Marrying Miss Hemingford (14 page)

‘That may be the case, Captain, but please tread softly. I would not, for the world, have her alarmed.'

‘Indeed I will.' He paused. ‘You know, you are a very kind-hearted young lady, and comely with it, I wonder some young blade has not snapped you up long ago.'

Anne forced a laugh. ‘Perhaps I am too particular. And marriage is a big step to take. I think I would need to know someone very well before agreeing to spend the rest of my life with him. It is all a gamble…'

‘And have you never been tempted to take a gamble?'

‘Perhaps when I was young I might have done so, but
it came to nothing and I am inclined to the view that it was not meant to be,' she said, realising as she spoke that if Dr Tremayne had been free and if they had continued to enjoy the rapport they had established before the arrival of his wife, then she would have gambled her all. ‘I have my books and my charitable work and many good friends.'

‘Speaking of charitable work, have you thought any more about Tremayne's hospital?'

‘Indeed I have.' She paused and then took a deep calming breath before continuing. ‘But I wonder if he will want to go on with the project now his wife has arrived.'

‘His wife, Miss Hemingford?'

‘The lady who arrived at the ball late last evening was his wife, was she not? The Master of Ceremonies called her Mrs Tremayne.'

‘Oh, no, Miss Hemingford, you are mistaken. The lady is indeed Mrs Tremayne, but she is his sister-in-law, his brother's wife. As far as I know, Dr Tremayne is unmarried.'

She knew her mouth had dropped open and quickly shut it again. He was not married; he was single, free, unencumbered. She felt like singing it aloud, but as the tableau she had witnessed earlier that day impinged itself on her mind's eye, she realised it had not been a sisterly kiss, a peck on the cheek, but lips on lips, bodies pressed together, and it had gone on for a long time. How could an honourable man behave like that towards his brother's wife? He would not. Only a cur would do so. It gave her a disgust of him. ‘Then why did he not stay and speak to her at the ball?'

‘I have no idea, Miss Hemingford.'

Almost as if unwilling to pursue the subject, he left her
to round up the stragglers, calling to them to keep together or they would miss the turn. Anne rode on and joined her aunt and the Major. ‘You seem agitated,' her aunt said, looking closely at her. ‘What has the gallant Captain been saying to you?'

‘Nothing, Aunt.'

‘Nothing? I cannot believe that you have spent the last half-hour riding at his side and he has not broached the subject of marriage. Surely he hinted?'

‘Hinted?' queried the Major, a broad smile lighting his face. ‘Do you mean to say Gosforth is contemplating offering for Miss Hemingford?'

‘Why should he not?' Mrs Bartrum demanded, apparently unaware of the reason for his surprise. ‘She will make an excellent wife. Beautiful, intelligent, sensible, not to mention wealthy. The Captain could do no better.' She paused. ‘Anne, why are you looking at me like that? I am perfectly sincere.'

‘Oh, Aunt Bartrum, you are putting me to the blush. Pray desist.'

Mrs Bartrum turned from Anne to the Major. ‘What do you think of that, sir? She is also modest.'

‘I am sure you are in the right of it,' he answered.

‘Are you not inclined to make a push to offer for her yourself?'

‘Aunt Bartrum, I shall never speak to you again, if you continue this conversation,' Anne put in sharply. ‘Now you are embarrassing Major Mancroft.'

‘Not at all,' he said. ‘I am flattered to think that Mrs Bartrum considers me good enough for her delightful niece…'

Anne could not stand any more. She excused herself and rode off alone. She had no idea how her aunt was going to extricate herself from the bumblebath into which she had toppled herself, but she supposed the gentlemen would make their offers, Aunt Georgie would be startled, horrified perhaps, and would either consider one of them or turn them both down. Whichever it was, it had no bearing on Anne herself, whose head was filled with another man altogether. She could not get him out of her mind; he had been there from the moment she had first seen him, through the misery of thinking he was married, until now, when she had been told he was single. If only she could get the memory of that kiss out of her mind.

She was too stirred up to ride demurely and she could tell her mount was itching for exercise. She set off at a gallop, flying over the soft turf, climbing ever higher, until the wind caught her, billowed her habit out behind her, swept away her hat and lifted her hair from its combs. Only when she pulled up on the brow of the hill and looked back, did she realise she was alone. The others had turned off the path and were lost to sight. Sighing, she turned back to find them.

For all but Anne, the picnic was a great success; everyone ate too much, some even fell asleep in the sunshine afterwards, others strolled on the grass quietly exchanging news and gossip. The defeated Napoleon Bonaparte had been banished to the island of St Helena from where, it was confidently hoped, he would be unable to escape as he had done at Elba, and Princess Charlotte, the Regent's only legitimate offspring, had, so they said, fallen in love with Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg.

