Letters from Bath; Or, A Friend in Exile Read online

  Chapter Five

  Letter No. 9

  Thursday, 24th May

  Dear Julia,

  I look upon it as the most Providential thing, that I spent so many lines in one of my letters last week telling you the details of how I waste my time here, for today I have an incident to relate, which you could not properly appreciate without that silly prologue.

  This morning, perhaps an hour after my mother and I arrived at the pump-room, paid our respects to the memorial of The Venerable Nash and went our separate ways, I was sitting with the most devoted of my allies, and trying to persuade her that as little as I needed to submerge myself in medicinal waters, did I need to swallow them. Having been curious enough to accept a glass the very first day, I remain quite convinced that that single dose concentrated within it all the restorative ‘chemical agents’ I am likely to require for the rest of my natural life. My ladies, unfortunately, are just as firmly convinced that in order for the waters to attain their greatest efficacy within the human body, they must be imbibed daily. A polite conflict routinely arises on this subject, particularly between myself and the faithful Mrs. Warren, and today she had just declared her benevolent determination to fetch me a glass from the pump with her own two hands, and was struggling to her gouty feet despite my continued protests, when a certain passing gentleman, having overheard Mrs. Warren’s declaration (which would not have been difficult; she is very far, alas, from possessing that excellent thing, a voice that is ever soft, gentle and low), paused in his progress, and courteously—or officiously, depending upon one’s perception—offered to perform the task for her. Mrs. Warren, being of a mind to see only the courtesy, accepted with the smiles and flutters more suited to a young girl just come out, and sped him on his way with strident volleys of gratitude.

  In the brief lapse of time during which Mrs. Warren’s knight was absent on his quest, she recovered her composure enough to recall that she had been introduced to his aunt a fortnight ago, and though he had not been present on the occasion, she had afterward seen them together, and deduced his identity from what his aunt had said of him. His aunt—whose name she could not recall—was suffering from a bilious complaint, that had resisted all the various efforts of her physician for close on two years; she had come to try the Baths at her nephew’s insistence, though she held out little hope that they would prove efficacious. Her husband, who had but recently departed this life, had likewise urged the visit upon her, but she had not cared to leave him for so long, when his own condition would not permit him to accompany her. Mrs. Warren had not spoken to her since that day, but as the obliging and insistent nephew approached with his obnoxious burden, my companion was strangely overcome by a desire to know all about his aunt’s present condition. I felt little pity for him, for gentlemen who go about offering to fetch unnecessary items for elderly ladies in Bath must know very well that there can be no other reward for their services than a multitude of questions.

  Introductions were made as I received the glass with an insincere murmur of thanks, and if he realized the immense privilege bestowed upon him by being allowed to serve as butler to “Mrs. Northcott’s daughter” he concealed it admirably. As for me, I was merely relieved to find that his name did not hideously contradict his appearance—Grayson is a very respectable name; I must have objected if he had revealed himself to be a Doodle or a Bunbutter. As for that appearance itself, my admiration for it did not appreciably diminish due to this closer inspection, as such admiration too often does, though I was a little surprised to find him somewhat older than my original estimate; the difference in perspective between one yard and ten revealing that he was certainly past his thirtieth year, and that the momentous anniversary was probably even lost from sight around the bend.

  Not that this signified; in fact, it rather increased my admiration, for how few gentleman, who may be considered good-looking in the first flush of youth, manage to retain anything but a ‘pleasant appearance’ beyond it? To do so, I am convinced, one must possess the proper sort of bones to support one’s features; it is the physical manifestation of a theological truth, that a house built upon sand will not endure once the storm of time passes over it. I estimated that Mr. Grayson’s house was built upon a sturdy enough foundation, that he need not worry about significant quantities of erosion for perhaps a score of years. I had plenty of time to form this favorable judgment, since after Mrs. Warren verbally herded him into taking a seat, she set herself to extract from him a potted history of his life. This he surrendered with the good-natured ease of a man well-used to offering inconsequential personal scraps on the altar of feminine curiosity, while somehow persuading the officiating priestess that he has sacrificed the entire ox. (Forgive the sanguinary nature of the image, but I could not resist it when it came to me in a burst of creative genius.)

