More Sport for our Neighbours

by Ronald McGowan

  “There are always servants, but if it will set your mind at rest, I will take one of the girls with me to keep house for me. I dare say a week or two among the shops and assemblies of a watering place will be no great hardship.”

  This announcement set both girls into asserting their individual claims, with not the slightest shyness in canvassing their separate merits for such a post.

  “Yes, my dears, I am sure you will either one of you make a splendid helpmeet for your poor old father,” I responded, “but I think the society of a spa town to be more suited to Kitty. She will enjoy the distractions more than will Mary, for in such a provincial society the likelihood of Mary’s finding an intellectual equal can only be remote.”

  These words sent Kitty into a positive frenzy of delight, while Mary, as was all too predictable, indulged in a good sulk.

  “I must say, papa,” she said, “I do think it rather unfair that Kitty should go to town and not I. I am the eldest, after all.”

  Kitty had, by now, borne her mother off to choose frippery for her excursion, and Lizzie and Darcy had departed to set arrangements in train, so that I had my daughter to myself.

  “But do you not see, my love, how cleverly I have arranged things, and all for you? Do not think that I have not observed your efforts with Mr. Tomkins over the past week, and how they are constantly hampered by the presence of your sister. With Kitty in Buxton, you will have no competition for Mr. Tomkins’ attention. Does not that seem an advantage to you?”

  Her eyes widened as she thought over my words.

  “Oh, papa,” she said, bestowing on me a grateful kiss, “You habitually disguise it so well that I sometimes forget how clever you are.”

  “I am always pleased when my humble efforts meet with success,” was my reply, as I left the room in search of MrsBennet.

  Chapter Nine : Buxton

  Buxton, I admit, was something of a disappointment. I had expected a bustling watering place, something of the order of Bath or Tunbridge. Instead, I found a provincial market town with delusions of grandeur. It is true to say that the town possesses most of the essentials of a successful spa. It has its pump room, its assembly rooms, its elegant streets and shops, but all on such a small scale that it gives more the impression of an infant aping its elders, a sort of toy Bath set down in a bowl in the surrounding hills, which themselves prevent it growing to any great extent and also serve as obstacles to any great increase in the number and frequency of visitors.

  Mr. Darcy had engaged very comfortable, and, indeed, elegant lodgings, on the Crescent, but a stone’s throw from the Pump Room and the Hot Bath, and with a very fine view of the lawns in front and the hills surrounding. Kitty was delighted with them, and with the general aspect of the town, which, admittedly, was far superior to Meryton in the provision of opportunities to waste both time and money.

  “Could I trouble you, Miss Kitty,” he said, when we had scarce viewed the rooms, “ to see to the unpacking of your things, while I step round to the doctor’s with your father, to arrange a course of treatment?”

  So saying, he led me round the corner, past the Pump Room, to a very imposing house, which he said was the home of his physician.

  I remarked that physicians seem to do very well for themselves hereabouts.

  “It is, after all, a spa town,” replied Darcy. “There is never a lack of custom for the healing arts. I do not pretend to express an opinion on their efficacy, but I think you will find Doctor Martin a gentleman at least, and I believe him to be at least as competent as his fellows. At least he will not take advantage of you, as so many of his colleagues will, recommending salt from the Red Sea, spices from the Far East and so on.”

  “A stirring recommendation, indeed,” was my rejoinder. “Well, let us see what he has to say.”

  The name of Darcy had the usual effect, and we were ushered into the consulting room without delay. With such an introduction there was no need for preliminaries, and, after setting out what I understood to be the nature of my ailment, I handed over Doctor Morland’s notes.

  “I should not wish it to be thought that I have anything but the utmost confidence in my colleague’s diagnosis,” said the doctor, after bestowing on these notes the merest glance, “but you will forgive me, Mr. Bennet, if I make my own examination before reaching a conclusion?”

  I could hardly demur, and, Darcy consenting to wait in the anteroom, the usual indignities ensued.

