Where Love Illumines (Where There is Love Book 2) Page 6

  At last Pearce extracted his hand from Rowland’s large grip and turned toward the library. He exhibited considerable surprise when Rowland accompanied him. “I had thought my news might send you off on one of your famous swims or out to gather a crowd to preach to.”

  Rowland looked longingly at the river sparkling in the afternoon sun. “Alas, there are those whose concern over this matter has been greater than my own. I must write to my sister Jane.”

  A short time later, however, Rowland found the task to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Such happy news should have come tumbling out on the paper before him; but as Rowland sat in St. John’s library with dark wooden shelves of books running up to the ceiling on three sides of him, the narrow space filled with birdsong from the open window and the splash and plod of barge horses pulling their loads up the Cam just beyond the window, he found it hard to discipline his thoughts into words. He dipped his pen and tried again.

  My very dear sister,

  I am ashamed that I have been so long in writing, but I thought you would like to hear from me when all things were settled. I have met with delivery from the Master’s clutches. He commissioned my tutor to meet with me and to tell me that I might stay.

  The town and university are entirely surrendered to my episcopal visitation a prelate. My only grief is that for the present I am in a great measure an unpreaching prelate. However, this unmixed mercy will soon be remedied. My remarkably kind tutor tells me he has not the least doubt but that I may be ordained next May. How wonderfully this is ordered! Tis well the government is upon Jesus’ shoulders, though my rebellious heart thought very hard of so many seemingly reverse providences in the past. I must learn by experience that glorious song, “Worthy Is the Lamb.”

  I prepare now to go to Bath for our good Lady Huntingdon’s celebration. For this reason excuse the haste of this from your poor unworthy bro.

  RoHil

  But the last line to Jane brought directly over his head the small dark cloud that had been following him for days. For a moment he could have thought the sound of splashing water from the river was rain on his spirits.

  He had won his hard-fought battle. He had stood strong on matters of conscience. Authority had capitulated. There now appeared no barrier to achieving all he most fervently desired—degree, ordination, Mary.

  He should have been full of joy at the thought that he would see Mary next week, especially now that he had good news to bring her. But Berridge’s solemn exhortation was heavy on his mind.

  He had always assumed that his longstanding fondness for Mary, coming about so naturally through family connections and fired by her personal charms, had been of God’s directing. But if Berridge was right, far from being a bounteous blessing, his tender feeling for Mary must be regarded as a temptation—an ensnaring trap to be avoided at the peril of his soul.

  Five

  “But why should I go to the baths when I am not ill?” Mary frowned and tossed her head as she and Sarah strolled across the courtyard linking the Abbey, the Pump Room, and the King’s Bath at the heart of town. The two young women and their escorts, the ever-present Roger Twysden and Earl of Westmoreland, paused to look over the stone wall surrounding the largest and most popular of the city’s five public baths. Several of their fellow promenaders had likewise paused to observe the bathers bobbing in the steamy air of the mineral water pool which had made Bath a popular resort since the Roman legions had used the hot waters as a substitute for the balmy Mediterranean.

  Mary looked up at the arched windows of the Pump Room and observed a number of those parading there were likewise watching the bathers. “If I am to bathe, I should prefer a less public place.”

  “Certainly. You must attend the Cross Bath just at the end of Bath Street. It is much more genteel,” Roger said.

  Sarah laughed. “Fah, sir. Is such a description intended to tempt her? You make it sound a dreadful bore. Never fear, Mary. You will find bathing quite invigorating and much more a social event or a sport than a mere physician’s prescription.”

  So the next morning Mary and Mrs. Tudway arrived at the Cross Bath with Sarah and Mrs. Child shortly after the popular hour of six. Since they were driven there in a closed carriage, they arrived dressed in the regulation gowns of yellow canvas-like material.

  “This scratches.” Mary tugged at the square-cut neckline of her bathing garment.

  “Never mind, dear. It will feel more comfortable in the water. And it’s quite necessary. It would be most unfortunate to bathe in a garment that clung to one’s form when wet.”

