‘Do not get too excited,’ she said, blowing out her candle. ‘I have some characters in mind, but no firm plot or setting. And I need to include a spooky castle or some such.’
Mr Hart lives in a castle, I thought sleepily, folding up Max’s letter and blowing out my own candle.I wonder if she will subtly ask him to talk about it for the sake of her book. I would definitely like to hear more about this Hartmoor Castle myself.
Chapter 9
We ate a light breakfast of toast and tea the next morning with our wraps over our chemises. Then it was time to change into the bathing gowns and caps that Mrs Bromley kept on hand for female guests. The gowns were not attractive—shapeless dun-coloured dresses made of flannel designed purely to maintain modesty.
I took one look at myself in the mirror and burst out laughing.
‘Surely we are not walking to the baths in these?’ I glanced over at Jane, who looked equally ridiculous. She’d tied her cap tightly round her chin to prevent her hair from getting wet and rather resembled a chestnut mushroom.
‘Good Lord, no! Mrs Bromley has arranged sedan chairs to take us there.’
‘Thank goodness for Mrs Bromley,’ I muttered. ‘What would we do without her?’
Bidding Edward goodbye, we scurried outside in our drab garb, bringing with us the necessary items for drying off and changingafterwards.
The waiting sedan chairs, to my mind, resembled tall boxes. Each had two porters to carry the poles and could fit one person. Inside, there was a padded seat and, to my relief, a curtain, which I drewimmediately over the window. However, the porters were disinterested in our appearance and did not seem to care one jot, I suppose having seen much worse sights than us.
I was the end chair of our convoy, with the other three ladies in front of me; and after I got used to the bouncing movement, I have to say, I rather enjoyed the experience. The men called out to passers-by to ‘wotch it!’ and so called attention to us, and it did rather make one feel as though one was royalty being carried through the streets of Bath. Peeking through the curtain, I saw people glancing at us and shifting to the side to avoid our chair train.
Yes, I thought, smirking to myself.That’s it, move out of the way. Very important people coming through!
As we came out of Princes Street and turned left into Monmouth Street, I happened to glance down the latter street and spied a tall, slim gentleman some distance away. He was heading in the direction of the pump room, and his self-assured stride and general appearance were all too familiar. I jerked back from the window, my heart beating rapidly. If my eyes had not deceived me, it was Mr Hart!
Fortunately, he had not seen me, nor was he privy to ourplans to visit the baths this morning. I cringed to think of him running after the chair and tapping on my window, wishing to say hello. I would positivelydieif he saw me in an ugly bathing gown.
After I had recovered a little from the shock, I realised that it was strange to have seen him in Monmouth Street at all as it was not the route that he usually took to the pump room. Indeed, he had made a point of mentioning that he walked from Royal Crescent down Milsom Street, on the days he was not collecting us from Queen Square, as it was quicker.
He probably wanted a change of scenery,I thought.Stop being so suspicious, Felicity!
It was of such little consequence that I did not say anything about it when we were deposited at the ladies’ entrance to the baths. We were endeavouring to get Lucinda’s mindoffMr Hart, so to mention that he was at the pump room while we were next door would not have helped her to relax. She was liable to go rushing in to see him, ugly bathing gown and all! No, I would keep the ‘almost’ encounter to myself.
The day was chilly and overcast, and the dark-green water of the bath made a striking contrast to the grey sky above. Plinths and columns lined the pool edge, and it indeed felt like we were following in the footsteps of theRomans. However, entering the hot water was a tad painful, especially if you had cold feet.
‘Ouch,’ Elizabeth complained upon having dipped in a toe, but the attendant said that our bodies would get used to it and to go in slowly.
We took her advice, and after ten minutes of ‘ouching’ and ‘aahing’, we were soon fully submerged with our gowns floating around us. However, the water was very smelly, making Jane mutter, ‘Pooh, it stinks.’
But to counteract that, we had small bowls hung round our necks with string that held scented handkerchiefs and nosegays of fresh lavender that Mrs Bromley had prepared for us. So the odour of the water was unpleasant, but not unbearable if you kept your bowl close to your face.
Another small group of ladies were bathing on the far side of the pool, but with the rising steam from the water, it wasn’t possible to detect their faces. We did not know many people in Bath, so they were probably strangers to us anyway.
The others wanted to sit on the steps and relax in the water, but I was feeling in a sociable mood, so I said I would do a lap around the pool and perhaps make the acquaintance of the other group of ladies.
It was only when the steam parted upon my approach to them that I realised my error. Ididknow one of them:Cecilia Spencer, the pretty object of Mr Hart’s thwarted affection. She was bathing with two other young women. Her mother and sister were not there. It was too late to pretend I had not seen her and terribly rude if I did not speak to her. Besides, my dratted gown was cumbersome and would not let me change direction. So I pasted a smile on my face as I floated towards them.
‘Good morning!’ Cecilia said immediately, smiling back cheerfully. She was sitting a little apart from her friends, who were engaged in their own conversation. ‘How do you do? I believe I have seen you in the pump room taking the waters?’ She was not wearing a cap and did not seem to mind that the springy blonde ringlets at the base of her neck were damp.
‘Hello. Yes, I remember.’ I was now in the position of needing to introduce myself. ‘I’m Mrs Felicity Fitzroy. My niece, Lucinda, and I are visiting our friends the Austens. That’s her, the dark-haired girl with Jane and Elizabeth over there,’ I said, pointing at them through the steam.
She nodded. ‘I’m Cecilia Spencer, and these are my friends Charlotte and Susannah. But everyone calls us Ceci, Lottie, and Sukey.’ I nodded politely to her and her friends, wondering if I should mention I was called Fliss since we were all sharing nicknames.
But her friends resumed their conversation, and Ceciliawas watching Lucinda with narrowed eyes.
‘I believe, from what my mother observed at the ball the other night, that your niece appears to have attracted the attention of a certain gentleman—a gentleman who last year was interested inme,’ she said pointedly, and I stiffened, not knowing what to say.
‘I ... uh ...’
