by Tracy Rees
I am lost in disbelief. ‘Henry, where were you?’
‘Just up the street, just about there,’ he points.
‘You should have called out! Or why didn’t you call at the house when I went in?’
‘I lost my nerve and that’s the truth of it. I’m sorry. You keep running off, you know, in London and then again last week, and I know you have a great deal to think about other than me. But you went to Lord Littleton’s ball that night; you move in the finest circles. That man you were talking to looked as though he belongs in them. And so did you. I thought maybe our friendship was something bigger for me than it must be for you.’
I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. ‘My dear Henry, if you only knew! It isn’t like that at all! Our friendship is precious to me and I was so happy to see you again in Bath. I wasn’t staring after Mr Garland that day, I was staring after the horses! I love horses, Henry. I was smiling that day because the horses were so beautiful! Mr Garland is a friend of my hostess and I know him a little from Twickenham, too. And we weren’t alone! Mrs Riverthorpe was already in the carriage. Oh, Henry, you are a bit of an idiot, aren’t you?’
I begin to grin myself. It feels so good to speak so frankly to him, and to realize that I am important to him. He was jealous, I smile to myself. Now he is beaming too, and at last it is the smile I have remembered – the smile that makes everything in the world feel right. For a long while we stand there and it feels as though there is much he would like to say, were we not on a street. I can feel the tension – a delicious sort of tension – fizzing up inside me and making me want to giggle.
I think Henry feels it too, for he turns his attention to the imposing façade of Hades House with an amused expression. ‘Lord, Amy!’
‘That is just what the coachman who brought me here said.’
‘Observant fellow. What a place! No wonder you were looking a little down in spirits when I ran into you on the bridge that day. Who is your hostess? A phantom in a long white dress? A winged night-creature intent on sucking your blood? I hope ’tis not the latter – as an almost-doctor I would not recommend the practice.’
‘Henry, you’re ridiculous,’ I laugh. ‘She is neither, although I believe, if you met her, you would find her equally improbable. Mrs Riverthorpe is above eighty years old and she cares for public opinion not at all, yet she knows everybody and is out every night – and most days as well. I cannot work her out. You will meet her, I hope.’ And we fall quiet again.
‘So, if I were to call on you again soon, you would be happy to see me?’ he asks, suddenly a little shy and formal.
I roll my eyes. ‘If you actually come, it would be delightful.’
He nods. ‘Touché! Thank you, Amy, I’ll come. Now I suppose I mustn’t detain you on the pavement any longer. My friends the Longacres are in the carriage there. We are just on our way to watch the sunset from Beachen Cliff. I don’t suppose you’d join us? It promises a beautiful spectacle.’
I realize suddenly that apart from my lonely city walks I have been contained within parlours and ballrooms and dining rooms for days on end now. The passing of spring has been reduced for me to the inching of days towards Aurelia’s next letter. I have lost all sense of the year turning.
‘I should love to, Henry, you cannot imagine how much, but I am detained in a card party. Mrs Riverthorpe has guests; I cannot run out on her.’
‘No matter, foolishly sudden invitation. Come and say hello quickly, if you’d like, and then I’ll let you get back.’
I cross the street and meet the Longacres, Gus and Ellen. They are a cordial couple a few years older than Henry, who greet me warmly and invite me to dinner the following evening. There will be dancing, they promise; oh, just a few close friends are to attend, but there will be dancing nonetheless!
I accept gladly, shake hands with everyone and run back into the shadows of Hades House.
Chapter Fifty-Two
There I bump – quite literally – into Mr Garland, who is standing in the hall. I disentangle myself and lay my hands on my burning cheeks. For some reason I feel caught out – and irritated. This I disguise with copious apologies, even though I could not reasonably have expected to find a gentleman just behind the doorway.
‘Please do not excuse yourself, Miss Snow, I was quite in your way. Mrs Riverthorpe sent me to see if all was well with you.’
‘Oh! Mr Garland, that was good of you. All is quite well, thank you. Merely an old friend passing by. Shall we return to the cards?’
