Mama and I spent the morning of our last day in Wallerton making calls, mostly of a charitable nature. We first visited the Miller sisters, a pair of spinsters who had come down sadly in the world in recent years. From there, we went on to a small cottage where a family of nine lived on next to nothing. Whilst Mama ministered to Mrs. Bateman, who had been ill, I read stories to the four youngest children. Both these households had long been under my father’s protection. With his tacit endorsement, a week never went by without Cook discovering that there were too many eggs to use, more potatoes than could be conveniently stored, or a side of bacon that was in danger of going to waste. These and other staples of life invariably found their way to the Millers and Batemans, and would continue to do so even during the weeks we were away.
A brief stop to see Mrs. Evensong and little John completed our circuit. Then I had one last ride on Viola, my bay mare, after which I bathed, dined, and spent a restless night. Rising early, I dressed with more than my usual degree of alacrity, anxious to get underway as soon as possible. Unfortunately, my parents did not share my sense of urgency. In my excited state of mind, our normal, leisurely breakfast seemed an endless ordeal, and the loading of the carriage interminable. Mama could not be satisfied to leave without a lengthy consultation with the housekeeper to review every detail of her previously given instructions.
Agnes, who came to see us off, provided some distraction as I waited. “It still does not seem right somehow that you should be taking this consequential step without me,” she lamented. “We have always done everything together before. And now, here you are, about to be launched into the good society in Bath, all on your own. There are sure to be balls and parties every night. How shall I endure the thought that you will attend them without me?”
“Dear Agnes, how you do exaggerate!” I could not help saying. “Remember, we shall be going out into the town very little until my father is better. After that, who knows? Perhaps you will be able to join us by then. I promise I shall speak to Papa about it just as soon as he is well enough.” An inspiration for how to cheer her popped into my head. “And you ought not to begrudge me a little head start, dearest. After all, once the men catch sight of you, they will hardly give me another thought. You know that is what always happens.”
“Nonsense, Jo,” Agnes objected. Nevertheless, I noticed her gloomy aspect brightened considerably.
Encouraged by this success, I piled on more praise with a dramatic flare of my own, “No, ‘tis all too true. I have seen it happen time and time again. It is your beautiful yellow hair that beguiles them. Men simply cannot help themselves; they are powerless before it.”
“This time you have gone too far and I am sure you are joking,” Agnes said, laughing. “No matter; you have made me feel better in spite of myself. I was determined to be miserable for at least a week. My plan is completely spoilt, Miss Walker, and I am quite put out.”
Agnes made her final farewells at the carriage door. “Oh, I honestly do wish for you a very pleasant time in Bath, Jo.”
“Do you also promise to write to me faithfully… and not to mope about feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Yes, I promise the first willingly, the second, if you insist.”
“I insist.”
“Very well then, I shall do my best. What about you? Do you still propose to keep to this silly ruse of concealing your inheritance from all the poor, unsuspecting men that you meet?”
“Certainly I do! I intend to conceal it from everybody – the rich and especially the poor. As for the unsuspecting men for whom you feel so sorry, they will come to no harm. This is not a husband-hunting expedition. I am only out for a bit of sport.”
6
Arrival at Bath
Our journey was accomplished without incident if not without inconvenience, and at length we arrived at Bath. The unrelenting rain, for which the place is well known, did little to dampen my enthusiasm and nothing to stem my insatiable curiosity. I would happily have craned my head out the carriage window had I been allowed to do so. As it was, I had to be satisfied with the more restricted – but far more proper – view from within as we wound down out of the surrounding hills and into the town.
My first sight of Bath’s fine and striking environs delighted me. The scene was a far cry from the country verdure to which I was accustomed. Still, the place had an undeniable beauty about it all the same – a beauty born of human rather than of natural composition. Everywhere I looked, there was some new sight to be admired: honey-colored stone townhouses strung together in long rows and curves; a variety of classically designed public buildings; and the occasional park or monument. The Abbey easily qualified as the most impressive edifice of all.
Approaching from the south, we crossed the River Avon twice – once as we came into town and again as we turned toward our lodgings in Great Pultney Street. Papa had taken a comfortable house for us there, and, when we were settled, I was irresistibly drawn to the windows overlooking that broadest of Bath avenues. A steady stream of people and commerce flowed in front of me, giving even this stationary viewpoint more animation than I would find at home. There, the only passersby I could reasonably expect were the occasional tenant farmer or stray goose.
When the rain left off that first evening, I received permission for a brief excursion to Sidney Gardens, the western boundary of which reached to within a dozen houses of our own. I passionately longed to further explore my new surroundings, but I contained my excitement out of respect for my father, lest he begin to suspect that his health was not of primary importance to me after all. Visits to the various assembly halls and even the famous Pump-room had to be put off for the time being. A call by Dr. Oliver, the physician to whom Mr. Trask had referred my father, was sought as the highest priority instead.
