Holiday in Bath

by Laura Matthews

  Having worked herself up to a denunciation of his aspersions, Trelenny felt severely deflated by this amendment to his previous statement. Somehow he had managed to tarnish a little of Mr. Rowle’s magic, and she felt rather annoyed with Cranford for his reasonableness. “Do you know, you spoil everything, Cranford?” she complained as they approached Queen Square.

  He shook his head ruefully. “I had no idea, my dear.”

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  After carefully rereading every word of her husband’s letters, Mrs. Storwood had a good cry and felt the better for it. She was not a woman whose face became puffy or whose eyes reddened unbecomingly, so she had no hesitation in descend­ing to the front parlor to write a voluminous letter to Mr. Storwood, in which she tried to explain her reasons for dissembling, attempted to minimize the annoyance of Cousin Filkins, and praised their daughter’s readiness to leave for Sutton Hall on the next mail coach. “You must know that I am severely tempted to do exactly that, my love, but for your forbidding it and for Trelenny’s sake, of course. We owe her this opportunity, I think, to see that her happiness does not depend on where she is, or on anything, really, but her own determination to lead a wholesome, fulfilling life. She does not appear to get along any better with Cranford, I fear, though they have a better understanding, one of the other, since they have spent so much time together. I am determined that I will get her out more in Westmorland when we return so that she doesn’t feel imprisoned. Trelenny suggested I write for your permission to return now but, if you will bear with us, I think we should stay for our three weeks—and not a moment longer! I cannot tell you how much I miss you, dear James.”

  Pursuing that line of thought was too upsetting at the moment, and she turned to a description of their situation and their activities since they had arrived. As she dipped the quill, a footman arrived to inform her that Mr. Wheldrake had called and begged a moment of her time. She knew a slight hesitation, thinking irrationally that she had no chaper­one, a woman of eight and thirty, she scolded herself. “Yes, you may show him in.”

  In his morning dress Frederick Wheldrake looked no less distinguished than he had the previous evening. “Forgive me for calling so early, Maria, but I have always entertained the suspicion that you were an early riser, and I see I am not mistaken.”

  “We’ve already been to the Pump Room and back this age,” she admitted as he took possession of her hand and held it for a long moment. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Am I interrupting you?” he asked with a glance at the pages scattered on the escritoire.

  “I was writing my husband. Before I finish I will want Trelenny to add a line, so there is no hurry.”

  “Is she out?”

  “Yes, she and Cranford have gone to Lady Jane Reedness’ for a lesson in waltzing. Trelenny doesn’t know how.”

  “Then I presume her mother doesn’t either.”

  Mrs. Storwood seated herself before she answered. “No. Shap is a very remote town, without an assembly to its name, and with very few gatherings of any description. We’ve never even seen it danced.”

  His regard was teasing. “Oh, it will shock you, my dear lady, and you will wonder whatever is becoming of the younger generation. Boys embracing girls on the dance floor! Who would credit it!” He smiled and withdrew an enameled snuffbox from his coat pocket, deftly flicking it open to retrieve a pinch. “It’s a very graceful dance, you know, with none of the posturing so agreeable to our aging dandies. Granted, there is more physical contact than heretofore, but somehow I don’t think it will lead to a breakdown of society’s moral standards.”

  “Of course not.” She smiled at his mockery. “I suppose I do worry about such things, Mr. Wheldrake; it’s having a daughter, I guess, and one who has not been raised in society. We live very retired.”

  “With her mama’s example she can hardly go wrong.”

  “Her temperament is very unlike mine. There is no caution or timidity to restrain her exuberant spirits, but she is an obliging girl.”

  “Would you give me permission to keep an eye on her? I assume Mr. Ashwicke does, but it could do no harm to have two men checking her liveliness when necessary.”

  “You are kind to offer, Mr. Wheldrake, and I confess I would be grateful, but Trelenny is no more likely to accept your authority than Cranford's. Perhaps you would let me know if you perceive any problem.”

