“I fear one never knows when they may surprise us with an unexpected demonstration,” Lady Oldenfield replied.
Margaret approached then, flanked by her two friends, Clarissa and Harry Page. Prudence was happy to renew her acquaintance with the young siblings. They were a handsome pair, similar in appearance, with fine, dark eyes and curling dark hair. Clarissa was a modest, polite young woman even the most particular person could not find fault with. Prudence had concluded as much upon her last visit to Bath. Clarissa’s brother was equally well-mannered, although rather more shy in company and reticent in conversation. He was a slightly built young man with delicate features almost as feminine as his sister’s.
“Come, Pru, my courage is flagging,” Margaret said. “Accompany me to the library so I may get this ordeal over with.”
Brownell slapped Harry on the back and asked, “Harry, my good man, why aren’t you serving as sentry?”
“Never fear, a sentry has been posted and there are those among us with their pistols loaded,” the young man replied.
“Pistols!” Prudence exclaimed, dismayed. Beside her, Margaret shuddered.
Lady Oldenfield placed a hand upon her elbow. “It must be so, Miss Pentyre. Members of the league have been known to do violence.”
“And they have spies everywhere, from housemaids to milliners,” Harry put in, his handsome face marred by a frown.
“It is one reason we are careful to hold small social gatherings—like this one—to disguise the true purpose of our meeting,” Lady Oldenfield went on.
“What might they do to us if they discover what we are about?” Margaret asked in a fretful tone.
“They may show up on the doorstep with a cow and banners and even a child’s coffin,” Harry told her. “It happened in Leicester.”
“They might even burn Jenner’s effigy upon your doorstep,” Brownell added. “I’ve seen it done before in London. The spectacle draws quite a crowd.”
Prudence suppressed a shudder. Turning to Harry, she asked, “You are armed?” Her tone was incredulous. Smiling, Harry gave her the curt bow of acknowledgment. She then fixed her gaze upon Sir James. “And you, sir?”
He lifted his brows, giving her a half-smile as he did so. “Let them come, by Jupiter!” he declared. “We’ll show them what for! Harry and I will see to them, won’t we, my boy?” He wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders and gave him a hug of camaraderie. “We’ll repel all boarders.”
Smiling in a shy way, Harry’s eyes glowed with militant fervor.
Prudence felt sincerely shocked. “You cannot mean it!” she cried.
“Of course, I do,” Brownell replied. “As gentlemen, we could not allow such rabble to disrupt Lady Oldenfield’s tea party.”
“Sir, perhaps you have forgotten. This is not London or even Leicester,” Prudence pointed out. “The good people of Bath cannot want such a confrontation to take place here.” Turning to Margaret, she added, “I believe we should return home at once. I cannot think what your mother would say, if anything should happen to you while you are in my charge.”
“But I thought you were a firm believer in the Jenner vaccine?” Margaret asked, concerned.
“I am,” Prudence affirmed. “But I do not support the wildness of the league’s protests, nor do I wish to place you in danger. We cannot know what they might do if word has gotten around about what is taking place in Lady Oldenfield’s library. Come, Margaret, you must undergo the procedure at once,” Prudence insisted, taking hold of her cousin’s arm. “Afterwards, we must take our leave.” She noted how Sir James had excused himself and made his way to the nearest window, which looked down upon the street.
“Yes, come, Margaret,” Clarissa urged. “When you are done, Harry shall see you and Miss Pentyre to your home. He will make quite sure the two of you are not molested if there is a crowd gathering outside.”
“We came in the carriage,” Margaret explained.
“Then I shall accompany you, for safety’s sake,” Harry told her. He then stepped aside, allowing his sister and Prudence to lead Margaret to the library.
There, they found Dr. Phipps performing a vaccination upon one of Lady Oldenfield’s other guests—a young girl, still in the schoolroom from the looks of her, accompanied by her mother. After witnessing the simplicity of the procedure, Margaret willingly thrust forth her left arm for the smiling physician’s ministration when it was her turn. Prudence held her right hand reassuringly. “Take courage, Meg. It shall be over and done with before you can say nincompoop.”
