The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  “A pot of tea, perhaps?”

  “Only if you want something yourself, sir. I ought to go home. Sir Mortimer said he will not need me again today.”

  “I heard what he said,” Manningford said. “I’ll ring, shall I? I wouldn’t turn down a glass of the old man’s Madeira.”

  When he had turned away to tug the bell cord, she said in a small voice, “You heard him?”

  “Just the bit where he told Borland to get you out of there.” He moved to the second wing chair and stood beside it, his right hand lightly resting on the chair back as he looked down at her. “He must have been speaking more loudly than usual or directly at the wall between the two rooms. Generally, you know, one hears only a murmur of voices in the study. I think you’d better tell me the whole, don’t you? You cannot fear that I’d take you to task, after all.”

  “I have told you,” she said, not thinking it necessary to assure him that she did not fear him in the least. “Oh, not the details, but the important part, that the writing is difficult for him, and that he has no respect for my opinion. There is no reason that he should have, of course. I have no skills to speak of—certainly, my scribbles are nothing great—but I have read any number of books, for there was frequently nothing else to do at home.” She smiled at him. “I don’t know why I tell you this, you know, for it has nothing to do with the problem at hand. I merely told your papa that I thought he ought to make a change or two in his story and he became out of reason cross. I cannot blame him. I must have seemed intolerably impertinent.”

  One of the two footmen who had been engaged entered just then, and Manningford turned toward him and gave the order for tea and wine to be served to them, saying nothing further until the man had gone away again. Then, sitting down in the wing chair, he said gently, “How bad is it, this book of his?”

  Nell hesitated, then gathered her courage and looked him straight in the eye. “If I were to tell you that I know I could write a better one, would that tell you how dreadful it is?”

  He did not answer her at once, and when he did, his words were not what she had expected them to be. “Do it,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You heard me. How long would it take you to write out a fair copy of what there is so far, altering it to suit yourself?”

  “Why, I cannot say. I have thought about it, you know, ever since I read over what he had done before I began to help. It is disjointed and rough, but the plot is sound and the comical bits delightfully amusing, so I found myself wanting to alter first one thing, then another. I daresay, in such a case, one always believes one’s own way is superior. Of course, I know nothing about writing for publication, so your father will undoubtedly suffer another fit if I should even attempt such a thing.”

  “Then we shan’t tell him.”

  “Pray, do not be absurd, sir. How can we not?”

  After a moment’s thought, he said, “Does he think the work he has done so far is up to his usual standard?”

  “No,” she replied. Indeed, he has said as much to me. His weakness and his inability to make his mind behave as he wants it to, both seem to distress him very much.”

  “Then it is our duty to help him.” He turned when the footman reentered the room carrying a tray and followed by a young parlor maid. “Set the tray on the table by the hearth. We will serve ourselves.”

  Shooting a curious glance at Nell, the maid lowered her eyes and set about helping the footman adjust the items on the tray, but the glance served as a sharp reminder that there were many who would not approve of her presence in Sir Mortimer’s house, even without the presence of his handsome son. The thought brought a flush to her cheeks, and she had all she could do not to look conscious of wrongdoing, so she was rather relieved when Mr. Lasenby chose that moment to enter the room.

  “Here you are!” He strolled into the room with the assurance of one in no doubt of his welcome, and although Manningford frowned, since his friend’s attention was riveted on the tray, he did not notice. “Here, I say,” Lasenby exclaimed when the footman and maid turned to leave, “pour me out a glass of that wine before you go, and I’ll have a plate of those sweet biscuits as well. Can’t think why the pair of you are in such a rush to be off.”

  Manningford said, “I told them we’d serve ourselves, Sep.”

  “Well, I can’t think why we should wish to do that when you’ve finally got proper servants in the house. I’ll tell you what it is, Bran, you folks here in Bath treat your servants in a dashed odd fashion, and that’s the truth of the matter. Never seen such a place! Hope you don’t expect me to get accustomed to it, for I never shall. Not brought up to it, don’t you know. Not brought up to it at all.” He seemed at last to sense something unusual in the atmosphere of the room, for with a glance at Manningford and another at Nell, he added, “I say, I hope I ain’t intruding. Thought you’d be glad of the company, but I’ll play least in sight if you don’t want me.”