Despite a torrential downpour, the doctor came promptly the next day to examine his new patient, prescribing a series of treatments according to his findings. He gave a favorable prognosis, provided his instructions for taking the waters and moderating the diet were faithfully followed. Hence, the first of Papa’s many visits to the Pump-room, to drink and bathe in the healing waters, was scheduled for the next morning.
Like a petulant child faced with the unhappy prospect of taking bitter medicine, the invalid once again voiced his dissatisfaction with a scheme so little to his taste.
In response, Mama informed him, “I will listen to no more of your grumbling, Mr. Walker. We have both promised Dr. Oliver that his orders shall be obeyed, and so they shall be. It is of no use to complain.” She paused, but no further remonstration issued from her husband. “Good. Then it is settled.”
Papa glowered at her and inquired peevishly, “And what shall you and Jo be doing whilst I am subjecting myself to the degradation of public bathing?”
“Suffer no anxiety for us, my dear. We shall entertain ourselves quite nicely.”
“I harbor no fear as to that, Mrs. Walker. I assure you, it is simply a matter of idle curiosity.”
“Well then, since you ask, Jo and I shall accompany you to the Pump-room and have a long promenade about that great hall. I daresay the exercise will do us both good, especially after being confined to a carriage for so many hours in recent days. I am very keen to consult the registry book there to see if anyone of our acquaintance is in town. What a fine thing it would be to discover old friends here. Do not you think so, Harold?”
“Most definitely. If we are to pass some weeks in this foreign place, it would indeed be a consolation to know that we shall have more than only each other for company. Conversation must eventually lag under such a strain, after all. But do you have any reason to expect someone we know?”
“No particular reason. It is only that Bath is very popular just now amongst our set. I do not think it at all unlikely that there will be at least one of my former schoolfellows, or perhaps one of your associates from business or Oxford, currently in residence. We must keep our eyes wide open. It would be pleasant for us
and a material benefit for our girl if it were put within our power to introduce her to new people of quality.”
I silently agreed that it would be a decided advantage. For the moment, though, the promise that we could go out into the town without further delay satisfied all my hopes.
~~*~~
Everyone in Bath, for health or holiday, inevitably finds their way to the Pump-room, the heart of the town and the reason for its existence. Crowds of fashionable people pass daily through its portals seeking the healing waters and the company of their peers. Reputedly, so many valuable acquaintances are renewed and favorable alliances formed within its hallowed walls that each visit holds as much promise for social as medicinal advantage. Thus, with high expectations, we joined the throng of pilgrims drawn to the Pump-room.
As Papa bathed in the warm, spring-fed pool below, Mama and I filled our time by parading up and down the main room in concert with all the others similarly left with no more-useful employment. The scale of the place gave even this ordinary exercise a feeling of grandeur. The vaulted ceiling, the massive columns supporting it, the sparkling chandelier, and the polished floor awash with the light spilling through soaring casements: it was quite a sight to behold. To one side in a windowed alcove was situated the ornate fountain, named The King’s Spring, from which continually poured the healing water for all to drink.
Mama focused her energies on locating someone she knew within the multitude, whilst I contented myself with being in the presence of so many interesting strangers – ladies and gentlemen of every age and description. Without an introduction, I could speak to not a single one of them. Still, it was felicity enough on our first foray into Bath society.
After nearly an hour and a half, Papa rejoined us.
“How was your bath, my dear?” asked Mama. “Did the mineral water suit you?”
“Well enough, I suppose,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I was neither drowned nor cured, but it was not an entirely disagreeable experience. If more of the same is the price for my recovery, I believe I shall be able to bear it after all.”
“I am so glad, my dear. I was certain you would be a model patient when once you got started.”
He muttered something unintelligible and then asked, “Did the two of you pass the interval pleasantly?”
“Oh, yes, Papa. Although I think the water does not so much agree with me. I have felt a bit unwell ever since I sampled it.”
“Smells foul; tastes infinitely worse,” was his appraisal of the same. “Count yourself as fortunate, Jo, that you are not the one obliged to drink it day after day.”
Ignoring these grievances in favor of her own, Mama reported, “I have been disappointed in my hopes of discovering anyone of our acquaintance. I examined the registry book and every single face that entered this room without a single point of recognition. Still, it is only our first day out. I shall not so soon despair of success in the matter. In fact, I think I will get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals. What do you say to that, Mr. Walker?”
“A very sensible attitude, my dear Doris. I would hate to see you cast down into despair when we are come to be merry in Bath,” he said with a recurring edge of sarcasm. “We shall hope for better luck tomorrow.”
“Yes, but now we must get you home so that you can rest. Then a little later, I thought I might take Jo out to visit the shops if you have no objection. She and I will need some new things for our stay here.”
“I foresaw that this trip would take a heavy toll on my pocketbook. Do try to keep your purchases within reason, Mrs. Walker, I beg you.”
“Of course, my dear. Moderation and economy shall be my watchwords.”
