For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel (4 page)

6

Arrival at Bath

Our journey was accomplished without incident if not without inconvenience, and at length we arrived at Bath. The unrelenting rain, for which the place is well known, did little to dampen my enthusiasm and nothing to stem my insatiable curiosity. I would happily have craned my head out the carriage window had I been allowed to do so. As it was, I had to be satisfied with the more restricted – but far more proper – view from within as we wound down out of the surrounding hills and into the town.

My first sight of Bath’s fine and striking environs delighted me. The scene was a far cry from the country verdure to which I was accustomed. Still, the place had an undeniable beauty about it all the same – a beauty born of human rather than of natural composition. Everywhere I looked, there was some new sight to be admired: honey-colored stone townhouses strung together in long rows and curves; a variety of classically designed public buildings; and the occasional park or monument. The Abbey easily qualified as the most impressive edifice of all.

Approaching from the south, we crossed the River Avon twice – once as we came into town and again as we turned toward our lodgings in Great Pultney Street. Papa had taken a comfortable house for us there, and, when we were settled, I was irresistibly drawn to the windows overlooking that broadest of Bath avenues. A steady stream of people and commerce flowed in front of me, giving even this stationary viewpoint more animation than I would find at home. There, the only passersby I could reasonably expect were the occasional tenant farmer or stray goose.

When the rain left off that first evening, I received permission for a brief excursion to Sidney Gardens, the western boundary of which reached to within a dozen houses of our own. I passionately longed to further explore my new surroundings, but I contained my excitement out of respect for my father, lest he begin to suspect that his health was not of primary importance to me after all. Visits to the various assembly halls and even the famous Pump-room had to be put off for the time being. A call by Dr. Oliver, the physician to whom Mr. Trask had referred my father, was sought as the highest priority instead.

Despite a torrential downpour, the doctor came promptly the next day to examine his new patient, prescribing a series of treatments according to his findings. He gave a favorable prognosis, provided his instructions for taking the waters and moderating the diet were faithfully followed. Hence, the first of Papa’s many visits to the Pump-room, to drink and bathe in the healing waters, was scheduled for the next morning.

Like a petulant child faced with the unhappy prospect of taking bitter medicine, the invalid once again voiced his dissatisfaction with a scheme so little to his taste.

In response, Mama informed him, “I will listen to no more of your grumbling, Mr. Walker. We have both promised Dr. Oliver that his orders shall be obeyed, and so they shall be. It is of no use to complain.” She paused, but no further remonstration issued from her husband. “Good. Then it is settled.”

Papa glowered at her and inquired peevishly, “And what shall you and Jo be doing whilst I am subjecting myself to the degradation of public bathing?”  

“Suffer no anxiety for us, my dear. We shall entertain ourselves quite nicely.”

“I harbor no fear as to that, Mrs. Walker. I assure you, it is simply a matter of idle curiosity.”

“Well then, since you ask, Jo and I shall accompany you to the Pump-room and have a long promenade about that great hall. I daresay the exercise will do us both good, especially after being confined to a carriage for so many hours in recent days. I am very keen to consult the registry book there to see if anyone of our acquaintance is in town. What a fine thing it would be to discover old friends here. Do not you think so, Harold?”

“Most definitely. If we are to pass some weeks in this foreign place, it would indeed be a consolation to know that we shall have more than only each other for company. Conversation must eventually lag under such a strain, after all. But do you have any reason to expect someone we know?”

“No particular reason. It is only that Bath is very popular just now amongst our set. I do not think it at all unlikely that there will be at least one of my former schoolfellows, or perhaps one of your associates from business or Oxford, currently in residence. We must keep our eyes wide open. It would be pleasant for us and a material benefit for our girl if it were put within our power to introduce her to new people of quality.”

I silently agreed that it would be a decided advantage. For the moment, though, the promise that we could go out into the town without further delay satisfied all my hopes.

~~*~~

Everyone in Bath, for health or holiday, inevitably finds their way to the Pump-room, the heart of the town and the reason for its existence. Crowds of fashionable people pass daily through its portals seeking the healing waters and the company of their peers. Reputedly, so many valuable acquaintances are renewed and favorable alliances formed within its hallowed walls that each visit holds as much promise for social as medicinal advantage. Thus, with high expectations, we joined the throng of pilgrims drawn to the Pump-room.