‘He is a nobody,' Lady Mancroft said. ‘Only the third son of a duke. How can he be considered as a suitable husband for the heir to the throne?'

‘Does it matter, if they love each other?' Anne asked. ‘I think too much is made of rank.'

‘How can you say so?' demanded her ladyship. ‘Bloodlines are what holds society together. Without them we should have the chimneysweep marrying the heiress and their offspring would inherit the traits of the sweep. The stock would be diminished as a result. And how could such a one as a chimneysweep look after a great estate?'

‘You mean we are all like cattle, to be chosen for our breeding.'

‘Well, breeding will out, there is no doubt of that. Those born to a position of power know how to use it…'

‘And abuse it too. The chimneysweep might look after his people better than a spoiled aristocrat who thinks of nothing but fine clothes, plentiful food and gambling. Having been poor himself, he would understand the needs of the poor.'

‘Anne!' Mrs Bartrum protested. ‘How can you say so?'

‘It's all the fault of that doctor fellow,' Lord Mancroft put in. ‘Arriving at the ball unannounced like that. Miss Hemingford should never have stood up with him. He has quite turned her head.'

Anne felt the colour flare in her face. ‘Dr Tremayne is a good man…'

‘But not a gentleman.'

‘Oh, but he is,' Walter said quietly. ‘Or I would not have asked him to be my guest.'

‘Your guest?' they queried, astonished.

‘Indeed yes.'

‘Really?' Lady Mancroft queried, while Anne held her breath. They had already forgotten her in their curiosity, but now their gossiping tongues were aimed at the doctor. She did not want them to start them wagging against him, but at the same time she was as anxious to know as much about him as possible. She told herself that if he were to be given money to run a hospital, his character, background and qualifications were relevant. ‘Then why is he practising medicine?' her ladyship continued. ‘And why here, among the vermin of the old quarter?'

‘I asked him that myself,' Anne said, disliking her ladyship's reference to the poor as vermin. ‘He said it was because the need was there. It still is and I, for one, shall contribute to the fund to build a hospital. It behoves those of us who have the means to help those who do not.'

She did not notice Walter's look of relief as the company began to debate the pros and cons of having a new hospital and he was saved having to answer any more questions about his knowledge of the doctor.

 

But Anne was not spared questions, nor the peal rung over her by her aunt on the return journey.

‘Anne, I am sure I do not wish to curb your generous spirit and I shall support whatever fund-raising efforts are made for a hospital, but did you need to air your radical views quite so vehemently? If you are not careful, it will give Lord and Lady Mancroft a disgust of you and the Major, for all his years, is still guided by his parents. He will not offer for you, if you do not act with a little more delicacy.'

‘Aunt, I do not want him to offer for me. Indeed, I am sure he has no intention of doing so. I am second-best.'

‘I never heard such a tarradiddle. Whatever gave you that idea?'

‘He told me so himself.'

‘Oh.' She was silent for some time, then added with a sigh, ‘Then we shall have to fall back on Captain Gosforth.'

‘No. Aunt, please do not refine upon it. I do not want either gentleman.'

‘There is no one else,' her aunt said, ignoring Anne's plea, ‘except Sir Gerald, and I do not think he would serve…'

‘No, he certainly would not.'

It was the tremor in her voice that alerted her aunt to the fact that something was wrong. She turned to look closely into Anne's face. ‘My dear, whatever is the matter?'

‘Oh, Aunt Georgie, please do not quiz me.'

‘But how am I to help you, if you will not tell me what is wrong?'

‘There is nothing wrong.'

‘And that is a whisker if ever I heard one. I am sorry I scolded you. I am only thinking of your good.'

‘I know, Aunt, I know.' She paused. ‘But you agree with Lady Mancroft, don't you? Like should marry like…'

‘Anne, surely you have not been so foolish as to contemplate an unsuitable alliance?' She stopped suddenly. ‘Doctor Tremayne! Oh, Anne!'

‘How is he unsuitable? Captain Gosforth assured us he is a gentleman.'

‘So he may be, but one who has chosen a different path. Anne, you are the granddaughter of an earl, sister to one, and though I said you should not aim too high, I did not mean you should set your sights so low as to consider a mere physician. It is not to be thought of.'

‘Why are you so against him?' Anne cried. ‘What did he tell you about himself when you consulted him? Was it something very dreadful?'

‘He said nothing, but then why should he?'

‘Mrs Tremayne is not his wife, you know. She is his sister-in-law.'

