The music called everyone to take their places for the second dance in the set, and James paused to say, “Isabel, you must know I cannot purchase every jewel that catches your fancy, even if it is your generous desire for me to look well that prompts the request. And if Ido, I would much rather purchase one for you than for me. Can we not leave this subject behind us for good?”
“Of course. If you wish it.” Isabel strode onto the floor, facing him with an artificial smile as they waited to take their steps.
That night in his room, James’s thoughts circled miserably around his situation. He would only allow himself to contemplate his unhappiness at having parted from Isabel on such terms and not on his conversation with Amy or the second death of their relationship. Since he was not going to run through Isabel’s dowry in their first year of marriage, there was really nothing further to be said. He was being cautious for her sake, and she shouldbe grateful she was not marrying a spendthrift or a gambler. At this stage in their courtship, however, his prudence did not seem to weigh with her. Isabel longed for more obvious tokens of his devotion. She had remained elusive the rest of the evening, even refusing him the supper dance.
He meditated on this as he tossed in his bed, attempting to pin down a couple hours of slumber without success. After cataloguing the flaws in her reasoning and dwelling on how unfair she was, his thoughts took a different course. He began to question whether the tension between them was entirely Isabel’s fault. After all, her pique occurred after she had just learned of his near engagement to another woman, and this only after that woman had showed up unannounced in Spa. Any woman would be troubled by the news and have cause to be jealous. James had no intention of casting Isabel off, not after offering for her. Perhaps when she was more certain of her place in his life, she would be more kind. It might serve to act generously to such an end and buy the sapphire pin if it meant so much to her—and a matching piece of jewelry for her, which went without saying.
He rose from his bed and lit a candle, which he set beside his account books. What were his monthly spendings? The balls at La Redoute were three florins each. His lunches for the month were thirty-four florins, and his subscription to the comedy under twenty. There were the small expenses, such as his laundry, that he could not avoid. That reminded him that he needed to visit Annette the washerwoman to discharge the modest bill of eighteen patars.
James had come to know Annette after she had once timidly knocked on his door with apologies for her delay in returning his laundered items. She explained that her elbow was paining her, which prevented her from working at the same rhythm. He promptly treated her injury by wrapping her elbow with a poultice and ordering a pause from her work. Rather than bill her for his services as a doctor, he provided her with the money shewould require to live upon for the time she needed to rest her elbow. Her gratitude had been touching for what he had considered a small service.
He continued to scour his entries, squinting in the dim candlelight. Three florins each day for his meals at the hotel. Perhaps that could be reduced. Some ladies and gentlemen went out to the market and bought their own fruits, cheeses, and bread as though they were playing at being peasants. It was part of Spa’s charm that one could drop all pretense and live simply.
Why could he not do the same? He could visit the market and furnish a plain meal to eat in his room each afternoon, thereby avoiding paying for two meals per day. If he reduced his expenses, kept away from the cards, and resisted all temptation to purchase anything new in the way of coats or boots, he could use the remainder of his savings to buy the sapphire pin and a matching necklace. In this way he would repent of his unenthusiastic courtship and reassure Isabel of her position as his betrothed. She must know herself to be more important to him than his own simple tastes in dress—and most especially, more important than the woman who had once held the highest place in his esteem.
Chapter 8
Asleepy and apologetic Frances woke Amy up the next morning at half past four. “I’m sorry, miss. I’ve the master’s orders to wake you.”
Amy groaned and burrowed deeper in her covers, but she knew resistance was futile. If the head of the Bridwell family had decided they must follow the trend of drinking the waters at five in the morning, then she must rise and see that her sisters were up as well or he would grumble everyone into compliance. Their father might lose enthusiasm for the practice at some point in the future, but in the meantime, he would expect them each to traipse along in his quest to discover the novelties of their new home. This was to be her routine while in Spa.
The night had been a short one. Although the ball had started early and they were home before midnight, Amy had spent half of the remaining hours scrutinizing each aspect of her exchange with James. She had danced with others but scarcely remembered their faces or what they had spoken of. Her thoughts were consumed with James’s betrothal to Miss Prexley. Had Amy been asked, she could not have chosen a woman more unlikely to catch his eye.
Her head ached as Frances assisted her into her stays and panniers, followed by a linen gown.What does one wear to drink thewaters?She put on her sturdiest shoes, for they had not yet received the plain leather walking shoes from Liège. Upon entering the parlor, she was surprised to find both of her sisters dressed, although they sat slumped in their chairs. She hadn’t the heart to correct them for such undignified postures.