As Papa bathed in the warm, spring-fed pool below, Mama and I filled our time by parading up and down the main room in concert with all the others similarly left with no more-useful employment. The scale of the place gave even this ordinary exercise a feeling of grandeur. The vaulted ceiling, the massive columns supporting it, the sparkling chandelier, and the polished floor awash with the light spilling through soaring casements: it was quite a sight to behold. To one side in a windowed alcove was situated the ornate fountain, named The King’s Spring, from which continually poured the healing water for all to drink.

Mama focused her energies on locating someone she knew within the multitude, whilst I contented myself with being in the presence of so many interesting strangers – ladies and gentlemen of every age and description. Without an introduction, I could speak to not a single one of them. Still, it was felicity enough on our first foray into Bath society.  

After nearly an hour and a half, Papa rejoined us.

“How was your bath, my dear?” asked Mama. “Did the mineral water suit you?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I was neither drowned nor cured, but it was not an entirely disagreeable experience. If more of the same is the price for my recovery, I believe I shall be able to bear it after all.”

“I am so glad, my dear. I was certain you would be a model patient when once you got started.”

He muttered something unintelligible and then asked, “Did the two of you pass the interval pleasantly?”

“Oh, yes, Papa. Although I think the water does not so much agree with me. I have felt a bit unwell ever since I sampled it.”

“Smells foul; tastes infinitely worse,” was his appraisal of the same. “Count yourself as fortunate, Jo, that you are not the one obliged to drink it day after day.”

Ignoring these grievances in favor of her own, Mama reported, “I have been disappointed in my hopes of discovering anyone of our acquaintance. I examined the registry book and every single face that entered this room without a single point of recognition. Still, it is only our first day out. I shall not so soon despair of success in the matter. In fact, I think I will get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals. What do you say to that, Mr. Walker?”

“A very sensible attitude, my dear Doris. I would hate to see you cast down into despair when we are come to be merry in Bath,” he said with a recurring edge of sarcasm. “We shall hope for better luck tomorrow.”

“Yes, but now we must get you home so that you can rest. Then a little later, I thought I might take Jo out to visit the shops if you have no objection. She and I will need some new things for our stay here.”

“I foresaw that this trip would take a heavy toll on my pocketbook. Do
try
to keep your purchases within reason, Mrs. Walker, I beg you.”

“Of course, my dear. Moderation and economy shall be my watchwords.”

So, after resettling my father and taking some refreshment, Mama and I set forth to explore the town. Although I daresay I am far less consumed with style and finery than most young ladies, I am not completely immune to their allure. Just as any other female, be she eighteen or eighty, I would rather be smartly dressed than not. And in Bath were shops enough to thrill and delight even the most devoted patrons of fashion, all suddenly within my reach.

The windows of each establishment we came upon enticed us with displays of the desirable wares within. We personally perused more hats, shawls, gowns, and gloves in that one afternoon than we would have ordinarily come across in a year’s time in our own out-of-the-way corner of Hampshire. In the end, we came away with neither so much as the shopkeepers might have hoped, nor so little as Papa would have undoubtedly preferred.

“Your father will like to see how well you look in your new things,” Mama advised me on our way home. “Be sure to show them off and thank him for his kindness. But there is no need to worry him at all about the cost. Believe me, he will be much happier not knowing.”

In this, as in most other matters, I relied upon my mother’s sound judgment. Far be it from me to plague my father with unimportant details.

7

New Friends

In a similar manner, we passed our first week in Bath. Except for Sunday, we attended the Pump-room for some portion of every day. Then, if the weather permitted, Mama would take me out to visit another shop or look at some new part of town. In the process, we also discovered the location of the lending library and bought a subscription to keep us supplied with books for the duration of our stay.

Day by day, there remained the continued expectation that, with enough patience and persistence, we should locate some acquaintance in residence. After more than a week of searching in vain, Mama’s tenacity showed the first sign of bearing fruit. She found the name of a Mrs. Graham in the registry book at the Pump-room, and began to be convinced that it must be her former schoolfellow, a Miss Phoebe Banks, whom she knew to have married a man by that name many years earlier.

