Carola Dunn (7 page)

Yesterday afternoon had been unbelievably frustrating. He had hoped for a chance to get to know Jessica better, and instead he had been forced to entertain two young ladies as silly as any he had ever met. Miss Tibbett’s knowledgeable dissertation had been fascinating in comparison, especially sweetened by the fact that she was Jessica’s aunt and chaperon.

Entering the Pump Room, Matthew glanced swiftly around and spotted the group he wanted to avoid. He made his way, via the opposite end of the room, to the door on the far side and out to the baths. There he lingered for as long as he could bear the sulphurous fumes before he hurried back past the danger point, breathing a sigh of relief as he reached the entrance unaccosted.

He stepped out and gulped the fresh air. Jessica was still there, sitting with her back to him, to all appearances utterly absorbed in her drawing. The dashing straw hat with the curly pink feather, matching the rosebuds on her gown, revealed more of her extraordinary hair than the blue-flowered one she had worn the day before. Nonetheless, Matthew wished she would take it off altogether. He wanted to see the sunlight play on those flaxen tresses.

Despite her apparent concentration she must have heard his uneven footsteps, for she looked round as he approached.

“Oh dear, you look alarmingly queasy.”

“You are flattering. Miss Franklin!”

His response brought forth her enchanting laugh. “I merely wondered whether your doctor is right in thinking the waters will be of benefit to your health. It would be a pity if the remedy for your chest proved detrimental to your digestion. Perhaps you take after your uncle.”

“Heaven forbid! Not that Uncle Horace isn’t a splendid fellow in his way,” he added hastily, “but I’d hate to have inherited his dyspepsia. Perhaps I’d better stop drinking the stuff in case you’re right. Now that’s enough on the subject or I shall take to my bed. Shall we go into the Abbey?”

“Yes, I have made a good start on my sketch. Sukey, will you carry these, if you please? You may wait here or come with us into the church, as you choose.”

The abigail elected to stay outside. Matthew offered Jessica his arm and they strolled from the bright sun into the cool dimness of the Abbey church. Jessica gasped.

“I didn’t realize it would be so different from Durham Cathedral, so light and airy, reaching up as if it were about to soar into the sky.”

“I’ve never been to Durham, but it’s Romanesque, isn’t it? The Normans built solidly.”

“Yes, the cathedral gives an impression of weight. The windows are smaller and all the pillars are decorated, not elegantly simple like these.”

“Rounded arches with pillars as wide as the openings, instead of the pointed arches, slender pillars and delicate tracery of the Perpendicular that you see here. The Abbey is one of the last of the Gothic cathedrals, built in the sixteenth century. Henry VII’s architect, William Vertue, designed the most marvellous fan vaulting for the roof—I’ve seen the drawings—but it was never constructed.”

“You seem to know a great deal about the subject.” Jessica sounded surprised and curious.

“I’ve always been interested in architecture,” Matthew said rather self-consciously. “Just as a hobby, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with a lecture.”

“I didn’t find it boring. I know very little about anything later than Roman architecture, since Aunt Tibbett, who supervised my education, considers anything built after
anno Domini
100 to be decadent. I know all about temples and amphitheatres and Hadrian’s Wall, and I could draw you a plan of a hypocaust.’’

“Er, what’s a hypocaust when it’s at home? When I was a schoolboy learning Latin we never studied anything but battles.”

“The Roman system of hot air heating.”

“And you could draw it? Some architects today are designing complete heating systems for houses, and I should like to see how the Romans managed it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.

“What an amazing girl you are. Have you any other unusual talents I’ve not yet discovered?”

“Oh, no. Apart from the Romans in Britain, my education was thoroughly conventional. I play the pianoforte and the harp, and sing a little; speak French, not very well; embroider exquisitely; and write poetry to order.”

Matthew laughed. “A very paragon of genteel accomplishments. Your sketching, at least, is good beyond the ordinary, judging by what I saw of your angels on the ladder.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” Dimpling, she bobbed a curtsy. “And that reminds me that poor Sukey will be wondering what has become of us.”

“I’ll return you to your abigail if you will promise to stand up with me at tonight’s assembly.”

“A promise made under duress is no promise,” she pointed out. “But yes, I shall save you a dance if you wish.”

“I do wish. And will you drive with me tomorrow afternoon?” he requested as they emerged into the sunshine and stood blinking a moment on the threshold. “Mrs. Barlow can assure you that mine is a thoroughly respectable vehicle.”