With a tip of a clean lancet, Dr. Phipps made two short incisions in her outstretched arm. Then dipping the lancet into the pus inside the quill of a feather, he transferred the cowpox lymph to the cuts on Margaret’s arm.
“In four days or so, your incisions will become slightly red, Miss Leyes. Blisters will form. You will run a mild fever for a day or two. Stay at home and rest. Drink plenty of tea and keep warm. It has been unseasonably cold for July.”
“That is all?” Margaret asked, surprised.
“That is all,” he replied with a reassuring smile.
“Should you encounter anyone with small pox in the future, you’ll not contract the disease, Meg. It is such a blessing, as surely you will learn,” Prudence said.
“I don’t understand how it works,” Margaret confessed, peering at the scratches on her arm.
“Nor do I,” Dr. Phipps admitted, with a shrug. “But it does work. There is something about the cowpox lymph, which is a natural disease-fighting agent and resists infection from deadly smallpox. For this we must be grateful to God.”
“Amen!” Prudence exclaimed. She felt gratified relief that her cousin had at last been vaccinated and would no longer be susceptible to the ravages of the deadly disease aptly nicknamed the speckled monster.
After taking leave of their hostess and saying goodbye to Clarissa, they were escorted to their waiting carriage by Harry and James. “Are you not coming with us?” Prudence asked, addressing the latter. Although she did not see a gathering throng in the streets or any hint of possible danger, she did wonder why he would not wish to escort Margaret safely home himself.
“You need not worry, Miss Pentyre,” he assured her with a grin and a wink. “Harry will see you both home safely. I must stay here—in case Lady Oldenfield should have need of my… er… assistance.”
“Yes, of course,” Prudence murmured. She felt suddenly foolish. “I know how pleased you must be now that my cousin has been safely vaccinated.”
“Indeed,” James replied with a nod and a smile for Margaret. “I am hoping to take a physician or surgeon back with me when I return to the Far East—someone who is tired of his old practice, perhaps, or eager to establish his first. I will commit to paying his salary and provide the necessary medical supplies.
“So generous of you,” Prudence murmured.
“We shall take cowpox lymph, if we can obtain it,” he added. “The man will never be bored — nor will he ever have more grateful patients. Why would anyone wish to practice in London — a noisy, bustling city filled with smoke, filth, and smog — when he can enjoy idyllic rambles in the green jungle after seeing to his patients?”
“Indeed,” Prudence said absently. Thinking of all Sir James had shared with her about Borneo and his desire to return there, she could not reconcile this with an image of Margaret as his bride. How her cousin would loathe such foreign places! Margaret had never been adventurous or daring, even as a child. Why, she had even been afraid of Prudence’s old pony!
During the brief carriage ride, Harry and Margaret chatted like old friends about mutual acquaintances and recent social events. Prudence wrestled with the riddle of Sir James’s desire to wed her younger cousin. Despite their time together, she had not discovered a clue. She believed the man to be brash, arrogant, and frank to a fault. He’d practically threatened her if she stood in the way of his marriage to Margaret. Although Sir James’s wealth and rank made him a most advantageous c
atch for her cousin, Prudence felt certain they would not suit.
Later, Margaret asked, “So what did you think of my suitor, Pru? Is he not as I described him?”
“No. I think you were unjust in your description of him,” Prudence replied. “He is rather dashing in that devil-may-care way of his.”
Margaret frowned. “Did he flirt with you?” she asked.
Prudence chuckled. “No, I shouldn’t call it flirting.”
“But you like him then?” Margaret probed.
With eyes suddenly flashing and bosom swelling, Prudence exclaimed, “No, I do not like him in the least! My poor Meg! I understand quite perfectly why you do not wish to be saddled with the man for the rest of your life.”
Chapter Three
Prudence’s friend Dorothea Greenwood lived in a commodious residence in Sydney Place. She was a widow and the mother of three daughters, one son, and the grandmother of several grandchildren. Mrs. Greenwood was quite old enough to be Prudence’s mother. She was short and thin as a measuring rod, with gnarled fingers and a wealth of wrinkles that she attributed to the deplorable habit of gadding about without her bonnet and parasol when she was much younger. Despite the difference in their ages, the two were close friends, and that is why Prudence decided to seek out her friend the day following Lady Oldenfield’s tea to consult with her about Margaret and Sir James.
