Angel's Touch (7 page)

‘
Oh,
Emilia, as if I would.’

‘
Well, mind you don’t,’ conjured Lady Crossens, unimpressed.
‘I know you, Maria. Gossip mad, you are.’

She
turned to Sir John, but he met the challenge in her eyes with a
bland smile. ‘I am silent as the tomb, dear Emilia. I would not for
the world embarrass Miss Lambourn.’ He gave his arm to Mrs
Polegate. ‘Come, Maria. Let us take ourselves off and leave the
ladies to converse in private.’

‘
I
don’t know how he conceives the Assembly Rooms to be private,’ said
Lady Crossens as they strolled away. ‘You had better tell me
everything over dinner.’

But when in due course
Verity told the story, she had had sufficient time in which to calm
down and the fluent account she gave of the brief meetings that had
occurred was so prosaic that the elder lady had nothing to say,
beyond a wry comment that she could not see what Miss Lambourn had
found to amuse her.

Mrs Polegate, however,
proved less reticent than her old friend had hoped. The next day
being Sunday, Verity was up betimes to take herself to early
morning service while Lady Crossens joined the daily routine of
drinking the waters.

The Tunbridge Wells
social scene being entirely encompassed in the area of the
Pantiles, it was impossible for Verity, walking to and from the
King Charles Chapel at the far end of it beyond the well itself,
where the water-dippers dispensed their glasses of health-giving
liquid, to miss the early morning ceremony of taking the
waters.

It was amusing to see
all the valetudinarians wandering about in their dishabille. The
ladies were in undress gowns, chemise robes closed from bosom to
hem with buttons or ribbon ties, worn with or without a sash, their
hair tucked into mob-caps or turbans. The gentlemen sported
brocaded dressing-gowns of virulent hue, full length and tied with
a girdle, or, in the case of Indian banyans, falling to the knee
and magnificently frogged. Their shaven heads were covered by
velvet nightcaps, except for those modern-minded gentlemen, who had
fallen into the coming fashion of wearing their own hair, some of
whom saw fit to twist their greying locks into rag curlers which
stuck out all over their heads.

The company seemed
quite unconcerned at the extraordinary picture they presented, and
it was, to Verity, a question whether they came there to partake of
the health-giving chalybeate spring, or to meet their acquaintance.
For the chatter and laughter quite outdid the groans at their aches
and ailments and complaints of the bitter taste of the waters. Lady
Crossens was in her element, her scrawny figure almost darting
about as she greeted some newly arrived old friends with enthusiasm
and traced in exhaustive detail their several meanderings in the
intervening years since her last visit.

After a hearty breakfast, once Lady Crossens was more
comformably dressed, they went over to the ladies’ coffee-room for
another bout of gossip, and again, when that palled, passed across
the Pantiles to the Lower Assembly Rooms for yet more of the same,
for there were no dances and no card playing on the Sabbath. Verity
found a chair a little way behind that of her patroness, and here
she was very soon joined by the plump form of Mrs
Polegate.

‘
Poor Miss Lambourn, are you dreadfully bored?’ began that
lady, innocently enough.

Verity turned to find
the widow had seated herself with a rustle of her wide taffeta
petticoats, and was regarding her with a kind of wistful pity.

‘
Not
at all, ma’am,’ she said smiling. ‘There is no occasion for you to
worry yourself on my account. I am doing very well.’

‘
Oh,
I do hope so,’ said the lady mournfully. ‘It is so melancholy to
see young people moped quite to death.’

‘
Gracious me, ma’am, I promise you I am nothing of the kind.’
She saw that the lady looked unconvinced and added cheerfully, ‘One
must of necessity be quiet on a Sunday, you know.’

‘
That is true. I abominate Sundays for that very reason, do
not you?’

‘
Being a clergyman’s daughter, ma’am, I cannot say that I do,’
Verity replied, twinkling.

