‘I think the ladies are preparing to get out, now,’ and he turned and headed for the shore with long, purposeful strokes.
‘I suppose we may follow,’ said Mr. George cheerfully. ‘We’ll be starving as soon as we are out of the water.’
They rose dripping from the waves and began the unpleasant process of scraping themselves half-dry with sandy towels, discussing what they would have for breakfast. It was only when they were all again fully clothed that Murray realised that both his companions had moved too quickly from clothing to water and back again for him to notice any scratch marks on their chests, and he cursed the missed opportunity.
The ladies were not all preparing to leave the water. Miss George and Virginia Kirk had each tried a few tentative, lady-like strokes, while Parnell had floated happily on her stomach, uncapped dark hair held carefully out of the water, adjusting her position with little delicate flaps of her hands. Mrs. Helliwell floated beside her daughter, encouraging Anna to take deep breaths of the clear, salty air. Here the water was only three or four feet deep, and they could sustain their floating with the occasional kick at the sandy bottom: it was the buoyancy that was so thrilling, the feeling of having no weight, bobbing like a bad egg, Mrs. Helliwell thought, romantic thoughts never having much to do with her mind.
However, even buoyancy has its limits as entertainment, and Miss George and Miss Kirk were beginning to mount the steps of the dreaded bathing machine once more. Miss George looked about for the attendant, and saw her at last in the distance gossiping with another attendant further down the line. Miss George waved over.
‘We are ready now,’ she called. The attendant waved back.
‘Oh, aye, your ladyship,’ she said straight-faced. ‘You just get yourselves settled and I’ll be there in a flash.’
Miss George’s mouth set in a grim line.
‘It’s as well none of us was in danger, with her so far away.’
‘We can be changing inside, anyway,’ Miss Kirk pointed out reassuringly. ‘Sister, it is time we went in.’
Parnell turned herself lazily towards the machine and began a gentle paddle. Mrs. Helliwell took her daughter’s arm.
‘Come on, now, Anna,’ she said, standing up, ‘time to go in.’
‘Oh, do we have to?’ said Anna. They seemed only to have been there a few minutes, and all her deep breathing had made her feel light-headed and more buoyant than ever, unsinkable as a cork in a bucket.
‘Come on, now,’ repeated her mother. ‘It’s time you had your breakfast. You’re keeping these ladies back.’
‘I don’t want to go in,’ said Anna, suddenly cross.
‘Anna,’ said her mother warningly.
‘I don’t. I want to swim.’ She screwed up her mouth defiantly.
‘Don’t be daft, now, Anna, you know you can’t swim.’
‘I can. I can swim.’
‘Anna, act your age. Behave yourself.’ Miss Kirk and Miss George had gone into the machine’s shadowy changing room, thank goodness: there was only Miss Parnell to see Anna’s disobedience, and she had her back to them.
‘I can swim,’ Anna insisted, and breaking away from her mother’s grasp she splashed away seaward, bouncing on the waves, gasping and laughing at once. She pushed herself around with her arms and called back to her mother, ‘See? I’m swimming!’ She gasped again, tried to touch the bottom, found that she could not, and in a half-second her laughter turned to screams. Mrs. Helliwell, practical, sensible woman, froze.
In another second the screams were gone, back to gasps again, great sighing, desperate gasps that Mrs. Helliwell knew only too well. Anna was having an attack. Miss George had heard the screams and was already shouting for the attendant, any attendant, and her maid was staggering across the sand to find someone to help, but there was no one around, no one at all. Other bathers, too far away, stopped and stared, open-mouthed lilies on the water’s surface.
Something shot past Mrs. Helliwell, fast and white on the water. With no sound, Anna was reached, seized and dragged swiftly back, face clear of the sea, mouth wide, cutting through the surf, back to the steps of the machine where she was pushed up, out, grabbed by Miss George and the maids, and her mother, suddenly able to move again, plunged after, water tugging uselessly at her legs and arms, to be with her daughter. She vanished inside. On the lowest steps of the bathing machine, hair like Medusa-snakes soaking around her shoulders, bathing dress clinging to her, stood Parnell, bent over, panting from the rescue. Miss George stared at her, speechless, then turned and went into the machine. Miss Kirk, who helped her sister in, found that she could not stop crying.
