Mary Nichols - Marrying Miss Hemingford

‘I have no idea. I assumed it was a larger-than-usual fish.’

‘Well, it is of no moment,’ her aunt said. ‘You did what you could to help them and that should be an end of it.’

‘I would dearly like to know who that officer was driving the curricle. How anyone can run down a child and carry on as if nothing untoward had happened I do not know. It was wicked. He might have killed her.’

‘Anne, I know you have a tender heart and I would not have you any other way, but you cannot fight everyone’s battles for them. Put it from your mind. You are here to enjoy yourself.’

Anne did try to put it from her mind, but whatever she was doing, the memory of that tiny child lying unconscious in the road kept intruding, and when she wasn’t thinking of Tildy, she was thinking of Dr Tremayne and, try as she might, she could not banish him. Perhaps if she were to see him again, she might realise that he was not an Adonis, nor clever, just a very ordinary man, not even a gentleman, a physician who worked among the poor because he was not good enough to minister to the rich and earn the substantial fees they were prepared to pay. But that did not mean she could not sympathise with his work. And she had promised a donation. Instead of sending it through a third party as she had intended, she would take it herself when she could get away from her aunt without arousing suspicion. She had a feeling that Aunt Bartrum would not approve.

The remainder of the day was spent in making plans for the supper party. Her aunt drew her into every decision, from the bill of fare and the wine, to the table decorations and the clothes they should wear. Mrs Bartrum would be dressed in unrelieved black, but the gown she chose was of silk, elegantly cut with a low décolletage and deep satin ruching round the hem and it fitted her slight form to perfection. Widow or not, she was still a very attractive woman. But Anne’s choice was another matter. ‘Let me see what you have brought with you,’ her aunt said.

She was sitting on Anne’s bed, while Amelia pulled gowns out of the cupboard and her trunk, which had not yet been fully unpacked. Anne had never been one for finery; living at Sutton Park with her grandfather, she rarely needed to dress up and only when she went to London for the Season, did she bother about her wardrobe. She had not done so this year, so it had not been replenished, except for the two ball gowns her aunt had insisted on buying when they were passing through London. ‘There are at least two balls every week in Brighton,’ she had told her. ‘And you never know, if the Prince is in residence, he might invite us to the Pavilion.’

‘I do not think I should like to go.’

‘Me neither, but an invitation is a royal command and we would have no choice.’

‘In that case we will avoid anyone with any connection to the royal gentleman.’

But it was not ball gowns that interested her now, but something to wear for their supper party when she hoped Anne would make a lasting impression on the single gentlemen present. ‘Black, grey, mauve, dark blue,’ her aunt intoned as the gowns were brought out for her approval. ‘Have you nothing with any colour in it?’

‘Grandfather has been gone less than a month, Aunt, and I cannot, in all conscience, wear bright colours. Besides, they do not become me…’

‘Well, this dove-grey crepe will have to do. You can dress it up with lace and silk flowers. We will go out this afternoon and see what the shops have to offer.’

Anne, who had been used to being independent and doing things her own way, felt as though she were losing control of her life. If she were not careful, her aunt would have her married off to the first eligible man who showed an interest. The difficulty was that Aunt Bartrum was such a dear, so well meaning and unselfish, she would be bound to be offended if her niece appeared awkward. There was nothing for it but to go along with her until something happened that meant she would have to stand her ground, then she would have to be firm.

They rose early the next morning and set off for the beach accompanied by Susan and Amelia to help them undress and to look after their clothes while they were in the sea. Mrs Bartrum was complaining good humouredly about having to rise before half the town had even been to bed, but Anne, who loved the time just after dawn when the birds were singing and few people were about, simply laughed and said she would be able to catch up on her sleep that afternoon before their guests began to arrive.

The tide was out when they reached the beach and they picked their way carefully over the newly washed shingle to the bathing machines, some of which were already in the water, and others were drawn up in a line, each with its attendant. Anne, seeing Mrs Smith, made her way over to her. ‘How is Tildy?’ she asked her.

‘She is on the mend, ma’am, thank you for asking. She had a real bad headache for a time, but it passed and the wound is healing. I’m right thankful you came along when you did.’

‘I did nothing, Mrs Smith. It was Dr Tremayne who did most.’

‘Oh, yes, ma’am. The man’s a saint, he never turns anyone away and he hardly ever takes money for what he does. I don’t know what us poor folks would do without him.’

‘Then you must be very thankful for him and hope he continues for a long time to come.’ She was aware of her aunt standing beside her, drinking in the conversation, and knew she would be in for a quizzing later.

‘We pray for that, ma’am, but he has to rely on what people give him to carry on. I believe he is finding it ’ard.’

‘We shall have to see what can be done to help,’ Anne said, smiling at the woman. ‘And talking about giving, I want to thank you for that box of fish. But there was no need to send so much.’

‘Course there was. Tildy is worth more ’n a box of fish to me. Besides, you pai—’

She was not allowed to finish before Anne stopped her. ‘Mrs Smith, my aunt and I would like to take a dip in the sea, would you tell us what we have to do?’

The woman called the next of her colleagues in the line to look after Mrs Bartrum while she served Anne. They were each given a brown cotton gown and climbed into the huts with their maids to help them undress. Anne put on the shapeless garment and tied it with a cord round the waist and set a mob cap over her hair, before calling out that she was ready. The horse set off at a steady plod pulling the hut over the wet shingle and into the sea. ‘How deep do you wish to go?’ Mrs Smith asked.

‘Deep enough to immerse myself totally, if you please.’

When the hut came to a stop, facing the English Channel, the door was opened and Anne realised that all but the top two steps had disappeared into the water. Gingerly she stepped down, feeling with her toes and hanging on to Mrs Smith, who led her down. The water was icy cold and made her gasp. ‘It’s freezing.’

‘It always feels cold when you first go in. You will not notice it after a minute or two,’ Mrs Smith said. ‘Best thing is to get in quickly.’

It was what she had done as a child when bathing in the river at Sutton Park with Harry and Jane, but she could not remember it being as cold as this. She jumped off the last few steps, letting out a single shriek as the cold water hit her almost bare flesh, felt her dress balloon around her, then settle about her body. The more genteel ladies simply stayed under the cover of the hood, but that was not enough for Anne; she struck out towards her aunt’s machine. ‘It’s lovely,’ she called. ‘Come on in.’

Aunt Bartrum was a little timid and did not venture far from the safety of the bathing machine where she was hid den, but Anne set out for deeper water, where a few hardy heads bobbed above the surface. As a child she had done everything her brother had done, climbing trees, riding, shooting, swimming; Grandfather had often said she was as much of a boy as Harry was. He had warned her, and so had Amelia in later years, that men did not like women who excelled in physical outdoor pursuits, but she did not see why she should curb her pleasures simply to attract a man. If she took a husband, he would have to love her for what she was. The thought that she might even consider marriage took her by surprise. Was her aunt already wearing her down? She would be silly to allow that, it could only lead to disappointment.