At the Dean concert held yesterday at the Upper Rooms, great commotion was seen when the young Mr.Dean, standing in as host for his father, appeared to choke on a small finger sandwich. He was promptly saved from asphyxiation by the quick action of the object of his rumored affection, one MissPine. New to Bath, not much has been ascertained about the young MissPine, but surely now the ton knows the measure of her mettle as one poised, quick-thinking, and heroic young woman.
“Oh, my dear, you’ll be the talk of the town! We must arrange a meeting presently, somewhere very public.”
Catherine jumps again, Mother now staring over her shoulder. She passes her the paper and shifts down the table, hiding her face in her enormous collection of flowers.
She didn’t want to impress anyone. She didn’t want to attract attention. She didn’t mean to make Mr.Dean fall for her, or worship her. He was just choking. She would have done the same for anyone. Mother, Lady Tisend, Rosalie—
Catherine shudders at the very thought of whacking Rosalie like that. The image of her in the river still hasn’t left Catherine. She was perfectly fine then, and Catherine’s still had nightmares of her drowning. Now she supposes she’ll be adding bleak visions of Rosalie choking to her repertoire.
“That was very quick thinking on your part,” Father says, pulling Catherine from her spiraling thoughts.
“It wasn’t worthy of all of this,” Catherine says, feeling a little relieved when Father gives her an understanding smile. “It shouldn’t be so heroic to help someone.”
“People are naturally cruel,” Mother says. “Which makes you stand out even more for your kindness.”
Mother’s still staring down at Mr.Dean’s note, pacing behind Father’s chair.
“Do you really believe that?” Catherine asks. “That people are naturally spiteful?”
Mother looks up at her, her face going soft too. They’re both looking at her like they did when she was a child with a wild fancy.
“People rarely choose to help others when given the chance in a place like this,” Mother says gently.
Catherine forces herself to nod and sit back down. She stares into her porridge, thinking about how Christopher jumped at the chance to help Catherine and Rosalie. How Amalie and Henrietta take every opportunity they can to talk Rosalie up, to invite Catherine into their friendship. How Lady Jones so kindly invited her to join them at Blaise Castle.
People aren’t inherently selfish. At least, not all people.
“Well, we should all go get ready for the baths, should we not?” Father suggests.
Catherine nods, leaving Mr.Dean’s letter on the table, as if she can leave him behind for the day as well.
The soaking dress Mother and Miss Teit help her into is hardly the most fetching. Made of the same brown linen as Father’s soaking suit, it hangs simply on her frame, weighteddown by the small iron pieces sewn into the hem to keep her modest. Mother and Miss Teit slip a tailored brown jacket over her shoulders as well, which lightly accentuates her waist.
She looks just like any other woman on her way to bathe, until Mother reveals the most ridiculous bonnet, done in white and blue with an enormous gray feather. Catherine will look like a drowned peacock.
Rosalie would adore seeing her in this monstrosity. She’d laugh and laugh.
Not that Catherine would even be able to find her once they’re at the baths. The vaulted stone bath chamber is full of gently rising mist, members of the ton floating in and out of sight in their own silly hats and wigs. It’s impossible to see anything distinctly.
Catherine walks down the entry steps carefully, grimacing as the warm water rises up her costume, sticking it to her legs and pressing in. She breathes slowly in the steam, unnerved by the murmur of unidentified voices.
She follows Father as he wades across the expansive bath, heading to his favorite perch where they’ll sit and nibble on the little bowl of nuts Catherine’s clutching hard above the water. She knows the copper bowl will float, but she never trusts it. She tries to relax, just a little, and take comfort in the anonymity of the steam.
That is until Mr. and Mrs.Pilney pop out of nowhere. “We must congratulate you, Mr.Pine, on your most remarkable daughter,” Mr.Pilney says, his round face red and sweating.
Mrs. Pilney nods rapidly, her own rather extravagant blue bonnet bobbing precariously close to the water. “Such quick thinking.”
Catherine grimaces a smile.
“We are most proud of her,” Father agrees, while Mother beams beside her, her curls already going limp beneath her less-ostentatious bonnet.
Catherine tries to focus on how comfortable Father seems, standing in the warm water. On how much better he’s been doing since they came to Bath.
“What a compliment to your house,” another gentleman says, stepping up on Father’s other side. “I hope Mr.Dean has written to thank her.”
Catherine’s shoulders are steadily climbing toward her ears, discomfort swirling in her stomach.
“He has,” Mother says quickly. “And sent an enormous bouquet of flowers.”