So, after resettling my father and taking some refreshment, Mama and I set forth to explore the town. Although I daresay I am far less consumed with style and finery than most young ladies, I am not completely immune to their allure. Just as any other female, be she eighteen or eighty, I would rather be smartly dressed than not. And in Bath were shops enough to thrill and delight even the most devoted patrons of fashion, all suddenly within my reach.
The windows of each establishment we came upon enticed us with displays of the desirable wares within. We personally perused more hats, shawls, gowns, and gloves in that one afternoon than we would have ordinarily come across in a year’s time in our own out-of-the-way corner of Hampshire. In the end, we came away with neither so much as the shopkeepers might have hoped, nor so little as Papa would have undoubtedly preferred.
“Your father will like to see how well you look in your new things,” Mama advised me on our way home. “Be sure to show them off and thank him for his kindness. But there is no need to worry him at all about the cost. Believe me, he will be much happier not knowing.”
In this, as in most other matters, I relied upon my mother’s sound judgment. Far be it from me to plague my father with unimportant details.
7
New Friends
In a similar manner, we passed our first week in Bath. Except for Sunday, we attended the Pump-room for some portion of every day. Then, if the weather permitted, Mama would take me out to visit another shop or look at some new part of town. In the process, we also discovered the location of the lending library and bought a subscription to keep us supplied with books for the duration of our stay.
Day by day, there remained the continued expectation that, with enough patience and persistence, we should locate some acquaintance in residence. After more than a week of searching in vain, Mama’s tenacity showed the first sign of bearing fruit. She found the name of a Mrs. Graham in the registry book at the Pump-room, and began to be convinced that it must be her former schoolfellow, a Miss Phoebe Banks, whom she knew to have married a man by that name many years earlier.
Although the two women had not seen each other in the intervening decades – and probably had not devoted a great deal of time to lamenting that fact – it now became a matter of utmost importance to the one that she confirm the presence of the other without a moment’s delay. Therefore, Mama immediately dispatched a note to Mrs. Graham at her lodgings in Milsom Street to make inquiries. She invited the lady to call round at Pultney Street if she indeed turned out to be the former Miss Banks, of whom she remembered to have been excessively fond.
Accordingly, Mama stayed at home the next afternoon in anticipation of receiving her guest, sending Papa in my care to take his treatment at the Pump-room. Fortune smiled; my mother’s conviction of Mrs. Graham’s identity proved accurate. When we returned to the house, we found the two women in the midst of a joyful reunion.
“Mr. Walker, Jo, come and meet my old friend from my school days, Mrs. Graham,” Mama said when we entered. “She and her family have only just arrived in town from Kent for a holiday.”
Mrs. Graham, a short, plump woman, was dressed in flawless taste. Her manners seemed likewise impeccable. The only thing that created some discordance in her overall presentation was the surprising volume of her voice, which belied the size of the person at its source. It seemed somehow incongruous that such a substantial sound should emanate from one so small in stature.
“Now that we have met again, Doris, we should make the most of it. You and your daughter must come to call on me tomorrow,” said Mrs. Graham in a commanding tone. Then addressing me, she continued with equal volume, “I have a girl about your age, Miss Walker, as well as two younger ones still at home. Susan will be delighted to make an acquaintance so soon after arriving in Bath.”
“May we go, Mama?” I asked.
“Certainly we may. This is exactly what I have wished for, that you would find a suitable friend to keep you company.”
So, on the morrow, Mama and I ventured to Milsom Street whereupon Mrs. Graham made it her first order of business to introduce us to her daughter, who resembled her in every important particular. She was diminutive and lady-like with a confident voice bigger than one would expect, at least without benefit of first knowing her mother.
I liked Miss G
raham straight away, a surprising unity of interests and attitudes forming the foundation of our immediate friendship. Within half an hour, I found myself insisting that she call me by my Christian name, and she instantly returned the favor. I was pleased to discover that Susan had a rational mind and very sensible ideas on all manner of subjects, including romantic attachments.
“I have no objection to marrying,” she declared. “Yet I am not so much at a loss that I will take the first man who comes along. One must have standards; one’s principles simply cannot be surrendered.”
“Very true.”
Susan continued. “Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing!”
“And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a situation as mine.”
“Then we are in agreement. But, as for being a fool, I have often observed that it is exactly when people do fall in love that they become very stupid indeed, which does worry me.”
“I will take care to guard you against it, my dear Susan. I should hate to see you nonsensical.”
“And I shall watch out for you. Let us make a pact of it.”
In order that our two families should spend the maximum time in each other’s company, we ladies deemed it necessary for the men to form as warm a friendship between them as we ourselves had already so expeditiously established. Toward that end, Mama invited the Grahams to dine in Pultney Street the following day.
Mr. Graham turned out to be a man of acute contrast to his wife in both person and manner. Whereas she was petite and decidedly assertive, he was quite a tall man with a soft-spoken, unassuming way about him. They made an odd-looking, mismatched sort of happy couple.
For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Page 4
