by Jaima Fixsen
Turkey? Mary leaned closer, but the ladies were talking again. Mr. Murray’s ability to quietly absorb the stories of her aunt and Mrs. Shaw, occasionally feeding them just the right questions, made him an attractive conversational partner. It was hard to say which of them was deeper under his spell. Mary got up, closing her sketchbook on the folded newspaper. The movement recalled her existence to Aunt Yates.
“Mary? What a fortunate coincidence this is!” She motioned Mary closer, bringing her to stand by the arm of her chair and making a show of introducing her.
“It’s an honour to count so pretty a young lady among my acquaintance,” Mr. Murray said.
“My two daughters are with me as well,” Mrs. Shaw said, smiling angelically. “They—” she glanced to the stairs, but neither materialized.
“Will you stay long in Bath?” Aunt Yates's hungry look was alarming.
“I hope to. Very much.” Neil smiled at Mary, making her blink. “If it’s not too forward of me, perhaps I could offer to walk you and your niece past the baths. You did say you wished to try the vapour baths some day, and I’m curious about them myself. You might be so good to point out any other attractions of the city. I’ve never been here before, you see.”
Aunt Yates accepted with embarrassing eagerness. Mrs. Shaw, temporarily defeated, bid them good afternoon and went to find her daughters, her twitching skirts revealing the irritation denied expression in her polite face. Mr. Murray waited while Mary and her aunt fetched bonnets, gloves, and cloaks, then welcomed them again with an extended arm. Aunt Yates took one elbow, forcing Mary to accept the other.
“Shall we?” asked Mr. Murray, and they set out.
Mary tripped along in silence, astonished at how swiftly he won over Aunt Yates. Within half an hour he’d obtained such a detailed summary of her opinions he probably knew her better than Papa.
“I’ve a cousin who married a Buchanan,” he said. “From Glasgow.”
“Our family comes from Dundee,” Aunt Yates told him. “But my brother studied and began his medical practice in Edinburgh. Now he practices in London, but I own it is a relief to escape that city.”
“You don’t like it?” Mr. Murray asked.
“I am thinking, of course, of the political troubles. I find it a great comfort to be removed from the metropolis in these times of affliction. Unfortunately, London is the only place for a physician of my brother’s reputation. I wouldn’t have chosen to live there myself, but—well, one doesn’t like to complain. My brother could hardly bring up his daughter alone.”
“Miss Buchanan is fortunate you are so devoted to her.”
Mary nearly pinched him.
At the baths Mr. Murray dispatched Aunt Yates with remarkable skill by saying he wasn’t ready to sample the treatments today. “But my reticence mustn’t interfere with your pleasure, Mrs. Yates. Do go ahead. I will walk Miss Buchanan through Sydney Gardens and we’ll return for you in an hour.”
“Do you manage everyone?” Mary asked once they were alone.
“I was just thinking how different things would be if you’d been so easily handled,” he said. “We wouldn’t find ourselves in Bath, that’s for certain. I’ve missed that sharp tongue of yours.”
Mary looked at him to see if he was serious. “Maybe I’ve curbed it, just a little,” she said.
“Don’t tell me they’ve crushed you. I wouldn’t believe it. Has it been so awful?”
“Yes and no.” Staying with her aunt at a fashionable hotel with no demands on her time, she had no real reason to complain. But the lack of activity burdened her, as she was a burden to her father and her aunt. She knew this was so, and it was painful. Her savings could provide her a short-lived independence, but with no work to earn any more— “I’m very sorry. I don’t know what Samuel must have thought,” she said.
“We’ve been worried for you.”
“Bath isn’t so bad,” Mary said. “Papa’s first choice was to send me to school.”
Neil’s eyebrows lifted.
“The headmistress said I’m too old, and it’s too late to shape my character. At my age, you understand, her pupils are honed and polished, ready to be introduced to polite society and suitably wed. I gather it’s done promptly without any fuss.”
He laughed. “Sounds like a button factory, not a school.”