  “With pleasure.” He replaced the snuffbox and withdrew an ivory fan, smiling as he did so. “I could have returned this last night, of course, but it provided me with an excuse to call this morning, and I felt sure you wouldn’t lay a complaint against me.”

  “I had completely forgotten it,” Mrs. Storwood admit­ted, grasping it firmly so she would not once again allow it to slide to the floor.

  “How disappointing, when I treasured it so for the brief period it was in my possession.”

  She was unable to meet his eyes, half mocking, half serious as they were. Memories of her youth flooded in, taking hold of her mind for an unconscious minute. There had been several suitors for her hand, and she had begun to consider the place Frederick Wheldrake held in her affections when she met James Storwood. Unlike his rival, he aspired to no social position, viewed the London scene with indifference, and was, in addition, a rather serious, studious young man. But her heart was captured by his gentleness and integrity, by his goodness and intelligence. She cherished the very absent­mindedness which made him forget social engagements, the disinterest which led to his being jokingly voted the worst-dressed member of Brooks. Her parents, she recalled with a tender smile, had thought her deranged to have settled on such a strange fellow, but they had not objected. His breed­ing, his fortune, even his person, could not be faulted. And Maria Storwood, for all her retirement from society, for all the problems that her husband’s weak heart entailed, had never once regretted her decision.

  Her preoccupation afforded Mr. Wheldrake an opportu­nity to study her unobserved. The shining serenity which had always so greatly enhanced her beauty was still present, though he had sensed she was upset when he arrived. He suspected that her daughter was the cause of her distress; concern for that damsel was frequently on her lips. His own memories he forced back in his determination to see that her special calm was restored. “May I escort you and your daughter to the Upper Rooms this evening?”

  Startled from her reverie, she regarded him blankly for a moment. “Why, I suppose we should plan to go. Trelenny will wish to attend an assembly, but I have not spoken with Cranford.”

  “Allow me to make the arrangements, then Mr. Ash­wicke may accompany us or not as he pleases.”

  Mrs. Storwood, realizing that she and her daughter had absorbed a great deal of Cranford’s time in the last week, agreed. “Provided,” she said seriously, “that you will not expect me to dance. It is too many years since I took any part in such youthful pastime, and I would only make a figure of myself.”

  “Bath is full of gouty old gentlemen and decrepit old biddies who step out eagerly with all the rest to point a toe. But I will not press you. I only beg that you will not reject the possibility out of hand, my dear Maria. None was ever so graceful as you on the ballroom floor.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Her daughter, at that very moment, was attempting to follow Cranford’s lead as Lady Jane played for them, but the waltz, so different from the dances she had previously learned, was incomprehensible to her, and Cranford’s hand at her waist was disturbing. Lady Jane paused for a moment when Cranford exasperatedly said, “You are paying no attention to the music, Trelenny."

  Although it seemed unlikely, a thought occurred to Lady Jane. “Have you never seen the waltz danced, Miss Stor­wood?”

  Trelenny bit her lip. “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, Cranford, how can you expect her to understand if she doesn’t know what she is about?” Lady Jane asked with laugh. “We will show you, my dear. Come, you shall play for us.”

  “I don
’t play at all well,” Trelenny admitted softly.

  “No matter. I can hum.” She rose from the pianoforte bench and smiled at Cranford. “It’s a pity we can’t show Miss Storwood how wretched we were in those early days. Do you know, I remember your tripping me twice in one morning so that I not only landed on the floor but had to have my dress rehemmed.”

  “You’re thinking of someone else,” he protested, his eyes twinkling, as he encircled her with his arm. “I’m sure I don’t recall ever doing such an ungracious thing as tripping a lovely lady.”

  She broke the rhythm of her humming to say, “You did though. I wrote it in my journal, and had a bruise on my hip for a week to remember you by. And Mr. Bodford was no better with Nancy; she had a sprained ankle for close on a month.”

