Page 34

Corinna reached for some toast. ‘I’ve left Meg with her and will return after I’ve eaten.

But, Eliza, I want you to see something of Bath.

Would you take Polly as your chaperone? Perhaps go to The Pump Room?

’ She was soon away, anxious to get back to her daughter, just as Mr Flynn walked in.

‘Good morning, Miss Gray. After yesterday’s rain, it’s perfect weather for exploration, don’t you think?

’ He poured himself some ale and sat down.

‘I’m probably going with Polly this morning to see what’s so special about The Pump Room,’ she said, glancing out of the window, her nerves on the sharpest of tenterhooks, waiting for the sound of the front door and Toby’s return.

Mr Flynn snorted. ‘I’ll have much more fun; I’m off to the races on Lansdown Hill.

’ He looked at Eliza’s tense face and said with a smirk, ‘Well, I fear you’ll find the city but a refuge for the sick in mind and body.

If you care for impecunious dowagers and ramshackle profligates who pander to a handful of rich old duchesses, that’s your pleasure. ’

Eliza was irritated by his levity and said severely, ‘I don’t believe any guide’s editor would be so disobliging; you’ve made that all up, haven’t you?’

Zadoc Flynn’s spirits were irrepressible. ‘Of course not! It’s true?—’

He was interrupted by Eliza jumping to her feet. She had heard the front door close and, excusing herself, dashed to the hall. ‘Oh Toby, you’re back!’

‘Yes, miss. It took a while, the Marquess ain’t the cheeriest of coves. Somethin’ in yer note caused trouble. But here’s the answer.’ He held out a letter with a very grand crest impressed into the red wax.

Eliza returned to the dining room and sat to read the curt response.

Come at four after noon.

It was signed with a shaky B. She felt as shaky as that signature. It had been foolish to hope for more of a welcome to a long-lost daughter; after all, he was old and perhaps had every reason to doubt her claim. She looked up at Mr Flynn whose merry expression had faded.

‘Bad news?’ he asked solicitously.

‘No, it’s just I have a bad habit of expecting more of life than perhaps I should.’ Eliza’s smile was brave rather than cheerful.

‘There’s nothing wrong with expecting more, but perhaps the art lies in realising we may have to settle for less.’ He gave her a peculiar look she could not fathom. ‘Remember, if the more of life lets you down, then my offer of the less is still on the table.’

Eliza could not but be amused and somehow touched by his dogged business-like approach to life, his lack of pride. Perhaps he was a natural happy Stoic like Marina? And in the end both would suffer less than she. ‘I thank you, Mr Flynn.’ Her eyes met his and then looked away.

He leaned forward with a boyish and rather embarrassed expression on his face. ‘Miss Eliza, you are the radiance in the dark,’ he said, his voice quiet and full of feeling.

Eliza was startled by how out of character such an utterance seemed. ‘That’s a very kind thought, Mr Flynn, but what makes you say that?’

He smiled sheepishly. ‘I know I’m not very romantic but found it in a book of poems and thought it a good line to say to a girl to persuade her I was otherwise.’

Eliza found herself admiring his honesty and an attractive humility. ‘Really, Mr Flynn, you’re fine as you are. Don’t change in any particular. Certainly not to try and turn yourself into any kind of romantic.’

His handsome blue eyes looked relieved. ‘Well, that is good of you to say so. But how am I to persuade you of my warmest feelings towards you?’

Eliza laughed softly. ‘Ah, I’m afraid I’m a lost cause, Mr Flynn.’ She stood up and said more brusquely, ‘Now I must go and experience for myself the impecunious spinsters, rich old duchesses and fortune-hunting rakes to be found at The Pump Room.’

Accompanied by Polly, Eliza walked the hundred yards to Pulteney Bridge with its pretty shops and the torrent of the river Avon below; how disturbingly familiar this stretch of bridge and water seemed to her, stirring the deepest of memories.

She was relieved to turn left towards the Abbey.

Whatever Mr Flynn and his guidebook might say, Bath was a pleasingly compact city with everything within walking distance, and the backdrop of green hills with grazing sheep imparting an air of rustic charm.

The classic portico of The Pump Room faced both women as they stood on the paved courtyard outside the great Abbey church.

There was a bustle round the entrance with people of every age and kind coming and going, some in wheeled chairs, some leaning heavily on walking sticks, many looking very fashionable indeed to Eliza’s inexperienced eye.

