“At the White Hart, though Rissington has offered me a room in his place here in High Street. I’ve escorted some neighbors here. The Storwoods. Do you know them?”
Tony shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Staying long?”
“I hardly know. A few weeks, a few days. It may be necessary for the Storwoods to return sooner than expected. Join me for a glass, Tony. I should send a note off to Mrs. Storwood and I can pen it while they bring up a bottle.”
When they reached his room Cranford tossed his hat on a table and carelessly discarded the volumes of Emma beside it while he waved his friend to a chair. “I won’t be a moment. Help yourself when they bring the Lisbon.” He broke the seal of a letter handed to him on entering to find that his friend, Lord Rissington, insisted on his removing himself to High Street without delay. “Tony, Rissington has found a place for the Storwoods, but they’re staying with Mrs. Waplington. Maybe it would do for your father. Here, see what he has to say about it.” Handing over the letter, he seated himself at the desk and pulled forth a sheet on which he quickly penned a note to Mrs. Storwood asking if he might escort them somewhere that evening. If their stay was to be short, Trelenny certainly deserved to do as much as possible before they left.
In the hours which followed, Cranford visited with his friend Tony and removed his belongings to High Street, where he took dinner with Lord Rissington and received a note from Mrs. Storwood (thanking him for his thoughtfulness and saying that she felt quite up to going to the Upper Rooms if he would be so good as to accompany them). Not once did he glance at the volumes of Emma which he had brought with him and, since he had to hurry in dressing, he completely forgot that there was doubtless a message from Lady Babthorpe inserted in Chapter Three.
* * *
Chapter 15
The Upper Rooms were crowded by the time the Storwoods arrived. Trelenny had never seen so many people in one place in her life, and she shrank closer to her mother as they entered the long room with its Corinthian columns and fireplaces, brilliant chandeliers and musicians’ cove. There were so many people that it was difficult to move about, and the sea of faces contained no familiar one for Trelenny, outside of their party, which consisted of ‘the Waplingtons, Mr. Wheldrake, and Cranford. Mrs. Waplington seldom attended the assemblies, which had become, so she said, “infested with the common folk, and far too crowded for real enjoyment,” but her cheerful demeanor belied any negative feelings she might have. She knew everyone, or so it seemed to Trelenny, who was introduced to dozens of people whose names she could not catch in the constant roar of voices, and whose faces soon merged in her mind with one another.
Helplessly she looked to Cranford for encouragement, since her mother’s attention was claimed by Mr. Wheldrake, but he was acting distant with her because of the morning’s contretemps and she gave a resigned sigh, feeling very much on her own. Mr. Waplington soon deserted them for the card room and, after one set with her, Cranford stood back with a detached expression on his face as if to say, “Well, get on with it. Let’s see what you can make of yourself.”
The smile remained frozen on Trelenny’s face as young men were presented to her and led her off for the country dances. She was not used to the stilted conversation which the movement of the dance necessitated, but she refused to be tongue-tied under Cranford’s critical eyes. Several times she attempted remarks on riding and life in the country, but her partners seemed surprised and not altogether pleased. When they spoke of prominent figures in the ton she could do little more than disguise her ignorance. The evening began to stretch out to uncomfortable lengths.
And then Mr. Rowle appeared with his mysterious eyes and adventurous air. He was elegantly dressed in a coat of blue superfine, which set his athletic figure off to advantage, for though he was not a tall man like Cranford he had a set of broad shoulders and a well-turned leg which could evoke only admiration. Mr. Rowle came first to Mrs. Storwood to make his bow, reminding her solemnly that they had met that morning in the Pump Room. Had he assumed that she would have remembered him, she would probably have been less pleased at his appearance, but he presented to her a very proper diffidence which she found altogether acceptable. He was unknown to Mrs. Waplington, and on being presented was highly respectful, though he soon made her laugh with his clever observations on the company. Cranford regarded him impassively and Mr. Wheldrake with no more than ordinary interest, but Trelenny waited impatiently for the moment he would turn to her and request the honor of a dance.
