Holiday in Bath (13 page)

Mrs. Storwood watched fascinated as he conversed with Trelenny in a sort of rapid firing of questions, followed by the most profound attention to her answers. No shyness inhibited her daughter from answering with frankness his inquiries as to her home, her father, her education, and her hopes for her visit to Bath. As the first guest was announced he turned to Mrs. Storwood and pronounced judgment. “You’ve raised a very lively girl, Maria, and I congratulate you. No retiring flower here, by God, and I’m pleased to see it, if you want the truth of the matter. Bless me if you don’t find a parcel of milk-and-water misses at this watering hole, and nothing could be more boring than a chit who’s afraid to open her mouth for fear of putting herself forward unbecomingly. What’s that, my dear?” he asked as his wife recalled his attention.

“Our guests,” Mrs. Waplington scolded with a touch of her painted gauze fan to his arm.

Although her courage was reinforced by Mr. Waplington’s favorable opinion of Trelenny, Maria Storwood nevertheless felt grateful that Cranford was among the first to arrive. There were other familiar faces, of course, but it was in most cases more of a strain than a pleasure to renew old acquaintances. Too often she was conscious of the enormous gap in time that separated her from this fashionable gathering. Did they pity her for her years of retirement away from the social scene? Would they accept Trelenny, with her open countenance and exuberance—and her freckles? She glanced over to see her daughter, under Cranford’s watchful eye, greet each newcomer with lowered eyes and an expression of her extreme pleasure at the honor done her. And she heard Cranford murmur, “Well done, Trelenny. I hope the strain will not prove too much for you.”

“If it does, I shall faint dead away on some sofa and declare I am so overcome with such distinguished notice that I am unable to bear my joy,” her daughter retorted in an undervoice, all the while smiling shyly at him.

“You won’t like it if they burn feathers under your nose.”

But Mrs. Storwood entirely lost the rest of their good-natured bickering. A voice at her elbow, a voice that had once been very familiar, startled her so badly that her fan dropped unnoticed from her nerveless hands. The gentleman who retrieved it smiled bemusedly at her. “I should have known. First, I saw this young lady,” indicating Trelenny “yesterday and then I received an indubitably provocative invitation from Elsa. Her note said that although my acceptance would give her great pleasure, she thought my pleasure would be greater.” He lifted her icy hand to his lips. “Maria Champion... Storwood, after all these years. My good fortune overwhelms me.”

“Mr. Wheldrake,” she replied breathlessly, accepting her fan without noticing, and promptly dropping it again. “Elsa did not mention you were in town. Thank you. May I present you to my daughter, Trelenny Storwood?”

He turned to the girl with an apologetic smile. “You will forgive me staring at you yesterday, I hope. I thought for a moment I had suffered some sort of attack or had been illogically transported back in time. Is this your first stay in Bath?”

“Yes, sir, we only arrived yesterday, shortly before we saw you in the street. May I present Mr. Ashwicke, our neighbor and escort?” Trelenny observed the older man’s easy grace in acknowledging the introduction, and his equal ease in returning to conversation with her mother, whom he soon maneuvered out of the growing crowd of guests to a retired seat in the corner.

“I don’t see Mr. Storwood here. Did he not accompany you?”

“No, he doesn’t travel owing to a weak heart,” Mrs. Storwood replied. “Elsa wrote some years ago that your wife had died. I am so sorry for you.”

“Thank you.”

His head bowed slightly at her remark and she noticed the silvering at his temples. How very many years had passed, and yet the graying was the only significant sign of his aging. “You have children of your own, I believe.”

The solemnity vanished from his face to be replaced by an engaging animation. “Two boys, slightly younger than your daughter, I should say. They’re at Harrow just now, and kicking up every sort of lark. I expect them to be sent down at any time,” he said ruefully.

“Sometimes I think we should have sent Trelenny to school. Not that she isn’t well read, for her father took a hand in her education and she is very quick. She lacks the ... restraint one sees in young ladies educated away from home, though.” She lifted her eyes from her hands. “She is the dearest girl, you understand, and I would far rather she not suffer from the shyness which so distresses me, but—”

“I thought her very properly reserved.”

