“The Princess Orlova,” Marianne whispered softly, with a nod in her direction, before switching to an entirely different subject. “Miss Prexley is quite the interesting creature, by the by. I do not believe she is here this morning. Is she indeed to marry James? I had been sure you would marry him at one point.”
Hannah looked at Amy curiously, and the inquisitive gazes of both of her sisters was too much for such raw sentiments.
“Yes, but let us talk of other things. Mr. Fletcher and I were acquainted a long time ago.” Though Amy had never opened up to her younger sisters about her feelings, it was unsurprising that they had been aware of them.
A servant came by to collect cups, and they handed theirs over. The signs of Marianne’s fatigue had disappeared, and she leaned in. “You have no idea how many interesting people there are residing in Spa for the season. Miss Prexley presented me to Mr. Lambert, who is also a painter. The magnificent landscapes on the hotel’s drawing room wall are his.”
“She introduced Mr. Lambert to me as well,” Amy replied, unable to disguise the repression in her voice. She wanted to warn her sister against him, for she thought him too much a flirt, but did not know how to articulate such a thing to an innocent younger sister, particularly when it was only based on one impression.
Their father stood nearby, talking to an Irishman by the sound of the man’s accent, and Mr. Bridwell broke away to join them. The gentleman was the pale, frowning figure who had exchanged greetings with Isabel last night.
“That was Mr. MacFirbis, who is training under a physician here,” their father said, his words coming out with the steam of his breath. “His family possesses a cabinet of curiosities that includes the Burren fossils. Is that not magnificent? I was telling him how I have been wishing to acquire some ever since I read about them.” He turned to Hannah. “Perhaps I will arrange an introduction between the two of you. You are of an age for marriage.”
“Papa,” Hannah whispered furiously, her face turning a deep red, “I have no wish to marry him or anyone.”
“Well, I did not say you had to,” Mr. Bridwell replied, his eyes lifting in surprise.
Amy felt for Hannah with their father’s clumsy attempts atmatchmaking, as she had also been the victim of them. She did not think her father would make the same mistake of engaging Hannah to someone publicly without her knowledge beforehand. He would know the consequences of such a move were too calamitous. Amy was reflecting on how she might protect Hannah when their father turned and gestured for them to follow.
“Come. I have engaged a carriage to take us to the Sauvenière. It is the next source we must visit and is located on top of a hill.”
They followed him to a line of simple carriages waiting on the street. A girl stood beside one while her younger brother poked at her with a stick until she whirled around and glared at him. There were no adults nearby who appeared to be looking out for them. The girl spoke a language Amy didn’t recognize and seemed oblivious to the other early-morning curists. If they had looked the least bit lost or worried, she would have attempted to assist them, even with the language barrier. But they appeared perfectly at ease.
The carriages were of the most rudimentary construction and each drawn by sad-looking horses. The driver of the one Mr. Bridwell led them to was not one of their servants.
“Why can we not take the family carriage?” Amy asked him. Their own would be vastly more comfortable.
“Our carriage will not be able to accomplish the journey over the stones. This one will, although very slowly. As you can see, the other coaches are the same. We must do as everyone else does. I have inquired of Mr. Hughes.”
Her father’s words soon proved true. They had gone only a short distance up the incline when the driver stepped down from the box seat and began leading the horse at a walking pace in the line of carriages, stooping down to remove the free rocks from the path that would hinder the wheels. Some of the stones were wedged into the earth and needed to be maneuvered over. Inside, the four of them were jolted about as they made slow progress up the hill.
It was uncomfortable enough that no one attempted conversation, and Amy’s thoughts drifted again to James.“I had thought you married and living in Kent.”All these years, he had assumed her married and had not inquired after her. She had not thought it possible he could so easily put her out of his mind.
As for her, she had not loved anyone else. And she had learned of his change in status as one learns that it’s going to rain the very moment the skies open and thunder down a cold shower. He was engaged to be married to Isabel Prexley. There was not the slightest hope that Amy could marry him now, and it was not until this possibility had been removed that she realized how strong a hope it had been. How strong itstillwas, despite the long absence.
At last, they reached the summit where the next two sources were located. Their enclosure was more elaborate and rustic than Pouhon’s. One reached it by descending a full set of stairs that split and wound around one of two fountains, then led into a spacious field of grass. In its center was a covered stone pavilion that provided protection from the elements to the larger of the two sources. Nearby stood what looked to be an inn in mid-construction that would one day serve the curists, she supposed.
Amy held her father’s arm as they descended the steps to take some of his weight and alleviate his joints. They had no choice regarding the number of stairs he had to climb and descend each day in the hotel and elsewhere, but for the moment he made no complaints. At the bottom, he switched to his cane and left her to join the crowd around the spigot.
She followed him into the pavilion and, moving to make space for another, almost turned her foot on a hole gouged out of the stone floor inside the entrance. It was in the shape of a man’s footstep, and she turned back to study it. On a whim, she placed her own foot inside of it, noticing how small hers appeared in the hole.
“Are you hoping to augment the population of Spa, Miss Bridwell?”
Amy looked up in surprise to find Mr. Gaetano addressing her. She stared at him, nonplussed.What can he mean? Is he asking if I am increasing? One does not speak of suchthings!It was impossible to return a reply.
Mr. Gaetano glanced pointedly at her foot. “You have stepped inside Saint Remaclus’s footstep. One only does so when one is hoping to become with child that same year.” He smiled at her with an air of mischief and lifted a finger. “Only you must drink a glass of the water for it to work. One glass and not two, lest you have twins.”
Amy hastily pulled her foot from the hole and shook her head. “No, no. I have no such desire.”
Undaunted, he winked at her and moved away, and she dropped her gaze to the hole in the ground, embarrassed.I am not even married.
She turned to find her sisters as the girl from the street near the Pouhon source ran toward the entrance of the pavilion, chased by her brother. Amy feared the girl would break her foot in the hole, and she darted forward to grab her arm. “Careful!”
The girl’s brows drew together sharply in a mix of fear and outrage.
“You might be hurt,” Amy explained, loosening her grip, then pointing down. “There is a hole in the ground that could cause you to trip.” The girl seemed to understand, and her eyes shifted to someone behind Amy.
“You saved my child from danger but not worry. She safe.”