  “Oh, no,” Nell exclaimed at the same time that Manningford said, “No need for you to go anywhere, Sep. We can as easily have our conversation later.”

  “Now, dash it, Bran—”

  An involuntary ripple of laughter escaped Nell’s lips at the indignation in his voice. “Oh, do stay, Mr. Lasenby. There was nothing particularly private in what we were discussing. Not where you are concerned, at all events,” she added, remembering the servants. When they departed a moment later, she looked at Manningford. “Truly, sir, he already knows as much as we do, and while I am certainly ready to take your advice as to what it is best for us to do, I cannot help but think that a third head will prove beneficial to our cause.”

  “Not if the third head is Sep’s,” Manningford retorted. “He’s got nothing on his mind but what old Rackton will next have to say about his trying to make mice feet of his betrothal.”

  “Daresay I’ll find out soon enough,” Lasenby said, “for I believe there is some affair or other I am supposed to remember.”

  “Brighton,” Manningford said helpfully. “Wembly ball.”

  “Ah, yes, but I say, Bran, did you know there’s a racetrack right here in Bath? I could scarcely credit it, but it’s a fact. Landsdowne Course—they say it’s the highest flat course in England. We must take a look, dear boy.”

  “Not just now, Sep.”

  “Right, you were wanting to talk about your tangle here, were you not? Fact is, you ain’t as accustomed as I am to being riveted to the family nest, so daresay, if things get too bothersome, you’ll soon be champing at the bit.” He glanced at Nell, adding hastily, “Assure you, ma’am, if he does take it into his head to bolt to Newmarket or the-Lord-knows-where, you can count on your humble servant to try to talk him out of it.”

  “I am sure that I may,” Nell said, glancing at Manningford and adding when she saw that he was frowning, “but I am persuaded that Mr. Manningford will not leave me in the lurch, sir.”

  “Good God, no, ma’am,” Mr. Lasenby said, his eyes widening. “Bran’s a gentleman, ain’t he? Would never do such a thing. Just meant that he must feel a trifle tied by the heels here, don’t you know. He—” Manningford having cleared his throat, he glanced at him and said, “Well, dash it, Bran, no need to take a pet. You’ve already stayed longer than you intended, or anyone else might have expected. You don’t even like the old gentleman. Stands to reason, you can’t like dancing to his tune.”

  “Be quiet, Sep.”

  “Yes, by Jove, of course. I say, have you tried these short biscuits? Best I ever tasted. Give you my word. May I serve you some, Miss Bradbourne?”

  “Yes, certainly,” Nell said, “and then do sit down, Mr. Lasenby and give us the benefit of your opinion. Mr. Manningford has suggested that I might alter Sir Mortimer’s work, but I am by no means certain that anything I write would be an improvement.”

  “It must be,” he said. “Stands to reason. Thing is, are you sure you ought? He mightn’t like it, you know.”

  “You
don’t understand,” Manningford said. “Miss Bradbourne informs me that he is having grave difficulties with this novel of his, and I have suggested that she do what she can to improve upon his labors. That is all. But if such a thing is to be done at all, I should prefer it to be done at once.”

  Mr. Lasenby shook his head. “Now I think on it, don’t believe the old gentleman will like it a bit,” he said.

  “No,” Nell said, “nor do I. He as good as gave me my notice today, merely for daring to voice my opinion to him.”

  Mr. Lasenby nodded. “I should think that settles it then.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Manningford said. “It is nonsensical to pander to his wishes when this weakness of his distresses him so. It cannot be good for him.”

  “Well, I should think it would be worse for him to snuff it in a towering rage,” Mr. Lasenby said.

  “No need to concern ourselves with that possibility until we discover whether Miss Bradbourne can do the thing,” Manningford pointed out.

  “But, dash it, Bran, how will we know? I don’t know anything about such stuff, and I’ll wager you don’t either.”

  “We’ll find someone who does,” Manningford said.

