Holiday in Bath (12 page)

A thousand questions sprang to her lips as they retraced their direction to the hotel but Trelenny observed a bursting silence, while Cranford pointed out sights of interest in an amused voice.

Under cover of his discourse Trelenny surreptitiously watched the passersby, wondering if she would subsequently meet the pretty young ladies and the smart young men. She drew more than one appreciative glance from the latter, but one man in particular she noticed, for he started at the sight of her and moved as though to approach before retreating to his former position at a printshop window. Not a young man (Trelenny judged him to he five and forty or so), he was distinguished looking and had an air of assurance which was only slightly marred by his puzzled expression. Obviously he found it difficult to take his eyes from her but was conscious of the impropriety of staring, and, when they had passed him, Trelenny glanced back to see that he watched as they entered the White Hart.

“Did you know that man, Trelenny?” Cranford asked sternly.

“No, of course not.”

“Then you shouldn’t encourage him to stare at you. If you so openly show your appreciation of a man’s interest, he will think you fast. You will have to adapt to town ways, Trelenny. This is, in effect, your come-out and girls your age are expected to show a becoming modesty and shyness. Your bold behavior of the countryside will not do here, my girl, unless you are in search of rakes and adventurers or wish to be mistaken for something your mother would blush for. You don’t go out unescorted, you listen to your mother’s advice on whom you accept as partners at the assemblies, you try for a little decorum, and, most of all, you continue to accept my authority if you don’t wish to set off immediately for Sutton Hall.”

“You are an insufferable tyrant, Cranford. The man was old enough to be my father.”

“His age makes not the least difference. Girls your age are married to men of his years every day, and frequently a great deal older.”

“Well, I think that’s disgusting!"

Cranford relaxed his severity for a moment to grin. “I do, too, my dear, but ambition makes for some very strange matches. Now don’t attempt to rescue every girl you find engaged to some old cadger; for all you know, she may be perfectly in agreement with the arrangement.”

“I doubt I would have enough sympathy for such a lady to wish to help her,” Trelenny retorted.

They returned to find Mrs. Storwood with a guest, and Trelenny recognized her immediately as the woman they had passed in the sedan chair, a well-dressed matron with a few extra pounds to her credit and a cheerful, beaming countenance. Mrs. Storwood had been informed of all the discomfort she would suffer in searching for a lodging of her own and the distraction of choosing adequate servants, but it was mostly for her daughters s ease in being made known to Bath society that she had accepted Mrs. Waplington’s pressing offer to stay with her. By the time Trelenny arrived all that remained to be done was to introduce the newcomers and set a time for the Storwoods to present themselves in Henrietta Street the next morning. When Mrs. Waplington had hugged Trelenny to her like a long-lost daughter, she drew her wrap about her ample frame and allowed Cranford to lead her down to her waiting chair.

“I hope I have done the right thing,” Mrs. Storwood said anxiously. “You don’t think your Papa would object, do you? Mr. Waplington himself instructed the White Hart to let them know the moment we arrived so they could invite us.”

“Papa would want you to do just what would make you comfortable, Mama. And Cranford didn’t raise a brow, so he must consider your acceptance not the least objectionable. Of course if he had thought it wrong, we would not have done it.”

Totally missing her daughter’s irony, Mrs. Storwood sighed. “No, of course not. We should be very grateful for Cranford’s guidance.”

“Indeed.”

The Waplingtons’ house in Henrietta Street was a fine example of classic architecture, gracefully relieved by fluted pilasters and a broken pediment. Trelenny marveled at the various rooms through which they were conducted by an enthusiastic Mrs. Waplington, who seemed unconscious of the overcrowded furniture and the wall space completely taken over by family and historical paintings. There was very little room to move about in the dining room, library, or drawing room, crowded as they were with tables, chairs, desks, stands, and musical instruments of all descriptions. No surface was unrelieved by some bowl or candlestick, figurine or silver box. Where they had apparently run out of portraits or pastoral scenes, mirrors of all sizes and shapes filled in the empty spaces, as though Mrs. Waplington could not bear to see the damask wall coverings beneath. The busy designs of the Axminster carpets gave a kaleidoscopic effect which caused Trelenny to press her lips together as her mother politely proclaimed the elegance of each room in turn. When applied to for her proficiency on one of the musical instruments, however, Trelenny’s amusement quickly faded.