“Thank you, sir, but I am engaged to walk with Miss Pearson in Sydney Gardens,” she said, sounding regretful yet oddly relieved.

Recovering from the dazzling brightness, he noted the heightened colour in her cheeks. She was absurdly sensitive about his curricle, he thought with an inward smile. One of these days, when he handed her into the carriage, he would tell her that of course he had recognized her, and had not for a moment thought her backward glance impertinent.

“I wish I had not asked Miss Pearson to walk with me today,” Jessica said wistfully to Miss Tibbett as they crossed Pulteney Bridge. “If I had only known that Mr. Walsingham was going to invite me to drive with him.”

“It was the kind thing to do, and from what you have said of the child it sounds as if she is sadly in need of kindness.”

“Not so much kindness, I believe, as encouragement. Careful, Tibby, you will be run down.” She pulled her companion back onto the pavement as a barouche swept into Laura Place. “Gracious heaven! That carriage quite casts Mr. Walsingham’s into the shade.”

The vehicle in question, drawn by a pair of showy greys, was painted in eggshell blue with gold curlicues, and the coachman on the box was clad in matching livery. For all Jessica knew it might pass without notice in Hyde Park, but in staid Bath it commanded the attention of everyone in sight as it drew to a halt beside her.

She glanced up to find Miss Pearson looking down at her anxiously.

“Miss Franklin, I’m dreadfully sorry,” she said with a sort of half gasp. “We should have fetched you from home.”

Jessica smiled at her. “Being country bred, we like to walk,” she said, “but since you are here it would be foolish indeed to refuse to be taken up. Good day, Mrs. Par...er, Woodcock.”

As she and Aunt Tibby stepped up into the carriage, the Honourable Mrs. Woodcock bowed graciously and remarked upon the fineness of the weather. The conversation continued along the same lines, Miss Pearson remaining silent, as the barouche started off again and rumbled along Great Pulteney Street to the Sydney Gardens.

The ladies descended by the pavilion, named for some obscure reason after Admiral Holburne of Menstrie, and entered the gardens. Green lawns and gravel paths rose in a gentle slope up Bathwick Hill, with scattered groups of trees and shrubs to lend variety to the prospect. Across this rural background paraded the white or pale pastel gowns and gay parasols of strolling ladies, the blue or brown coats of their escorts.

Jessica was horridly aware that Miss Pearson’s vivid violet dress was bound to draw as many eyes as her carriage. Gracious heaven, the girl was even wearing an amethyst necklace for a walk in the park. Determined not to show her embarrassment, Jessica linked arms with her and chose a path that seemed less frequented than most.

“I’ve not been here before,” she said as their chaperons dropped behind. “What a delightful place to take the air.”

“Is it not? Papa says Hyde Park is far more fashionable and much larger, but it is always excessively crowded and people stare so.”

“You have lived in London?”

“All my life, except when I was at school. I was perfectly happy there until Papa took it into his head that I must make my bow to Society. That’s why he hired Mrs. Woodcock to chaperon me. He thought that as an ‘Honourable’ she would be able to introduce me to the right people, but it was all a hum.”

“It was?” Jessica asked cautiously. Quiet, shy Miss Pearson appeared to be ready to open the floodgates to a torrent of confidences.

“Yes, for though her father was a baron, she was married to a clergyman and never set foot in London for thirty years. We only went to one party all Season, and that was horrid. No one spoke to us. So this year Papa decided to buy a house in Bath.”

“And do you like Bath better?”

“Well, it’s true that I go to all the balls and I have danced with any number of gentlemen, but I never know what to say to them. And I hate sitting with Mrs. Woodcock, waiting for Mr. King or Mr. Guynette to find me a partner and never sure whether the partners they find really want to dance with me at all.”

“I know what you mean. I felt that way at my first assembly.”

“Mrs. Woodcock says some gentlemen ask for an introduction only because they know I am rich. She told Papa that Mr. Barlow and Lord Alsop are fortune hunters. Of course I know Sir Nathan is not, nor Mr. Walsingham. He is Lord Stone’s heir, and Lord Stone is almost as rich as Papa, but I always feel that Mr. Walsingham is laughing at me and I cannot be comfortable with him.”