‘So I understand, but what is that to the point? He is not eligible, you must realise that.' She paused, but when Anne made no comment, added, ‘Has he said anything?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘Have you?'

‘Most certainly not. I am not such a bufflehead.'

‘Then nothing need be said. I would suggest leaving Brighton, but that would cause comment.' She patted Anne's hand. ‘Having been the instigator of the idea to raise funds for a hospital, it would look strange if you backed out now, so the best thing I can do is to support it wholeheartedly myself, then we can enter into it together and no one will think anything of it. Do you agree?'

‘Yes, Aunt. My feelings do not come into that at all. I want to help those in need, just as Dr Tremayne does. We have that in common, if nothing else.'

‘Good,' her aunt said complacently. ‘We must carry on and I beg you to think seriously about marrying Captain Gosforth, if the Major's affections are engaged elsewhere.'

She would not have been so complacent if she could have seen inside Anne's mind. Her niece was not so easily turned. She could not blow out a flame that had been kindled so suddenly and so hotly when she had thought all hope of ever being warmed by its heat had passed. Love, passion, desire, whatever anyone liked to call it, had invaded her heart, her mind, her soul and could not be quenched. But quenching it and admitting it was hopeless were two different things. She would work alongside him, help him to achieve his aims and perhaps one day… She shook herself. What was the sense of dreaming impossible dreams?

B
ecause Mrs Bartrum and Captain Gosforth entered wholeheartedly into the fund-raising, Major Mancroft felt obliged to join in too, and a working committee was set up that also included Mrs Bartrum, Lady Mancroft, Anne and Dr Tremayne. They met in a room in Tuppen's library on Marine Parade and thrashed out ways and means of raising money as quickly as possible. This included proposals for a concert at the Old Ship, a rout at Lady Mancroft's home, and horse racing and sport on the fields to the west of the town, for which there would be an entrance fee that would go to the fund. Lord Mancroft, prompted by his wife, had promised to donate prizes for the winners. And capping it all would be a grand charity ball at the Castle. It was all looking very promising.

Anne was never alone with Justin, Aunt Bartrum saw to that. Not that Anne minded; in a way she was relieved because she would not have known what to say to him. Even seeing him sitting across the library table brought back that scene outside his house when he had kissed his
sister-in-law. She had felt hurt, as a rejected lover might feel, but it had not entered her head at the time that it was anything more than a husband kissing his wife. Since she discovered the truth, the memory had continued to haunt her. Whenever she thought about it, she was overwhelmed with feelings of disgust and could not meet his eyes. Whatever had made her imagine she was in love? She had had a lucky escape.

But instead of feeling fortunate she was immersed in misery. Something wonderful, something that could have raised her to heights of ecstasy, something for which she longed with all her being, had been snatched from her before it had had time to develop. She felt old, older than her twenty-seven years, old as time itself, and weary beyond imagining. But that was inside. Outside she was bright and cheerful, full of plans, offering her services in whatever capacity they were needed and accompanying her aunt on social outings. She wore herself out so that when she finally fell into bed, she was too exhausted to stay awake. But even her dreams were haunted by the man who had won her heart and disdained it.

And to make matters worse, Mrs Tremayne seemed to be everywhere. Wherever Anne and Aunt Bartrum went, be it to someone's soirée or for a stroll along the seafront, she was there. Sometimes she had only her maid for company and then there was nothing they could do but invite her to join them. Sometimes she was in the middle of a gaggle of noisy young people of both sexes, prominent among them a certain Captain Smollett, who looked vaguely familiar to Anne, though she could not place him. In no time at all the gossiping tongues were wagging over
her. Why was she in Brighton? Where was her husband? What was he thinking of to allow his wife to stay at an hotel with only a maid for company?

Had she really come to support her brother-in-law in his efforts to open a hospital? She said that was the reason, but she had arrived before that project had been anything more than a dream and she was rarely in his company. That could have been because he was too busy, but the tattlemongers were adept at inventing stories if they could not get to the truth of the matter. Mrs Tremayne was becoming the talk of Brighton. As far as Justin was concerned, there had been gossip enough over that broken engagement three years before and he did not want it to resurface, especially here, where he had hoped none of it was known.

He wished with all his heart she would leave the town, but she showed no sign of granting his wish. ‘You must do something before she ruins your plans, old friend,' Walter Gosforth told him one day when they met at the library where Justin had gone to consult a reference book. ‘No one will support a man who is surrounded by gossip and innuendo.'