  “Well,” said the doctor, as he rolled his sleeves down again, “I do not think there is any great cause for immediate concern. I will study these notes and see if anything else occurs to me. I will call on you in the morning, after breakfast, to introduce you to the regime that seems appropriate. You are at the Crescent, are you not?”

  “Just so,” I replied, “number sixteen. But how could you have known. We arrived but half an hour ago.”

  “This is a small town, Mr. Bennet, and news spreads quickly. But though it may be small, I flatter myself that it is perfectly formed, and I suggest that you relax in its amenities for the rest of the day, for tomorrow you may be otherwise engaged.”

  Darcy accompanied me back to our lodgings. He could scarce do otherwise, for his coach was waiting there.

  “Your Doctor Martin is somewhat cryptic, I fear,” I remarked. “Physicians, I find, generally love to be mysterious. It makes it easier to bamboozle their patients. Our Doctor Morland will never rise in his profession until he masters that art.”

  “His reputation is high,” replied Darcy. “You will find no better physician in Buxton, certainly. The Duke speaks very highly of his water treatment. I remembering him saying, last time we were at Chatsworth that it relieved him of his gout far better than Bath, or Cheltenham, or Tunbridge ever did.”

  The thought crossed my mind that, in Buxton, His Grace had not had to contend with the effect on his constitution of travelling halfway across the country for his treatment, unlike Bath or Tunbridge. I thought better than to give voice to this opinion, however.

  Instead, I said no more than,

  “Well, my friend, I thank you for your assistance today, and trust that I shall not need to trouble you so again. Give our love to all those at Pemberley. I promise to do my very best to survive whatever Doctor Martin and Buxton confront me with.”

  Chapter Ten : Taking the Cure

  And I did. I did do my best. Well, perhaps not my very, very best, but, as I believe I remember Mary saying at some time, “Everything must be within reason.”

  Doctor Martin called the following morning, and showed me to the assembly rooms. They were, in fact, no more than a few doors along the crescent from our lodgings. Mr. Darcy had undoubtedly chosen an admirable site for our lodgings, as the arcades along the front of The Crescent were crowded with very elegant-looking shops of all descriptions. Kitty would certainly make use of them. It was as well that I had induced Mrs. Bennet and Mary to stay at Pemberley.

  I said as much to Doctor Martin, thus giving him the opportunity for an encomium upon his native town.

  “Buxton may be smaller than Bath,” he said, “and neither so ancient nor so fashionable, but it may rival any spa town in the country in every other way. You will find we are not short of either shops or entertainment, and that of the kind to suit all tastes. And you could not be in a better position. The Wells are just across the Slopes, the Duke of Devonshire’s own town residence is at the other end of the Crescent and the Assembly Rooms are so convenient. In fact, here we are now.”

  “You have come to the right place for health,” he continued. “Coastal places like Brighton and Weymouth may cry up the advantages of their sea water, but people of the highest quality have been coming to Buxton to take the waters for centuries now. Why Bess of Hardwick brought one of her four husbands, the Earl of Shrewsbury, to "take the waters" at Buxton shortly after he became the gaoler of Mary, Queen of Scots, in 1569, and they brought the queen herself here in 1573. She writes about "La Fontagne de Bogston", and st
ayed at the old hall.”

  He prosed on at some length as he led the way upstairs, imparting such interesting and essential facts as The Crescent was built between 1780 and 1784, modelled on Bath's Royal Crescent by John Carr along with the neighbouring irregular octagon and colonnade of the Duke’s Great Stables, which were completed in 1789.

  The assembly room, when we entered it, was certainly grand enough, with a fine painted ceiling and all the usual conveniences. Not being in the habit of frequenting such places, I was obliged to take the doctor’s word for it’s being the finest of any such place in the kingdom.

  I could only take his word, too, for the benefits he expected me to gain from his treatment.

  “You need have no fear of any quackery or imposture here, Mr. Bennet. It is well known that disease is produced by bad air, improper light, impure food and drink, excessive or defective alimentation, indolence or over-exertion, or unregulated passion, and that the watery regimen, besides cleansing, purifying, and invigorating the human frame, is a soother and comforter to the mind, and next to fresh and pure air, the best dispeller of the vapours and spasms of fitful hysteria and of gloomy hypochondriasis — the best cosmetic for beauty, the best cordial for care.”