“Papa was displeased, but I don’t regret it. Both Mrs. Shaw’s daughters are former pupils.”
He laughed. “I bet neither of them draw political cartoons.”
“I don’t believe so.” His hair looked shorter than she’d last seen it, though it was hard to tell for certain under the brim of his hat. It curled around his ears, too unruly to be the work of hot tongs, not that he was the sort to bother in any case. His appearance was tidy and unexacting, designed to blend in, not impress. She liked that, after fussy Mr. Daviess. “Aunt wasn’t happy to be stuck with me, but at least she gets a holiday. She claims the climate agrees with her, but I think it’s more the novelty of taking the waters and visiting new doctors and sampling vapour baths.”
“She makes quite a hobby of her health, doesn’t she? I suppose everyone needs at least one. It’s less remarkable than yours. Speaking of which, I brought you some money.”
Mary accepted the roll of notes with a flush of gratitude. “Thank you for thinking of that. I’ve been—”
“Inconveniently prevented from doing whatever you wish?”
“Something like that.” Mary smiled. They walked into the gardens, though the trees and beds were bare.
“We’ll have to imagine what it will be like come spring,” Neil said.
Mary kept silent, wondering if she’d still be here. Papa didn’t seem likely to take her back unattached, but he couldn’t intend to keep her in Bath forever. “What did you do with my narcissus?” Mary asked him, suddenly remembering her stolen bulbs.
“Planted them. What else would I do?” Neil asked her. “I kept them in brown paper over the summer and put them in a dish in the window sill and forced them to bloom after the snows. Gave me something nice to look at when the weather outside was dreary. Don’t know what’s become of them now. I don’t think my landlady will water them.”
“I didn’t know you could plant them inside,” Mary said. Maybe he’d learned this trick from Elspeth, but she didn’t want to talk about her just now. It was too pleasant a moment for that. “Did Samuel send you to see what had become of me?”
“It wasn’t his idea, but he’s been concerned, yes.”
“And Mr. Barnes?”
“That took some creative explanation. He’s still lamenting. Blames Samuel for ruining your health. The strain was too much for you, understand.”
Mary huffed her disgust, wishing they’d come up with something less feeble. “Suppose I recovered?” Mary whispered. Now that she had money, she could send letters.
His steps didn’t falter. Only his tightening mouth betrayed his misgivings.
“I know what it means to you,” he said. “But—”
Mary turned away, staring without seeing at the bare trees. “You can’t know.” He had friends, a career, a large and loving family. He had money and independence and—“Why did you come and strike up an acquaintance with my aunt if you weren’t going to help me?”
He hid his eyes behind his lashes, adornments thick enough Mary imagined them sweeping up the faint freckles sprinkled across his cheeks. A man had no right owning eyelashes like that.
“You brought me money,” she went on. “You lied to Aunt Yates—”
“Not entirely,” he said, looking up. “I did consult with your father. Made up some rubbish about my leg. He thinks I have lumbago.”
“You see! It’s the perfect cover.” Without meaning to, she let a grin slip out. “Did he prescribe you lineament? A smelly one?”
“Probably. I never used the scrip.”
“For someone with so many objections you are an amazingly proficient schemer,” Mary told him. Her pulse was quic
kening. It would be easy. With money for bribes and postage, she could easily begin work again. “Please.”
“Your aunt?”
“Worry on your own account. If she has her way, you’ll end up marrying me.” He winced at her words. “It’s the most convenient method for my disposal,” Mary explained.
“You’re too young for that.” His voice was gruffer than usual.
“Rubbish. I’m nineteen. Think of all those girls from the Academy. The Misses Shaw!” He said nothing so Mary went on. “Truth to tell, I’d rather not marry just now, but if I don’t draw what else is there for me?”
“I see why you’re unhappy,” he said at last. “You don’t look like your usual self.”
Mary stiffened. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Neil said. He waved his hand over her inarticulately. “They’ve been fussing over you. Pretty, but there’s no smile. I miss the spark in your eyes.”
