“You are right about the mud,” Amy said, wishing to cheer her sister, who was too hard on herself on the subject of Latin.
Their father nodded sagely. “They laugh at us becoming stuck in the muddy lanes with our fine shoes, while they are clever enough to wear the Liège shoes made of sturdy leather.” He lowered himself into the wingback chair and lifted his cane, adding, “I’ve learned they also call us tripeds, and I should say it is quite apt, for I certainly resemble one. I particularly like this one I’ve just purchased.”
Amy remembered the shoes the couple had worn that morning. “Papa, where might we have those shoes made for us?”
Before he could respond, a knock sounded on the door, and their second maid, Eunice, hurried by them to open it. Sounds of the visitor speaking in rapid French reached them, and the maid reentered the parlor with the visitor at her heels. She sent Mr. Bridwell a helpless shrug, and he gestured for the man to come in.
“You are here already. Very good. You may as well take our measurements.” Mr. Bridwell spoke French with a degree of fluency and even spoke Italian tolerably well, but he was too much of a nationalist to think he should have to use it to communicate with local tradesmen. The French language should be reserved for scholarly pursuits.
He addressed his daughters. “We must each be measured for the localSpadoisshoes if you wish to walk the streets unhindered.”
“I am glad you ordered some to be made for us,” Amy said, surprised he had thought of it. As the cordwainer pulled off her father’s boot and measured his foot, she added, “I found it difficult to walk in the mud and agree that these shoes are a necessity while we are here.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Bridwell answered as the shoemaker shoved his boot back onto his foot. “Particularly when we walk outdoors. Tonight, however, we must attend La Redoute. We will not need the shoes to go there, for we will take the carriage.”
Amy was relieved to find that her father had remembered the ball. This interest in local assemblies would likely fade as soonas the novelty wore off. Then he would be back in his books or in the company of like-minded scholars in some private library or public café. She and her sisters must make local connections while they could. She waited for her sisters to have their feet measured before sitting for her turn. The man was efficient and promised to have their shoes ready in two days. Eunice came to show him out as Amy slipped her foot back into her shoe.
A brief silence had fallen, and their father broke it. “Tomorrow morning, we will rise at five o’clock to drink the waters.”
“Five o’clock!” Amy and Hannah both exclaimed. Marianne absorbed the news with more complacency. She was accustomed to waking at the crack of dawn in pursuit of the morning light if that was what her painting required.
“Every morning,” their father replied with unabated cheer. “We will drink the waters of Pouhon, and then those of us who have been instructed to do so will ride to the Sauvenière and Géronstère sources to drink those waters as well, for they have different properties. It is the thing to do while in Spa.”
“Surely not the morning following the ball?” Hannah asked.
“Every morning,” Mr. Bridwell insisted.
Marianne now joined the protest, but Amy merely stood. There were things to do. Besides, there was no point in arguing against following the local customs once their father had learned of them. She would simply have to adapt.
“We had better have supper soon,” she said. “We leave for the assembly hall before six and must be properly dressed.”
Frances had returned from the stables and was in the servants’ rooms, ironing lace. Amy went to consider the gowns in her wardrobe. She pulled out first one, then another, conscious that her wish to attend the assembly was entirely due to her desire to see James again. She refused to admit even to herself that what she felt was hope. ... Hope that perhaps this long tour would not be a wasted, fruitless endeavor. Hope that perhaps she was meant to have come to the Continent after all, for here she would bereunited with her first and only love. Had the heavens spared her from finding someone else because she and James were destined for each other?
She fingered the cloth on a silk gown even as she forced herself to dismiss this optimistic thought. No one knew better than she how little such a thing as hope could be relied upon. James had most likely moved on. How could he not have? Perhaps he was already married, although she somehow had trouble believing this after his reaction. Had he been married, he would merely have shown surprise and not the shock she had seen on his face. She wondered what he was doing here in Spa. There was plenty of society to be had—even more than in Bath, it seemed—but this was an odd place to settle if one had no reason to come.
Frances returned with the lace, interrupting her musings, and it was just as well if she was to begin dressing. She must wear her yellow silk gown with the woven gold threads that would catch the candlelight. This could be paired with the white ribbon and gold pendant around her throat, and she would have Frances powder her hair in a color closer to the white that seemed to be more fashionable in Europe. Amy needed to look her very best tonight.
Chapter 6
La Redoute was located only a couple of streets from the Bridwells’ hotel, an assembly hall built of wood and covered in pitch, a plain, massive edifice, alleviated by the evenly spaced windows and double doors in the middle. As they drew up to its entrance, Amy scoured the faces of each person streaming in, seeking one in particular. Hundreds, it seemed, entered the doors at once, making her goal impossible. This was a larger number of Quality than she had expected to see in the humble town of Spa.
She stepped out of the carriage, her breath visible in the night air. With the intemperance of spring, the temperature had plummeted since yesterday. As she turned to watch the crowds from under the stiff rim of her calash bonnet while waiting for her father and sisters to alight, it dawned on her that all other attendees, apart from the most feeble, were arriving on foot and carrying their dancing slippers. People glanced at her family as they passed by, their carriage announcing them as newcomers.
“Come, daughters. I must bless the building before we enter it.” Mr. Bridwell had taken out a green vial from his waistcoat pocket and excused himself as he walked over to the building and began shaking the contents on its façade.
People stopped to watch, and Amy hid her flush of embarrassmentby turning back to walk with her sisters. Why could their family not, for once, remain under the cover of anonymity?
The ladies wore thick cloaks over their gowns, and a few courageous ones left their heads bare except for a feather or other adornment to their tall coiffures. The men wore greatcoats and cocked hats pushed low to cover their ears. Variations in fashionable attire labeled some as foreigners, and she heard sounds of Italian and what she thought might be German or Dutch. There were also the blessed sounds of the English tongue with both Irish and the more familiar English accents, and she glanced at these faces curiously. They would provide her best hope for companionship.
Once inside, they followed the stream of guests past the cardroom, where some stopped to greet acquaintances or join the tables set out, the rest going up the stairwell leading to the ballroom. Amy pinched the thick woven silk of her skirt as she climbed and wondered how they would gain introductions upon arrival, for they knew no one. Their father could not always be relied upon to follow the proper protocol in social situations, as his mind was occupied with loftier matters. This was one of Amy’s recurring trials whenever they were away from their home and required the protection of a guardian.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Marianne’s gasp echoed her own surprise. Nothing on the outside of La Redoute had prepared her for the elegance of the ballroom, which was open and visible from the landing at the top of the stairs. Sixteen columns graced the perimeter, creating a covered peristyle to allow guests to walk along the outskirts of the floor. The ceiling had a recessed interior with a double cornice, and the center was painted with mythological figures in pale blue and creamy white. Low chandeliers illuminated the white and gold decorations on the walls, and the left side of the ballroom contained a tiered seating area for people wishing only to watch the dance.
At the entrance stood the master of ceremonies, greeting andbowing to all who entered. This proved to be none other than Mr. Gaetano, who gave a broad smile when he saw them.
“Ah, Mr. Bridwell, good evening. I had hoped I might see you here and brought the visitors’ list in anticipation. This will enable you to be included in tomorrow’s publication.” He leaned in and murmured, “Miss Bridwell has spoken to you about the fee for the reputation of honesty?”
Amy had forgotten about this local courtesy and turned to her father, slightly panicked. However, her father’s tendency to distraction came in good stead, and he replied, “Of course, of course. I will come tomorrow.” She would have to make sure he did so and that he had the necessary funds on him.