  “We shall begin gently today, with the purifying and salutary waters of St Anne’s Well, of which you must drink a full tumbler every two hours, with gentle, relaxing exercise between each draught. I recommend the Slopes for exactly the kind of thing, but if you should wish to take your daughter on a tour of the town, that, too, would not be inappropriate.”

  “Tomorrow we shall try the effects of the hot bath, which should yield an acceleration of the pulse; a softening of the muscular structure; a sudden expansion of the liquids of the body and a loss of fluid by transpiration. It is generally agreed that hot baths are helpful with all illness and not merely those habitually mentioned as benefiting from them, as croup, cholera, roseola infantum, gout, or rheumatism. I shall call for you at the same time. Until then, I wish you good day, and enjoin you not to forget your draughts.”

  “Well,” I thought to myself as I surveyed his departing back, “if that is all it takes to earn a living as a physician here, then our Mr. Morland has come to the wrong place.”

  Still, there could be no point in taking all this trouble and then ignoring expert advice, so I called for a tumbler of Buxton water, and sipped it slowly as I surveyed the scene.

  Sipping it slowly was not, I soon discovered, a very good idea. I am assured that there are many worse-tasting waters than those of Buxton, but, if so, I have no desire to sample them.

  I then set out to follow the second half of my prescription, with a walk over the Slopes, which are a sort of grassy bank, facing the Crescent, with shrubs and flowers planted on them, leaving paths for the visitor to wander through.

  At the foot of the bank, I discovered the famous St. Anne’s Well itself, and a local, filling up his bucket from it.

  “Why, sir,” he exclaimed, when I remarked that I had just sampled this nostrum at the Assembly Rooms, “you don’t want to be paying the prices they charge in there for just a glass of water. Bring your pail here, or your bottle, and help yourself. I dare say they charge a penny a glass in there, and a penny saved is a penny earned, is it not.”

  He was so emphatic that I lacked the courage to confess that my glass of water from this very well had cost me no less than a groat.

  “So it is,” I replied, “so it is. I shall certainly take your advice in future.”

  And I hastened to do so, returning across the slopes to our lodgings, where I found Kitty sitting waiting for me at the dining table.

  “Well, my dear,” I greeted her, “how has the morning suited you? I see everything has been set to rights. Did you enjoy playing house without your mother to take charge?”

  “You will joke, papa, but you know quite well that there was so much to be done. Still, I think you will find everything just so now, and your bed properly aired for tonight.”

  “I rejoice to hear it. I trust young Jemima or whatever her name is, the servant Mr. Darcy sent to assist us, was satisfactory?”

  “Her name is Deborah, papa, and she turned to with a will, and was very helpful. She has had your coffee waiting this last half hour.”

  “Good! Then let her serve it, and when she has done so, pray desire her to take the largest jug she can find, and fill it with water at Saint Anne’s Well. I am enjoined by Doctor Martin to drink a full tumbler of it every other hour, and I think it advisable to have a supply on hand. Then, when she has done so, and I have taken my draught, let us take a turn about the town, unless, indeed, the prospect of viewing so many shops and entertainments disgusts you.”

  Tabitha soon returned, with a very large jug indeed, which I bade her leave on the sideboard after she had brought me my glass.

  “So this is the famous Buxton Water!” exclaimed Kitty. “This is not at all as I had imagined taking the waters at a famous spa to be like. It smells rather, er, unusual, does it not?”

  “Fear not, my love, you shall have your fill of Pump Rooms and Assembly Rooms, and whatever else Buxton can offer shortly. But perhaps you might care to try a glass in relative privacy before partaking in public? It is, perhaps, not to everyone’s taste. It is reputed to be salutary for all complaints, however. Perhaps it may do your cough some good?”