  Nell gasped. “You want me to let someone else read what I write even before Sir Mortimer sees it? I couldn’t! Why, I cannot even imagine doing such a thing.”

  Manningford looked at her. “If my plan succeeds, a good many people will be reading your work, for my father informed me at the outset of this venture that nearly everyone who is anyone in the beau monde subscribes for his books the moment Murray makes it known that they are available for publication. What I suggest is that you take what you’ve got home with you and see what you can do to improve it. It will do my father no harm to forgo the pleasure of your company for a few days. Perhaps he will then think twice before indulging his temper again.”

  “Perhaps, sir,” she said doubtfully.

  Manningford smiled. “I may well be overstating the case. Now, if you have finished your tea, I’ll see you on your way, and we’ll begin fresh again on Monday morning.”

  VII

  WHEN NELL RETURNED TO Laura Place, Sudbury, behaving with a stateliness beyond even his usual measure, opened the chair door for her and, once she had emerged, directed the men to take the chair to its usual place beneath the sweeping stairway. Then, when the men had departed, he said quickly when she turned toward the stairway, “Her ladyship is not alone, Miss Nell.”

  She looked back. “Company, Sudbury? Who is it?”

  Something in his very lack of expression warned her before he said, “Mr. Jarvis Bradbourne, miss. He has been sitting with her ladyship this past hour and more. I regret to say that he did not so much as await an invitation before informing her ladyship that he intended to dine with her. Such behavior is not what we are accustomed to in this house.”

  She stiffened at the mention the name of their visitor’s name, and it took effort to keep her voice calm when she asked, “Does Mr. Jarvis know where I have been, Sudbury?”

  “No, Miss Nell. He assumed from the outset, I might say, that you were staying in the house, and not having had orders to the contrary, I did not attempt to deny that fact. I did, however, refrain from indicating any awareness whatever of your immediate whereabouts, and her ladyship told him, in my hearing, only that you were spending the day with friends.”

  “I see.” She glanced up the stairs at the drawing-room door, shut at the moment, then back at the butler. “I daresay I ought to go straight up to her.”

  “As to that, Miss Nell, I am persuaded that there is no great need to do so if you do not wish it. Her ladyship will not be expecting you as early as this, after all, so there is sufficient time to be changing your dress if you should be desirous of doing so.”

  She was sorely tempted to accept his suggestion, but she shook her head. “Her ladyship has already sustained more of Mr. Jarvis’s conversation than she ought to have had to, Sudbury, and I am woefully conscious of the fact that it is my presence in this house that has brought him down upon her. Oh, and that reminds me,” she added, plunging her hand into the pocket of her cloak and withdrawing a small drawstring pouch. “Mr. Manningford was kind enough to pay me my week’s wages before I left. Will you be so kind as to give the money to Mrs. Sudbury? I daresay she will be wanting to purchase some extra items for dinner.”

  “Thank you, miss,” the butler said, pocketing the pouch. “Things have been more comfortable these past weeks, I must say, but she was in a bit of a fret as to how she was to put a proper spread before Mr. Jarvis this evening, knowing from experience that he is not what we should call a delicate trencherman.”

  “No, Jarvis does like his dinner,” Nell said with a grimace. “When one is wondering if he is even human, one does remember that. I shall just go up and tidy my hair, Sudbury, and then you may announce me. I think a little extraordinary formality is called for, don’t you? It will perhaps impress him enough to keep him from trying to call the tune here.”

  “That is what her ladyship thought as well, Miss Nell.”

  Hastening upstairs to her bedchamber, Nell wasted no time indulging in fripperies, though she was sorely tempted to linger, having no desire to face Jarvis Bradbourne even with her great-aunt stoutly behind her. It took little time to wash her hands and face and coax her curls into order, however, and with a last glance in the glass to assure herself that her appearance would give him no cause to suspect that she had anything to hide from him, she went down to the drawing room, pausing one last moment at the door to inhale a long, steadying breath and release it slowly before nodding to Sudbury to open the door.