She was pleased she was wearing such a becoming gown and pelisse and had chosen the best of her bonnets for the occasion.

They pressed through the crowd to find themselves in a vast lofty room lined with pillars with two great fireplaces emitting heat and flame.

Between these edifices and surrounded by a throng was a marble urn spouting a cloudy liquid.

This, Eliza surmised, was where the legendary healing waters were dispensed, their sulphurous smell filling the air.

The musicians in the small orchestra in the raised gallery at the farthest wall were playing as if their lives depended on it, while those visitors who could walk promenaded the room, chatting while keeping beady eyes on who might be of note in the wider company.

Eliza turned to point the waters out to Polly when a tall figure of a man caught her eye.

His back was to her, and he was on his way out, but she thought he looked remarkably like Lord Purfoy.

Her heart lurched. He was meant to be at his estate in Hertfordshire.

Then she noticed that on his arm was a woman, tall and willowy, with an elaborate plumed bonnet that shielded her face from Eliza’s gaze.

There had never been any talk of a serious woman in his lordship’s life; surely she was mistaken in thinking this man him?

She admonished herself for seeing him in any distinctive silhouette in her vicinity, but the uneasiness persisted.

She turned to Polly and they both queued up for their small glass of murky waters, wrinkled their noses at the smell and mineral taste and sipped the hot liquid gingerly.

‘I wonder if we’re drinking this before or after it’s been bathed in at the Baths? ’ Eliza asked with a grimace.

So noisy was the orchestra, so hot and stuffy the crush and malodorous the air, that Eliza took Polly’s hand and they retreated to the street.

They decided to walk into the Abbey itself and look at the tombstones, statues and inscriptions, but Eliza’s mind was distracted by thoughts of her father and the unwelcome anxieties of whether Lord Purfoy had, for some reason, been drawn to Bath with a lady companion in tow.

How painful it was to feel this confusion of operatic emotion.

Perhaps Mr Flynn was right in treating marriage as a pragmatic transaction free of the agonies of love?

They walked home the long way, marvelling at the shops in Milsom Street, as colourful and enticing as those in London’s Bond Street.

The clouds were gathering and the wind had increased.

Bath was notoriously wet and suddenly spots of rain were falling in big splashes on their faces.

‘Come, Polly, it’s not far, let’s hurry home.

’ They picked up their skirts and ran as decorously as possible, weaving in and out of the umbrellas and soon were at their house, tumbling through the door, laughing and soaked to the skin.

Not even their bonnets had kept out the deluge.

‘I’ll have to try and dry my hair before I have to go out.

And you’ll come with me, Polly? Just before four? ’

‘Of course, miss,’ she said. ‘I’ll come now and help you with your wet clothes.

’ Once more dressed and warm, Eliza decided to visit Corinna and see how Emma was.

She knocked on the door and when she entered, found Corinna sitting in the window reading while Emma slept in her mother’s bed. ‘Oh, Mrs Wolfe, how is she?’

Corinna’s face was not as drawn and pale with fatigue as at breakfast but her words were serious.

‘She has a mild fever which Meg and I are containing with cold towels. But I think after you’ve seen your father I may have to decide to return to London.

I’d rather rely on our own physician than the Bath ones, more used to ailments of the elderly. ’

‘Of course. I’ll be ready to leave whenever suits you. I’m granted an interview with the Marquess this afternoon. Then my work here is done.’

‘Come and tell me what you find out. I hope it is all you hope for.’

Eliza had tidied her hair and dressed in one of her borrowed afternoon gowns in palest lilac ribboned muslin, with a small straw bonnet lined in cream silk that flattered her face.

It was still drizzling with West Country rain and although they could have called for the chaise to be harnessed, they decided to walk the furlong or so to Bathwick Court, sheltered under two large black umbrellas.

The house was distinctive from afar as yew trees in the front garden, once tamed with topiary, were now so overgrown and unkempt their black branches stretched into the sky and overbore the roadway.

Eliza opened the gate and the women walked up the mossy path to an oak door, bleached by the years.

She knocked and waited. Listening intently, they noticed that no birdsong penetrated the dark canopy of trees.

Eliza knocked again just as the door opened a crack and two beady eyes peered out.

‘I’m Miss Gray. Lord Bathwick is expecting me.’