Holiday in Bath (16 page)

When she reached up to untie the ribbons once again, he stayed her hand with a firm grip. “If you muss your hair a third time, my girl, you can be sure I won’t take you. We’re leaving right now.”

Back on their old footing, they passed from Henrietta Street into Laura Place and over Great Pultney as far as the High Street. Trelenny caught glimpses of various goods in the shop windows, but Cranford had set an ambitious pace owing to their lateness, and she refused to ask him to pause. “Could we stop at a circulating library on our return? At the Pump Room someone mentioned a book I should like to read.”

“Something edifying, I presume.”

“I’m not sure. It’s called
Emma
and it sounded more— oh—realistic, I guess, than
Evelina
.”

“There’s a library adjoining the Pump Room, or Duffield’s in Milsom Street. Did you meet many people this morning?”

“Quite a few. Mama saw several ladies she remembered from London. Do you think you can tell much about people by their appearance, Cranford?”

“No.” He laughed at her disappointed expression. “Don’t tell me you have discovered a highwayman or a marchioness in disguise. Are you already building fairy tales about the Bath beaux?”

“I think you can tell a great deal. Of course, I was very wrong about Mrs. Avening, but that is not so very strange. She whispers and is as meek as a mouse, and her mother wears the most startling clothing. But I had a very definite feeling about Mr. Rowle.”

Cranford’s gaze sharpened. “What sort of feeling? Was his name familiar to you?”

“No, I’d never heard it before. But there is a decided air of adventure about him, as though he lives a more exciting life than everyone around him.”

Cautiously Cranford suggested, “Usually you find that men with an air of adventure about them are adventurers, Trelenny, not the romantic heroes you envision, but a rather base sort of villain on the look-out for his own advantage.” 

“Do you know Mr. Rowle?" she asked suspiciously.

“I’m sure I’ve never met the fellow; I merely offer you a word of advice.” Which was all wholly true, if it was not the whole truth. Cranford had heard the name before, but he did not wish to indulge in Trelenny’s own habit of leaping to conclusions. Although not a particularly common name, it was certainly possible that more than one man in Bath possessed it, but Cranford had the sinking feeling that, given Trelenny’s penchant for scrapes, she could be trusted to have met just the man whose name had so recently come to his attention. Her father’s words occurred to him now: “not with a heavy hand.” Cranford knew very well that Trelenny resented being told what to do, and he had no intention of spurring her in the wrong direction by his carelessness. “Probably your new friend is the most amiable of fellows, Trelenny, and merely spirited and lively as you are. I presume your parents’ influence has taught you well enough how to judge the worthy and the worthless. You don’t need my opinion on the subject.”

Having worked herself up to a denunciation of his aspersions, Trelenny felt severely deflated by this amendment to his previous statement. Somehow he had managed to tarnish a little of Mr. Rowle’s magic, and she felt rather annoyed with Cranford for his reasonableness. “Do you know, you spoil everything, Cranford?” she complained as they approached Queen Square.

He shook his head ruefully. “I had no idea, my dear.”

After carefully rereading every word of her husband’s letters, Mrs. Storwood had a good cry and felt the better for it. She was not a woman whose face became puffy or whose eyes reddened unbecomingly, so she had no hesitation in descending to the front parlor to write a voluminous letter to Mr. Storwood, in which she tried to explain her reasons for dissembling, attempted to minimize the annoyance of Cousin Filkins, and praised their daughter’s readiness to leave for Sutton Hall on the next mail coach. “You must know that I am severely tempted to do exactly that, my love, but for your forbidding it and for Trelenny’s sake, of course. We owe her this opportunity, I think, to see that her happiness does not depend on where she is, or on anything, really, but her own determination to lead a wholesome, fulfilling life. She does not appear to get along any better with Cranford, I fear, though they have a better understanding, one of the other, since they have spent so much time together. I am determined that I will get her out more in Westmorland when we return so that she doesn’t feel imprisoned. Trelenny suggested I write for your permission to return now but, if you will bear with us, I think we should stay for our three weeks—and not a moment longer! I cannot tell you how much I miss you, dear James.”