“I fear Mama has not succeeded in teaching me to play the pianoforte passably, ma’am, and I beg you will not call on me to entertain, for I would surely disgrace myself. Years ago we ascertained that I had no talent, as I was even less successful with the harp than the pianoforte.”

Mrs. Waplington gave vent to a rumbling chuckle. “Now there is a girl after my own heart, Maria. I cannot tell you, my dear, what agonies I used to suffer when my mother would insist on my performing. Have no fear, Trelenny; I would not inflict such a trial on anyone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Waplington. I am extremely grateful.”

Cranford’s fears confirmed, he made no comment, but Trelenny noted, when she glanced at him, that his face was set with disapproval; and she remembered the delightful times she had spent with his mother and sister around the pianoforte. Well, there, she thought, with less satisfaction than she would formerly have gained, he has yet another reason to leave off his useless pursuit of me. I have absolutely none of the qualities he wishes in a wife and, she reiterated firmly to herself, he has none I wish in a husband. The matter should not have occurred to her at all, perhaps, at such a time, but she was oblivious to the anomaly.

Cranford excused himself before they were shown their rooms, and Mrs. Waplington watched him depart with a sigh. “Such an elegant young man. Would that I had had a son! But with such a shatterbrain for a mother he would not possess near the air or address of Mr. Ashwicke, I fear. I think there is nothing so delightful as an attentive, gentle manner, do you, Maria?”

She opened the door of a bedchamber done in green— the sofa, the chairs, the draperies, the carpet, the wallpaper, the bedcover all in various shades—and announced, “Maria, this is the room you shall have. I call it the Garden Bed-chamber and have only recently redone it. Do you think perhaps you will need another chair and table? I have a kidney-shaped gueridon in the attic, but I had hoped to have it regilded before using it.”

“Please don’t think of it! How very charming! Not a thing is needed, I promise you.” Mrs. Storwood took in the vases full of fall flowers and the paintings of gardens and still lifes of blooms of all varieties. “I have never seen anything half so…fascinating. Is it your own idea?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Waplington admitted proudly. “I do not at all favor the Egyptian craze—so very heavy, you know. And in town I am apt to miss my extensive gardens, so I specially designed this room to my own taste. You will be the first to occupy it, my dear. I’ve put Trelenny next to you,” she said as she opened the interconnecting door. “Now here, I fear, Andrew has insisted on a more masculine setting, for he says he won’t have the whole house full of female fripperies when his friends come to stay. A trifle sparsely furnished, I fear, and rather austere, but there, men have such simple tastes.”

Since the furniture in the room consisted of a circular rosewood table, a pair of bronze lampstands, an enormous armchair, a smaller chair, a settee, a folding card table, and a secretaire in addition to a dressing table with washstand, the say nothing of a wardrobe and a four-poster bed, Trelenny could only regard her hostess with astonishment. It was perhaps the only room in the house where the wall color could be seen, since there were only two pictures on each wall, and they were Rowlandson prints that bordered on the risqué

When Mrs. Waplington noticed the direction of Trelenny’s eyes, she exclaimed, “I had forgotten those! Andrew will have his little joke. Never mind, I shall replace them for your stay, my dear. Let’s see. Eight. Yes, I am certain I have at least half a dozen paintings of dogs. Do you like dogs? There may be eight. Or there are a dozen views of Somerset stored in the attics, by the most remarkable painter. Have I told you of him, Maria? It is all the fashion to have an artistic protégé, you will find, and I congratulate myself on finding this particular fellow, for he is undoubedly talented. Yes, you will doubtless prefer the landscapes. Not that I don’t appreciate the robust humor of Mr. Rowlandson’s prints, you understand, but they are hardly proper material for a girl of Trelenny’s age to meditate on. And landscapes are so uplifting, don’t you think?”

“Indeed I shall be enchanted to have them,” Trelenny assured her politely, “and I find the room delightful.”