‘Indeed, I look forward to hearing further of Mr Gladsby’s enlightened views!’ He winks, then places a hand on my arm. ‘Although . . . stay, Miss Snow, as we are alone for a moment perhaps I might briefly detain you? I have been wishing to speak to you privately for some days now and it is not easy when Mrs Riverthorpe does not like to be excluded from anything at all.’
I laugh; this is certainly true. I feel a little flustered that so attractive a gentleman should wish to speak to me alone, and only a moment after seeing Henry. He draws me into an alcove behind a column.
‘I had rather hoped for a softer surrounding,’ he murmurs. ‘No matter. Miss Snow, I must go to London on business tomorrow. Oh, only for three or four days, but I wanted to speak to you before I go. I am sure it can come as no surprise to you to learn that I admire you greatly.’
I look up at him in astonishment. He is wrong! I have come to accept that he had a certain interest in me, yes, but . . . he admires me greatly? Why? He looks down at me tenderly.
‘Fear not, Miss Snow, this is not a proposal. I am aware that we have not known each other for very long. I am a realistic man, not some impetuous youngster, and I believe that a true connection cannot be formed overnight. I hope that ours will extend and deepen . . . However, I wished to . . . to prepare you, I suppose.’ He laughs gently. ‘In case you should wish to silence me on the matter now and for ever! I should not wish to cause you any discomfort. But if you are content that we continue to grow acquainted, knowing that my feelings towards you include also admiration of a more personal nature, well, that would please me greatly.’
His solemnity is overwhelming. I become very aware of the grey stone columns standing around us like witnesses. Together with the vaulted ceiling and the long stone hallway, they start to make me feel I am in church. He takes my hand gently in one of his own and lays his other on top. I must be a little numb from surprise; I can hardly feel it. Suddenly, unbidden, comes a flash of memory. Our early encounters: Mr Garland always polite, always solicitous, ever beyond reproach . . . and me, disconcerted, wrong-footed, wanting to run away. Have I ever been truly comfortable with this man?
‘Mr Garland . . . I . . . I hardly know what to say,’ I stutter.
Despite all his attentions, it seems so improbable. I cannot imagine what someone like Mr Garland could find to admire in a patchwork sort of person such as myself. Yet Mr Garland himself is looking down at me with the feelings he spoke of evident in his eyes. I decide to be as truthful as possible.
‘Mr Garland, I am so very flattered, and surprised, I confess. You pay me a great compliment and I thank you. You have been a good friend to me throughout my time here and you stand highly in my estimation, very highly indeed.’ That is all true. I breathe more easily.
‘I am happy to hear it, Miss Snow. Am I then to hope that you might look on me with favour as a suitor – in the future, if not immediately?’
‘Any young woman would be glad to receive your attentions, Mr Garland.’
‘But you, Amy, would you be glad?’
Would I? I can hardly tell. It is true that I have a very deep admiration for him. But could that translate into admiration of a more intimate nature? He is extremely beautiful. Sometimes I feel I could drown just from looking at him. But I feel there must be more to a match than looking at a person.
And then there is Henry.
The leap of joy I feel whenever I see Henr
y feels more immediate and uncomplicated than the gradually built rapport I have with Mr Garland. But . . . now that Henry is not before me, melting my heart with those dark eyes and reassuring me with those beautiful smiles, I remember the loneliness and confusion of this past week. He hurt me. I watched him as he debated whether to call on me, then chose to walk away. And Mr Garland was there, attentive, reliable, every day. He helped me through a difficult time, even if he was unaware of it. I accept Henry’s explanation and apology; I know he is sincere. But what if he is to disappear every time he doubts my regard for him and I am to be discarded, again? It is always the most painful thing for me.
I am aware that time is passing. Mr Garland is waiting for my answer, and Mrs Riverthorpe and her motley band of card-playing eccentrics are awaiting our return. There does not seem to be the time to think it all through and I feel something like one of Mrs Riverthorpe’s mysterious moths – pinned in place in a glass case. He said this is not a proposal. He is not asking for a yes or no, not now.