Prudence knew Mrs. Greenwood was the soul of discretion. The woman also had a keen eye for mannerisms and social exchanges. If anyone might have reason to suspect Margaret of meeting someone on the sly, it would be Dorothea Greenwood. Also, as a lifelong resident of Bath, she surely knew much about Sir James and his mother, Lady Eliza Brownell, which perhaps Margaret and her mother were not aware of.
Greeted warmly by the housekeeper, who recognized Prudence and gave her admittance, Prudence then mounted the steps to the upstairs drawing room. Mrs. Greenwood stood at the top of the landing. “Dear Prudence, come up at once! How delightful to see you again. I have missed you.”
The two friends embraced briefly. “I have missed you too, Dorothea. But I confess, I treasure your letters. You keep me so well abreast of matters in Bath when I return for a visit, I do not feel as though I have missed out on anything worth mentioning.”
Mrs. Greenwood chuckled. “What a polite way of calling me an incessant gossip, Pru!”
“Not at all!” she protested. “You are looking well, and I am happy to see it.”
“You are in high bloom as well. Surely your visit here is a social one. You have certainly not come to take the waters?”
Prudence wrinkled her nose. “The waters are foul-tasting, as you must know. After my initial sip some years ago, I have never indulged again.”
Dorothea tipped her head to the side, smiling. “But they are said to be quite healthful.”
“I don’t care!” Prudence declared. “My old nurse swore by the medicinal benefits of cod liver oil too—another foul-tasting concoction,” she complained. “I do not understand why strawberries and grapes or apricots cannot serve just as well.”
Prudence allowed herself to be led to the parlor and checked briefly upon the threshold, when she noticed two other visitors, a man and woman slightly older than herself, already seated within. Dorothea had guests. Prudence felt her heart sink. She knew she would not be able to have the long, private chat she’d hoped for. A closer examination revealed a definite similarity between the gentleman’s countenance and Mrs. Greenwood’s. His face appeared sadly pale and gaunt, despite his thick neck and barrel-shaped chest. He put down the book he’d been holding and heaved himself to his feet. The woman, her head covered with a cluster of artfully arranged brown curls, glanced up from her embroidery. Her lively brown eyes sparkled with welcome and piqued interest in the new arrival.
“Prudence, I don’t believe you have ever met my son, the Reverend Arthur Greenwood and his wife Eleanor. Permit me to introduce my dear friend, Miss Prudence Pentyre.”
Pleasantries and handshakes were exchanged. After taking the chair her hostess indicated, Prudence realized the vicar appeared unwell. She noticed too the lines of worry upon Dorothea’s face and the anxious expression in her eyes. “Poor Arthur has recently recovered from a virulent case of the influenza,” Dorothea explained. “He’s come to Bath for the waters.”
“He’s still not as fully recovered as we’d like him to be, is he, Mother Greenwood?” Eleanor asked. Smiling, her mother-in-law shook her head. Then turning to Prudence, Eleanor eyed the smart confection Prudence wore upon her head, declaring, “I do like your hat, Miss Pentyre! I have a weakness for a pretty hat,” she added with a bright, ingenuous smile.
“So do I,” Prudence confessed. “And unlike the influenza, such a weakness is not life-threatening.” Her lips twitched slightly.
“Nor debilitating in the least,” Eleanor added. “But it can make one rather feverish with excitement.”
Arthur laughed lightly. “Ellie, I can already see you and Miss Pentyre are kindred spirits.”
“I would be happy to take you to my favorite milliner’s shop while you are here,” Prudence offered.
“I would enjoy going,” Eleanor assured her.
“Indeed she would,” Arthur put in, giving his wife a tolerant smile.
Glancing again at Arthur Greenwood’s hollow cheeks and pale face, Prudence felt sensitive about intruding upon her friend Dorothea at this time. She would not have come had she known. While listening to Eleanor and Dorothea talk about Bath’s various shops, Prudence calculated how much longer she should linger before taking her leave. As there was no hope for private conversation with Dorothea, she did not wish to overstay her welcome. “I do wish you a speedy recovery, Reverend Greenwood,” she said with polite concern.
