfield Park. Around it was a dozen of patrons waiting in varying patience for the stewards to serve them a glass of the famous water.
Sir Thomas excused himself and returned with three servings of the medicinal drink. The glass was warm to the touch and the murky water gave away a powerful stench of rotten eggs, which temporarily disguised the smell of sweaty flesh around us. Nausea invaded me. Lady Bertram gave me a sweet smile and gulped the water in one go. I tried not to breathe and did as she had done, swallowing the cloudy water in a single movement. The flavour it left in my mouth was of metal, salt and grit. Lady Bertram handed her glass to Sir Thomas and spoke into his ear. My uncle nodded, took my glass in his hands and headed back for the pump.
The orchestra finished playing and loud applause and cheers invaded the room. The place was now full to the rafters. The odours emanating from such a large number of bodies crammed into a single place, no matter how high the ceilings or big the windows, made me slightly dizzy. Then, I saw the Master of Ceremonies approach us in the company of a middle-aged woman. She was expensively dressed and had an air of determination about her, and was accompanied by a girl of about my age. The older lady took my aunt’s gloved hands in hers.
“Dear Lady Bertram! It must have been twenty years since our last encounter. I was overjoyed to see yo
ur name in the book! What a delightful surprise! You are so little seen in public. Have you come for the curative powers of the waters? Mr Allen visits every year on account of his gout. He is in the card room just now. He will be very pleased to meet you. I have told him everything about my youth days in Huntingdon! But tell me, is this delightful young lady your daughter? I see a family resemblance.”
“Do you?” I could tell that Lady Bertram was overwhelmed by the woman’s verbosity, but those words gave her an anchor and she looked at me as if appreciating my features for the first time. “Susan is my niece. I suppose we must look alike. She is the spitting image of my sister, and you may remember how we were often asked if we were twins.”
“Dear Frances! I hope she is well, although I have heard some accounts that suggest that she could be better,” whispered Mrs Allen, but Lady Bertram smiled noncommittally and I was grateful at her little desire to engage in gossip. Mrs Allen mentioned the whereabouts of a number of common acquaintances, but quickly changed the topic of conversation in view of my aunt’s lack of interest.
“Lady Bertram, allow me to introduce Miss Morland. She is the daughter of a very respectable Fullerton family and, would you believe it, she is the third Morland sister that accompanies us to Bath. The first two married well, so I have high expectations of this journey.”
Miss Morland gave a flawless curtsey, with the right mix of grace and bashfulness. She was graceful and had delicate features, expressive eyes and a fine figure, although she lacked the poise and symmetry to be considered a real beauty. Mrs Allen returned her attention to her old friend.
“So, Lady Bertram, have you seen much of Bath?”
“Not yet. We only arrived last night.”
“There are so many amusements to be had this time of year!” enthused Mrs Allen. “The ball in the Upper Rooms last night was delightful. I am not one for dancing, but I enjoy such occasions, especially when I am in the company of young people. Miss Morland here had quite the evening. In spite of the large number of young ladies in attendance, she was dancing most of the time. She was even asked twice by a very eligible gentleman who specifically asked to be introduced to her by the Master of Ceremonies. She was quite a success, were you not, Harriet?”
Miss Morland coloured deeply.
“I was just being polite, Mrs Allen.”
“So that is what they call it on this day and age!” exclaimed Mrs Allen, ostensibly looking in my aunt’s direction. “Oh, Lady Bertram, I very much hope Miss Morland will put us out of our misery soon and declare who her favourite is. Miss Morland’s eldest sister was just like her at her age. She took her sweet time to decide, but in the end she finally realised what I had known for weeks and made her choice. And the right one it was, too. Mr Tilney is witty and pleasant, as well as perfectly respectable, and they make a delightful family with their cheerful brood. She was married at eighteen, so Miss Morland is late already. She has plenty of admirers but she ought to decide before they grow bored of her. Am I not right, Lady Bertram?”
My aunt looked confused and I felt obliged to intervene.
“Perhaps Miss Morland is simply being discreet. We, young females of marriageable age, are in a wretched position. If we show our affections with earnestness, and they are not swiftly followed by a promise of matrimony, we are branded stupid fools. However, if we keep our feelings under wraps, as so many advocate and expect, we are berated for being aloof and unreadable.”
Miss Morland was looking utterly miserable now, and I feared that my words had not been the most appropriate. Mercifully, Sir Thomas returned just then. Introductions followed, with many expressions of delight on Mrs Allen’s side. I could tell that my uncle, although as courteous as ever, was eager to retreat to the peace of Camden Place, and at the first opportunity exposed his wife’s need to rest after such an exciting morning. Mrs Allen, visibly disappointed when we said our goodbyes, was not appeased until my uncle assured her that we would meet them again the following day.