‘I believe . . . perhaps . . . I might be, sir.’ I blush, hearing my own inadequacy. ‘That is to say, I had not thought of it before, and you do me too great an honour. But I enjoy your company better than anyone else’s in Bath and I admire your courtesy and intelligence very much . . .’ I am aware that I am thinking aloud, so I fall silent.
‘That is very good to hear, Miss Snow. Perhaps we should return to the others so as not to provoke speculation, but I look forward to resuming our friendship when I return from London.’
‘Yes . . . but, Mr Garland, there is something else. I . . . I would not wish to give you false hope and I am not my own mistress at present. It is too long and convoluted to explain, but there are circumstances in my life that mean . . . I may be leaving Bath quite soon and I do not know where I may be sent. It must sound very strange –’
He bows over my hand and kisses it.
‘Miss Snow, I am of course aware that there is a certain . . . difficulty in your circumstances. I know that you have been travelling alone and that your fortunes appear to change quite often. And of course I understand that your background places you in a somewhat ambiguous position. I beg to assure you that none of this in any way affects my regard for you. Please do not feel that you owe me anything in the way of explanation. The time will come for that. Shall we?’
He offers me a pale-blue sleeve and we return to the drawing room. My feelings are a muddle and I am relieved that I will not see him again for several days. I am a little resentful that this sudden event has occurred to preoccupy me so swiftly after Henry’s reappearance. Uppermost, I am heartily glad that neither man has asked me to explain anything.
Then, of course, there is the uneasy pleasure that this gentleman, whom I once gazed upon with wonder as a remote stranger, has asked me to accept him as a suitor. And I can’t quite remember what I said in response.
Chapter Fifty-Three
After the guests depart, I am surprised that Mrs Riverthorpe asks me nothing about my absence from the party. If she was concerned enough to send Mr Garland after me, I imagined she might be curious.
The following morning I go out. The Longacres are to send their carriage for me at five and I do not know how else to pass the time. It is well that I do, for Henry is loitering under a plane tree outside.
‘Amy!’ he cries, drinking me in with delight.
I am wearing a pale-blue and white striped dress with large panels cupping the sleeves and a simple scooped neckline. The day is fine and I have dispensed with a cloak. I have dispensed, too, with all thoughts of Mr Garland. I need not deal with him for at least three days and doubtless my mind can undergo any number of revolutions in that time if I am not firm with myself.
‘Good morning, Henry!’ The sight of him coaxes the broadest of smiles from me, every time. It is like seeing a dog launch itself into a river; you cannot help but feel joyful. ‘What are you doing here? Oh! Is the dance cancelled?’
‘What a pessimist you are! Of course not. I merely wanted to spend time with you before tonight. We have wasted enough of it over the last few days. But in my eagerness to make up for lost time I had not thought that perhaps it was too early to pay a call. Thus you find me lurking in the shadows as though I am planning a burglary.’
‘I am very happy to see you.’
‘You are going out. Is this a bad time?’
‘Only for a walk. It is a perfect time.’
He offers me his arm and we walk in silence. My head, which was a whirl of excitement and confusion last night, between Henry’s reappearance and Mr Garland’s declaration, is clearer now. Mr Garland is a tempting proposition as a suitor, of course he is; any young lady would say so. But I know in my heart that it is Henry for whom I have the warmest feelings, I have done so from the start. I promise myself then and there that I will not – indeed, I do not want to – encourage Mr Garland further. I shall have to speak to him when he returns from London, though I dread the prospect. But first I need to have some proper understanding of how things lie with Henry. And then, of course, there is my quest . . .
We walk to the Crescent Fields and sit beneath a chestnut tree beginning to bud with pale-pink candles. He spreads out his jacket to save my dress from grass stains and offers me his hand to steady me while I sit. Then he sits next to me, the breeze ruffling his hair.