Pursuing that line of thought was too upsetting at the moment, and she turned to a description of their situation and their activities since they had arrived. As she dipped the quill, a footman arrived to inform her that Mr. Wheldrake had called and begged a moment of her time. She knew a slight hesitation, thinking irrationally that she had no chaperone, a woman of eight and thirty, she scolded herself. “Yes, you may show him in.”

In his morning dress Frederick Wheldrake looked no less distinguished than he had the previous evening. “Forgive me for calling so early, Maria, but I have always entertained the suspicion that you were an early riser, and I see I am not mistaken.”

“We’ve already been to the Pump Room and back this age,” she admitted as he took possession of her hand and held it for a long moment. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Am I interrupting you?” he asked with a glance at the pages scattered on the escritoire.

“I was writing my husband. Before I finish I will want Trelenny to add a line, so there is no hurry.”

“Is she out?”

“Yes, she and Cranford have gone to Lady Jane Reedness’ for a lesson in waltzing. Trelenny doesn’t know how.”

“Then I presume her mother doesn’t either.”

Mrs. Storwood seated herself before she answered. “No. Shap is a very remote town, without an assembly to its name, and with very few gatherings of any description. We’ve never even seen it danced.”

His regard was teasing. “Oh, it will shock you, my dear lady, and you will wonder whatever is becoming of the younger generation. Boys embracing girls on the dance floor! Who would credit it!” He smiled and withdrew an enameled snuffbox from his coat pocket, deftly flicking it open to retrieve a pinch. “It’s a very graceful dance, you know, with none of the posturing so agreeable to our aging dandies. Granted, there is more physical contact than heretofore, but somehow I don’t think it will lead to a breakdown of society’s moral standards.”

“Of course not.” She smiled at his mockery. “I suppose I do worry about such things, Mr. Wheldrake; it’s having a daughter, I guess, and one who has not been raised in society. We live very retired.”

“With her mama’s example she can hardly go wrong.”

“Her temperament is very unlike mine. There is no caution or timidity to restrain her exuberant spirits, but she is an obliging girl.”

“Would you give me permission to keep an eye on her? I assume Mr. Ashwicke does, but it could do no harm to have two men checking her liveliness when necessary.”

“You are kind to offer, Mr. Wheldrake, and I confess I would be grateful, but Trelenny is no more likely to accept your authority than Cranford's. Perhaps you would let me know if you perceive any problem.”

“With pleasure.” He replaced the snuffbox and withdrew an ivory fan, smiling as he did so. “I could have returned this last night, of course, but it provided me with an excuse to call this morning, and I felt sure you wouldn’t lay a complaint against me.”

“I had completely forgotten it,” Mrs. Storwood admitted, grasping it firmly so she would not once again allow it to slide to the floor.

“How disappointing, when I treasured it so for the brief period it was in my possession.”

She was unable to meet his eyes, half mocking, half serious as they were. Memories of her youth flooded in, taking hold of her mind for an unconscious minute. There had been several suitors for her hand, and she had begun to consider the place Frederick Wheldrake held in her affections when she met James Storwood. Unlike his rival, he aspired to no social position, viewed the London scene with indifference, and was, in addition, a rather serious, studious young man. But her heart was captured by his gentleness and integrity, by his goodness and intelligence. She cherished the very absentmindedness which made him forget social engagements, the disinterest which led to his being jokingly voted the worst-dressed member of Brooks. Her parents, she recalled with a tender smile, had thought her deranged to have settled on such a strange fellow, but they had not objected. His breeding, his fortune, even his person, could not be faulted. And Maria Storwood, for all her retirement from society, for all the problems that her husband’s weak heart entailed, had never once regretted her decision.

Her preoccupation afforded Mr. Wheldrake an opportunity to study her unobserved. The shining serenity which had always so greatly enhanced her beauty was still present, though he had sensed she was upset when he arrived. He suspected that her daughter was the cause of her distress; concern for that damsel was frequently on her lips. His own memories he forced back in his determination to see that her special calm was restored. “May I escort you and your daughter to the Upper Rooms this evening?”

Startled from her reverie, she regarded him blankly for a moment. “Why, I suppose we should plan to go. Trelenny will wish to attend an assembly, but I have not spoken with Cranford.”

“Allow me to make the arrangements, then Mr. Ashwicke may accompany us or not as he pleases.”

