Holiday in Bath Read online

  “If you would, Will. Mrs. Reed is enjoying her usual good health, I presume.”

  “Never better, an’ I’m any judge.” The boy grinned. His employer held his devotion but hardly his awe.

  “Excellent. Is there anyone here I am likely to know?”

  “Aye, Mr. Rusholme and Mr. Bodford arrived not this half hour past.”

  “Tony must have made a recovery,” Cranford mur­mured as he turned to leave.

  The flambeaux on either side of the door lit the gravel path well enough to aid the visitor, and the flicker of candlelight from the first-floor drawing room gave the place a festive air which was not belied by entry into the hall. Ablaze with light and well supplied with liveried footmen, the hall had the atmosphere of a private party carried out to perfec­tion. Entry was not by card, however, but by personal recommendation from a previous visitor, with Mrs. Reed having the final word on any newcomer. Cranford gave his hat and gloves to the footman and cast a hasty glance in the gilt-framed glass above the hall table. The black cravat he sported was rather a personal joke, poking fun at his own solemnity at those times when he discussed his researches on Roman ruins. His reflection assured him that there was nothing amiss with the folds of the cravat, or the straight black hair, but one of the high cheekbones retained a redness where his father’s ringed hand had scraped the skin. With an impatient shrug, he turned aside to climb the finely carved oak staircase.

  A dozen people stood about the room into which he was ushered, and all turned as he was announced. Mrs. Reed, a petite, aging beauty, tripped forward with outstretched hands. “Ah, Cranford, you have chosen to honor us with your presence. It’s been some time and we thought you had forgotten us.”

  “Impossible,” he retorted as he raised her hand to his lips. “You look as charming as ever, Sally. Am I in time for dinner?”

  “That’s all men ever think about,” she admonished him.

  "Hardly. . . in your house.” His eyes strayed in turn to the five other women in the room, each elegantly dressed, all enchantingly beautiful. “I believe there has been an addition since last I was here.”

  “Margaret.” Mrs. Reed motioned to a fiery-haired dam­sel as she spoke the name. “May I present Mr. Ashwicke to you, Margaret? He hasn’t been here since you came, so we can surely accuse him of at least three months’ neglect.”

  “I had to marshal my resources,” he complained laugh­ingly, “after that last foray into faro. Miss Margaret, I am charmed to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Ashwicke.” The emerald-green eyes studied him frankly and a dimple appeared as she smiled. “Mr. Bodford has spoken of you.”

  “Has he now? And what could the bounder possibly have told you to call forth such a smile? I personally never believe a word he says.”

  “How unfair, Cranford!” declared a sturdily built young man who appeared at his elbow. “I need all the credibility I can muster with Miss Margaret and don’t you go spoiling it. Told her nothing but that you were top of the trees, I promise.”

  “And that you collect broken tombstones,” Margaret added, her eyes twinkling.

  “I never!” Mr. Bodford protested. “You must be think­ing of Rusholme. He is the one who thinks you’re a ghoul, like Selwyn, but I have never known you to chase after funeral processions or frequent Tyburn. The man must have been dicked in the nob—Selwyn, I mean, not you, Cranford.” Bodford eyed Margaret with mock reproach. “Now see what you’ve done, my dear. Gotten me all twisted up. Cranford is the best of fellows even if he does like to grub about in ruins. Just don’t talk to him about old fortifications and you will find him a charming conversationalist. But be warned! One mention of the moldering past and he’s off! I tell you only for your own protection, I assure you.”

  Cranford laughed. “It is no more than the truth, Miss Margaret. Once I get on my hobby horse, I am like to forget that my audience does not perhaps share my fascination with antiquities. Mrs. Reed has a habit of squelching my enthusi­asm rather effectively, however.”

  Mrs. Reed regarded him affectionately. “You need do no more than call him ‘Professor,’ Margaret. It has the most wonderful effect on him.”

  The young woman dimpled again and said solemnly, “I shall remember.”

  “Come, Cranford,” Mrs. Reed urged, linking her arm with his, “You’ve had no chance to speak with the others and it’s nearly time for dinner.”

