Holiday in Bath (15 page)

“Yes, but it was strange to see so many people I had known years ago. You can tell they are aging, and you know you must be, too, but you don’t feel as though you are. It rather underscored the years.” She sighed and patted her daughter’s hand. “You’ll meet more young people in the days to come.”

Trelenny regarded her impishly. “I might meet some right now if we go to the Pump Room.”

“Oh, get your hat, you little beggar. Shall we walk?”

While Mrs. Storwood entered their names in the Subscription Book, Trelenny surveyed the company with eager attention. In spite of a preponderance of older people, there were clusters of young ladies chattering and young men indolently sauntering about. Nor was the gathering wholly genteel, as ever and again a raucous laugh or an indiscreetly raised voice caused the more refined to shudder and turn aside from the offender. Trelenny undertook the mental exercise of deciding to which social sphere the various members of the group belonged.

A demure miss closely attached to a woman dressed in a gown of virulent purple was newly released from a boarding school, she surmised, while her mother had social pretensions beyond her beginnings, a conclusion Trelenny reached largely because the matron strongly resembled a cook they had had at Sutton Hall some years previously. Her enthusiasm for her game was undaunted even when Mrs. Storwood was hailed by the woman, who turned out to be from one of the first families in Kent. The girl had been to boarding school, it developed, though she was not recently released, as she had been married these two years past.

Although Mrs. Avening, on closer observation, still appeared more a schoolgirl than the wife of an M.P., Trelenny would have been perfectly willing to make a friend of her, had the young lady not suffered from acute shyness, which even several years of marriage and a life in political as well as social circles had not reversed. To each of Trelenny’s eager questions she replied in a voice so soft that, the noise level of the Pump Room being what it was with conversation and music everywhere, Trelenny was hard pressed to hear her answers. After several attempts, Trelenny, as much for the girl’s sake as for her own, abandoned the effort and stood patiently listening while her mother reminisced with her old friend. Trelenny was not unaware, however, of having attracted the attention of a young man dressed in the first style of fashion who lounged with several friends near the entry door.

Half an hour passed before Mrs. Storwood, in her progress around the room, came into conversation with someone from whom the young man felt he could inveigle an introduction to the newcomers. His arrival caused Trelenny no surprise, as she had noted his continued observance of their movements, and her only wonder was that he had not approached sooner. Already she had been made known to several gentlemen, as well as a number of ladies, whom she had cause to expect she would meet that evening at the Upper Rooms, but none of these new acquaintances, to be sure, had quite the air of gallantry or of mystery with which Mr. Rowle was invested. There was a brooding light in the green eyes, a lurking hint of recklessness in his smile, and, at least to Trelenny’s mind, an aura of adventure about his person. Obviously he was a favorite of the lady who undertook his presentation, for, though in her middle years, she fluttered like a maiden when he kissed her hand, and tapped him playfully with her ever-present fan.

“Here you have a very dangerous fellow,” the lady opined to Mrs. Storwood, “for I swear he has stolen the hearts of half the young ladies in Bath. Have a care, Mr. Rowle! Miss Storwood is a newcomer to our city and unfamiliar with the likes of such dashing young gentlemen as yourself, I’ll be bound.”

“Miss Storwood has not the least thing to fear from me, I assure you,” he replied with an engaging grin. “One does not trample the fairest blossoms underfoot but takes care they shall be preserved in all their splendor for the world to admire. I hardly credit my good fortune. Miss Storwood, it is an honor to meet you.”

Despite the florid extravagance of his rhetoric, he left Trelenny in no doubt that he was teasing her, not unkindly but as though he had identified her as a kindred spirit through all the trappings of social politesse. Her response was typically impulsive. “You are too, too kind, Mr. Rowle, and too, too ridiculous,” she laughed.

“I beg you won’t think me so! How can I repair this distressing misapprehension?” He turned pleading eyes on Mrs. Storwood. “Is there some service I can render you? Perhaps I might procure a glass of the waters or ask the musicians to play a particular song? I am at your command.”

Such easy familiarity did not recommend itself to Mrs. Storwood. “Thank you, no, Mr. Rowle. We are in need of nothing.”