  Forgotten, Trelenny stood beside the pianoforte and watched the couple whirl about the floor, gracefully gliding to Lady Jane’s faint hum. They made a handsome pair, the lady’s height dwindling beside her even taller partner, her lively eyes and quick smile bringing forth an answering response from him. Cranford is very attractive when he’s enjoying himself, Trelenny thought mournfully as she toyed with the ribbon on her dress, untying the bow with her unthinking fingers.

  When they stopped before her, Lady Jane lifted a quizzi­cal brow. “Does that help you get a feeling for the waltz, Miss Storwood?”

  “Yes, thank you. I did not realize one moved about so. Don’t you bump into other couples?”

  “Only if your partner is careless.” Lady Jane reseated herself on the bench. “You won’t have that difficulty with Cranford.”

  Trelenny had given him her hand in preparation for another attempt at the dance, but he noticed the untied ribbon and, with deft fingers, he secured it in a bow, making her feel a child before the friendly eyes of Lady Jane. “You could have called it to my attention,” she informed him in a fierce whisper. “I’m not a child in need of being—” Her face suffused with a painful flush and she turned from him.

  “Lady Jane is waiting,” he told her back in a neutral tone.

  It required every ounce of her resolve to face him and allow him to take her in his arms. She kept her gaze riveted on the top button of his coat and stiffly moved about as he dictated, oblivious to the strains of the pianoforte, but all too aware of his contact. Under cover of the music he murmured, “Remember our agreement, Trelenny. The incident is forgot­ten. Relax. Listen to the music. Has your imagination desert­ed you? Can you not picture yourself at Almack’s dancing with someone entirely different? Lady Jersey has introduced you to one of the lesser princes of Bavaria, a madly wicked fellow with a romantic scar and a dazzling smile. You are the envy of all the other ladies as he guides you about the floor, telling you he wrote the music for you alone.”

  Despite her amusement, Trelenny grumbled, “That’s not the sort of thing I imagine.”

  “Isn’t it?” He could feel the tension desert her and grinned when she stole a peek at him. “Well, perhaps you are sailing to Greece and the captain, a dashing, daredevil sort, points out that the night is balmy and the decks of his ship quite suitable as a dance floor. He calls to a sailor, who, as it happens, is accomplished on the fiddle, and under the black skies with their glittering silver stars you float together, waltzing as though there were no tomorrow, as though the pirate ship in the distance had not the least intention of attacking within the hour.”

  “You should write romances instead of antiquarian tracts, Cranford.”

  “Certainly they’d have a larger audience.” He laughed.

  Lady Jane concluded the piece and smiled at Trelenny. “You are astonishingly quick to learn, Miss Storwood. I think you have nothing to fear at any dance, but I will be happy to play another song if you wish.”

  “Thank you, no. You are kindness itself to devote so much of your time to my instruction, Lady Jane. I think we should not stay longer.”

  “Would you mind my showing Cranford a Roman wine cup my father has acquired? I think it would be of interest to him.”

  “Of course it will,” Trelenny agreed, careful to keep the amusement out of her voice.

  “I won’t be a moment,” Lady Jane promised.

  Left alone with Cranford, Trelenny absently picked out the tune her hostess had just played. She did not refer to the music but hummed as she worked her way through it, her brow contracting in concentration.

  “It’s easier to read the music,” he suggested helpfully.

  “Not for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because all those little dots are confusing, with their wispy tails and strange lines. I can play a song if I hear it, not if I see it, and I think that is perfectly logical.”

  “Expedient, perhaps, for you. The truth of the matter is that you haven’t the patience to learn to do it right.”

  Trelenny brought her hands down on the keyboard in a discordant thump just as Lady Jane reentered. Their hostess chuckled as she handed the wine cup to Cranford. “If that is a sample of your skill, Miss Storwood, I must admit that you don’t play at all well. Have you no interest in learn­ing?”

  “None,” Trelenny said with a defiant glare at Cranford.

  Her annoyance was lost on him, unfortunately, since he was studying the cup with a connoisseur’s appreciation. “I’ve rarely seen one in such perfect condition, Lady Jane. Augus­tan, I would judge, though the design is slightly unusual.”