  “Very well, papa, if you will pour me a small glass. Ugh!” – this as she supped the liquid down – “How can people be persuaded to come from miles away to drink this stuff? I do not like it at all. I think I should rather have my cough.”

  “Yet you drank it down, and I am told the famous waters of Bath, Epsom, and so on are much less agreeable to consume. It is as I feared, it does not taste nasty enough to do anyone any good. Let us hope the remainder of the doctor’s treatment will prove more efficacious.”

  I have always been of the opinion that the loathsome taste of the preparations prescribed by the medical fraternity is designed purely to induce in the patient a suppression of his symptoms, or, at best, a determination to recover rather than continue taking the vile medicine. That my daughter should have preferred her cough to the Buxton water may be taken, according to the sentiments of the beholder, as proof of this, or merely as an instance of the natural human proclivity to favour the familiar over the unaccustomed.

  The rest of the day we spent in harmonious contemplation of the sights of Buxton. There were, it is true, not a great many to contemplate, but, such as there were, we made the most of. The Slopes provide a pleasant enough walk, and the sight of a mineral spring, actually gushing from the rocks, was still novel enough to us to make Saint Anne’s Well worth the viewing.

  Further on the walk leads to Old Buxton, sometimes called Higher Buxton, with its market place and Nonconformist chapel, where the Mad Methody himself had preached during the last age, and consequently greatly increased the popularity of his cult in the town. The market place openly boasts a working cockpit, but fortunately it was not in use when we made our visit, else I should have feared for Kitty’s sensibility.

  We returned over St Ann's Cliffs, opposite the Crescent, where a fine rising lawn has been laid out with very great taste, and serves as a meeting-place, where the company promenade on fine evenings.

  I resisted Kitty’s urgings for the shops under the colonnades with resolute fortitude.

  “I fear I must decline to stand yawning in a corner at some milliners’ while you marvel at the choice of wares, my dear,” was my reply to her suggestions, “I am, after all, an invalid, remember, and I fear today’s exertions have already exhausted me. Besides, before we can patronize all, or, indeed, any of these no doubt excellent establishments, I must find a bank and cash one of the draughts I have brought with me. You shall have your shopping, I promise you, but perhaps your Abigail would be a more useful companion.”

  “It is Deborah, papa, Deborah. You yourself have often said that it does not do to forget servant’s names.”

>   “You are quite right, Hattie, my dear, and you may be sure that I shall try to do better in future.”

  Subtlety, alas, is a commodity that I fear will be forever wasted on my fourth daughter.

  The following morning saw my introduction to the hot bath, which, in spite of its resemblance at first sight to some mediaeval instrument of torture, or else a witches’ ducking stool writ large, proved surprisingly agreeable.

  Doctor Martin conducted me to his bathing house where he treats his patients, and showed me into a room containing a large wooden vat, resembling half of a large wine barrel. Suspended above it on a sort of crane was a high-backed wooden chair, or, rather, the skeleton of a chair.

  I remarked upon its seeming lack of comfort, for there was no seat, and only a frame to the back, so that the whole thing provided very little support for the sitter.

  “My apparatus,” replied the doctor, “is the result of several years experiment. You will find it perfectly comfortable, I assure you, when immersed in water. The fluid will support your weight, while the gaps in the structure are designed to permit the maximum circulation of the liquid around the patient’s body. The water here is pumped directly from Saint Anne’s Well, where it is already comfortably warm, and further heated in our boilers of pure copper to make sure that it is comfortable for the patient. The heat of the water ensures that the pores are fully open, and draws the noxious elements from the body, thus effecting a remarkable cure in almost all cases. The minerals in the water assist the process to a very high degree. I assure you, my good sir, that after my treatment you will feel a great deal better.”

  I could not help but wonder, but this was, after all, my reason for being here, so, under the doctor’s instructions I removed my clothes, placed them in the cupboard provided and climbed onto the chair by means of the ladder provided.

  At this point, I was alarmed to find the doctor and his burly attendant, a large man somewhat reminiscent of Samson before he met Delilah, fastening broad, hempen straps about my wrists, chest, and ankles, so that I was firmly held to the chair.