“Thankfully, Arthur was able to leave the church work in the hands of an able curate and come to Bath to rest,” Dorothea told her. “We hope to see him fully restored to health within the month.”
“You find the waters here to be beneficial?” Prudence asked, addressing Arthur again.
“I do,” he admitted. “I am not only drinking the mineral water, but soaking in the hot springs as well.”
Before Prudence could inquire about his bathing schedule, the door was opened once again and new arrivals announced: Lady Eliza Brownell and Sir James Brownell.
Surprised, Prudence snapped her head around and watched the two guests enter the drawing room. Sir James limped in on a cane. His eyebrows arched as he fixed his attention upon Prudence with sharp interest, before letting his one-eyed gaze slide across briefly to the younger Mrs. Greenwood and finally to her husband. Lady Brownell nodded at each in turn. Dorothea rose to welcome them, asking if they were acquainted with Miss Pentyre.
“I have not yet had the pleasure,” Lady Brownell said, smiling at Prudence. “How do you do?” She was tall and slender, with the same merry blue eyes and golden brown hair as her son. Prudence thought she appeared far too young to be Sir James’s parent.
“Miss Pentyre and I met yesterday,” the gentleman informed them. He stepped forward to take Prudence by the hand. “I am most particularly grateful to her for convincing Miss Margaret Leyes to undergo the Jenner procedure. You succeeded, dear lady, where I had not.”
Prudence gave him a hesitant smile, surprised by his gallantry. She did not trust the man—not entirely. Somewhat anxious, she braced herself, fearing he would soon make some outrageous remark about Margaret or refer to the frank conversation they had shared yesterday at Lady Oldenfield’s. She wondered too how she might best make her escape. Now that Sir James and his mother had arrived, Prudence realized with certainty any private conversation with Dorothea would be impossible. On the other hand, if she took her leave immediately, Sir James might think she was running away from him. She could not bear the idea he might consider her a social coward. Why it should matter one way or the other, she couldn’t say.
“Have you also been vaccinated, Miss Pentryre?” Arthur Greenwood asked, inte
rrupting her flustered thoughts.
“Indeed, while still in the schoolroom many years ago. My father is a member of the Jennerian Society. I have occasionally assisted him when he performed the procedure on members of his congregation.”
“Oh, Miss Pentyre, how noble you are!” Eleanor declared with a sincere gush of admiration. Embarrassed, Prudence felt her cheeks flame. “I have no nursing skills whatsoever,” Eleanor went on. “A mere glimpse of blood or physical anguish causes me the greatest discomfort. I am quite ashamed to admit it.”
“I can assure you, ma’am, watching a child suffer with smallpox is even more painful,” Sir James told her. As he began to describe the sufferings of young victims with their eyelids swollen shut, their bodies covered with blisters the size of peas and filled with thick yellow pus, his mother hastened to interrupt.
“James, that’s quite enough,” Lady Brownell said with a slow drawl. She took the chair nearest her hostess, saying, “You must forgive him, my dear Mrs. Greenwood. He has quite forgotten his drawing room manners. James has been too long at sea and in the jungles of Borneo.”
“Most readily will I forgive him,” Dorothea assured her with a gentle smile.
Sir James shrugged. His glance fell upon Prudence once more. His one good eye twinkled. “Miss Pentyre, I don’t believe you find the topic too repulsive for the drawing room, do you?”
“No, not at all,” Prudence admitted, ignoring his mischievous glance. “By talking of it openly and urging everyone to undergo the simple Jenner procedure, we can hope to eradicate the disease all together.”
“Sir James, do you think then we should have our little Arthur William vaccinated, even though he is not yet three years of age?” Eleanor asked.
“I would do so as soon as possible,” Brownell replied.
Eleanor nodded as she reached over to take her husband’s hand. The couple exchanged a decisive glance. Then turning to Prudence, Eleanor said, “Our young son is spending time with my parents in Sussex, so poor Arthur can rest with a little peace and quiet. The child is such a dear, but so high-spirited.”
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