“I had not looked for an opportunity to meet with you again so soon, Miss Storwood. Dare I tell you how charming, you look? Or will you tell me I am ridiculous?” His eyes danced with amusement.
“I find it is all the rage here to lavish compliments like so many raindrops,” Trelenny replied mischievously a dimple appearing in her cheek. “One would think all the ladies were parched and in need of such refreshment. But I believe the gentlemen are mistaken, you know. Such praise loses its efficacy in a downpour. A daily sprinkling is so much more beneficial.”
“Then I shall hope to have the opportunity of regularly showering upon such a rare flower. May I have this set?”
Mrs. Storwood, looking on complacently as they found their places in the dance, failed to notice the frown which had gathered on Cranford’s brow. Perhaps it did occur to her that it was strange that Elsa Waplington did not know the young man, but her friend had been charmed by his careful attentions and quick wit, so she felt no stirring of unease. Mr. Wheldrake had honored his promise not to press her to dance and she was taken by surprise when Cranford himself urged her to join Trelenny’s set with him. After his many thoughtful kindnesses of the past few days, she did not have the heart to turn down his earnest request, and they positioned themselves two couples away from Trelenny, who smiled approvingly at her mother’s advent.
Despite the music and the conversation of the other dancers, Trelenny found no difficulty in attending to her partner. His clear accents made it not impossible for Cranford to overhear them as well.
“Is this your first visit to Bath, Miss Storwood?”
“Yes, we’ve come for a short stay.”
“It can’t be that you need the waters. I’ve never seen a healthier-looking lady in my life. I’d take my oath you spend a great deal of time outdoors. Do you ride?”
The question rather surprised Trelenny. Didn’t everyone ride? She cocked her head, brows raised and eyes dancing. “On every possible occasion, in any available manner.”
Cranford stiffened and cast her a withering glance which she did not intercept, mainly because she had to concentrate on the steps of the dance, whose intricacies she had forgotten in her delight at feeling free to converse uninhibitedly with her partner.
Puzzled but encouraged by her obvious teasing, Mr. Rowle adapted his tone to hers. “Bath itself is poor sport, but I have a vast knowledge of the countryside. Perhaps you would ride with me one day.”
Uncertain as to whether it would be proper to ride alone with him, but suspecting it would not, Trelenny asked, “Do you live here, Mr. Rowle? In Bath, I mean.”
“I do. You see before you a native of the city, Miss Storwood, and you should congratulate yourself on such a find. What with the half-pay officers, and retired men of the cloth, to say nothing of the ailing aristocracy, you would be hard pressed to come upon someone who was born and bred here. You have found yourself the perfect guide, I assure you. Who else could so easily recommend the best stables, tell you the history of the Abbey, inform you of the exact shop in which to purchase lavender gros de Naples, or take you over every inch of the Sydney Gardens? But that’s nothing! I can show you the precise spot where Sheridan had his duel with Major Matthews or the house where Beau Nash lived. I keep a copy of Anstey’s New Bath Guide for very special visitors.
It’s old now, of course, but for those who would appreciate it, I am never loath to lend it, and I suspect, Miss Storwood, that you would find it vastly amusing.”
This was delivered as a compliment of the highest order with a comical quirk given to his brows which made her laugh. “Then I should very much like to read it, Mr. Rowle. I had intended to do some other reading,” she commented with a reproachful glance down the set at Cranford, who pretended not to hear her, “but I have abandoned that.”
“Perhaps I could bring the book by in the morning. Your appreciation of Bath will be heightened by it, I assure you. Would your mother object if I called?”
“No, why should she? We’re staying with the Waplingtons in Henrietta Street.”
“Are they relatives?”
“No, simply old friends of Mama’s, whom she hadn’t seen in ages ‘til we came here.”
“You don’t live close by, I take it.”
“In Westmorland, near Shap. My father couldn’t come with us because of his health, so we won’t be staying long. Perhaps only a few days."
Mr. Rowle studied her closely. “Surely you wouldn’t come so far for only a short stay!”
“We had intended a month but ... it’s not decided yet.”
