‘Oh, I see you are civilised,’ George commented on seeing him.
He grinned. ‘When occasion demands it.’
‘Not very often by the look of that coat.’ It was said with an indulgent smile. ‘When did you buy it?’
‘Eighteen-twelve, I think, or it might have been thirteen. There’s nothing wrong with it, is there?’
‘Nothing at all, my friend,’ he said, watching Justin attach a note to his door telling prospective patients that the consulting rooms would be open at eight the following morning and where he could be contacted in case of an emergency. ‘Will they dare come knocking on Lady Mancroft’s door, do you think?’
‘Not unless the emergency is dire. They are usually considerate.’ He picked up his hat. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Now,’ George said as they walked among the promenaders on the sea front. ‘Tell me how you came to be scraping a living in a slum in Brighton.’
It was a long story and Justin did not feel inclined to reveal the whole of it, but he did go into more detail when it came to his mission among the poor people of the town and his theories about cleanliness. By the time they entered the portals of the best hotel in town his friend had all the salient facts with none of the emotional turmoil that still assailed him. ‘I believe there are virulent organisms at work for which soap alone is not enough,’ he concluded. ‘And that has led to a study of why some diseases affect the poor more than the rich, how much of it is hereditary and how much a result of the conditions under which people live.’
‘All very commendable,’ George said, as they made their way to the dining room.. ‘I have been working on something similar myself, doing tests in the laboratory, involving my pupils, though the evidence is circumstantial and we have yet to find proof.’
‘I do not intend to wait around for the old fogies to come round to my way of thinking. I mean to show I am right in the real world, the one of poverty, disease and sickness. Rates of recovery from wounds and surgery will be proof enough for me.’
They paused in their discussion to order a capon, pork chops and vegetables, and then continued tossing ideas about the hospital back and forth while they ate until George was as enthusiastic as he was. ‘Have you found premises or do you mean to build?’ he asked.
‘I have been given notice to quit my present premises and have no time to build. Besides, it will be far too dear. I am looking for a large house to convert, one that will also give me and my staff a home. The problem is that places like that are being converted into boarding houses, which is a far more lucrative proposition for the owners.’
‘Considering that the Regent has made Brighton the place to be seen after the London Season, I am hardly surprised. I wonder at you choosing it.’
‘It chose me. You may see only the glitter of the beau monde, but behind that there is a community of fisher folk and artisans being pushed out of their traditional way of life.’
‘And you have made them your own?’
‘It happened.’
‘Why? How?’
Justin paused, wondering how to tell him without divulging all the hurt and misery that had preceded it. In the end he gave George the same explanation he had given Walter Gosforth, that the lady he had hoped to marry had chosen his brother instead. He said nothing of a broken engagement or the gossip that followed it. He had hoped that was dead and buried. ‘I could not settle at home when I left the navy,’ he told him. ‘It was too painful for everyone concerned. I was staying a few days in Brighton when my skill as a doctor was called upon to treat a child bitten by a dog. And then his parents needed help and before I knew what was happening I found myself inundated with patients.’
‘And that is fulfilling?’
His mind travelled fleetingly to Anne, but he would not allow it to linger there. ‘Yes, except for a conviction that I could, and should, do more.’
‘And so the idea of a hospital was born?’
‘Yes. But I do not have the resources to fund it and that is why we have formed an association to raise the necessary finance, not only to find and equip the hospital, but maintain it as well. The patients themselves will pay only if they can afford to.’
‘And Miss Hemingford?’
‘What about her?’
‘Come, my dear fellow. I am not blind. I saw how it was.’
‘I told you she had been working, getting her hands dirty…’ He paused and smiled wryly. ‘More than her hands, her face too.’
‘She is very beautiful, even more when she is dishevelled, I think,’ George said. ‘It is a wonder she has never married. After all, her dowry must be a great incentive to set against the fact that she is perhaps too forthright…’
‘She may be forthright, as you say.’ Justin felt bound to defend her, though he felt ill at ease talking about her. ‘But she is full of compassion and not at all top-lofty.’
‘Oh, I know that. There was a time…’ He stopped suddenly and laughed. ‘Wishful thinking on my part, of course, but she did show me more than mere courtesy…’
Justin was seized with something he would not admit was jealousy that his friend could speak so lightly of the woman who had won his heart. He pulled himself together. ‘What happened?’
‘Why, nothing. Nothing could, I was flying too high.’
‘She is not like that!’
‘No, but her family are.’
Justin had to admit he was probably right if Mrs Bartrum was an example. ‘I believe her aunt has set herself the task of finding a husband for her.’
‘Are you among those being considered?’
‘No, of course not, but if you come to the rout, you will see them for yourself.’
George drained his glass. ‘Then let us be off. It promises to be a very interesting evening.’
Chapter Seven
Anne was subdued as her aunt’s carriage carried them the short distance to Lady Mancroft’s house, which was hardly surprising after the peal Aunt Bartrum had rung over her when she returned home from the doctor’s.
‘Anne, whatever has happened to you?’ she had demanded, catching sight of her niece trying to make for the safety of her bedroom without being seen. ‘Have you had an accident?’
‘No, Aunt.’