  The conversation which ensued was infinitely boring to Trelenny, though obviously far from it for the two partici­pants. They shared an enthusiasm which she found unnerv­ing, and she dared not even ask the simple questions the sight of the ancient object inspired in her—such as how did they know it was a wine cup at all? There was a vase at Sutton Hall remarkably like it in shape, in which she frequently arranged calceolaria with scarlet geraniums and blue lobelias from the ribbon borders. Trelenny gave no hint of her restlessness but politely appeared to attend to the two of them while she secretly planned a little joke on Cranford.

  When Trelenny had once again expressed her thanks to Lady Jane and they were walking toward Milsom Street, she said, “You have read Emma, then?”

  “No.” His brow quirked in perplexity. “Why should you think I had?”

  “The stories you told while we were dancing. Isn’t there a wicked Bavarian prince in the book? And doesn’t the her­oine journey to Greece on a ship with a daredevil captain?”

  “I have no idea, Trelenny. I tell you I haven’t read it.”

  She drew her arm from his and frowned. “You are very wrong not to confess your mistake, Cranford. Certainly there is nothing amiss in weaving a fantasy from someone else’s tale (I would be the first to admit that, you know) but to persist in denying your knowledge is, I fear, reprehensible.”

  “Don’t be absurd, child. If I had read it, I would say so.”

  Trelenny sighed unhappily. “Mama will be so very dis­appointed when I tell her.”

  “When you tell her what?” Cranford demanded, mostly exasperated but ever so slightly alarmed.

  “Well, you see, Cranford, she thinks of you as a virtuous person and I feel it would be wrong for me to conceal this fallacy in you. Lying about little things has a way of getting out of hand. The clergyman at Shap has made that the subject of his sermons ever so many times. Do you think his wife lies to him?”

  “No, I don’t! And that has no bearing on what we were discussing. I have not told you a lie, Trelenny, and I cannot imagine how you have discerned my lack of veracity on a subject you know nothing about. You haven’t read the book.”

  “No,” she said sadly, her dejected eyes lowered to her hands. “And I think perhaps I shouldn’t. There are few things more disheartening than finding that someone you respected would deliberately tell you an untruth.”

  “You most certainly will read the book,” Cranford retorted hotly, all the while resisting a strong urge to shake her. “If there are Bavarian princes and daredevil captains sailing to Greece I will be monstrousl
y surprised.”

  “No, I couldn’t bear to be so disillusioned about you, Cranford.” Her face set stubbornly. “No matter what anyone says, I will be able to champion your truthfulness if I do not read the book. Don’t you see? If I do not confirm the fact myself, I am quite at liberty to deny any allegations of your dishonesty. Yes, that will be much the best thing to do. We needn’t stop at the circulating library, after all.” Trelenny abruptly turned on her heel and headed back down the street, but she had not gotten more than a few feet when she felt Cranford’s hands on her shoulders.

  Much to the amusement of several passers-by, he swung her about to face him, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “You will march yourself directly into the library and get that book, my girl. Enough of your foolishness. If I ever hear you call me dishonest again, I’ll…”

  “Beat me?” she asked sweetly.

  “I’ll abandon you to your wretched fate. Nothing I could do to you would be more ghastly than you are determined to do to yourself. What well-bred young lady would wander about a town dressed as a man in the dead of night? You put me out of all patience, Trelenny.”

  “Of course I do, and you are determined to throw all my past indiscretions in my face to obscure the issue. For shame, Cranford. You are to see me home this very moment.” She tapped an indignant foot while he struggled for composure. Let him see how it felt to be upbraided for the smallest thing; it would do him the world of good. He might, it was true, find out that Emma was a very domestic novel which took place almost entirely in one small English village but then, she had never claimed to have read it (since she hadn’t) but only to have heard it spoken of in the Pump Room (which she had). She had not precisely said that there were princes and captains in it, either. “Well?”

  After one last, longing look at Duffield’s, Cranford shrugged helplessly. “I’ll take you home now.” They were the last words he spoke until he bid her farewell at the Wapling­tons’ house in Henrietta Street.