Not wishing to meet her, Justin wrote to her, suggesting she should lose no time in returning to her husband who must surely be missing her, but that only served to bring her to his door. She swept in as she had done before, ignoring the waiting patients and the protests of Mrs Armistead. Sighing, he took off his stained apron, washed his hands and led her to his drawing room.

She had no sooner sat down than she was up again in a rustle of taffeta, waving his letter under his nose. ‘Justin,
how could you be so insensible of my feelings as to write in such cold terms? Anyone would think I had come to Brighton expressly to upset you. How can you be so cruel? I am not your enemy.' She stopped ranting and her voice took on a wheedling tone. ‘You loved me…'

‘More fool I.'

‘You cannot mean that. We were everything to each other once…'

‘Once.'

‘You are still everything to me, Justin. Living with Andrew is hell, but…' She managed a sob. ‘I would try to be a good wife to him if only you would come home. If I knew I had your support, I could endure his cruelty…'

‘Cruelty, Sophie? Surely not.'

‘Oh, he is not violent, but he has a cruel tongue. I had to get away, just for a few days, just to see you, to remember what it was like before…'

Andrew could be sharp-tongued, as Justin very well knew, but he found it difficult to believe that amounted to cruelty. Even if it were true, there was little he could do about it. He had no intention of going home and being on the receiving end of his brother's sharp riposte and his father's disapproval of his way of life.

‘It is all in the past,' he said. ‘You are married to Andrew and should be at home with him, not being escorted around Brighton by rakes like Captain Smollett.'

‘The remedy is in your hands, Justin. Escort me yourself. There is the day of the races and the Charity Ball at the Castle. If you escort me, then no one will say a thing against it. You are, after all, my brother-in-law and can stand in for Andrew.'

‘I may not go.'

‘Of course you will. Both events are meant to raise money to fund your hospital and you are duty-bound to put in an appearance.' She paused, her eyes brimming with false tears. ‘Please, Justin, Captain Smollett cannot keep his hands to himself. I did not know he was like that, he was so charming at first. Now I am afraid. I need your protection.'

He knew Smollett's reputation and she could well have bitten off more than she could chew and really he did need to silence the gossips. ‘If I escort you to the ball, will you go home afterwards?'

‘Very well.' She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of handkerchief. ‘I am not insensible of my duty, though it will break my heart.'

He could see nothing for it but to agree and she flung her arms about his neck to kiss him. He was trying to disentangle himself when there was a knock at the door and Mrs Armistead put her head round it. ‘Doctor, I beg your pardon, but I must speak to you.'

Grateful for the interruption, he turned to smile at her. ‘What is it, Mrs Armistead?'

She looked from him to the lady and then back again. ‘My nephew is here, sir. He has come to fetch me. My sister has been taken very ill with a fever and she needs nursing and her husband and children need looking after. There is no one but me…'

‘Then of course you must go to her. Do not worry. I can manage.'

‘Thank you. There are three people in the waiting room. There's Mrs Maskell, who looks as if she is about
to drop her infant any minute, a man with a mangled arm, dripping blood everywhere…' she paused to smile when she saw Mrs Tremayne give a visible shiver of revulsion ‘…and Mrs Smith has brought Tildy. She's scratched the scar on her head because it itched and made it bleed again.'

‘I'll see to them. Off you go.'

As soon as she had disappeared Justin turned back to Sophie. ‘I am afraid this changes everything. Without Mrs Armistead, I shall doubtless be too busy to attend social engagements…'

‘Surely you can find a replacement.'

‘At short notice, it will be next to impossible. Mrs Armistead was—is—an excellent nurse as well as a housekeeper and she was prepared to work for next to nothing. She will be hard to replace.'

‘One more good reason to put an end to this nonsense. You are not a dogsbody, you are a gentleman. But look at you, grubbing around in the dirt like a labourer, advertising your poverty as if you were proud of it. It quite makes me shudder.'

‘Then go away where you will not have to witness it.' He held the door for her and reluctantly she preceded him down the corridor. He paused outside the door of the waiting room from which a low rumble of conversation could be heard and he knew his patients were becoming impatient. He smiled suddenly. ‘If you must stay, then you can make yourself useful. Take off that bonnet and pelisse and put on an apron. You can fill in the patients' cards. Names and directions, age, symptoms. It is easy enough. And then you can show them in when I ring for them.'

She gave a little shriek of laughter. ‘Oh, Justin, as if I would stoop to such a thing.'

‘It is what I do.'

‘Not for much longer. I will lay whatever odds you choose that you will be persuaded to give up this strange life of yours.'

‘Never. I am a doctor and a doctor I will always be, certainly while I have the strength to do the work.'

‘So you say, but you have not accepted my wager.'