Mrs. Storwood, realizing that she and her daughter had absorbed a great deal of Cranford’s time in the last week, agreed. “Provided,” she said seriously, “that you will not expect me to dance. It is too many years since I took any part in such youthful pastime, and I would only make a figure of myself.”

“Bath is full of gouty old gentlemen and decrepit old biddies who step out eagerly with all the rest to point a toe. But I will not press you. I only beg that you will not reject the possibility out of hand, my dear Maria. None was ever so graceful as you on the ballroom floor.”

Her daughter, at that very moment, was attempting to follow Cranford’s lead as Lady Jane played for them, but the waltz, so different from the dances she had previously learned, was incomprehensible to her, and Cranford’s hand at her waist was disturbing. Lady Jane paused for a moment when Cranford exasperatedly said, “You are paying no attention to the music, Trelenny."

Although it seemed unlikely, a thought occurred to Lady Jane. “Have you never seen the waltz danced, Miss Storwood?”

Trelenny bit her lip. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, Cranford, how can you expect her to understand if she doesn’t know what she is about?” Lady Jane asked with laugh. “We will show you, my dear. Come, you shall play for us.”

“I don’t play at all well,” Trelenny admitted softly.

“No matter. I can hum.” She rose from the pianoforte bench and smiled at Cranford. “It’s a pity we can’t show Miss Storwood how wretched we were in those early days. Do you know, I remember your tripping me twice in one morning so that I not only landed on the floor but had to have my dress rehemmed.”

“You’re thinking of someone else,” he protested, his eyes twinkling, as he encircled her with his arm. “I’m sure I don’t recall ever doing such an ungracious thing as tripping a lovely lady.”

She broke the rhythm of her humming to say, “You did though. I wrote it in my journal, and had a bruise on my hip for a week to remember you by. And Mr. Bodford was no better with Nancy; she had a sprained ankle for close on a month.”

Forgotten, Trelenny stood beside the pianoforte and watched the couple whirl about the floor, gracefully gliding to Lady Jane’s faint hum. They made a handsome pair, the lady’s height dwindling beside her even taller partner, her lively eyes and quick smile bringing forth an answering response from him. Cranford is very attractive when he’s enjoying himself, Trelenny thought mournfully as she toyed with the ribbon on her dress, untying the bow with her unthinking fingers.

When they stopped before her, Lady Jane lifted a quizzical brow. “Does that help you get a feeling for the waltz, Miss Storwood?”

“Yes, thank you. I did not realize one moved about so. Don’t you bump into other couples?”

“Only if your partner is careless.” Lady Jane reseated herself on the bench. “You won’t have that difficulty with Cranford.”

Trelenny had given him her hand in preparation for another attempt at the dance, but he noticed the untied ribbon and, with deft fingers, he secured it in a bow, making her feel a child before the friendly eyes of Lady Jane. “You could have called it to my attention,” she informed him in a fierce whisper. “I’m not a child in need of being—” Her face suffused with a painful flush and she turned from him.

“Lady Jane is waiting,” he told her back in a neutral tone.

It required every ounce of her resolve to face him and allow him to take her in his arms. She kept her gaze riveted on the top button of his coat and stiffly moved about as he dictated, oblivious to the strains of the pianoforte, but all too aware of his contact. Under cover of the music he murmured, “Remember our agreement, Trelenny. The incident is forgotten. Relax. Listen to the music. Has your imagination deserted you? Can you not picture yourself at Almack’s dancing with someone entirely different? Lady Jersey has introduced you to one of the lesser princes of Bavaria, a madly wicked fellow with a romantic scar and a dazzling smile. You are the envy of all the other ladies as he guides you about the floor, telling you he wrote the music for you alone.”

Despite her amusement, Trelenny grumbled, “That’s not the sort of thing I imagine.”

“Isn’t it?” He could feel the tension desert her and grinned when she stole a peek at him. “Well, perhaps you are sailing to Greece and the captain, a dashing, daredevil sort, points out that the night is balmy and the decks of his ship quite suitable as a dance floor. He calls to a sailor, who, as it happens, is accomplished on the fiddle, and under the black skies with their glittering silver stars you float together, waltzing as though there were no tomorrow, as though the pirate ship in the distance had not the least intention of attacking within the hour.”