Mary looked down at the gravel in front of her, unable to come up with a reply. Five paces more and Neil spoke again, compelled by her silence.
“If I were a physician, I’d say you were in a decline. Only regular treatment with mesmerism, purges, and my patented magnetic folderols could be expected to bring you about. I’m sure your aunt will agree.”
She had to bite her lip to keep the laugh from escaping.
“Your aunt enjoys it here,” Neil said.
“It’s just what she likes,” Mary said. “I’m surprised she doesn’t prevail on Papa to settle here and set up as a rival to Dr. Hogarth. Of course, one doesn’t really ever prevail on Papa. He must always have his own way.” Or at least think he did. She had money now and an ally. “If you spoke to Samuel for me, and Mr. Barnes—”
“Please, may we stave off the decision to flout your father and every known convention for one more day? We can talk about it tomorrow. You might be game, but I’ve come to Bath to restore my health. I’ve got lumbago, if you recall.”
Mary snorted, but didn’t press it. There was time, and she discovered she didn’t mind waiting. Her nose was probably pink from the cold. The gravel walks winding around bare trees were wet with slush that seeped into her boots. But instead of Aunt Yates or the relentlessly correct Mr. Daviess, she was with Neil, who was less of a stickler than he’d led her to believe. It was a beautiful day for a walk.
Twenty-Six
4th March, 1832
Bath
Dear Samuel,
I found her. She’s well, though a little wan. We’ve been walking a few times and now she’s looking better. Didn’t take long before she was up to the old tricks. Wants you to speak to Mr. Barnes and tell him she’s recovered. You’ll hear from her soon—she wants all your notes. It’s a good thing you’re a man of independent means, because I foresee you spending a great deal on postage.
They think I’m a patient of her father’s, and—don’t laugh—a potential suitor. Seems they think the best way to save her from you is to match her up with somebody else. There’s a fellow here, Daviess, the aunt was favouring. I’m sure his politics are agreeable. I’ve kept quiet about mine, and apparently that’s good enough. I might never convince a young lady to give me her heart, but I can charm the old ones. It won’t be hard to stay close.
You will tell me, won’t you, if Mary writes you anything I should know? Nothing to violate her confidence, of course, but—
The ink on my pen went dry. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that I worry for her. She’s unhappy at home, which doesn’t seem at all the kind of place for someone with so large a heart. So please, if there is any trouble for her, let’s not keep secrets from one another.
If my father writes you, will you explain for me? I wrote saying why I couldn’t come to Edinburgh this Easter, and I think it’s given him all sorts of wrong ideas. He sent back a letter full of nothing but questions about Mary.
Your friend,
Neil
Twenty-Seven
Neil told himself not to be flattered. Mary would be happy to see anyone, and Samuel most of all. He was only in the guise of a messenger. Still, it was nice to see her smiling again. She’d looked too quiet and pale when he found her shadowed in the hotel’s potted palms. Yes, it exasperated him when she forged ahead, insisting on foolishness, but it was admirable too. She had spirit. If he admitted the truth, he wanted her to continue drawing. She seemed diminished without it, which pained him. The truth was, he wouldn’t mind at all if not for Samuel’s involvement. That was what made him uneasy.
Contrary to Neil’s expectations, Mary didn’t immediately badger him about re-establishing her position with Mr. Barnes on their next meeting. Once her aunt waved them off with cautions not to stay out if it got wet, Mary asked him about Turkey.
“I don’t suppose you’ve really been there.” She frowned doubtfully.
“Yes, I have. Why shouldn’t I?” asked Neil, offended.
“It doesn’t seem like you. You’re too sensible. Too much a Scot.”
“Hot-tempered like your father and parsimonious like your aunt? How very flattering.” The r’s rolled, his irritation nudging him back into his childhood brogue.
She lifted an eyebrow, apologizing even though he’d proved her at least partly right.
“I may demonstrate some of the virtues of our countrymen, but not all of them,” Neil admitted. “My father thought it the height of foolishness, but I wanted to see things. I went one year between terms while I was studying at l’Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées.”
