Lady Esther gave a dainty laugh. “One must beseen, Beatrice. Only country squires spend their lives quietly at home. Persons of quality must be visible in society. You wish to be a credit to your father and to me, I am sure.”
“Of course, Mama,” Bea said quietly.
Bertram had been watching the colour come and go in Bea’s cheeks, and trying to divine what it might signify. Now she looked rather glum, so he said, “Bath is a very gay place, with assemblies, musical evenings, galas and all manner of excitements. And the shops are excellent, and very conveniently gathered in one small area, rather than being scattered here, there and everywhere. There will be plenty to amuse you.”
Bea frowned at him, which was puzzling, but Lady Esther said, “And plenty of eligible gentlemen, one hopes. Have you been there, Mr Atherton? I suppose your mother takes the waters there, or does she confine herself to Harrogate?”
“Oh… yes, Mother has been there several times. She has tried most of the well-known spas, I believe. I went along on one or two trips, when I happened to be down from Eton. It seemed a very lively place to me, with entertainments every evening, although I was too young to participate, and I doubt it has changed much in ten years. It is old-fashioned, though, so you will have to learn to dance the minuet, Miss Franklyn.”
“That is an excellent point,” Lady Esther said. “Beatrice knows the movements, of course, for she has been well taught, but we must practise a little. And the costume, too! I believe Bath still requires the full costume, with lappets. So quaint, but suchan elegant dance. Ten years… Mrs Atherton has not been there lately? And yet her health still so indifferent.”
“Nowadays she seldom ventures further afield than Harrogate.”
“Yet nothing seems to mend what ails her, does it?” Lady Esther said. “I do wonder if she might go on better if she thought less about her health. It sometimes happens that a female who dwells upon every little ache and twinge may cause the very affliction she fears. I knew a lady who was a great sufferer, but once she married and had children she had no time to spare for maladies.”
Bertram laughed. “I wish it were so with Mother, but when she leaves Westwick she is always ill, and genuinely so. Her life was despaired of when she was no more than Miss Franklyn’s age. But the good, clean air and water of the North Riding cured her of her ailments, if not of the worry of them. She will be very happy to let you know of the best baths and physicians in Bath, and to inform her friends there of your visit.”
“Oh, I have my own acquaintances there,” Lady Esther said, her well-bred voice displaying only the faintest hint of surprise that anyone would consider her to need introductions to any society. “The Lady Louisa Horsfell, Lady Mellish, General Sir Marmaduke Grimsby, Lady Watson… I shall write to some of them. The York Hotel is the most superior establishment, I believe. We shall stay there.”
She continued to talk of Bath for some time, but since she required little response apart from Bea’s occasional murmurings, Bertram felt safe to return to his book, or to pretend to, at least. There was a certain set to Bea’s mouth when she looked his way that worried him. Had he offended her in some manner? Yet when he reflected on his contribution to the conversation, he could find no cause for offence. It was puzzling. But she had been out of sorts in some way ever since he hadrushed out into the garden to save her from Grayling. It was beyond his understanding.
They reached the Crown at Bawtry, their overnight stop, in good time for dinner.
“This looks a pleasant place,” Franklyn said, as ostlers rushed forward to attend to them, and a respectable innkeeper and his wife appeared, holding umbrellas to shield them from the rain.
“I shall need to inspect the bedrooms,” Lady Esther said.
“Mr Atherton has stayed here many times, and recommends it,” Franklyn said. “Besides, we have our own sheets.”
“That does not help if there is the slightest dampness in the bed itself,” she said. “I always inspect the rooms in a new place, Mr Franklyn, as you know very well.” So saying, she accepted the innkeeper’s arm to alight and swept into the inn.
“So be it,” Franklyn said, without rancour. He turned to Bea and Bertram. “You two had better wait in the carriage until we are settled. The rain is fierce, and there is no point getting wet unless you have to. This will not take long, I hope.”
He followed his wife, and for a moment silence fell. Bea still had that odd look about the mouth, so Bertram hurried to fill the silence.
“This is an excellent place. I am sure Lady Esther will find no fault.”
“Of course she will. She always finds something amiss. Except at Marshfields. Nothing is ever wrong at Marshfields.”
Bertram raised his eyebrows at the unusually sharp tone in her voice. “Ah well, there is nowhere so perfect as home, is there?”
But she glared at him. “Why do you always take her side? Papa I can understand, since he chose to marry her, butyouhave no reason to support her rather than me. I thought you were my friend, Bertram.”
Bertram floundered against this unexpected attack. “I am only being polite, Bea.”
“You could be polite tomefor a change.”
“When have I not been polite? I am not aware—”
“No, of course you are not aware! You never are. Quite oblivious to whatImight be feeling, so when I tried to deter her from this wretched Bath scheme, you had to jump in feet first and make it sound oh, so wonderful! Assemblies! Musical evenings! Galas! And shops! As if I cared about galas or shops. What is the matter with you? Why are you so contrary? I thought you were a straightforward sort of man, and now I find you to be just as twisty and devious as the worst of them.”
Bertram’s mouth opened and closed ineffectually in astonishment. Twisty? Devious? Was that truly how she saw him?
“Bea, I am sorry if I said the wrong thing. I was only trying to help, and clearly I should never have intervened. But if you truly hate the idea of Bath, then tell Lady Esther so.”
“She would not listen!”
“But your father would. You are not a child any more — you are one and twenty, a grown woman and fully entitled to your own opinions. Tell her—”