  Inside the room, Lady Flavia, seated in her usual chair near the low-burning fire, greeted her arrival with seeming composure, but Nell was quick to note the look of relief in her eyes when she said, “You are before your time, my dear. How very pleasant, to be sure. And you see that I have a surprise for you.” She indicated, seated in the chair opposite her own, a stocky man in his thirties exquisitely attired in biscuit-colored pantaloons and a dark-blue, wide-shouldered frock coat, his brown locks fashionably disordered, his shirt points stiff enough and high enough to impede the motion of his head and force him to turn his entire torso toward Nell as her ladyship added, “Jarvis informs me that he means to remain in Bath for at least a week or more. Will that not be delightful?”

  Fixing a smile upon her face, Nell agreed that the news was delightful indeed and stepped forward with her hand outstretched to greet her cousin. A glint in his chilly gray eyes as he rose to make an exceedingly graceful leg to her gave her to know that he was not in the least deceived by her welcome.

  Jarvis Bradbourne might easily have passed for a man ten years older, a fact due as much to his foppish affectation of constant weariness as to a life spent—as Nell was certain it had been—in dissipation. Straightening, he raised his gold-rimmed quizzing-glass to his right eye and peered at her through it, looking her up and down with a sorrowful expression on his round, sallow face, before allowing the glass to drop, swinging it gently back and forth on its narrow black-velvet ribbon.

  “Still in mourning, my dear? By my oath, I commend your fortitude, but do you not think it a trifle gauche to continue to draw attention to the events surrounding your parent’s demise?”

  Nell’s eyes flashed fire, but before she could snap out the retort that leapt to her tongue, Lady Flavia said briskly, “I see that your manners have not improved, Jarvis, try as you will to pretend to civility. One would think that a man with so fine a regard for his name and appearance would take a little more care lest his tongue betray his true character when he least wishes it to do so. Pray recall where you are and attempt to behave like a gentleman. You may turn that log on the grate, if you will, and then sit down again and tell me more about the new paintings you have acquired at Crosshill. You will be interested to know, my dear Nell,” she continued, just as though she had been speaking mere commonplace to the red-faced Bradbourn
e, “that Jarvis has acquired an amusing work he believes to have been painted by Mr. Holbein, the man who painted that famous portrait of King Henry the Eighth. He was just telling me about it before you came in. Are you going to attend to that log, Jarvis, or are you not?”

  “I am not,” he said, moving to pull the bell cord. “I fear that I am not in the habit of attending to such tiresome details as that myself, and will be more likely to snuff your fire or have the coals out onto the carpet if I attempt such a thing. I will be happy to order a footman to attend to it, however.”

  Exchanging a look with Lady Flavia, Nell turned quickly to look out the window, lest Jarvis glance her way and note her dismay, for despite the fact of her wage from Royal Crescent and the bank draught from Jarvis, Lady Flavia had seen no good reason to hire more servants, other than a scullery maid to assist Mrs. Sudbury. The view of the fountain’s spray calmed her as it always did, however, and she was able to tell herself that Sudbury would cope easily enough with her cousin’s demands.

  “Nell, my dear,” Jarvis drawled behind her, “no doubt you have failed to observe that I am kept standing by your reluctance to sit.” Then, when she only looked at him, he added in the same tone, “Too wearing, my dear, for one of my fragile constitution, a constitution, I might add, that has been sadly overtaxed, as you must know, from the moment the intelligence was brought to me of your precipitate departure from Highgate. You cannot have known what a blow your flight would deal to my self esteem, my dear, or I am persuaded that you would never have gone off in such a scrambling way. By my oath, you must tell me why you found it necessary to do so just as I had begun to think matters were in a fair way to being settled between us.”

  Lady Flavia’s eyebrows shot upward. “Settled? Dear me, Nell, surely you did not tell me as much.”

  Nell sat down on the settee near the window, thus forcing Jarvis to turn his chair if he would continue to look at her, and said in a detached way, “I believe I told you that he had desired us to wed, ma’am, and that I had refused him. I had hoped that the notion had not fixed itself so firmly in his mind as it seems to have done, however, and I assure you that he has been given no cause whatever to believe that my mind is similarly affected.”