Seeing that she did not wish to pursue the topic, he quickly changed its direction. “Strange that I’ve never been to Westmorland. It’s wild country, I collect, more on the order of Scotland than most of England. Have you been to Scotland or Ireland? Lord, the adventures I’ve had in those two God-forsaken holes! And they talk of the West Indies as being uncivilized! There’s a rogue behind every bush in Ireland, and a lunatic on every road in Scotland. Would you believe—But no, this is not the place to be telling blood-curdling tales! Forgive me! I shall say no more.”
Nothing could better have whetted Trelenny’s appetite, and she beseeched him to continue, in spite of the frequent disruptions to his discourse caused by the dance. He was, however, adamant on the impropriety of regaling her with such stuff at an assembly but hinted that were they alone he could tell her stories that would curl her lovely blonde hair. “I don’t set the least store in niceties of that sort,” she protested indignantly. “An assembly is designed for giving one pleasure, and I can see no reason why we should not be entertained in whatever manner pleases us."
But Mr. Rowle remained unmoved, switching to a teasing burlesque of the standard social chit-chat to which Trelenny had been subjected during the preceding portion of the evening. He did it so well that she was hard pressed not to laugh outright, but her eyes danced with such merriment that Mrs. Storwood felt a reflected glow in her daughter’s obvious enjoyment. Cranford found little pleasure in the set, though for Mrs. Storwood’s benefit he endeavored to erase the furrow between his brows, and answer her delighted remark on Trelenny's success with a certain evenness, which to the uninitiated might have been taken for grimness. The thought did occur to Mrs. Storwood that Cranford’s attention had frequently wandered to the other couple, and she was just the tiniest bit inclined to think he might be a trifle jealous, a possibility which warmed her heart yet further. She was, in fact, in such high spirits by the end of the set that she allowed Mr. Wheldrake to claim her hand without the least hesitation after Trelenny was led onto the floor by a newly arrived friend of Cranford’s.
Having found that the simplest way to engage his old flame in conversation was to discuss her daughter, Mr. Wheldrake proceeded to do so. “Your Trelenny appears to be enjoying herself, Maria. Have you met Lord Rissington before? No, I suppose not, but he would be a party to encourage if he took a fancy for your daughter—well heeled, an excellent understanding, charming manners, active in the House. The mothers of marriageable daughters in London despair of bringing him to the sticking point, but I’m persuaded he only needs to meet the right lady.”
Mrs. Storwood took the opportunity of her daughter’s going up the set with the young man to study him more closely. Of average height and average looks, there was nothing particularly striking about him except the openness of his countenance and the kindness of his eyes. No one would pick him out of a crowd, though one might choose to converse with him because of his apparent approachability. Trelenny obviously found him so, as she exhibited none of the stiffness her mother, knowing her so well, had detected earlier in the evening. This partner put her at ease, and Mrs. Storwood could only be grateful.
“I believe he’s a friend of Cranford’s, as Cranford has moved into his lordship’s house in High Street. Do you know the other gentleman who arrived with him?”
“Anthony Bodford. A bit ramshackle, I fear, but harmless. Perfectly good ton, you understand, but he takes nothing seriously. I don’t know him as well as Lord Rissington since he spends a great deal of time out of town. Comes from up your way, I believe. They’re both members of Brooks.”
This information, of course, was meant to convey their total social acceptability, but it would have had little more influence with Mrs. Storwood than with her daughter if the gentlemen themselves had not seemed so unexceptionable. Of more weight with her was that they were friends of Cranford’s. She smiled benignly when Trelenny’s hand was solicited for the next set by Mr. Bodford. Really, it was delightful the way her daughter had not had to sit out a single set during the evening.
Put at her ease by Mr. Rowle and Lord Rissington, Trelenny saw no reason to be intimidated by the stocky, smiling Mr. Bodford, who informed her that he had known Cranford forever, well, since they went to Eton together, came from Westmorland just as she did, and couldn’t live but a matter of miles from Sutton Hall—as the crow flew. “Not that I’m one for allowing a lot of crows to fly about,” he assured her modestly. “A great nuisance they are, and I consider it my duty to rid the estate of them. I have this old dog, Tagalong, who never misses a chance to come with me. Seems to have a personal vendetta against crows. Well, they’re ugly, you know, and have such a grating cry!”