From the dunes, even, it was clear that something was amiss at the little red bathing machine, and two attendants on the beach ran to pull the donkey and the machine out of the waters. As soon it was clear of the wet sand, the landward door burst open and then, in a moment of confusion, shut again. Murray, Kennedy and Mr. George, standing anxious on the grass, watched as Daniel was sent running down to ask the attendants what was going on. There was considerable waving of hands, then Daniel came running back to them again, slithering in the sand.
‘It sounds as if Anna Helliwell has had one of her attacks, sir, and it happened in the water. It doesn’t sound too good, sir.’
‘But why don’t they come out of the machine?’ said Kennedy, biting his lip hard.
‘The attendant said they were going to, but they’re all wet and Mrs. Helliwell thought it would be better to wrap Anna in dry clothes before bringing her outside. Someone will need to carry her, sir, she’ll not walk back to the inn if she’s in that state. I seen it once and she can’t breathe nor nothing.’
‘Of course we must go,’ said Mr. George. ‘I’ll carry the child.’
‘She’s a big child, you’ll need help,’ said Murray, setting off with him down the sand.
VII
Inside the bathing machine, Mrs. Helliwell was trying, as she dressed herself, to calm Anna, whose fight for breath was becoming hysterical. The dreadful gasping filled the little space, and beyond it, apart from the hurried scuffles of clothes being tugged into place, the changing room was strangely silent. Virginia Kirk, tears streaming down her cheeks, gently fastened the back of her sister’s dress as Parnell leaned hard against the wall: Miss George did not look at them.
The instant they were all ready, a maid opened the landward door again. Outside were Murray and Mr. George who, fashioning their linked arms into a kind of cradle, took the weight of Anna wrapped in two cloaks, and her mother scuttled down the steps to follow, tucking in the ends of the cloaks. Miss George, coming after, made sure that the maids had all the wet bathing dresses and towels. Murray called to Kennedy to come and take some of the weight, and Daniel ran ahead to the inn to warn of their coming, instructed by Mr. George to ask for hot bottles, a fire and hot food for everyone.
Once off the sand they could move faster, while trying still to move smoothly. A sharp slap, kindly administered, had brought Anna’s breathing down to a calmer level, but she was grey-white and exhausted looking, her eyes red and puffy. The narrow stairs at the inn meant that it would be awkward to carry her back to her room: instead they settled her in a downstairs parlour. Mrs. Helliwell loosened the clothing around her throat, and propped her on another bundled cloak for a pillow. She was allowed a sip of warm, honeyed ale to ease her throat after all the harsh breathing and salt water, and began to settle down. Mrs. Helliwell looked around at the anxious faces.
‘She is over the worst of it,’ she said, ‘but I should like to take her straight home.’
‘Of course,’ said Mr. George.
‘Daniel,’ said Murray, ‘arrange for the carriages and horses to be brought around, and then go and change into dry stockings.’ Daniel bowed and went.
‘We should do that, too,’ said Kennedy, and disappeared. They could hear him walking slowly up the wooden stairs.
‘Agnes,’ said Mrs. Helliwell to her maid, ‘please go and pack our th
ings, quickly.’
‘Would it be helpful,’ asked Murray, ‘if we exchanged carriages? The seats in my barouche are perhaps a little wider than those in Mr. George’s chaise, and Anna could lie down. And Miss George could travel with you or in her own chaise with the Kirks, as she pleases.’
‘Oh, I shall travel with Mrs. Helliwell,’ said Miss George immediately. ‘I could not leave you alone, dear Mrs. Helliwell, at a time like this.’ The ladies smiled at one another, perhaps the first smile of real warmth they had ever exchanged.
‘But where are the Kirks?’ asked Murray suddenly.
‘I thought they were following us,’ said Mrs. Helliwell, frowning. ‘I should have taken more notice, for if it had not been for Miss Parnell Kirk, I dread to think what would have happened Anna.’
‘Yes, what did happen, exactly?’ asked Mr. George. Mrs. Helliwell described how, like a miracle, Parnell had appeared from nowhere and rescued Anna before she herself could so much as move.
‘She was marvellous! Was she not, Miss George?’
‘I did not see,’ said Miss George flatly.