Aching to draw again, that same afternoon I asked my aunt if I may head into town to buy some new materials. I had little money but hoped it would stretch to some charcoals and pencils. Lady Bertram, fatigued after the morning excursion, had no objections. Equally, she did not show the smallest inclination to leave the sofa in the drawing room, which, although not as much to her taste as her one in Mansfield Park, she had declared tolerable. Thus, Murphy was charged with chaperoning me. The maid had a sly smile across her face, and as soon as we were out of eyesight from Camden Place, she spoke.
“You know what they say about Bath, miss. It’s where young women go to find a husband or lose their virtue, one or the other. Which is it going to be for you, do you think?”
“Whatever makes you think you can address me so?”
The maid shrugged.
“It’s just to make conversation. Youse aren’t a fine lady like them Bertrams. I saw how Mrs Yates treated you. I thought you would be less priggish.”
I felt my cheeks burn but continued to walk in silence.
We quickly reached the centre of town, and things became noticeably busier. There were landaulettes, barouches and phaetons aplenty, with shoppers lining the streets and shop fronts displaying their wares in the most flattering way possible.
“I says you could find yourself an ambitious city lawyer or a military man. Or perhaps a country parson!” Murphy exclaimed. “Just like your sister. A nice young man with a steady income, someone who needs a wife who will not just sit in all day doing nothing like…”
I stopped Murphy on her tracks.
“That is enough. I do not intend to find a husband just yet, so please keep your thoughts to yourself.”
I looked around. We had reached Milsom Street, but I had not yet seen a stationery shop.
“But miss, what are you going to do if Lady Bertram’s malady does not improve? What if she were to die, Heaven forbid? Your uncle would no longer require you. You’d have to go back to your parents’ home.”
I was about to sharply rebuke her for her nonsense when I saw him.
Mr Cole was standing in a corner of George Street, watching me intently. Our eyes met and he grinned. To my horror, he began to approach me. Shaking, I grabbed Murphy’s hand and forced her to turn around.
“We must go back to the house.”
“Whatever has taken hold of you, miss?”
“Now.”
I walked as fast as I could. I could hear Murphy’s panting behind me, but I did not turn back once, not until we reached the Paragon. Mr Cole was nowhere to be seen. I let out a deep breath.
“Are you well, miss? You looked as if you had seen the devil.”
“You are talking nonsense.”
“And how about them things you had to buy?”
“I did not find what I required,” I replied, with as much authority as I could muster.
We were back before Lady Bertram awoke from her nap. My heart was still pounding when I greeted her in the afternoon, but I managed to appear composed. As for Murphy, she looked at me with some confusion, but to my relief, nothing else was said about the matter.
Chapter 8
The Pump Room was equally busy the following morning, but thankfully Mr Cole was nowhere to be seen. We drank our glasses of medicinal water, and this time I managed to contain my nausea. Soon, the Allens and Miss Morland found us. Mr Allen, whom I had not yet met, was a very agreeable gentleman with pleasant manners and a twinkle in his eye, and after the necessary introductions, he invited my uncle to join him in the card room. Sir Thomas hesitated, but Mrs Allen so insisted that Lady Bertram would be taken good care of that he had no option but to acquiesce.
After the gentlemen had left, Mrs Allen spoke of all the must-see theatre productions and the upcoming balls in the Upper and Lower rooms. Lady Bertram did not say much. Her brow was pearled with sweat and she was looking very pale, in spite of the rouge that Murphy had haphazardly dabbed on her cheeks. Fearing that she might faint, I thought of pul
ling her towards a window to get some the fresh air, but the room was too crowded. Noticing my concern, Miss Morland offered to fetch the men and, after speaking to Mrs Allen, both women disappeared in the direction of the card room.
I took Lady Bertram’s arm and headed towards the door, which we reached after making slow progress through the crowd. Like the day before, the sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky, but the wind had turned. The usher offered to get us a chaise, but I declined; I expected Sir Thomas to join us at any minute. Hoping to keep Lady Bertram amused while we were waiting, I began to speak about our new friends.
“Mrs Allen appears very well informed on all matters concerning Bath,” I said.
“She was always keen to know everything. She also has an excellent taste for clothes, even if one cannot say that she is naturally elegant,” said Lady Bertram with a sigh.
I was about to comment on Mrs Allen’s clothes when my aunt grabbed my arm.
“Oh, Susan, I believe I have left my reticule behind!” exclaimed Lady Bertram.
“Please do not worry, I will go and retrieve it for you.”
I signalled the usher and instructed him to stay with my aunt until my return. Afterwards, I took a deep breath and stepped back inside.
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