‘It’s good to see you, Amy,’ he says quietly. ‘I did not act like a true friend to you this week and I want to apologize again. I wouldn’t have worried you for the world, you know. I felt unworthy to call on you and you ended up thinking I’d forgotten you.’
I look across the fields. Early slants of sunshine light the grass and show cobwebs beaded with dew. It is early, and the green expanse is mostly empty, but a handful of families here and there are walking, or playing cricket. The chestnut tree rustles above us and I think of Eel Pie Island and Constance and Edwin’s willow.
‘I saw you on Wednesday, Henry. Oh, I’d been walking all over Bath hoping I’d see you, but the only time I did I was in my room, looking out of the window. I saw you walking down the street and I was so happy, but then you stopped just short of Hades House, you turned around and walked away.’
He grimaces. ‘That was not a proud moment. After seeing you with Mr . . . Garland, was it? . . . I’d convinced myself you weren’t really interested in pursuing a friendship with me but still a part of me hoped. I hoped we might bump into each other again and I could gauge whether you seemed pleased to see me without taking the risk of presenting myself at your door and making my interest clear. Then I decided that was a coward’s way, so on Wednesday I came back, but lost my nerve, as you saw. Anyway, I’m so glad I persevered . . . except that I seem to be very muddled in all I am saying to you, and I should like to be clear!’
He sits up straight and takes a deep breath. ‘Amy, in case you should be in any doubt . . . I would like to be more than a friend to you, but I feel just now I cannot, because I have nothing to offer, nor even any prospect of it until I choose my career and get stuck in. And besides, we’ve only met twice before so it seems more than a little hasty. I shouldn’t have said anything really. But now that I’ve made a mess of things by not calling on you, I have to tell you, don’t I, to explain?’
An early bumblebee buzzes past us like a floating powder puff. I can feel the sun on my face, and Henry likes me. I cannot stop smiling.
‘You did. And I have said more than sense would dictate too,’ I respond. ‘I . . . I did think of you often, you know, after meeting you in London. When you appeared here, I was so happy and then I thought you did not care for me after all. I know we are only strangers. Only you don’t feel like a stranger.’
‘Nor you to me. At least now we can continue getting to know each other and catch up with ourselves. Already you have learned that I have my faults, like any man, and pride, of course, is one of them.’ He looks troubled. ‘I had not thought, though, that pride would make a coward of me. I shall try not to let it ha
ppen again. This is a hard time for me, you know, Amy. Turning away from medicine, now this. I always thought myself a rather splendid fellow but now I’m learning that being a man is not always easy. You see? I shouldn’t be telling you that! I should be hiding behind platitudes and trying to convince you that I’m perfect.’
‘I shouldn’t believe you, Henry, not for a moment. But I think you will do a marvellous job of it, being a man, I mean. You are young still, as am I.’
He turns away from me again, smiles at the view. ‘Thank you, Amy.’
For a while we sit and watch a black and white dog sport with an immensely fat boy of about seven. When the boy trips and lands on the dog, we both wince. But they untangle themselves uninjured and continue their game, good-natured fellows both.
Henry entrusting me with his confidences is like the sun dispelling shadows. I am so tired of keeping secrets and being guarded. I feel closer to Henry than ever now but I am aware that we may not have much time. I may have to leave Bath in just over a week. I cannot be fully open with him, of course, but I feel a strong desire to tell him what I can, perhaps more, even, than I should. I am reluctant to break the easy silence between us, but at last I do.
‘It is not only you who is in transition at the moment, Henry,’ I say quietly, stealing a glance at his handsome profile. His lips are curved and very beautiful.
He nods, still staring over the fields, but I can tell he is listening. I untie my bonnet and lay it beside me on the grass, for I want to be able to see Henry clearly.
‘The whole mystery pertains to Aurelia, the dear friend whom I lost in January.’
I can tell that he is longing to know. ‘The young lady my grandfather knew. You grew up with her, I think?’
‘That’s right. The bond is greater even than you might imagine, Henry, for I owe her my very life. When I was a newborn, she . . . she found me in the snow.’