Marrying Miss Hemingford. Mary NicholsЧитать онлайн книгу.
wealthy, but stopped himself in time; the state of her purse was no concern of his. ‘Surely you have family and advisers looking after your money who have to approve the way you dispose of it?’
‘None,’ she said. ‘I am a free agent and I have more than I shall ever be able to spend.’
So she was wealthy. He was not sure if he was glad or sorry for that. Apart from her name, he knew nothing else about her. Who was she? Where had she come from? How could a single woman as young as she was control her own money? Surely she was not one of those demi-reps who pranced about Brighton on the arms of their aristocratic lovers, glad to have risen above the lives they were born to? Was it conscience money she was offering? He did not want to believe that. For the first time in years, he found himself admiring a woman, but stopped himself before his foolishness let him down again. She was beautiful, but Sophie had been beautiful too and what had that signified except a cold, calculating heart.
‘I think you should go away and think about this very carefully before you do something you might regret,’ he said.
‘Oh, I intend to. I shall make the most stringent enquiries, have no fear. You will not be burdened by a cabbage-head or an idler.’
‘I was not referring to the assistant, Miss Hemingford.’
She rose to go. ‘Oh, I know that, Dr Tremayne.’ She laughed as she offered him her hand. ‘But my mind is made up and those who know me best will tell you I am not easily diverted from my purpose.’
He could well believe that, he decided, as he took her hand and raised it to his lips before going to the door and opening it for her. He walked beside her down the corridor and passed the open door of the waiting room, already filling up with new patients. ‘You will be hearing from me again,’ she said. And without waiting for more protestations she stepped out into the street.
As soon as she turned the corner, she stopped and leaned against a wall to stop her knees buckling under her. Had she really had that extraordinary conversation? Had she really promised to find him an assistant and pay his wages? How, in heaven’s name, was she going to do that? She must be mad. She knew nothing about doctors or their assistants or where they could be hired. And, as for making stringent enquiries, she had no idea what questions to ask to verify an applicant’s suitability. And inside her, in the place where her conscience resided, she knew it had all begun as a ploy to keep talking to him, to enjoy his company, to look at that gaunt but handsome face and to wonder what it would be like shining with health. She had been imagining him among the people she associated with, fashionably dressed, his hair trimmed, his cravat starched, dancing with her at a ball, riding with her on the Downs, accepted by her friends as a gentleman. She was mad. Such a thing was not possible.
But that did not stop her from thinking about him and his plight. All the way home, she turned the problem of the assistant over in her mind. She had not come to a solution when she entered the house, nor when she arrived in her room to find Amelia in a taking because she had been gone so long and it was time to dress for supper. ‘Susan went to dress Mrs Bartrum an hour ago,’ she said. ‘And now there is no time to arrange your hair in the style we decided.’
Anne smiled and allowed herself to be dressed and have her hair coiled up on her head and fixed with two jewelled combs; she was hardly aware of Amelia’s grumbling. Her mind was in an untidy room in a back street, drinking tea and making outrageous promises to a man who seemed to have mesmerised her.
The first of the carriages drew up at the door as Anne went down to the drawing room and there was no time for Mrs Bartrum to question her niece about where she had been, for which Anne was thankful. She knew her aunt would be horrified to know she had been visiting a man— not even a gentleman—and been entertained alone in his room. If she knew Anne had given him money and promised more, she would have apoplexy, so it had to remain a secret. It was a pity, because Anne longed to tell someone about it and ask advice about hiring a doctor’s assistant.
What, for instance, did an assistant do? Did he treat the sick himself or only do the menial tasks such as dosing someone for the ague or binding a cut finger? Any competent person could do that, surely? And how much were they paid? Would her bankers have something to say when she asked for a regular amount to be paid from her account every month? Would they insist on knowing why and investigating the recipient? Questions like that bred more questions, but she had to put them aside to stand beside her aunt and receive their guests.
Lord and Lady Mancroft arrived with the Major, magnificent in his regimental dress uniform, then the widowed Mrs Barry with Annabelle and Jeanette, whom she hoped someone would take off her hands before much longer. Lieutenants Cawston and Harcourt arrived on foot, followed by Sir Gerald Sylvester, who came in a cab. Sir Gerald, fifty if he was a day and thin as a bean pole, was got up in a dark blue evening suit, a blue shirt whose collar points grazed his cheeks and supported a pink starched cravat with an enormous bow. His waistcoat was heavily embroidered in rose and silver thread and his breeches were so tight fitting, Anne wondered if he would be able to sit, much less eat. Captain Gosforth arrived last, in a black evening suit, white shirt and brocade waistcoat, and hurried over to bow and make his apologies to his hostesses, which meant he was standing beside them when supper was announced.
‘May I?’ he asked, offering his arm to Mrs Bartrum.
Graciously she laid her fingers on his sleeve, leaving Anne to be escorted by Major Mancroft, who was quickly at her side. His parents followed and everyone else paired up to go into the dining room, the Barry girls with the two lieutenants and Mrs Barry with Sir Gerald. They all knew each other; indeed, it was Anne and her aunt who were the strangers to the company, but Anne did not mind that; it gave her the opportunity to observe their guests. None of them, she realised, was likely to be acquainted with a young physician looking for a first post. Such a being would be beneath their notice.
‘I took your advice,’ she said to Captain Gosforth as the soup was served by the two footmen her aunt had employed for the evening. ‘I took a dip in the sea this morning.’
‘And how did you find it?’
‘Very refreshing. I shall certainly go again.’
‘And did you see the commotion on the beach?’ Lieutenant Cawston asked.
‘No. Was there a commotion?’
‘I was strolling along the sea front when I saw a crowd round a big white tent, so I wandered over to see the cause of it.’ He paused, realising he had the attention of everyone. ‘One of the fishermen had caught a large sea creature in his net and was preparing to make an exhibition of it, hence the tent. There was a notice on a board inviting the public to view the merman at tuppence a time.’
‘Merman! There is no such thing!’ Lord Mancroft scoffed. ‘Nor mermaids either.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Walter Gosforth said. ‘When I was sailing in the south seas, there were stories of strange sea creatures who were said to have the head and upper body of a human and the tail of a fish. They were supposed to lure sailors on to the rocks with their singing…’
‘Oh, do you think the Brighton fishermen have really caught one?’ Jeanette Barry asked, wide-eyed.
‘Of course not,’ her mother said. ‘It is no doubt something they’ve constructed for gullible people to gape at.’
‘I do not think they have constructed it,’ Anne said. ‘I heard about it yesterday from the child of the fisherman that caught it. She said it was a monster.’
They all turned to look at her and she began to wish she had not spoken. ‘You remember, Aunt, I told you about the little girl who was hurt.’
‘Do tell us the tale,’ Annabelle said. ‘How did you come to be in conversation with a fisherman’s daughter?’
Anne was obliged to tell the same story as she had related it to her aunt, which was not very exciting