“We will eat afterward,” Mr. Bridwell was saying from his position by the door. “Mr. Hughes informed me that we are not to consume anything before we take the waters. However, we may have a cup of chocolate when we return and then a proper meal at noon.”
Marianne groaned at the delay of her breakfast, but their father had not finished. “Mr. Hughes insists the mornings be spent quietly after having drunk the waters. We are not to perform any physical or intellectual activity, not even reading or writing.” He paused and drew his thick brows together as the full import of his words penetrated. Still, he forged on. “We are to sit and contemplate the restful nature of Spa. Only by following these orders in their exactitude will we receive the full benefit of the cure.”
“But we don’t need the cure,” Marianne protested.
“My daughter, it will enrich you to participate in the experience. I am confident you will not regret it,” he added, patting his waistcoat for his spectacles. Amy walked over, lifted them from his head, and handed the pair to him. “‘Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last.’”
“Francis Bacon?” Hannah asked, yawning.
“No, my dear. Samuel Johnson, of course. ‘The character of Nugaculus.’”
He went to retrieve his cane leaning in the corner of the room, and Amy drew near to Hannah to whisper, “You can tell Father that your bedroom will be more conducive to proper rest. He will never know if you are reading there instead.”
Hannah sent her a grateful smile. None of them had a habit of practicing deceit, but sometimes their exigent and capricious father required handling.
The bond between Amy and her sisters was not as deep in affection as she could have liked. Perhaps, she had to own, it was to do with her having taken on the role of caring for them, which required a degree of practicality that left little room for sentiment. With them, she was generally serious and regimented because it was the only way she knew how to carry out her mother’s instructions. But deep inside, she wished to laugh more with them. She desired joy and playfulness as much as she did efficiency. With James, it had been possible to express this side of her character, and that was one of the things she had grieved with the end of their romantic relationship—a deep friendship and the outlet of her more playful sentiments. When he left, she had no one to be that person with.
Amy was the last of her family to step outdoors, and the frigid early-morning air accosted her. Across the street, a crowd of people congregated in the large square around the Pouhon source, their breath coming out in clouds. Some sat on the low wall that enclosed the monument, and a short line of people purchasing their cup of water extended from the source. Others walked around the square in deliberate movements as though stretching their limbs. Amy burrowed into her dark red wool cloak and wished she had worn a pelerine to cover her neck and hair instead of just a bonnet. The cold spell that had chased them home the night before had turned glacial. After a brief perusal of the scene, their father went over to pay the inexpensive one escalin per cup of water and brought it to them, two at a time.
She sipped cautiously and found its taste not unlike other spring water she had tried—sweet and fresh. This, combined with the chilly morning air, helped to counter the effects of little sleep. After another sip, she cast furtive glances around her. James was not present, so she focused on the motley crowd that had gathered. For the most part, everyone dressed simply. For some, their attire was a mere step above peasants’ garments, as though they were playing at being members of a lower station. However,with their bearing and the overheard snatches of conversation, no one could mistake their status. One such woman had taken this to the extreme with a Hessian apron covering a simple skirt, and she completed the look with a worn farmer’s bonnet pushed onto a head of untended, powdered curls. Amy pulled her gaze away before the woman noticed she was staring but feared she had not been quick enough.
Marianne came to stand beside her and whispered, “Did you notice her too? The one wearing the peasant clothing?Thatis the widowed Princess Orlova of Russia, who is staying in the other wing of our hotel. She was a friend of the Empress Catherine but has lately fallen out of favor and travels here under the name of Madame Michalkoff.”
“How do you know?” Amy glanced at Marianne, whose curls were scarcely tamed underneath her bonnet in her sleepy attempt at dress. She was rosy from the morning air and looked well, Amy thought with a surge of affection.
“From Miss Prexley at the ball last night.” Marianne yawned and covered it with her hand. “She told me she knows everyone and everything that happens in Spa.”
Amy returned her gaze to the woman, attempting to reconcile her odd dress with her claims to royalty. “She is a princess? She doesn’t look it.”
“She is—andquiteeccentric besides being remarkably well-connected in Europe. She knowsVoltaire! Can you imagine?”
Hannah joined them and caught the last of Marianne’s words. “Who knows Voltaire?” Amy shushed her for speaking too loudly, fearing the princess would take her family in dislike for being gossips.