‘Oh, do not tell me you have been assaulted? Oh, you foolish, foolish girl, to go out alone like that…’
‘Aunt, I have not been assaulted,’ she had reassured her with a crooked smile. Could what had happened be considered an assault? An assault on her senses perhaps, an attack on her emotions, but it was her own fault for allowing it to happen. ‘I could not find a helper for Dr Tremayne and went to tell him so. There were so many patients waiting—’
‘Anne, do you mean to say you actually touched them?’ Her aunt sounded horrified.
‘Some. The children. I felt so sorry for them. There was a little baby, half-starved it was, and a small boy. He was crying and I tried to comfort him. My hair came down.’
‘So I see.’ Her aunt had pressed her lips together in disapproval. ‘What have you tied it back with?’
‘A cravat. Doctor Tremayne lent it to me.’
‘Anne!’ her aunt had gasped, clutching at the jet necklace at her throat. ‘I am in despair. If this gets out, we will not be able to hold our heads up in society again. Your reputation will be in shreds and mine along with it.’
She had continued in like vein for several minutes and Anne, who hated upsetting her, had apologised for her thoughtlessness and promised it would not happen again. ‘Now Professor Harrison has arrived, there will be no need. I left them with their heads together, talking about the new hospital.’
‘I am beginning to wish I had never heard of it. If we had not come to Brighton—’
‘We would never have met Major Mancroft and Captain Gosforth, would we?’ Anne had put in, in an effort to raise her spirits.
‘Whatever will they think?’
‘Why, nothing. There is no reason they should ever learn of it, is there
?’
‘I suppose not. Now, do go and change and throw that gown away, it will never clean properly.’
Anne was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally, but she realised it would be unwise to complain of it and so she had gone up to her room, where the maids were busy filling a bath. Having drunk a reviving cup of tea, she had bathed and dressed in a rose-and-burgundystriped sarcenet and sat for Amelia to put her hair up, and by then she felt more like her old self. Except for the memories, memories of being held in Justin’s arms, of being kissed, the soft touch of his lips on hers and the sensations that had aroused; memories like that would never leave her. And in a very few minutes she had to face him again, and in company, and whatever happened she must not give herself away.
Lady Mancroft’s large ground-floor drawing room was full to bursting, which was gratifying since everyone had paid five guineas to the fund for the privilege of being there. A string quartet played in a corner but no one was listening to the music. It was far more diverting to make one’s way, wineglass in hand, from group to group, exchanging gossip.
Anne made her way between them, keeping close to her aunt as if wanting her protection, which was so unlike her, she was able to smile at herself. Disjointed snatches of conversation came to her ears as they passed on their way to greet their hostess, who was holding court in the far corner of the room. ‘Will he come?’ and further on, ‘He won’t bring his mistress, will he?’
‘Georgiana!’ Her ladyship, being very tall, had caught sight of them above the mêlée and began elbowing her way towards them.
‘What a squeeze it is,’ she said, after Aunt Bartrum had greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. ‘I am sure there are more people here than I invited…’
‘As long as they have all paid, that is to the good, do you not think?’ Anne said. ‘I am pleased to see that so many people are in favour of the hospital.’
‘They are here because they think a very important personage might put in a brief appearance.’
‘No? He never is!’ exclaimed Aunt Bartrum. She looked down at her high-waisted satin gown striped in two shades of grey, obviously regretting its simplicity. ‘If I had known…’
‘Charles took the opportunity of acquainting him with the aims of the association when he was called to attend him,’ their hostess explained. ‘He thought his Highness’s approbation might serve us well. Charles said that an interest was expressed in tonight’s function.’
‘Then we must thank the Major for his thoughtfulness,’ Mrs Bartrum said, looking round the company. ‘But I do not see him.’
‘I believe he is in the card room. We have arranged a few tables for those who like a small wager, but they have to promise to donate a percentage of their winnings.’
‘Then I shall go in search of him,’ Aunt Bartrum said. ‘Anne, do you come with me.’
Anne smiled; her aunt was determined not to let her out of her sight. She need not have worried; the last thing her niece wanted, so she told herself, was a confrontation with Dr Tremayne. She refused to admit, even to herself, that she had been gazing about the room looking for him. Perhaps he would not come. If he and the Professor had become engrossed in talking about medical matters and old times, then they might have decided to forgo the doubtful privilege of fighting their way through the crowd and having to make meaningless conversation.
Major Mancroft was not playing cards because all the places were taken, but he was standing to one side watching the play. As soon as he saw Mrs Bartrum and Anne, he came forward to bow to them. ‘Good evening, ladies. It is good so see you. And looking so elegant too. Mrs Bartrum, that gown becomes you exceedingly.’
‘Why, thank you,’ Aunt Bartrum said, almost preening. ‘But do you not think Miss Hemingford is in looks tonight?’
He turned to smile at Anne. ‘Indeed she is. Two jewels in this packed company.’
‘I believe you have been working on our behalf and we must thank you,’ Mrs Bartrum said, digging her elbow into Anne’s side.
‘To be sure, Major,’ she agreed, endeavouring not to smile at the Major’s clumsy attempts at flattery. ‘We have been overwhelmed by the support given to our project through your good offices.’