‘
Of
course, yes, how silly,’ laughed the widow merrily. ‘I suppose you
would not look for excitement and adventure at all.’

‘
Oh,
I am not the less anxious for them on that account, believe
me.’

‘
No,
of course you are not. How should you be, so young and full of life
as you are?’ Her expression changed as she leaned closer and said
on an enquiring note, ‘And as to adventure, you rather hinted at
some such thing yesterday, I think.’

‘
Oh,
that,’ Verity said offhandedly. ‘Well, you could call it that.
Really, it was nothing.’

‘
Do not say so. A
man!
And children, was it?’ asked
Mrs Polegate, her eyes avid with anticipation in their frame of
white lace. ‘Did it happen on your way here?’

‘
Well, yes,’ confessed Miss Lambourn, sure that her patroness
would disapprove. But she was incapable of deception and knew not
how to parry the other lady’s probing without discourtesy.
Moreover, she was by now quite anxious to know the identity of the
man who would persist in crossing her path, and she thought perhaps
Mrs Polegate might be able to enlighten her.

She told the tale as
briefly as she could, and, although the widow did not listen
without a good deal of exclamatory comment, she no sooner heard the
name Braxted than she identified it at once.

‘
Mercy, they must have been Salmesbury’s children!’

‘
Salmesbury, ma’am?’

‘
From Braxted Park,’ announced the lady, as if this must
explain all. ‘The marquis, you know.’

‘
Marquis!
But the
boy—’

‘
Oh,
the boy is the Earl of Braxted. An honorary title, of
course.’

‘
Oh.’ Verity blinked. ‘We quite thought he must have come into
his inheritance a minor.’

‘
Oh,
no, indeed. The marquis is still a young man, I believe. Not that I
know him. I doubt if anyone here does, for no one of that sort
comes to the Wells any more,’ she said regretfully.

‘
But then, the man who took charge of him.’
An appalling thought came into her mind. But no. No, it was not
possible. ‘Mrs Polegate, he
surely
cannot have been the marquis?’

‘
I
should not think so at all. I dare say the marquis is at Brighton.
These great men, you know, are rarely at home. No, no. Some minion,
no doubt, entrusted with the care of the estate.’

Which summarily disposed of that dreadful suspicion, thought
Verity thankfully. She must otherwise have died of mortification.
Of course he could not have been the marquis. These men of high
estate had better things to do with their time than to chase after
errant children, had they not? Why, he and the marchioness must of
course be
far
too
occupied with—with balls and—and routs and the like, to bother
their august heads with poor Braxted and his sister Peggy. No,
indeed. That sort of mundane consideration fell into the far from
amiable hands of this steward, or secretary, or whatever he might
be.

Here
Verity’s conscience intervened. She was unjust. He had shown
himself to be both thoughtful and amiable, to
her
at least. Indeed, she could
almost find herself liking him, were it not for that wickedly
quizzing gleam in his eye. It would give her a great deal of
satisfaction to tell him what she thought of his misplaced
amusement. Not that she supposed he would ever speak to her again,
she acknowledged wryly, after the manner of their last
parting.

This thought was so
unpalatable that she tried to shake the whole memory of the
black-eyed young man from her mind and force her thoughts into
other channels.

A
day or so later, having dismally failed in this object, sheer
exasperation drove her to
take
steps.
Accordingly, she left Lady Crossens
to indulge in a lie-in, for the old lady’s chancy constitution was
beginning to wilt a little under the dissipations she was
enjoying.

‘
Shall I fetch a physician to you, ma’am?’ Verity had asked
her worriedly.

‘
Don’t dare. I won’t have any of those old fossils fussing
about me. I have enough to bear of that at home.’

‘
But
if you are ill, ma’am—’

‘
Pho! I am nothing of the kind. Merely a little tired. Don’t
fidget me, girl. I shall rest a little longer today, and get up
only in time to catch up with Maria at the Rooms.’