  Mary shuddered at the idea and tucked a linen handkerchief into her chipstraw bonnet. She had been warned that she would need it to wipe the perspiration from her face. A woman attendant came forward to lead them down the stairs into the water and presented each of them with a little floating dish containing confections, a handkerchief, and a vial of perfume. The attendant stayed with the older women, but Sarah and Mary chose to cross the bath by themselves, pushing along the black lacquered trays holding their paraphernalia.

  The great billowing sleeves and skirts of their garments filled with water and Mary giggled. “Oh, I shall be bobbing like a cork in a moment. Pray, hold my hand, Sarah, so that I won’t float away.”

  “Will my hand do?” A familiar masculine voice made her start.

  Mary splashed the water in her surprise, making Roger cry out in protest. “Egad, if you wish me to take my leave, just say so. No need to drown me.”

  “But I thought… that is, I had heard—” Mary was confused by this unexpected turn. “I had supposed men and women bathed separately here,” she finished.

  “Yes, I believe there was some fusty notion of that.” Roger laughed and presented her with a nosegay of fragrant violets and lily of the valley. “But no one pays it any heed. No more so than any other of the Beau’s Rules of the Bath.”

  “Indeed.” Westmoreland joined them. “Of a certainty this one is honored in the breach, while the others are simply no longer necessary as matters of enforcement.”

  “Such as?” Sarah sniffed prettily at her nosegay from Westmoreland and then set it afloat, its pink and violet ribbons drifting in the water.

  “Such as that no man or woman should go into any bath by day or night without a decent covering on their bodies, under the penalty of three shillings and fourpence. Or that no person shall presume to cast or throw any dog or other live beast into any of the said baths, under the like penalty of three shillings and fourpence. And that no person shall thrust, cast, or throw another into any of the said baths with his or her clothes on, under a penalty of six shillings and eightpence.” He pinched his nose to make his voice strident with pedantry.

  Laughing at Rapid Westmoreland’s account, they made their way to the far end of the pool, past the bath’s namesake—a large stone cross in the center of the water which stood as a memorial to the consort of James II, who had been cured by the waters.

  “Indeed,” Mary said, “I’m most grateful to Mr. Nash. I shouldn’t find it at all pleasant to bathe with dogs or other beasts.” And she thought it quite all right that the prohibition against mixed bathing had gone unenforced. The men looked most handsome clad in breeches and waistcoats from the familiar yellow canvas with their tricorn hats on their powdered hair. But that observation made her think of her own appearance, and she dabbed lightly at her glowing face with the handkerchief from her bowl.

  From the stone-arched gallery along the side of the bath, an orchestra began playing, and the idle visitors who had gathered to watch the bathers applauded. Mary would have been more comfortable without the gallery viewers, but the bath was as invigorating as Sarah had promised.

  Roger, noting her uneasy glance at the gallery, leaned close to her ear. “The bath is most becoming to you, my dear. You can be assured that no man who has seen you here would part with you for the best mermaid in Christendom.”

  Mary felt flattered. Any misgivings she might have had at
his meaning were forgotten as Westmoreland began quoting a popular couplet:

  And today many persons of rank and condition

  Were boiled by command of an able physician.

  Everyone laughed.

  Not to be outdone, Roger sprang to the side of the pool and struck an antic posture, balancing on one foot like a statue. Then pretending to lose his balance, he teetered dangerously on the edge and plunged into the water, showering the ladies with drops of silver water. He bobbed to the surface, floating on his back, and gazed up into Mary’s face. “Ah, what rapture! It is Neptune’s lady love I see! Ah, Fair Damsel, take me, take me!” He held out his arms to embrace the elements and sank in rapture beneath the surface to the accompaniment of laughter.

  How long such acrobatics might have continued they were not to know, for Mrs. Child sent an attendant to inform her daughter that she was ready to leave the bath.