‘Very well, I accept. A large donation to the new hospital if I am still here six months from now. I am sure Andrew can afford that.'

She laughed, sure of herself, and stretched to kiss his cheek, before letting herself out of the street door, leaving him to cope with his patients alone.

 

Having stayed out late at a whist party the night before, Anne and her aunt were sitting in the morning room over a late breakfast bemoaning the fact that neither had won. ‘I had the most useless hands all evening long,' Aunt Bartrum said, buttering toast. ‘Hardly a trump in them and then only low ones. The Major seemed to have them all.'

‘Well, you know what they say, Aunt, unlucky at cards, lucky in love.'

‘Well, I was that, of course. Dear Bartrum was a man in a million.'

‘I was not referring to the past, but the future. Have you had no offers?'

‘Anne, you are being perverse. I do not expect, nor even wish, to remarry. We came to Brighton on your account, not mine.'

‘Ah, but if someone should capture your heart, you would not gainsay it, would you?'

‘Stuff!' But her cheeks had gone quite pink and Anne smiled; her aunt was not as immune as she liked to pretend.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door and the maid came to tell them there was ‘a person' at the door, asking for Miss Hemingford.

‘What do you mean, “person”, Betty? Did she not give her name?'

‘She said it was Smith, Miss Hemingford.'

‘Oh, not that fish woman,' Mrs Bartrum said, shuddering at the memory of that claustrophobic tent and the smell of the so-called monster. ‘Anne, I do not think you should encourage her…'

‘But I must see her, Aunt. I do not think she would call if it were not important. Perhaps she has a message from Dr Tremayne about the fund-raising. Or perhaps Tildy has had a relapse and I can help in some way.' The thought of anything happening to that lively child distressed her more than she could say. She turned to the maid, still waiting by the door. ‘Show her into the downstairs parlour, Betty. I will be there directly.'

The girl disappeared and Anne hurriedly finished her breakfast and went to greet her visitor. ‘Mrs Smith, I hope nothing is wrong. It isn't Tildy, is it?'

‘No, no, Miss, Tildy's fine. It's Mrs Armistead. She's had to go to her sister who's been took bad and her with seven little ones. The poor doctor is all alone and the waiting room's that full, he don't rightly know which way to turn. I tried to 'elp, but he needs someone who can read 'n' write and 'sides, my family hatta come first. Mr Smith
and the children need reg'lar meals and if I was to neglect me job…'

‘I understand. Did Dr Tremayne send you to me?'

‘No, but I reckoned you'd know how to find him some 'elp.'

If she was disappointed that the doctor had not thought of her himself, she quickly stifled it. ‘I'll see what I can do. Thank you for telling me.'

Mrs Smith, her duty done, departed, leaving Anne with a problem. Could she do anything to help the doctor and would he welcome the interference if she did? But if Mrs Smith told him of her visit and she did nothing, what would he think of her?

She turned as Mrs Bartrum entered the room. ‘Well, what did she want?'

‘Nothing for herself, she was concerned for Dr Tremayne. Mrs Armistead has had to take leave and he is without help and inundated with patients.'

‘What did she suppose you could do about it?'

‘Go to the agency and hire help for him, I suppose.'

‘Surely he could do that himself. After all, he knows what his requirements are.'

‘I think he is too busy.'

‘Anne, I do hope you are not going to become involved with any more of the doctor's problems. There is enough gossip about him already. You do not want to be tarred with the same brush.'

‘Aunt Bartrum,' she said firmly. ‘He is not the subject of gossip, his sister-in-law is and he cannot help that. And I am part of the fund-raising committee, part of the whole project—I must help where I can.'

‘It will all end in tears.'

There had been tears in plenty already, but she was not going to admit that. Besides, they had all been shed now and she had dried her eyes and resolved to be sensible. ‘No, Aunt. I had a silly moment, but it has passed now. I am thinking only of the doctor's patients.'

Her aunt sighed. ‘You will do as you please, I know, you always have. Shall I come with you?'

‘No, dearest, there is no need and I recollect you were going to visit Lady Mancroft this morning to help her with the arrangements for her rout. You may offer my excuses. I may join you later.'

The agency could find her no one suitable at such short notice. There was a young girl, a housemaid who had been part of a large household, but Anne knew she would not be suitable. The need, she explained, was for someone who could manage ill and injured people, some of them dirty and some possibly deranged or violent. ‘We do not deal with that kind of person at all,' the woman who ran the agency told her in a voice that left Anne in no doubt such requests were far beneath her. ‘Try the infirmary, they might know of some poor woman glad to earn a few coppers.'