‘Oh, it is nothing. I slipped the information about tonight’s occasion into the conversation, that is all. I doubt he will come, but even the rumour of it has swelled our funds, don’t you think?’ And he winked and touched the side of his nose with his finger.
‘Major! That is dishonest,’ Anne said, wondering how well one needed to know the Prince to be able to slip something into a conversation with him.
‘Not at all. He did not say he would not come. If he had, then it would indeed have been a hum.’
‘Where is Captain Gosforth?’ Aunt Bartrum asked. ‘I have not seen him.’
The Major’s expression clouded at the mention of his rival, but it quickly cleared. ‘I expect he is somewhere about. I cannot imagine he would absent himself,’ he said drily. ‘Not when he knows you will be here.’
‘Then we shall go and find him and leave you to your game.’
‘I was not playing,’ he said quickly. ‘Allow me to escort you.’ And he offered his arm.
Aunt Bartrum nimbly skipped out of his way so that he found himself beside Anne. He could hardly turn away and she, smiling at his chagrin, put her fingers on the crook of his elbow to follow her aunt. ‘I am sorry, Major,’ she whispered, as they returned to the drawing room by way of the stairs and the entrance hall. ‘Aunt Bartrum can be very contrary sometimes. Have you spoken to her about your intentions?’
‘Not exactly. I hinted, but she always manages to turn the conversation. She speaks of you and how it is her duty to see you happily married…’
‘Oh, dear. Perhaps it is time you did more than hint.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ His face lit with hope, making her smile. Whether her aunt would entertain an offer from him she did not know, but it was time something was resolved.
It was at that point Anne saw Professor Harrison and Dr Tremayne come in the front door and her heart skipped a beat. The doctor looked so different from the tired, dishevelled man she had left only a few hours before. Dressed in shades of blue, not quite up to the minute, but very fine for all that, he held himself with the easy assurance of a man used to being waited on, as he handed the footman his hat. No one who did not know the truth would take him for anything other than a gentleman.
He looked across the hall and caught sight of her on the arm of Major Mancroft and his face clouded briefly. Mrs Bartrum had evidently been to work on them, judging by the way Miss Hemingford was hanging on to the Major’s arm and laughing up at him. Surely she would not succumb? He wanted to rush over and tear her away. Instead he bowed. ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient.’
‘Doctor Tremayne.’ She inclined her head in formal acknowledgement. Whatever had been between them, if there had ever been anything between them, had gone, been blown away on a contrary wind. The cold emptiness was back in his eyes. She could not bear it and turned away. ‘Professor Harrison, I am pleased to see you have been prevailed upon to join us.’ The smile she turned on him was one of genuine warmth, not lost on Justin.
How could she allow him to kiss her, more than that, actively respond, and then turn to others so readily? Was she a flirt? Did she enjoy teasing? ‘Major, may I present Professor Harrison?’ he heard her say. ‘He is a teacher at Guy’s Hospital. I believe his advice on our project will be of inestimable value.’
‘Then you are welcome, sir,’ Charles acknowledged him with a bow. ‘Do you know Mrs Bartrum?’ He turned to the lady with a smile, which confused Justin even more. What was going on?
‘We are acquainted,’ Aunt Bartrum said, coming forward. ‘How do you do, Professor. Shall we go into the drawing room? I will present to you our hostess. Come, Doctor, do join us.’ And with that she almost dragged the two gentlemen away, leaving Anne with the Major.
‘Oh, dear,’ Anne said. ‘I
had hoped to leave you alone with her. Now you will have to find another opportunity.’
‘I shall not find it standing out here. Shall we follow them?’
Anne could hardly say she did not want to be anywhere near Dr Tremayne because that would be a consummate lie. She longed to be near him, to be close, so close she could experience again the tremors, the excitement that coursed through her at his touch. If a touch could do that, if a kiss could make her lose all reason, how would she feel if they went even further? If they… She shivered as her imagination pictured it. How could she, a respectable well brought-up young lady, have such wanton thoughts?
‘Are you cold, Miss Hemingford?’ The Major’s voice was so ordinary, it brought her back to earth with a bump. ‘I could fetch you a shawl.’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Then let us hasten to Mrs Bartrum’s side.’
Aunt Bartrum was in the middle of an animated group of people who were evidently enjoying each other’s company. There was Lord and Lady Mancroft, a little bemused at having to entertain two doctors, even though one was an eminent professor; Mrs Barry, watching over her two chicks like a mother hen; and Captain Gosforth. ‘He would be here,’ the Major muttered.
They were drawn into the group, which had been discussing the impact the interest of the Regent might have on their project. ‘I believe it will have an adverse effect,’ the Captain was saying. ‘He is far from popular.’
‘Only with the proletariat,’ her ladyship put in. ‘Those of us with any pretence of breeding know what a fine man he is.’
‘Fat,’ muttered Justin, who was standing close enough to Anne for her to hear.
She smiled in spite of herself. ‘Fie on you, Doctor, you must not say disparaging things about our future king, especially if he becomes a benefactor.’
Marrying Miss Hemingford Page 15