  That afternoon, as had become their habit, the gentlemen escorted Sarah and Mary to the shops. On the way up Milsom Street toward the book room, they passed by a coffeehouse designated for ladies; gentlemen read the papers in another establishment across the way. Sarah looked longingly at the women of fashion entering their meeting place. “Alas, I should like to attend there someday. But my mama says young girls are not admitted, insomuch as the conversation turns upon politics, scandal, philosophy, and other subjects above our capacity. I think it sounds far more interesting than the fusty old bookseller I was obliged to subscribe to for a crown and a quarter.”

  “In truth, my dear Miss Child.” Westmoreland tapped his walking stick on the cobbled walk. “I can warrant that you miss nothing in passing by the forbidden fruit. In your Office of Intelligence all the reports of the day and all the private transactions of the Bath are discussed as fully as in any other room.”

  The men stood aside at the door to allow the ladies to enter first. Mary could not help but feel flattered by the warmth of Roger’s admiring glances as she folded her parasol and walked before him.

  Mary knew she looked her best in her cream silk polonaise gown and its overskirt of a pink and green Chinese pattern. She and her mother had taken great pains over choosing the fabric at the best linen draper’s. As she went up the stairs, however, she could not help blushing as she felt her escort’s gaze upon her ankle, made visible by the shorter French style.

  As they entered, the Abbey bells pealed forth, announcing the arrival of someone of importance—probably a member of the aristocracy, from the length of the ring. Sarah led the way directly to a table already occupied by a set of her acquaintances who were deep in gossip.

  “They say Lady Lechmere lost above £700 in one sitting at the gaming tables.”

  “Wait until Lord Lechmere hears of this—”

  One of the gentlemen took a pinch of snuff.

  “It will be a wonder if all the sweetness the waters can put into Lord Lechmere’s blood can make him endure it!”

  “Then Miss Nunsworthy danced three times with Mr. Runstrete. When her guardian hears word of that, I shouldn’t care to be responsible for the outcome.”

  The conversation continued, punctuated with giggles and the flutter of fans; but Mary soon wearied of the veiled innuendos and shredding of reputations. She rose and walked around the room, spending more time looking at the books on the tables than at the fashionable people pretending to read them. In spite of her desire for a gayer life, Mary was by nature a quiet, peaceable person, not a meddler or a gossip.

  “May I help you select a volume to your taste?” The ever-attentive Roger was by her side. “Do you prefer to read novels, plays, pamphlets, or newspapers?”

  “Is there no poetry, sir?”

  “Ah, indeed, Milady.” After making an excellent bow, he selected a small volume of Cavalier poetry and began reading to her as they strolled around the room.

  Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

  Old Time is still a-flying! …

  He read the verse in a charming manner, but Mary was troubled by the words. “It seems, sir, that if time is short, the poet should urge people to make the most of it to accomplish something of value, not to fritter it away gathering rosebuds.”

  Roger laughed and looked aghast at her words. “Wherever did you come by such a gray-beard notion? I find the poem excellent advice myself. One sees enough of the broken-down and superannuated in the Pump Room to serve as a warning. Now is the time to live for pleasure; another opportunity is unlikely to come.” To add emphasis to his argument, he turned from Robert Herrick to the poetry of Thomas Carew.

  Then, Mary, let us reap our joys

  Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.

  She blushed at his insertion of her name in the poem and quickly changed the subject for fear he might pursue the innuendos. “I confess to preferring more thoughtful work—such as Paradise Lost. But I have of late begun reading novels. Mama says it is quite acceptable now that I am out. Mr. Fielding’s books make me blush, but The Castle of Otranto gives me quite pleasant chills.”

  “Ah, indeed. You fancy Walpole’s apparitions, do you—the giant in armor, a skeleton perambulating in a hermit’s cowl, a statue that drips blood?”

  Mary laughed. “Perhaps it is the chills that I enjoy more than the phantoms themselves.”

  “Allow me to select a novel for you.” Roger paused before a bookcase on the wall. “Ah, I fancy you will find this to your liking. Tobias Smollett’s Humphrey Clinker, written only last year and set largely right here in Bath. It is rumored he borrowed freely from Anstey’s New Bath Guide; but be that as it may, it is quite a diverting work.” He handed the bookseller two shillings for the volume and presented it to Mary.