“She’s just behaving that way to taunt Cranford,” Mrs. Storwood confessed. “They are forever at loggerheads, and largely over this very matter. Listen to me going on about my concerns as though they could be of the least interest to anyone else. Do forgive me.”

“Not at all. I’m honored with your confidence after all these years.” He shook his head wonderingly as he smiled gently at her. “You are still as lovely as ever, Maria.”

Two flushed spots appeared in her cheeks. Just as though I were a girl of Trelenny’s age, she thought in confusion. “You flatter me, Mr. Wheldrake.” In attempting to fan her warm face, she once again dropped the fan, and stared at it helplessly.

Mr. Wheldrake retrieved it for the third time and tucked it in his pocket. “I’ve always thought ivory too slippery a material to use for fans. Will you be going to London with your daughter?”

“No, we can only be away for a few weeks. This is all the come-out Trelenny will have, so I am intent on seeing she enjoys herself to the fullest. She’s never been to a ball or an assembly, not even to a dinner party so large as this. I really shouldn’t leave her.”

“Of course not.” He rose and walked with her toward Trelenny and Cranford. “I hope you will allow me to assist Mr. Ashwicke in escorting you about town. He probably has friends of his own with whom he will wish to spend time, and I promise you I am entirely at your disposal.”

Mrs. Storwood found it difficult to meet his hopeful gaze. “I have worried about that. It seems wrong to tie up all his time and yet…”

“You had no one else to serve you, but now you have. I could ask for no greater pleasure than to be called upon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wheldrake. I have no right to ask such a favor of you.”

“You have every right, and you used to call me Frederick.”

“That was a very long time ago,” she said faintly.

“In years, perhaps, but not in memory.”

His gray eyes sought to hold hers, but she quickly looked toward her daughter with a fond smile. “Have you met everyone, dear?”

“Yes, but I am quite at a loss to remember half their names, Mama,” Trelenny whispered.

“Repeat them as you are introduced, and as often as you can in conversation without sounding forced, love. We’re going in to dinner now. I’m sure Cranford will take you.”

“I . . . think he’d rather not. He’s met an old friend,” Trelenny said forlornly.

Cranford had, in fact, met several old friends. As he stood beside Trelenny and was introduced to their fellow guests his eyes wandered to the door where Lord and Lady Babthorpe were entering; he a man of sixty-odd and she a lady of perhaps five-and-twenty. It was just the sort of match Trelenny had deplored the previous day and as they approached she pinched Cranford’s finger and murmured, “A gay-beard with a youthful maiden.” She was considerably surprised, therefore, when Cranford greeted them as previous acquaintances.

“Lady Babthorpe, Lord Babthorpe, a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce Miss Storwood? She and her mother are neighbors in Westmorland.”

Owing to his reduced financial circumstances, Cranford had not been about town much in the previous two years, but his acquaintance with the couple went back some time before that, and though his knowledge of Lord Babthorpe was slight, his acquaintance with his lady greatly exceeded it. Lady Babthorpe had an air of provocativeness which was proclaimed in her slightly pouting lips, her loosely flowing black hair, and her sleepy eyes as well as her alluring figure. “Ah, Mr. Ashwicke. I can see Bath holds more interest than I had thought this year.”

Her husband, who came to Bath for the waters, drew himself up like a bantam cock (which he greatly resembled, to Trelenny’s mind) and glared at the younger man. “Bath is of all places the most tiresome. No variety compared to London, and a batch of loose hangers-on into the bargain. We come only for its health-restoring properties and have little time for social intercourse.”

“One doesn’t, of course, refuse an invitation from Mrs. Waplington or any other of equal importance,” Lady Babthorpe said with a speaking look at Cranford that very nearly caused Trelenny to blush.

“It would be a great deal too bad to see such a charming lady retired from society,” Cranford replied with practiced gallantry.

“She is much in my society,” Lord Babthorpe retorted, “and that is just as it should be. You are not likely to see much of her.”

“
Quel
dommage
,” Cranford murmured, before turning the conversation. “Miss Storwood has not been to Bath previously, and has yet to sample the waters.”

“They have a frightful taste,” Lady Babthorpe informed Trelenny negligently, “but I dare say you will journey regularly to the Pump Room with all the other misses on their daily round.”