Jessica’s guilt at the girl’s trust in Nathan’s respectability gave way to uneasiness as she recognized the name of the “Captain Sharp” her brother had mentioned. She herself had danced with Lord Alsop once and managed to avoid him thereafter. A gaunt gentleman of perhaps fifty years, he had a dissipated look about him, and a manner at once leering and ingratiating. His dandified dress, with high shirt points, padded shoulders and wasp waist, did nothing to counteract the unpleasant impression he had made on her. Though she considered herself more than a match for him, she could easily imagine him persecuting Miss Pearson with his attentions.

“The assemblies are much more fun if you know some young ladies to talk to between the sets,” she said. “Will you sit with me at the next ball?”

“Oh, Miss Franklin, that would be beyond anything!”

Jessica smiled at her, a little overwhelmed by her gratitude. If they were to sit together, she decided, something must be done about the vulgarity of her dress. Though old-fashioned, Mrs. Woodcock’s gown was decently black, as became a widow. Perhaps “Papa” was responsible for the appalling lack of taste.

“I have not met Mr. Pearson at the assemblies or in the Pump Room. He is not an invalid, I trust?”

“No, he...” she hesitated, then went on in a burst of candour “... he does not go because he does not want to spoil my chances. You see, he is what people of your station call a Cit.” Her eyes were huge with apprehension.

“Ah, that explains a good deal,” said Jessica slowly, patting her hand. “Cheer up, I shall not immediately cut the acquaintance, you know. But if your father wishes you to make a good marriage, you must not be so free with your confidences.”

“Oh no, I have not told anyone else. I feel... I felt right away that I could trust you. But Papa does not mean to keep it a secret, only not to seem encroaching. He is already well known in Bath among the better class of merchants. In fact, before he retired he used to do business with one of the aldermen.”

Feeling in need of time to sort out this flood of information, Jessica was delighted to see her brother and Mr. Walsingham crossing a lawn towards them. They were an attractive pair, Nathan not tall but with the proud carriage of a soldier, his gold hair gleaming in the sun as he raised his hat in greeting; and Matthew Walsingham lean and broad-shouldered, his limp in no way impairing the jauntiness of his stride.

“Good day, ladies,” said Matthew, grinning. “What a surprise to meet you here.”

“It is indeed,” Jessica riposted, “since I was under the impression that you intended to spend the afternoon driving some fortunate young lady in your curricle.”

“I
hoped
to drive a
certain
young lady, ma’am. Failing that, I hope to show her the sights of Sydney Gardens. Have you yet climbed the hill as far as the canal? Then allow me, pray, to escort you thither.”

She glanced at Nathan and Miss Pearson. Her brother shrugged and raised his eyes to heaven, then offered the timid young lady his arm. Jessica turned to the chaperons. They professed themselves perfectly content to await their charges on a nearby bench, so she took Matthew’s arm and they started up the hill.

Following behind, Nathan was disgruntled. When he agreed to go with Walsingham to the gardens, he had not expected to be left to entertain the silent Miss Pearson. He had danced with her once, but it was easy to dance without talking. A speechless stroll in the park was ridiculous.

“Are you enjoying the entertainments of Bath, ma’am?” he enquired, making a conscientious effort.

“Oh yes, sir. At least, I shall now that I have met your sister. I believe she is the kindest person in the world.”

Nathan blinked at the unexpectedly enthusiastic reply. “She’s a great gun,” he said vaguely, “and deuced clever, too. Did you know she managed my estate for me while I was in the army?”

The girl’s face filled with awe, but not, it turned out, at Jessica’s accomplishment. “You were in the army? How very brave you must be!”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” he demurred with becoming modesty. She was a taking little thing after all, with those big brown eyes and that soft brown hair. It was a pity she was dressed with such excruciating vulgarity. “One does what one has to.”

“To save us all from Boney.”

“Actually, I was in America.”

“Fighting Red Indians?” She was breathless at the thought, hanging on his arm as if she were afraid a horde of savages lurked in ambush behind the next tree.

“Most of them were on our side, as a matter of fact. We were fighting ordinary American soldiers. Actually, I think the war was quite unnecessary,” he confessed, wondering even as he spoke why he was revealing to Miss Pearson what he had not even told Jess. “They are our brothers and ought to be our friends. The last battle I was in, at New Orleans, took place after the peace treaty had been signed—can you think of anything stupider? I wish I had been in the Peninsula!”