She seemed as surprised by this as she’d been about Turkey. “I’d no idea you studied in France,” she said.
“The college is exceptional,” he said. “I was lucky to go. I assure you it doesn’t make me any less trustworthy.”
She laughed. “I didn’t expect it is all. I thought I knew what I had with you.”
“That should teach you something,” Neil said. “One, that you know less than you think. Two, that you shouldn’t be so certain you can keep yourself out of trouble—”
“I don’t think they allow trouble in Bath,” she said, her face falling.
“You’ve led a blameless existence here so far, but I’m not sure how long it will last. Another reason why I had to come and see.” He’d given her the opening, but she didn’t press him to courier her drawings to London. It was warmer today, but they’d already toured the gardens in their late-winter bleakness, so they were walking along soggy streets instead. If he was persuasive perhaps later this week her aunt would let him drive her into the country.
“Enough about Bath. I want to know about Turkey.”
Neil stuffed his hands in his pockets and settled into a longer stride. “It’s an incredible place. Hard to explain but I’ll try.” On a chilly day in the demure city of Bath, his memories of Turkey didn’t quite belong. It was hard to believe he’d walked in that city of fretted balconies and blue domes. “This way.” He turned her away from the Royal Crescent onto a smaller street where the wind wouldn’t gust so much. It snatched at her skirts one last time and Neil had to hold down his hat.
“It was hot there.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “I gathered that.”
In this wind it was just possible to miss Constantinople’s overpowering heat, slinking in sinuous waves from the walls and paving stones. “Our style of close-fitting clothes are quite impractical there,” Neil said. “Wearing a coat was exhausting.”
He was better at explaining the food: ices of melon and rose water that tasted like something straight from paradise. He’d eaten them whenever he could, with sweets made from nuts and honey. “You sit on the floor there,” he told her. “On carpets you’d swear were made for flying.” A puzzled frown crept over her forehead, and Neil hastily added, “I don’t suppose you’ve read The Arabian Nights.”
She shook her head and he recollected. Of course she hadn’t read anything so racy. Knowing she’d educated herself with Signor Bellini’s works was bad enough. He went back
to food. It seemed safer.
She laughed when he told her about coffee as thick as treacle, which he learned too late was to be strained through the teeth. When she asked him with a sideways glance about the harems, he didn’t blush. “I’m afraid they are closed to tourists.”
“Pity. They must be fantastical.”
“I went there to study the architecture,” Neil said righteously. “After travelling through Rome and Venice.”
“Where else have you been?” She looked aggrieved, as if it bothered her he’d been so many places while she had not.
“Paris. Edinburgh. The highlands, and now Bath. I’m most pleased with it.”
This last earned a grumble.
“You underrate it,” Neil told her. “There are excellent Roman ruins right here. One needn’t go to the Continent for them.” Had they given the girl no history?
Apparently not. The next day they ventured out to see the ruins. Mary listened with unflagging interest as Neil explained the various theories of their construction.
“I knew they were old, I just didn’t realize how old,” she said. “And I’d never considered the difficulties.”
“They had slaves. And their roads were better than many of ours for transporting material. That will change as we build more canals and railways.” He ought not to bore her, so he silenced himself instead of enthusing about the power of steam. He answered her questions about Samuel, trying not to gauge the degree of her curiosity, and helped her buy the latest newspapers with the money he’d withdrawn for her. She was smiling and talkative, but something was on her mind. She kept biting her bottom lip. Just days ago, he would have ignored this or tentatively probed, but they weren’t so shy of each other now. He asked flat out, and instead of evading, she told him.
“It’s quite possible Samuel and Mr. Barnes may not want my work anymore. If that’s the case, would you tell me?”
Ah. That’s why she wasn’t pestering him to send her drawings express. “Samuel feels terrible you’ve gotten in such trouble,” Neil said. “And I have to admit, so do I. I probably shouldn’t have lied to your aunt.”