Chapter Four
Letter No. 6
Saturday, 19th May
My dear Julia,
Yesterday, worn down by the persistent recommendations of my kindly allies, I at last agreed to give myself over into the hands of the bathing attendants. Let me say at once, that I have nothing against the baths themselves. If I had come upon them in the midst of a discreet copse somewhere, at either Hellwick or Merriweather, I would, like Bladud and his leprous swine, think them a most desirable addition to the property, and would not hesitate to repair to them with regularity; no, it is not the baths, but their accoutrements—the ungainly dress, the awkwardness of ascending and descending, even with assistance—and the attendants themselves, who despite their solemn countenances, must surely be forced to retire hastily on occasion, in order not to break forth into unseemly gusts of mirth at the spectacle presented by some of their floundering charges.
When I eventually emerged, and was once more clothed and in my right mind, I decided that I would have had to sustain far greater evidences of the bath’s benefits—on the order of the healing of the Paralytic at the Pool of Bethesda—before I would again consent to subject myself to an indignity of that magnitude.
Consequently, when next the beneficial properties of the baths were urged upon my by some of my allies, I made haste to turn the conversation, by asking if any of them knew the identity of the pretty dark-haired young lady, who had just entered the room in company with two older females, the shorter of whom wore a turban that even your intrepid Great-Aunt Thomasin would have hesitated to place upon her head. By the time all eyes and quizzing glasses had discovered the trio in question (a thing easily accomplished, once I mentioned the astonishing headpiece), my putative immersions had been entirely forgotten, as they hastened to tell me all they knew about the brunet and her two companions. It was not very much—nor very interesting. The turban-wearer was a well-known figure in the public rooms, a Mrs. Smithton, twice-widowed, suspected of possessing considerable wealth—a suspicion which could not, however, be proved either by the appearance of her household, or the frequency with which she complained about the price of the various subscriptions. She was devoted to card games of every description, though (according to Mrs. Farris, who would know) she seemed to derive no satisfaction from the pastime, as her manner when thus engaged was singularly grim and resolute, and her games frequently ended in quarrels and insults, if her fellow-players won too often against her. Of her companions, a Mrs. Barr and her daughter, less was known, for they had begun to accompany Mrs. Smithton to the Rooms but a few weeks before, and she had only vouchsafed the information that they were “distant relatives, left on my hands.” Mrs. Barr’s sober dress and situation hinted at widowhood, but beyond this deduction little intelligence had been gleaned, for she was almost always to be found seated with her benefactress at a card table, and spoke of little save tricks and trumps; while the only thing known of Miss Barr, was that she was fond of reading, as she did nothing but sit in corners, with a small volume in her hand which at times resembled a prayer book. This circumstance, combined with the fact that her dresses were observed to be unnaturally free of superfluous embellishment, for a time brought about a rumor that the Barr ladies were Methodists; until more sensible voices pointed out that a mother so concerned with the purity of her daughter’s conscience as to forbid the use of colored ribbons, was unlikely to spend her own days playing cards.
I do not know why I waste my ink upon names, for I am sure all this engages your attention even less than it did my own, and I had at least the advantage of looking at color plates of the characters, as it were—and of having chosen to learn about them in the first place, for the simple reason that I had noticed them on a previous occasion, and had at that time decided that the daughter was the handsomest young lady I had yet seen in Bath. I had likewise, you may be sure, selected the most good-looking gentleman, but he was not present at the time when I most required a distraction for my allies, and in any event I would not have been foolish enough to indicate to them that I had even the slightest hint of interest in a specific young man, even if it was only a very mild and indifferent sort of appreciation, which is the only kind that is left to anyone who has grown up in the vicinity of your brother’s face. And the countenance of the gentleman in question made no pretense of rivaling Clive, being merely a good English face, symmetrical enough to be pleasing, and the features bold enough to be considered good-looking on a man, while gaining for a woman such compliments as ‘….but very sweet-natured, poor thing.’
As you can see, though I may be banished here, with nothing to do but be an idle, poke-nosed busy-body, I intend to be the very best busy-body I can be.
Yours, uncured and probably incorrigible, Ann
PS. Pray be sure and repeat to Clive what I said about the inferior appearance of the gentlemen to be found here, in contrast to himself, as I know he will be outraged by such a favorable allusion to his appearance. It is one of the additional sorrows of my exile, the knowledge that your brother is being forced to spend so many weeks without someone present to tease him properly. I know that on occasion you try, but you are hampered by the fact that you are unsuited by temperament to find him as irritating as I do; and of course Kitty is absolutely hopeless, as I have never seen her display anything but utter adoration for either one of you. If Clive is not completely spoilt and unmanageable by the time I return, I shall confess myself very surprised.
Letters from Bath; Or, A Friend in Exile Page 4