  Sarah and Westmoreland were still deep in gossip, so Roger offered to escort Miss Tudway back to the Royal Crescent.

  Benson opened the door at their approach. “Mrs. Tudway—Mrs. Clement Tudway, that is—has a guest just arrived, miss. She asked me to show you into the drawing room as soon as you returned.”

  “Oh?” Mary undid the ribbons on her round straw hat and handed it to the butler. “I didn’t think Elizabeth would be back from her portrait sitting yet. A new arrival? How exciting. I heard the bells ring—were they for Elizabeth’s guest?”

  Mary was looking down, pulling off her white lute-string gloves as she entered the drawing room, so she was fully in front of the visitor before she saw who it was. “Rowland! What a first-rate surprise! I had not thought to see you for months yet.”

  As he rose, she took note of his handsome stature in his finely cut cinnamon coat, but something was amiss. The sparkle with which he always greeted her was gone. She took a step backward. “Oh, Rowly, do not tell me. You have been sent down! Oh, this is dreadful.” Although she had warned him of the likelihood and could now have the pleasure of saying, “I told you so,” she had not thought she would find the event so wounding.

  Rowland bowed stiffly over her hand. “On the contrary, Mary, I appreciate your concern, if not your confidence, but I have just been informing my sister that the Master has consented that I may take my degree.”

  Before Mary could reply, Roger, who had remained in the entrance hall to give Benson his hat, gloves, and walking stick, entered.

  Mary introduced the two men, and they acknowledged each other coolly. In an attempt to bridge the distance between them, she offered, “Mr. Twysden’s uncle is a bishop. Undoubtedly you know of him, Rowland.”

  His reply was indistinct.

  After paying his respects to Elizabeth, Roger told Mary he hoped to see her at the Assembly Rooms that evening and took his leave.

  Mary turned to sit on the sofa beside Elizabeth while Rowland returned to the Sheraton chair he had vacated on Mary’s entrance. She drew breath to speak, but Rowland was first. “Is that fellow a proper person for you to know, Mary?”

  Rowland’s high-handed attitude made Mary’s temper flare. “La, sir, are you to superintend me now that Miss Fossbenner has been dispensed with? I told you he is the nep
hew of a bishop. And what have you to say to it if my mama approves?”

  “You are quite right. Forgive me.”

  “Faith, sir, that is much better.” Mary smiled at him; her point won, her temper cooled. “Now, tell me you have agreed to refrain from your irregular preaching.”

  “No. The authorities made no such demands. Had they required me to act contrary to my conscience, I should have accepted expulsion rather than submit.”

  “Oh, lud! If you aren’t the most starched-up person I have ever known. Why must you be so obdurate, so intractable, and—and so mule-headed?”

  “Is that what I am? Indeed, I must apologize for my character. I had thought a stand upon principle admirable, but I see I mistook. I shall attempt to amend my ways. Perhaps a dose of the waters here would make me more wishy-washy.” The sparkle had returned to his eyes.

  And his amusement lighted her own. “How unhandsome of you to roast me, sir, when I was merely giving you valuable advice.”

  “And how unjust of you to accuse me of grilling you when all I did was to agree with you.”

  As usual Mary found that she couldn’t maintain her irritation with Rowland for more than five minutes in his company, so she relaxed with the laughter she felt bubbling inside her and noted that his initial coldness toward her had thawed considerably.

  To her surprise, Rowland rose a few minutes later to take his leave. “But aren’t you staying here? I am certain Clement would wish you to,” Elizabeth protested.

  “No. I thank you, but I have accepted Lady Huntingdon’s invitation. Since it is her celebration that brings me to Bath, it will be most convenient.”

  “Oh, indeed. I understand that the chapel is attached to her house, so you can pray ever so much more often.” Mary could have bitten her tongue as soon as the words left her mouth. And her desire to recall them increased when she saw that the ice had returned to Rowland’s countenance.

  Elizabeth smoothed the situation. “Clement and I are getting up a party to attend the gala at Sydney Gardens tonight. Won’t you join us, Rowly? I sent a card to Lady Selina and Colonel Hastings, so you could come in their carriage.”