“Splendid. I will leave you and your mother to unpack and rest, my dear, but I hope you will join me in the drawing room when you wish.” She squeezed Trelenny’s hand affectionately. “Where is my mind wandering? I have forgotten to tell you that I have invited a few very close friends to dine with us this evening. Mr. Ashwicke is included, of course, but I fear you will find most of them rather elderly. Still, I cannot think but that you will feel the more comfortable for knowing a few people when you go to the Pump Room in the morning.”

Mrs. Storwood expressed her appreciation and Trelenny’s eyes danced with sheer good spirits. Her very first social occasion away from home! It mattered little what it was. She was in Bath, and her introduction to the world was about to begin.

It came as no surprise to Maria Storwood that the “small dinner party” turned out to consist of twenty guests, who were seated at one enormous table in the vast dining hall from which several superfluous items of furniture had been removed for their accommodation. Even in their youth Elsa Waplington had shown a tendency to entertain in accordance with her flamboyant personality—everything on a grand scale, with the best food, the best dinner service, the best people. And yet there was a lack of pretension for all this extravagant manner which endeared Mrs. Waplington to her friends, among whom Mrs. Storwood had been numbered for better than twenty years, maintained without their seeing each other even once, through the medium of letters. Over the years Mrs. Waplington had imparted news of all their acquaintances in a voluminous running journal, while Maria Storwood had written of her husband and child, feeling sadly deficient as a correspondent and frequently wondering whether she had anything to say that would be of interest to Elsa. Had she but known that Elsa lived parenthood vicariously through her, she would not have worried, and would rather have been pleased that she could give so much pleasure with so little effort.

As she dressed for dinner, Mrs. Storwood gazed anxiously in the glass, aware of a nervousness that she had not experienced since she was Trelenny’s age. Mysteriously secretive on who was to be at the gathering, Elsa had hinted that her friend would meet several old acquaintances, but she had such a wicked twinkle in her eyes that Maria’s heart nearly failed her as she settled a blue silk shawl about her shoulders. She turned to the maid to ask, “Is Trelenny ready?”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall I have her come to you?”

“If you would.” She felt an unusual burst of pride when her daughter glided into the room in a white crape frock over a primrose sarcenet slip, the bodice ornamented with deep vandykes of primrose velvet. Her headdress was of three folds of primrose
crêpe
lisse
, with rows of pearls beneath, placed between large bows of her silken blonde hair, which was arranged in festoons of plaits on the left, and a single bow on the right fastened by a pearled comb. “You…look beautiful, my love. Never say Alice did your hair!”

“Mrs. Waplington sent her dresser round to do something special. Do you like it?”

“It’s delightful.”

“Yes,” Trelenny said thoughtfully, “I think it makes me look a bit older, don’t you? I’ll have Alice peek at the guests so she can experiment with some new styles for me. Isn’t it exciting, Mama, to be here at last?”

“It is, love. I hope you are not in agonies over your introduction to a lot of strangers. How well I remember my own first formal party. My hands were like ice and I hadn’t the least color in my cheeks.” She took her daughter’s hands and found them a great deal warmer than her own. “Your cheeks are not so rosy as usual, Trelenny.”

Her daughter grinned. “Mrs. Waplington’s dresser thought a touch of powder would disguise the freckles.”

“Oh.”

“Shall I wash it off?” Trelenny asked anxiously. “The freckles don’t seem half so prominent as usual, anyway, for the days we spent in the carriage.”

“No, love, you look wonderful just as you are. Pray pay no heed to me. I own I am a great deal more nervous than you appear to be.” With a puzzled shake of her head, she linked her arm with her daughter’s. What Trelenny lacked in an air of modesty and a retiring deportment she would fully make up for in her natural enthusiasm, Mrs. Storwood decided with confidence. Refusing to allow herself any misgivings on this head, she proceeded with her daughter to the drawing room, where she presented Trelenny to Mr. Waplington, who had regrettably been kept from home the whole of the day.

Andrew Waplington was half a head shorter than his wife, and a wiry, energetic man of forty. “Maria, forgive my not being here to welcome you. A matter of business, and most pressing. Miss Storwood, an honor to meet you. The image of your mother, as Elsa told me. Is your room comfortable?”

Since Mrs. Waplington had forgotten to have the prints removed and replaced, Trelenny’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she assured him, “It is more than comfortable, sir, and we are very sensible of your kindness in taking us into your home.”