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  When the gong sounded, Cranford offered his arm to the young woman standing beside him, an elegantly tall, fair-haired beauty named Kitty. It was not the first time he had escorted her to dinner; in fact, when he came to Mrs. Reed’s he invariably sought her out. There was a refinement about her wholly at odds with her way of life. Soft-spoken and surprisingly dignified, she was not the choice of most of the men who came, but she was a favorite of Mrs. Reed’s because of her decided air of class. Mrs. Reed ran a very distin­guished establishment and tolerated no ill-mannered ruffians amongst her guests, nor unseemly public behavior from her girls. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays her doors were open to those privileged few whom she deemed worthy of entry; if any man dared treat her house as a common gaming house or brothel, he was quickly escorted from the premises and denied future entry. Her standards were high, and Miss Kitty, in her opinion, helped to set the tone of the house.

  Lacking the vivacity of Margaret or Claudette, and, though well endowed, not nearly so provocative as Marie or Susan, Kitty yet had a fascination of her own for those who appreciated her calm personality and reserved demeanor. Mrs. Reed was protective of her prize asset, as one might expect, but Kitty’s natural warmth stilled any resentment there might have been amongst the other girls. A shrewd businesswoman and a clever judge of character, Mrs. Reed had no girls who resented their way of life, even Kitty.

  “Come and sit by me,” Mrs. Reed urged Cranford as they entered the dining parlor, which sparkled with crystal and silver. “And Tony shall sit on Kitty’s right to amuse her just in case you should backslide.”

  “Never fear. Between the two most beautiful women in the room I am more like to pour forth poetry,” Cranford assured her. “‘Not marble, nor the gilded monuments, Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish time.’”

  Mrs. Reed pursed her lips. “I think that makes me feel old, Cranford, if nothing worse. How is your father?”

  “Much as usual.” Cranford unconsciously touched the scrape on his cheek.

  “I’ve often thought it would be interesting to meet him. Have you been long at Ashwicke Park?”

  “For the last few weeks. I spent several months at Coverly.”

  “That’s your estate, is it not?”

  “Yes, I inherited it from my mother.”

  Kitty asked gently, “And does it prosper, Mr. Ashwicke? You seemed troubled when you last spoke of it.”

  “I was concerned that an experiment I was trying might not prove successful, but it has exceeded my expectations.”

  Tony Bodford leaned forward to interject, “You don’t say! You have the most incredible luck, Cranford. Who would have thought you could do a blessed thing with chamomile? Surely there aren’t that many people who drink the stuff as tea! Ugh!”

  Cranford laughed. “Not only tea, Tony. It’s used as medicine, too, and in warm fomentations. But it wasn’t just the chamomile. I’ve tried a new variety of sheep on the land. Smaller because the poorness of the soil won’t support a larger breed. When next you buy Bagshot mutton in London, it may well come from Coverly and have that sweetness for which the sheep which graze on the heath are noted. Not that most of the Bagshot mutton is actually grazed there. Usually they come from the Hampshire downs.”

  “No doubt the viscount is delighted with your success,” Tony said sardonically.

  “He hasn’t asked.”

  “You’d think he were run off his legs th
e way he cut you off when you inherited Coverly from your mother!” Tony blurted. “Whoever heard of such a thing? Rich as a nabob and he flings you off to make the best of a barren heath! Sometimes I think…”

  Cranford flashed him a warning look and turned to Mrs. Reed. “Next time I’m in Surrey I’ll have some of the mutton sent to you. I think you’ll find it exceptionally good.”

  Though Kitty’s gray eyes registered her surprise at the gratuitous information offered by Tony Bodford, she followed Cranford’s lead and turned the subject to other matters. The table at the Cypress was no less extravagant than all its other claims on the gentlemen who came. No haut ton dinner party had a finer bill of fare; no gaming club in London was run with more finesse and order. The stakes were high but not exorbitant, and a table was often kept for more moderate plungers. Kitty sat quietly at Cranford’s side as he played, smiling when he glanced at her and pleased when he rose early as a winner. As was the custom of the house, she left the room while he bade his friends good evening and made his farewells to Mrs. Reed.