Murray, moved by the idea of Miss Parnell as a heroine, had gone to the window to see if he could have any sign of the Kirk sisters approaching, and found that they had just arrived outside. Excusing himself, he went out to greet them.
Virginia and Parnell were standing very close together just outside the front door of the inn, though whether they were viewing the preparation of the carriages or taking another long look at the sea he could not say.
‘Good morning!’ he said from the doorway, and they both jumped. He noticed that they had their arms about each other, and Parnell seemed smaller than usual. It was perhaps the flat slippers. When he approached them, he noticed, too, that Miss Kirk had been crying, and looked away.
‘Mrs. Helliwell naturally wishes to return at once with her daughter to Letho. I understand she has you to thank, Miss Parnell, for Anna’s rescue?’
‘It was nothing,’ said Parnell, very softly. She was pale, he saw. He wondered if the two sisters had been having a quarrel.
‘I am quite sure that Mrs. Helliwell does not see it that way. We have decided, if it does not inconvenience you, that Mr. George’s chaise will take you home and Mrs. Helliwell and Miss George will use my barouche, as Anna can lie down in it. Is that - ?’
‘Quite suitable, thank you,’ said Miss Kirk clearly.
‘They have prepared a hot meal for us, if you would like to step inside,’ Murray went on. He felt for some reason that the conversation was an uphill struggle.
‘No, no thank you. No breakfast,’ said Parnell quietly. ‘I think I shall just sit in the carriage.’ The chocolate brown chaise was just beside them, and she put a hand out to the door.
‘But we might be a little while yet,’ objected Murray. ‘And you must have luggage upstairs, too.’
‘Little of importance, Mr. Murray,’ said Miss Kirk, ‘it can follow us on the waggonette, if you have no objection. My sister is a little tired, and if the company will forgive us we shall see them at Letho. Pray make our excuses to Mrs. Helliwell and Miss George.’ She opened the carriage door, and a surprised-looking driver ran to bring out the steps. Parnell did indeed seem tired: she was much heavier on Murray’s hand as he helped her in than he would ever have expected. He helped Miss Kirk in after her sister, and watched as they settled themselves, Parnell almost reclining with Virginia fussing to make her comfortable, and as far as Murray could make out, muttering ‘Silly girl! Stupid, silly girl!’ to her recumbent sister.
The chaise, finally fully harnessed, set off. Murray returned to the inn, feeling puzzled and unsettled. Inside, Mr. George was tucking into a plate of ham and onions beside a gigantic coffee jug. Mrs. Helliwell and Miss George had claimed some bread and hot cocoa. Between Daniel and the maids running downstairs with luggage for the waggonette, Kennedy emerged, looking bewildered in clean clothes.
‘Where are the Kirks?’ he asked anxiously.
‘They have taken the chaise and are on their way back to Letho,’ Murray explained. Miss George looked up from her cocoa with a knowing expression.
‘Straight back? Without resting?’ Kennedy snatched at Murray’s arm.
‘That’s right,’ said Murray, disengaging himself in surprise.
‘Without breakfast? Without changing into dry clothes?’
‘Without all that. But they were in dry clothes, anyway: they changed in the bathing machine. You saw them there.’
‘No, you called me away to hold Anna’s feet or something.’ Kennedy looked about him, distraught, then caught sight of Daniel in the hall. ‘Is my horse ready yet?’ he demanded. ‘I must go at once. They cannot go back alone, simply cannot.’
‘He is a very good driver,’ said Mr. George reasonably, defending his servant, ‘and completely trustworthy.’
‘And what about your own breakfast?’ asked Murray. Kennedy snatched a piece of ham from the serving ashet and began to eat it with his fingers.
‘So much for breakfast,’ he said shortly. ‘Daniel, my hat and gloves, please.’ He strode out of the door, and in a few moments they heard the clatter of hooves as he trotted off to catch up with the Kirks.
‘He’s badly smitten,’ said Mr. George, when the hoofbeats had died away. ‘I assume it’s the younger lady that has attracted his attention.’
‘Pas devant les enfants, Francis,’ said his sister cautiously, but Mrs. Helliwell, taking the sense, said quickly,
‘No, Anna’s asleep.’