Instantly perceiving his mistake, the young man dropped his bantering tone and adopted a formality which would have done credit to the occasion of a court presentation. His discourse on the lesser-known attractions of Bath and its vicinity could not help but lift him in Mrs. Storwood’s estimation, though she could not altogether approve of the ease with which he adapted himself to her obvious displeasure. Trelenny found the incident amusing and regretted that he soon took his leave of them, with the fervently expressed hope that they would meet again. She secretly shared his hope, feeling that here at last was someone out of the ordinary, someone whose soul was not earthbound and mundane, someone who knew that the world held excitement for those who dared to claim it. Of course nothing of this flight of fancy was shared with her mother on their return to Henrietta Street; Trelenny’s love of her mother was not blind to the fact that Mrs. Storwood’s was not an adventurous soul.

Ever prompt, Cranford had arrived at the Waplingtons’ shortly prior to their return. Mrs. Storwood was all apologies for their tardiness. “We’ve been to the Pump Room and I fear we allowed ourselves to forget the time. I knew several people, and they were so obliging as to introduce us to others until. . . well, I hope you will forgive us for not returning when you were due.”

“Oh, Cranford won’t mind,” Trelenny assured her. “He has allowed half an hour for us to reach Queen Square, and I dare say we shall need no more than twenty minutes.”

“I only arrived a moment past,” Cranford said, ignoring Trelenny’s interpolation. “There were two letters for you at the inn, and I’ve brought them with me.”

The sight of her husband’s handwriting powerfully affected Mrs. Storwood and she acceded to Cranford’s wish that she would not hesitate to read them in his presence. Hardly had she broken the seal than she cried, “Dear God!”

“Oh, Mama, there is nothing wrong is there? Is Papa all right?”

“Yes, yes, my love, perfectly all right.” Her concerned eyes lifted to Cranford’s. “All our subterfuge is for naught. Mr. Storwood discovered his Cousin Filkins imposing himself on the housemaid.” She read further. “He has sent his cousin off with a flea in his ear and banned him from Sutton Hall in future. Oh, dear, now he will be alone, and this is bound to upset him, no matter what he says.”

“What does he say, Mama?”

“Only that we are not to think of returning on his account, and that he would never have expected such disgraceful behavior in one so closely related to him.”

“Closely! Why the man is no more—”

Cranford gave her a sharp glance. “Let your mother finish her letter, Trelenny."

“Your father sends his love, dear, and hopes that you are enjoying your holiday.” Mrs. Storwood set aside the first letter and broke the seal on the second. “Strange that two of them would arrive at the same time. Oh, Lord.”

Silently crossing her fingers, Trelenny tried to await bad news with fortitude. Cranford, standing behind her chair, put a firm hand on her shoulder and said nothing.

“It occurred to Mr. Storwood only after sending off his letter that perhaps Cousin Filkins had misbehaved toward us. Oh, I can just hear his anguish in the words he writes. He called together the female staff and questioned them minutely on his cousin’s conduct toward them and anything they might have seen concerning us.” A tear spilled over and dropped onto the sheet. “Cook had seen that wretched man with you in the garden, love, and Betty once came into the parlor when he tried to kiss me. Oh, I cannot bear to think of James’ agony. He asks me why I didn’t tell him of these matters and then blames himself for ‘his foolish blindness and his stupid weakness,’ which obviously prevented our disclosing the whole to him.” Mrs. Storwood was weeping openly now and before Cranford could move to give her his handkerchief, Trelenny was on her knees before her mother’s chair, wiping away the tears.

“Don’t cry, Mama. We can leave today and be back with him in a very short time if we take the mail coach. Isn’t that so, Cranford? They travel at night, too, and though it will be uncomfortable for you, just knowing how fast we are traveling back to him will make you forget any inconvenience. Cranford can see to our booking while Alice and I pack the portmanteaux. Shall I bring you some hartshorn and water?”

Struggling desperately to overcome her upset, Mrs. Storwood shook her head and blew her nose. “No, no, my dear. Your father expressly forbids our coming home. See for yourself. He will not be the cause of both our running off and our rushing back, he says. You are to have your come-out here and he will send more money so that we can stay longer if we wish, and if it is convenient for Cranford. I think if you and Cranford will just go along to Lady Jane’s now, I would like to be alone for a moment.”