Although the two women had not seen each other in the intervening decades – and probably had not devoted a great deal of time to lamenting that fact – it now became a matter of utmost importance to the one that she confirm the presence of the other without a moment’s delay. Therefore, Mama immediately dispatched a note to Mrs. Graham at her lodgings in Milsom Street to make inquiries. She invited the lady to call round at Pultney Street if she indeed turned out to be the former Miss Banks, of whom she remembered to have been excessively fond.

Accordingly, Mama stayed at home the next afternoon in anticipation of receiving her guest, sending Papa in my care to take his treatment at the Pump-room. Fortune smiled; my mother’s conviction of Mrs. Graham’s identity proved accurate. When we returned to the house, we found the two women in the midst of a joyful reunion.

“Mr. Walker, Jo, come and meet my old friend from my school days, Mrs. Graham,” Mama said when we entered. “She and her family have only just arrived in town from Kent for a holiday.”

Mrs. Graham, a short, plump woman, was dressed in flawless taste. Her manners seemed likewise impeccable. The only thing that created some discordance in her overall presentation was the surprising volume of her voice, which belied the size of the person at its source. It seemed somehow incongruous that such a substantial sound should emanate from one so small in stature.

“Now that we have met again, Doris, we should make the most of it. You and your daughter must come to call on me tomorrow,” said Mrs. Graham in a commanding tone. Then addressing me, she continued with equal volume, “I have a girl about your age, Miss Walker, as well as two younger ones still at home. Susan will be delighted to make an acquaintance so soon after arriving in Bath.”

“May we go, Mama?” I asked.

“Certainly we may. This is exactly what I have wished for, that you would find a suitable friend to keep you company.”

So, on the morrow, Mama and I ventured to Milsom Street whereupon Mrs. Graham made it her first order of business to introduce us to her daughter, who resembled her in every important particular. She was diminutive and lady-like with a confident voice bigger than one would expect, at least without benefit of first knowing her mother.

I liked Miss Graham straight away, a surprising unity of interests and attitudes forming the foundation of our immediate friendship. Within half an hour, I found myself insisting that she call me by my Christian name, and she instantly returned the favor. I was pleased to discover that Susan had a rational mind and very sensible ideas on all manner of subjects, including romantic attachments.

“I have no objection to marrying,” she declared. “Yet I am not so much at a loss that I will take the first man who comes along. One must have standards; one’s principles simply cannot be surrendered.”

“Very true.”

Susan continued. “Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing!”

“And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a situation as mine.”

“Then we are in agreement. But, as for being a fool, I have often observed that it is exactly when people
do
fall in love that they become very stupid indeed, which does worry me.”

“I will take care to guard you against it, my dear Susan. I should hate to see you nonsensical.”

“And I shall watch out for you. Let us make a pact of it.” 

In order that our two families should spend the maximum time in each other’s company, we ladies deemed it necessary for the men to form as warm a friendship between them as we ourselves had already so expeditiously established. Toward that end, Mama invited the Grahams to dine in Pultney Street the following day.

Mr. Graham turned out to be a man of acute contrast to his wife in both person and manner. Whereas she was petite and decidedly assertive, he was quite a tall man with a soft-spoken, unassuming way about him. They made an odd-looking, mismatched sort of happy couple.

Father and Mr. Graham did not share the source of immediate camaraderie that their wives enjoyed – that of having attended the same school – for Papa had gone to Oxford and Mr. Graham was a Cambridge man. With a little exertion, however, that substantial obstacle was successfully surmounted. It seemed they were prepared to be friends, and, with their wives and daughters so determined that they should be, they really had little choice but to find by the end of the meal that they got on remarkably well indeed.

After dinner, the men furthered their friendship over a glass of port whilst we ladies withdrew to the sitting room for conversation.

“Have you been to the ballrooms yet?” Mrs. Graham inquired of my mother. “Susan has talked of nothing else since we arrived in town, and we have consented to take her at the first opportunity. I thought you might advise us.”

“No, I can offer you no first-hand account as we have never been there. Mr. Walker’s health has not allowed for it thus far. Still, I have managed to glean some information that might be of use. I understand that the Upper Rooms, the newer ballrooms farther up the hill, are very fine. However, I would still recommend the Lower Rooms, especially if you have no other acquaintance in town. The master of ceremonies there is reputed to be most accommodating. He will make introductions, so Miss Graham will have a dance partner. And I believe there is to be a ball there tomorrow night.”

