He returned the rented horse, then retraced his steps back to their hotel, his mind filled with his approaching meeting with Mr. Bridwell. It would be his first time paying a formal call on Amy’s father, although he would have sought a different type of audience if his circumstances had been otherwise. At least he could speak to him now about the baths, as he truly did think they would help Mr. Bridwell’s particular ailment.
When he was admitted to the parlor, Mr. Bridwell, who normally wore a distracted, jovial air, now peered somberly at James as though seeing him for the first time. He rose slowly. “Mr. Fletcher. I hear you had a hand in bringing my daughter back.”
James and Amy exchanged a look, and he replied, “Miss Bridwell had matters well in hand before I arrived. I merely accompanied your daughters back to town.”
The look Mr. Bridwell gave him was hard to read, but the older man seemed abashed, as though he had discovered some fault in himself he had not been aware of before. He sank back into the chair and gestured to a vacant seat in an absent manner. “Well, I must extend my gratitude. Please sit.”
Hannah occupied one of the chairs next to Amy, and Marianne was seated beside her father. Now she stood. “I will go and ask Mrs. Mercy for some ratafia to refresh me, and then I think I will lie down.” She glanced in James’s direction without really looking at him. “I have been walking and painting for hours, and I must rest. I thank you for coming in search of me.”
“Of course,” James murmured. He wished he could tellMarianne that she needn’t feel embarrassed in front of him. His opinion of her had remained unchanged. Lambert was the one at fault.
Marianne’s sisters encouraged her to rest as long as she needed, then Amy offered tea to James. They sat and drank it with only polite conversation to break the silence. After a space, she stood and went to her father, taking the seat Marianne had vacated.
“Mr. Fletcher showed us his project at the Tonnelet, and I thought it might interest you. You will be curious to learn how he has diverted the source into basins there for bathing. He has even managed to create baths with different temperatures.”
Mr. Bridwell listened to this, but the way he furrowed his brow did not lead James to believe he would be in favor of hearing more about his project. Mr. Bridwell’s next words confirmed it.
“I spoke to Mr. Hughes about the baths, and he said the cold water would only make my condition worse. He said I should restrict myself to drinking it, for its properties are only potent when ingested.”
James nodded, considering how he should best respond to an argument he had heard a hundredfold.
“I understand Mr. Hughes’s point of view,” he replied carefully. “But as for myself, I am not convinced. I have studied the benefits of bathing in different thermal towns and have gained a small reputation for the papers I’ve written on the subject. That was what brought me to Spa.” He hated to say what sounded to his ears like boasting, but he needed to help Mr. Bridwell to trust him. “I understand that you are pained by a rheumatic complaint?”
“Yes, and the air here seems only to worsen it. It is cold and damp, and these early-morning excursions are unpleasant in the extreme.” As though to demonstrate this, Mr. Bridwell pulled his dressing gown more tightly around him. “I have told Mr. Hughes that I will no longer require his services. We are to leave for Paris in a week or so, and from there travel to Aix-en-Provence. But Mr. Hughes was quite opposed to the notion.”
An idea struck James, and he seized it. “It is true that not every mortal is courageous enough to try the baths. It requires a person possessing foresight and a scientific curiosity—someone who will try it without being sure of its success.”
This struck home, as he had known it would. He was not a charlatan, for he was convinced the baths would indeed work for Mr. Bridwell, but he needed to convince him in a way he would understand.
“Hmm, yes. Others must be content with what they know, poor creatures.” Mr. Bridwell was quiet for a moment as he meditated on this. “I, on the other hand, have made a vow never to limit myself to what is seen and proven and known.”
“Precisely.” James knew his chance was now or never, and he glanced at Amy, heartened by the familiar glimpse of humor he saw in her eyes. “I do think that in your condition, you will need to have the waters warmed in order for bathing to be of benefit. That is something my baths can do. You will not have to suffer the frigid waters of the running creek, and you will have more privacy than the Hôtel Waldeck offers.”
Mr. Bridwell rubbed his chin and, after a moment’s reflection, said, “Perhaps I might try a warm bath. At least once before we leave.”
James leaned forward, unable to conceal his eagerness. “Mr. Bridwell, I would in no way dissuade you from leaving Spa next week or taking any steps you think important to your health. However, I would like to propose that you try a cure of taking a warm bath at the Tonnelet each of the six days that remain to you. If you see no improvement, you will of course continue on to Paris or Aix, or wherever else you have in mind, as you had planned.”
He could see that Mr. Bridwell was considering his idea, so he pressed on. “From my experience, which is not negligible, these regular baths in the chalybeate waters could be what you need. You may even find that a stay in Spa is worth your while for a few weeks more.”
“How long must I sit in the water?” Mr. Bridwell asked.
“I recommend a half hour,” James said, leaning back. He had done it. Mr. Bridwell was convinced. “You will need a shift for the bathing and an easy outfit to change into when you are finished. There are private areas to change, and a servant will be there to assist you.”
Mr. Bridwell frowned, his remaining objections falling in front of James’s eyes. “Mr. Hughes did not recommend it.”
James almost smiled. “Mr. Hughes and I do not always see eye to eye on medical issues, but I am not alone in my belief that the baths will greatly improve rheumatic complaint. Mr. Vroomen is a longtime physician of Spa, and he has fully supported me from the beginning. I will give you a copy of my paper on the subject, if you would like.” Mr. Bridwell might be persuaded by something of a scholarly nature.
“Yes, send that to me.” After another minute’s consideration, he slapped the armrest of his chair. “Well, I suppose I might try something new, since nothing else has worked.”
“Good.” James smiled in earnest now, especially when he saw Amy’s look of relief.
Mr. Bridwell’s enthusiasm quickly fell, and he peered at James with suspicion. “I do not need to go at five in the morning, do I?”
James shook his head. “No, but I do suggest that you have your therapeutic bath before taking breakfast at ten. You are more likely to derive a benefit that way, and it will leave the rest of your day free for other pursuits.”
This recommendation was just the thing to please Mr. Bridwell, and his usual buoyant mood seemed to return. He spent the rest of their time together sharing his perspective on Bonnet’sLa Palingénésie philosophique, which he had just finished reading. Fortunately, James had already discussed the book with Morry and could give his opinion on which metaphors accurately described the evolution of life and which fell short. He was thereforeable to acquit himself well in the eyes of Mr. Bridwell, and even earned the praise of appearing to be an intelligent fellow.
At the end of the visit, Amy walked him to the door, where they paused and stared at each other in silence.