Verity looked doubtful, but as her ladyship was insistent,
ordering her from the room at last, she gave up and took herself to
Baldock’s library which was situated towards that end of the
colonnade nearest to the chalybeate spring.

She
spent an agreeable hour browsing amongst the books on offer there,
hesitating between the latest Gothic novel, a form of literature of
which she was inordinately fond, and one of Dr Smollett’s tales
which had not previously come in her way. Remembering how much she
had enjoyed the adventures of Roderick Random, she at length
decided in favour of Smollett’s story about Peregrine Pickle,
feeling that with such a name it was probable that the hero’s
activities would be calculated to amuse. The idea of the
Necromancer might attract her, but she knew from past experience
that it would only set her imagination working, and there were far
too many daily engagements here at the Wells for her to have time
to spare for her little hobby. No, Peregrine Pickle let it
be.

Taking the volumes,
she gave her name to the librarian, who had a word to say about her
choice as he always did to all who came there. Verity stayed
chatting a moment or two until she noticed by the clock on the
mantelpiece that she had overstayed her time.

‘
Gracious, I must fly! Lady Crossens may need me to help her
across to the Assembly Rooms.’

She sped to the door
and dashed out, only to collide on the threshold with someone who
was about to enter. The impact was severe, knocking the breath from
her body and causing her to drop her books and grab at the
door-jamb to prevent herself from falling.

The other party was
less fortunate. He staggered back, shoved a leg behind him to save
himself, and threw out a hand to clutch at air. The cane flew from
his grasp and clattered to the pavings, and his bad leg, unable to
take the unbalanced weight, crumpled under him. He crashed to the
floor in an ungainly heap, losing his hat in the process.

‘
Oh, no,’ gasped Verity as, with a sudden
lurch of the stomach, she recognised the pale features. ‘Not
you!’

A
servant in livery, who happened to be passing at that moment,
started forward to the gentleman’s aid. At the same time, the
librarian, who had witnessed the accident, came running out. But
Verity was before them both, crouching down and seizing the
gentleman’s arm.

‘
Oh,
I am so very sorry,’ she uttered contritely. ‘Have I hurt you very
badly?’

It was evident from
the way the poor man was gripping his underlip between his teeth
that he was in a good deal of pain, but he managed a faint
laugh.

‘
You
are determined—to see me—humbled, are you not? I trust this may
be—lowly enough for you?’

‘
Oh,
pray do not! I did not mean it!’ Verity cried, distressed. ‘Let me
help you, sir.’

But it was in fact the
two men who lifted him to his feet, while Verity scurried to catch
up his cane and hat. He took them from her with a word of thanks,
but visibly winced as he put his weight on the injured leg.

‘
You
are
hurt,’ Verity said anxiously. ‘You must sit down
at once.’

Without hesitation, she moved to his side and slipped an arm
about him. ‘Lean on me, sir. We will go back into the
library.’

‘
No,
no,’ he said at once, reddening and trying to shake her off. ‘I
will be perfectly well in a moment.’

‘
You
will be nothing of the sort,’ argued Verity firmly. ‘Why, you are
looking absolutely white!’

He
grinned slightly, and his tone was faintly apologetic. ‘I always
do, you know.’

‘
You
are
much
paler than before,’ Verity assured
him, and looked at the other two men who were hovering about them.
‘Please help the gentleman into a chair.’

She
stood back to allow them access. In their zeal to be of service,
they crowded either side and half carried him, protesting, into the
library, where they placed him tenderly in an easy-chair. Verity,
belatedly recalling the volumes she had dropped, collected them and
dusted them off, relieved that they also were undamaged. Ever
helpful, once in the library she took away the gentleman’s cane and
hat and laid them aside, and then directed the servant to go in
search of a doctor. An easy task in this town where physicians were
two a penny.

‘
Good God, no,’ exclaimed the victim with some vehemence. ‘I
assure you I do not need a doctor. If I may just rest here a
moment, I shall be quite well presently.’