‘It has come on very suddenly, then,’ said Murray, feeling the faint stirrings of jealousy. ‘I could swear he was indifferent a day or so ago.’
‘Circumstances change,’ said Mr. George.
‘Indeed they do,’ said his sister, with meaning. They all looked at her. She glanced at Anna. ‘Are you sure she is asleep?’
Anna lay breathing gently with her mouth slightly open, her face bland. Her mother nodded.
‘When Miss Parnell Kirk emerged from the water,’ began Miss George, ‘her bathing dress was clinging to her – ah, to her. And it was quite clear to be seen that she is –’ Miss George glanced cautiously again at Anna, ‘she is enceinte.’
‘No!’ said Murray.
‘I should say she will be delivered by October.’
‘It would explain their sudden departure from Bath,’ said Mrs. Helliwell reasonably, ‘and their seclusion with their aunt. I wonder if she knows?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Miss George, ‘but Miss Kirk certainly does. Most careful of her little sister, is Miss Kirk. And I should say that Mr. Kennedy knows, too, and that is the reason for his concern for her.’
‘You think it is his child?’ asked Murray, all thoughts of jealousy vanished.
‘It is a possibility, is it not, Mr. Murray?’ Miss George said. ‘Mr. Kennedy is from the West Country, and for the last two years the Kirks have been at Bath.’
‘But he never said that they had met before ...’ said Murray, suddenly feeling stupid. He thought perhaps that he could now guess where his servant William had been sent twice so secretly by Kennedy. But if it were his child, why had Kennedy not married her? He was unattached, Murray was sure, she was a pretty girl, there was just enough money on each side to make the match quite unobjectionable. Deceitful Kennedy may have been, and perhaps with good reason, but surely he could not be such a villain as to leave the girl in such a state. And if he had, why would he then make another contact with her here?
‘We should not speak of the matter outside this room,’ said Mrs. Helliwell. ‘There will be circumstances of which we know nothing, and the matter will doubtless become public soon enough, as these things have a way of doing. Do you think the barouche might be ready soon?’
It was, and Mr. George drained his last cup of coffee while the ladies and Anna were arranged in it to their greatest comfort. Leaving Daniel with instructions regarding luggage, the waggonette, and his own breakfast, they set off as smoothly as the street wo
uld allow so as not to disturb Anna into another choking fit.
VIII
Blair had been invited to the manse for dinner by Mr. Helliwell, who appreciated some of Blair’s opinions and enjoyed much of his conversation. The minister thought carriage jaunts to St. Andrews to go sea-bathing a base and avoidable frivolity, and was pleased to imagine that Mr. Blair thought so, too. Blair thought Mr. Helliwell might grow so worked up about the state of the manse in his conversation that he would actually show Blair what the problems were with the kitchen quarters, which would please Blair immensely: he did like other people’s kitchens. In this state of happy anticipation they were both sitting down to their soup when the sound of carriage wheels outside drew Mr. Helliwell, apologising to his guest, to the window.
‘Curious,’ he said, ‘it is Mr. Murray’s barouche, with Mr. Murray and that man George.’ After another moment, and in a different voice, he added, ‘And Jean is within. Something must have happened.’ He made for the door, and Blair, with a good mouthful of soup being worked behind his flexible lips, rose and stumbled after him.
At the gate, Mr. George and Murray were carefully lifting Anna, still in her two cloaks, from the carriage. The last part of the journey, through the village, had been particularly rough despite the Letho coachman’s best efforts, and Anna had begun to wheeze dangerously again. The two gentlemen whisked Anna up the stairs, led by Mrs. Helliwell, before a word could be said of complaint, and Miss George followed carrying Mrs. Helliwell’s reticule and an open bottle of smelling salts, though for whose use was not clear. Mr. Helliwell drew a deep breath, and with wild eyes ran up the uncertain staircase after the whole procession.
Blair was left on his own in the hallway, wondering if he should return calmly to the dining room and finish the excellent soup, or follow everyone else upstairs and make one more in a very crowded bedroom. In a moment, though, Mr. George and Murray came back down, hot from their ride and the rush, and took their hats off to fan themselves.
‘I feel I should not be here,’ said Mr. George with a wry smile, ‘but I must wait for my sister.’
An Abandoned Woman (Murray of Letho Book 4) Page 16