  Kitty’s room was at the end of the west corridor and Cranford made his way there at a leisurely pace, quietly knocking on the paneled door to announce his arrival. When he entered he found her standing by the fire, its glow the only light in the room. He went to stand by her without speak­ing.

  “Is what Mr. Bodford said true? Your father expects you to support yourself from a barren estate?”

  “It’s hardly barren,” he said with amusement. “Tony disparages it because it bears no resemblance to his family’s vast acreage. Admittedly it was not in good order when I inherited it. My father had made no attempt to keep it up, feeling much as Tony does and resenting the fact that my mother brought to the marriage only two relatively useless properties. My sister’s husband is having the devil of a time doing anything with her inheritance, too.”

  “But your father doesn’t support you, his heir?”

  “No. He feels it will build my character to struggle under adversity,” he replied ruefully as he stroked her hair. “And it was certainly an effective way to stop the spendthrift habits of my youth. My mother was forever purse-pinched from bailing me out of difficulties and when her allowance did not suffice . . . well, my father thinks of this as a way for me to repay him for his expenditures on my behalf.”

  Kitty touched the lines on his forehead with gentle fingers. “You make light of what cannot be a pleasant situation. What will happen when you wish to marry?”

  “He’ll make a handsome settlement on me—if I marry the lady of his choice.”

  “And has he chosen someone for you?”

  “Oh, yes, there was never any question. He thinks when I tire of living hand to mouth I will marry and unite the two neighboring properties.” Cranford traced the oval of her face and bent to kiss her.

  After a while she asked, “And will you?”

  “I suppose so, if Trelenny will have me, which is doubtful. But not because of my father.”

  “You love the lady?”

  “Dear God, no. She’s ... no matter. There is another debt I owe. May I?” His hands rested on the buttons of her gown and when she nodded he began carefully to unfasten them, kissing the nape of her neck as he did so.

  “And will you and your bride live with him?”

  “He thinks so. I doubt he can imagine our living at Coverly, but he’s wrong. I’ve spent as much as I dared in restoring the house there and it won’t be long before it will be acceptable.” As the gown fell unheeded to the floor he gathered her in his arms. “I’d like to have set you up somewhere this last year or so, Kitty. I couldn’t afford to.”

  Her long fingers paused as she unbuttoned his coat. “I’m happy here, Cranford. It’s lonely sitting in a house some­where with no one about, waiting for your protector to come and visit you. You have no friends, no life outside those visits. Perhaps it would be different in London but London is so... rough. Don’t be sorry you couldn’t take me under your protection. I probably wouldn’t have left here, anyhow.”

  “I see.” He ran his hands gently down her slender body, aware that his touch quickly brought forth a response in her. “You wouldn’t prefer. . . no, I won’t ask that. You have the most beautiful body, Kitty. The gentle swell of your breasts, not like some ship’s prow. And your hips—I should like to see you riding. You must be the most graceful rider imagin­able.”

  Kitty smiled gently as he continued to stroke her body. “I don’t know how to ride, Cranford, and I haven’t the least desire to learn. You are quite a romantic, you know.”

  “Am I?” he asked, surprised. “I have always thought of myself as exceedingly mundane.”

  “You dream of ideals, I think. Oh, I like that. Shall I...”

  Some time later she lay quietly in his arms as he traced a pattern on her naked body with a languid finger. “Will you be coming again soon?”

  “I really don’t know. I hope so. You really like it here?” he asked curiously.

  “Yes. I like having friends around. Claudette keeps us laughing and Marie tells the most incredible stories. Mrs. Reed knows all the latest gossip and Susan is always ready to walk about the estate with me. I’m always warm, and full, and happy.”

  “But what of. . . years from now?”

  “Mrs. Reed puts aside money for us, and it’s ours whenever we wish to leave.”

  “And that’s enough?”