  At the end of perhaps twenty minutes, Mrs. Warren was thoroughly satisfied to have discovered that a) he was single; b) he had been for some years a fellow at Cambridge; and c) his aunt had just yesterday admitted for the first time that she thought the waters were ameliorating her condition. This last subject he was perfectly willing to expound upon, and patiently engaged Mrs. Warren in a rather horrifying discussion of various points raised in Sir George Somebody-or-other’s Treatise on Bath Waters (which inspired me with a strong desire not even to touch the glass which held mine, let alone drink its contents), and listened attentively to several of her favorite stories of those who had been converted to the praise of Bath waters, even after being disillusioned by those supposedly possessing ‘a greater quantity of virtuous minerals.’ He eventually made his escape after pronouncing his conviction that his aunt would be very much flattered if Mrs. Warren chose to seek her out, and bestow upon her the wisdom of her greater experience.

  This short interview left my companion so in charity with Mr. Grayson, that she could only satisfy her esteem for him by employing the next half-hour in repeating to me everything that he had told her, interlarded with various descriptive adjectives—“so kind!” “truly amiable!”—just as if I had not been sitting beside them for the entirety of the conversation. Indeed, so enraptured was she with his amiable qualities, that she soon persuaded herself that so worthy a gentleman could not possibly have nothing but a fellowship to recommend him, and spent another fifteen minutes explaining how the superior cut and cloth of his garments marked him for a man of both means and taste, beyond that which could be expected of even a duly elected fellow.

  At first, I was a little puzzled as to why she should be so determined to lift him out of his scholarly domain (is there a University rule, I wondered, that posits the wearing of ill-fitting coats?), but gradually my darkness gave way to light, and I realized that her lecture upon coats and coat-makers was designed to inspire me to look favorably upon the gentleman as a Prospective Match. Since a few seconds’ thought was sufficient for me to dismiss any suspicion that her efforts had been prompted by instructions from my mother—she would never have looked favorably upon a mere tutor, however grand his sphere of instruction, nor desired me to do so—I quickly forgave Mrs. Warren her readiness to assign my hand to a gentleman perhaps twice my age, and began attending to her with a countenance designed to reflect a certain wistful melancholy. When she allowed me to do so, I delicately reminded her that a young lady as Sorely Afflicted as I was, was unlikely to be considered a suitable match by any reasonably healthy gentleman. I mentioned the difficulty of stairs—I feel sure that most rooms at an ancient University can only be attained by a great many of them, and all of them narrow—and the fatigue involved in hosting dinners—surely such men dine together frequently, in order to complain about the undergraduates, and discuss who must next be rusticated—and anything else I could think of that might cast a discouraging light on her benevolent plans. Having firmly established myself once again in her mind as A Pitiable Creature, I turned the conversation to a more cheerful contemplation of Mrs. Farris’s recent poor luck with cards, and over th
e course of the next hour managed, by incremental degrees, to lower my unconsumed glass of selenite-and-chalybeate-impregnated-waters behind the leg of my chair, where it was happily forgotten as we moved down the room to join those shocking late-comers, Mrs. Belmar and Mrs. Ashford.

  Yours affctly, Ann Northcott

  PS. It will not surprise you to know, that my mother, though in another room at the time, in some occult fashion, became aware of the meeting between her only daughter and an eligible bachelor of whatever age, and later quizzed me thoroughly on the subject. After hearing of the facts gleaned by Mrs. Warren’s inquisition, she was pleased to enforce my natural indifference by her opinion that at least I had ‘sense enough not to form foolish romantic fancies about a man who had wasted his youth teaching other men’s heirs.’ This inspired me to contemplate the pleasures to be found in disappointing her expectations—she had not, after all, actually forbade me to form an attachment to him—but you will be relieved to know that I abandoned the notion after no more than a few minutes.

  In any event, it is doubtful if he would have obliged me with even the most trifling flirtation, since, according to my mother, a man must step down from his fellowship if he takes a wife; a circumstance of which Mrs. Warren was clearly in ignorance. Or perhaps not, since she was so desirous of divorcing his income from his college, and proving his coat the product of at least a comfortable independence.