“Just so,” Trelenny agreed, unable to stifle a giggle which bubbled in her throat.
“There now. I didn’t mean to run on about crows, Miss Storwood. Wouldn’t want to offend any of the old dowagers who happened to think I was referring to them. Did you ever see so many decrepit old ladies in one place before? I swear Bath has become a veritable nesting ground for every gouty old man and mawkish old lady. Do you know what I saw in the street today? You’d never credit it! This old fellow was hobbling along with a stick and couldn’t for the life of him make it up onto the pavement. And who do you think came to his assistance? Well, I would have, you understand, but I was a distance down the street passing the time of day with Lady Jellybean—or something like that—I never can remember names. Anyhow, who decides to help the old gadger but this horridly bent old woman who can barely move herself! She was already on the pavement, don’t you see, so she reaches out a shaky hand to grab hold of his arm, but latches onto his stick instead and boom! down the two of them go, sprawled all over the street. So they’re puffing and panting and trying to regain their feet when along comes another human wreck. I excused myself to Lady Jellybean—or whatever—because I couldn’t bear the sight of it all and was determined to get them all chairs and send them on their way, when the third fellow…you know, come to think of it, I don’t believe he could see so well, because the first thing he did was stumble over the old fellow’s stick, which caused him to go reeling into the lamppost, and it started to sway back and forth like a drunken sailor. They really should use sturdier stuff for the lampposts here. Flimsy posts they are compared to London, promise you! And have you noticed they haven’t any gas? Always proclaiming themselves so advanced and not a gas lamp to be seen. Now I ask you! Where was I?” he asked in confusion.
“You were about to tell me what happened to the poor fellow who fell into the lamppost,” Trelenny prompted him as she bit her lip.
“Right-o. Well, he apologized to it, just as though he’d run into someone, you see, so I supposed he didn’t see any too well. His hat had come off and he couldn’t find it for the life of him, and a dog was wandering by and clamped it in his teeth and was about to make off with it�
�sometimes I think the little ragamuffins around here train their dogs to do such dastardly things. It’s not the first time I’ve seen such a sight! Not to wrap it up in clean linen, Miss Storwood, some of these hounds are trained to steal! Yes, I know it’s shocking, but there it is! The dog was running full tilt toward me by this time and the old folks were still struggling in the street. He jumped right over them—bless me if he didn’t. I grabbed the hat from him and made to hand it to the fellow by the lamppost, but just then the old lady struggled to her feet and crowned herself with the beaver. Thought I’d assaulted her! I never! Started haranguing me, and a large crowd began to form, with someone lifting the old fellow to his feet and dusting him off, and another restoring the hat to its rightful owner. No matter what anyone said, the old lady wouldn’t believe I hadn’t tried to assault her, so I shagged off. Well, really, there was nothing else to do, was there?”
“N-nothing.” Trelenny, her eyes sparkling with laughter, missed several steps of the dance and was kindly corrected by her partner, who never once faltered in the movements in spite of being so completely wrapped up in his anecdote. His store of amusing incidents was apparently inexhaustible and, in spite of the fact that he frequently interrupted himself to digress, Trelenny found him exceedingly entertaining and readily understandable. He had something to say about his two friends as well.
“Cranford is the best of good fellows. But you know that, I dare say. Tipped me the wink at Sally’s to hush up about his chamomile patch and all, of course, but you won’t find him holding a grudge.”
“Sally’s?”
Tony had the grace to flush and mumbled unconvincingly, “Old friend of ours. Go to visit her in Kendal sometimes.”
If he had not flushed or run a finger under his cravat, Trelenny would have thought nothing of it, but she had the most astonishing realization that they were discussing a representative of the demimonde, and she honored Cranford across the room with an incredulous stare, which he could by no means interpret, though he had every intention of finding out what Bodford had blabbed now.
Holiday in Bath Page 15