  “We are handsomely paid. Oh, I see. Yes, that’s enough.” Kitty’s gray eyes regarded him kindly. “You want there to be more. I’m sorry, Cranford, but there’s not. You are idealizing again, you see. I don’t support an aging mother or an invalid father or a dozen deserving brothers and sisters. There’s only me, and I like to dress well and eat well and be warm and comfortable. I was not victimized by some lecher­ous man who robbed my virtue and started me on a life of degradation. I was not even wretchedly poor and abandoned. Some years ago I made a modest living as a seamstress to a very distinguished family. I saw how they lived and I wanted more. It’s as simple as that. Now I have what I want. Does that shock you?”

  “Yes.” He sighed and then laughed. “You are right, dear lady. I build castles in the air. My mother was a dreamer; it was all she had. I wish. . . well, perhaps I take after her. Which is not to say that my illusions are shattered! You are still the most desirable woman I’ve set eyes on in years, and I have every intention of returning as soon as may be.” He kissed her and gently disengaged himself. “Sleep well, my lovely. I have a long drive ahead of me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Trelenny, feeling reluctantly and belatedly guilty for the way she had treated poor, harmless Cranford the previous day, sat drowsing over his translations of Antoninus. It was remarkable to her how, when she had felt perfectly energetic before beginning her reading, only three pages of the unfa­miliar names could make her feel overcome with the greatest lethargy imaginable. She had closed her eyes and her hand had slipped from the page when her mother’s voice recalled her attention.

  “Do you remember Cousin Filkins, Trelenny? I believe he’s actually your father’s second cousin by marriage. You must have met him, oh, perhaps five years ago when he came to visit.”

  “I remember him,” Trelenny said dispiritedly as she stifled a yawn. “He kept telling me that freckles were the outward signs of sin and that if I did a good deed each day they would one by one disappear. I must be the most dastardly sinner, for I have more now than I did at thir­teen.”

  “What nonsense! It is no such thing, my dear. Freckles have no relation whatsoever with your soul.”

  “Perhaps I could convince Cranford that they do,” Trelenny said thoughtfully. “Surely such a righteous man would never consider a sinner for a bride.”

  “Trelenny! He is no more righteous than the next, I promise you. Why, I recall his mother telling me the most astonishing stories of the wild oats he was sowing. But pay no heed to me. I’m sure he is a very respectable fellow now and he doesn’t mean to appear straitl
aced. Has he scolded you about something?”

  “Humph. He sets himself up as the model of every virtue,” Trelenny said evasively. “Tell me what he did, Ma­ma.”

  “That would be gossiping, my love, and you know I can’t approve of gossip. But I was about to tell you that I have had a letter from Cousin Filkins. And can you imagine, he intends to visit us!”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Not a rushed sort of visit, he says, but a good long stay to renew his old friendship with your Papa.”

  “I might have known.”

  “I wonder why he would come at this time of year?” Mrs. Storwood mused. “He must know that the weather is not at its best now. He should have come in the summer.”

  “He probably wasn’t rolled-up then. Maybe he’s had an execution in his house,” her daughter said hopefully. “I’ve never met anyone with his pockets to let before. Do you suppose he will borrow money from Papa to pay his debts?”

  “Where do you learn these terms? It’s vulgar to talk so, Trelenny, and we have no reason to believe that Cousin Filkins is financially embarrassed. Quite the contrary, in fact. He is. coming post.”

  Trelenny sniffed. “It’s all show, Mama. Probably Papa will have to pay the post boys to ransom him.”

  Mrs. Storwood rubbed her forehead; it was a common gesture she employed when her daughter wove some outra­geous tale. Unfortunately she could not, as she wished to do, tell her daughter that Cousin Filkins was not financially embarrassed, because in all likelihood he was. But she had no intention of allowing Trelenny to spread such a rumor about the estate. “I think I will just take a small nap, dear. You’re not expecting Cranford, are you?”

  “Oh, no, you go right along, Mama. Does your head hurt? Shall I bring you something for it?”

  “I only need to rest quietly for a while, dear. Perhaps a dish of tea, but nothing more.”