Her condescension pricked Trelenny, whose eyes flashed with annoyance. Very likely she would have retorted had she not seen Cranford slightly shake his head at her. “I suppose I shall, ma’am.”

“I can’t see the fascination country people find in drinking nasty-tasting water and fatiguing themselves strolling along the promenades,” Lady Babthorpe commented with a nod of dismissal to Trelenny and one last intriguing smile at Cranford before she continued her progress with her insistent husband.

Since her mother was not at hand, Trelenny was strongly tempted to tell Cranford exactly what she thought of his friends, but he watched the anger boiling up in her and said firmly, “Mind your tongue, Trelenny.”

Resentfully she bit back a stinging epithet she had devised and said, with a sweet smile at him, “They are well suited.”

Cranford was genuinely amused, and might have let her know it, but for the arrival of yet another acquaintance of his. “Now here is someone you will enjoy meeting, Trelenny, and might do well to pattern yourself after.” Too late he realized he could have said nothing which would more likely put up her back and rule out any possibility of friendship between the two ladies. “I don’t mean that as I said it. Lady Jane does not deserve your antagonism for my blunder.”

“I shall try to keep an open mind,” Trelenny assured him as she offered a smile to the tall woman who approached. Lady Jane, for all her unusual height, carried herself with an unconscious elegance which made her appear more attractive than her less-than-classical features would otherwise have allowed. Her pleasure at seeing Cranford was evidenced by a warm smile which lit her entire face, making the hazel eyes shine.

“Dear Lord, it’s been years, Cranford! You remember my father, Lord Barlow.”

“Of course. How do you do, sir? I read your speech in the House some months past and would have written to tell you of my enthusiastic agreement if I had not feared you would think me presumptuous.”

"I always defended your intelligence, Ashwicke, no matter what I might have thought of your occasional folly,” the older man replied wryly as they shook hands.

When Cranford had presented Trelenny, the four stood chatting for a while before Lord Barlow was called away. At the time, Lady Jane and Cranford had moved slightly aside so that their reminiscences would not disturb the others, and Trelenny found herself a bit discomposed, not wishing to interrupt the obviously enjoyable tête-à-tête by inserting her presence. At that uncomfortable moment her mother had arrived to spare her, and for the first time Trelenny realized that not everything would be perfect, even now that she had achieved her goal of being in Bath. Somehow it seemed to her that if she could just get there, the rest would take care of itself. She was taken in to dinner by Mr. Wheldrake, as Mr. Waplington took her mother and Cranford took Lady Jane. Mrs. Waplington believed in preference above precedence.

Seated between Mr. Wheldrake and Cranford, Trelenny once again found herself in an unenviable position. Although both men, out of simple good manners, conversed with her during the meal, it was evident to her that each was more interested in talking with the lady on his other side—in Cranford’s case Lady Jane, and in Mr. Wheldrake’s Mrs. Storwood. And when they did speak with her, it was generally of episodes with which she was unfamiliar.

Witness Mr. Wheldrake: “I remember when your mother made her debut in London, Miss Storwood. Long before I ever met her I had heard her praises sung in Brooks, but I hardly credited the truth of such dazzling rumors until the night of Lady Knavesmire’s ball. Was there ever such a night? Tom Whimple broke his leg climbing over a sofa to reach your mother before anyone else did, and Charlotte Lawrence cried all night because Henry Lambert asked your mother for a dance before he asked her. The men were three-deep around her and I didn’t have a chance to dance with her until at least two weeks later.” Etc., etc., etc.

Cranford was, if anything, worse: “Did I ever tell you that it was Lady Jane who first interested me in antiquities, Trelenny? She had been with her family to Rome and Athens at the time of the Treaty of Amiens when she was but a child, and Lord Barlow knew Lord Elgin very well, so she had seen the marbles any number of times before I met her. When I proposed an excursion one day, she suggested we see the marbles, and I thought she must be quizzing me.” He glanced fondly at Lady Jane, who was in animated conversation with a gentleman whose name Trelenny could no longer remember. “They are enough to fire anyone’s imagination, those marbles, and Lady Jane knew the stories they depicted. Imagine my surprise at finding the expedition I had expected to be a dead bore turn into a fascinating journey into the past! Do you know what Centaurs are? Well…” Etc., etc., etc.