Trelenny looked helplessly at Cranford, and after a moment’s hesitation he nodded. “Very well, Mama. I’ll just see you to your room and have Alice come to you.” She picked up the two letters and linked her arm with her mother’s. “You will want to write Papa a letter, of course, and explain that we would rather be with him, and that we will await his permission to return. Tell him there is not so much to do in Bath and that we will be bored beyond description by the time your letter reaches him and we receive his in reply. That won’t take so very long, you’ll see.” As she left the room, she turned to Cranford briefly to say, “I’ll only be a moment, if you won’t mind waiting.”

“There’s no hurry, Trelenny.”

Left alone, he wandered about the room, his thoughts on the impression she had unconsciously made on him. No, she wasn’t mean-selfish, or inconsiderate-selfish, or stomp-on-everyone-in-the-way-selfish. More than anything in the world she had wanted this opportunity to get away from home and see something of the world, and yet she was ready, more than ready, to abandon the scheme when she had finally achieved it, out of her devotion to her parents. There was no hesitating, no weighing of her own desires, just a simple heart-felt response to the distress of others. Cranford had been amused by her persistent determination to reach her goal, and alarmed by her rash behavior in Preston, but he was touched by her readiness to accommodate herself to a situation totally opposed to her own wishes. Surely she deserved that he be more accepting of her, less stern and judgmental. She was, after all, only a child, and he of all people should hardly blame her for her occasional unruly behavior. Too often he had been guilty of the same in the past. But she wasn’t completely a child. Physically she was a woman, and a highly desirable woman, he finally admitted to himself, even as he tried to erase the image of her body from his mind. Because he was unsuccessful, and because the image persisted when she reentered the room, he said more stiffly than he had intended, “Is your mother all right? Do you think you should go out when she’s upset?”

“She needs to have some time to herself right now. In private she can cry until the ache eases. Poor Mama. It’s difficult for her to be so far from my father when she should be there to comfort him. Were we wrong to keep it a secret? Dr. Moore is forever prating on about our not upsetting him, but I think sometimes that Papa would rather know. I realize he would be upset, but this way he feels that his incapacity is a double burden.” Her skirt had become rumpled from the careless way she crushed it while she gave vent to her agitated thoughts, and now she smoothed it down. “Mama would like me to go ahead to Lady Jane’s, but if you think I shouldn’t…”

“It will only distress her further, I suppose, to think that you have stayed on her account,” he conceded gruffly. “Trelenny, I... Straighten your hair before we leave, please.”

She made a face at him but went to the glass and tucked in the wisps of blonde hair which had escaped their pins and replaced the hat she had discarded when they returned home. Unaware that she observed him in the mirror, he clenched his hands in impotent frustration at finding himself unable to tell her that he sympathized with her own worries and respected her unselfish actions. Trelenny sighed at what she could only imagine to be anger with herself, and turned unhappily to face him. “What have I done now, Cranford? No, don’t tell me. I have had enough upsets for one morning.” Despondently she untied the ribbons and removed her hat, allowing it to fall unheeded to the floor. “Make my excuse to Lady Jane, will you? I feel sure she will understand.”

In two hasty strides he had reached her and snatched up the hat. “Don’t be a goose. I’m not angry with you, and I have every intention of taking you to Queen Square.” While she stood meekly before him, he carefully smoothed the silken hair, placed the hat upon it, and tied the ribbons under her chin. For a long moment they regarded one another without speaking, then he traced the sprinkle of dots across her cheeks. “I wouldn’t worry about the freckles. They’re like the spots on a lady’s slipper orchid.”

A strange sensation assailed her at his touch. Confused, she laughed uncertainly, and bent to get her reticule. “The powder only made it look as though I were trying to conceal a communicable disease, anyway.”

“You looked very pretty last night.”

Trelenny regarded him speculatively. “Are you feeling sorry for me, Cranford? I promise you there is no need. I’ve suffered disappointments before, and I shall again, no doubt. Right now I have a few days reprieve and I had hoped to make the most of them, but if you are going to stand there all morning I might as well return to my room.”