“An excellent suggestion. But what a shame it is for Miss Walker to have been in town so long without a ball. If you and your husband would permit it, Mr. Graham and I should be happy to convey her to the dance tomorrow. I can serve as her chaperone, and she will be a companion for Susan.”

The men returned just in time for Mr. Graham to second the invitation and for Papa to give his consent. Being now absolved from any guilt for going by my father’s own insistence that I should, I certainly made no objection. Susan and I soon had our heads together making plans for the ball and speculating at length about the gratification it was sure to bring. At parting, we agreed to continue the subject on the morrow, the topic being far too consequential to canvass adequately in only one afternoon.

The next day, when we reconvened at the Pump-room, Susan and I were excused from the monotony of walking up and down indoors in favor of the fresh occupation of walking up and down outdoors. So, with umbrellas in hand as a precaution against the real possibility of inclement weather, we ventured onto Stall Street and set off with no particular destination in mind.

“My dear, I could hardly sleep for thinking about tonight,” said Susan. “It has been ever so long since I have had a dance. In our small village, there are rarely enough young people together in one place to support the idea of a ball. And you? Do you often go to balls and parties, Jo?”

“They are not so very rare in Wallerton. Still, what I long for, what I dare to hope this evening will supply, is a more agreeable choice of partners.”

“Have you met any young men since you have been in Bath?”

“Not yet, but I have seen one or two that I should very much
like
to meet,” I said, giving my new friend, by the inflection of my voice and the smallest inclination of my head, the hint to glance across the street. There she and I discretely observed a relatively tall, well-dressed gentleman of about five- or six-and-twenty advancing with a self-assured gait, apparently totally oblivious to our existence. We were equally careful not to betray any consciousness of him.

“He is fearful handsome. Perhaps he will be at the ball tonight.” Susan said a little too loudly for my comfort.

At that very moment, a violent rain commenced causing us to exclaim in alarm, deploy our umbrellas in unison, and reverse our course to return to the Pump-room. This flurry of activity inadvertently brought us at last to the notice of the gentleman across the street. And, when a sudden gust of wind tore my umbrella from my grasp, he was there in three strides to retrieve it. He placed it back into my hand without a word, leaving me flustered by being brought so unexpectedly face to face with such a fine-looking stranger.

“Thank you, sir,” I managed to say despite my not inconsiderable degree of perturbation.

“I am honored to be of service, madam,” he answered, fixing my gaze for a moment with his formidable dark eyes. Then he dropped me an elegant bow and departed as quickly as he had arrived.

The brief encounter left me surprisingly shaken. Never before had I found any man capable of so thoroughly discomposing me by his aspect and proximity. Miss Graham gave me a quizzical look, evidently expecting some kind of coherent remark but finding me dumbstruck instead.

“What an impressive gentleman – so fine a figure and so gallant,” prompted Susan.

Still in a bit of a daze, I mused, “How extraordinary that he should have been brought to us just as we were… just as I was…”

“…wishing to meet him?” Susan volunteered. “Yes, what an amazing coincidence. One might be tempted to think you lost hold of your umbrella for precisely that purpose,” she teased.

This roused me from my earnest reflections, and I laughed. “I will forgive your impertinence this time, Miss Graham. We are not yet well-enough acquainted for you to know that such a scheme would never occur to me. Since it did to you, however, I shall remember where to go for that sort of assistance in future.”

“Yes, I possess an untapped wealth of scathingly brilliant ideas. I shall put them completely at your disposal. Yet you may not need a one of them, for I think you have already made your first conquest in Bath without my help.”

“Do not be ridiculous! My dear Susan, you make far too much of this. The gentleman was merely being polite. I’m sure he would have done the same for my mother or any other woman.”

“Perhaps, but I daresay he would not have been so eager nor enjoyed it half so much. I saw the way he looked at you, the way you looked at each other. I wonder who he is… and if he has a friend for me.”

We laughed, and I continued to make light of the incident. Yet the memory of it held me tightly in its grip for the rest of the afternoon. I could not stop thinking about the stranger, nor could I resist hoping that he would not remain unknown to me much longer.