“The very definition of a gentleman is one who is courteous at all times, even when he has lost.” James would not easily change his mind about Lambert, even if he did not have a clear reason for his prejudice. He did not care for the man’s friend Gruber either—a self-proclaimed Austrian nobleman who haunted the gaming tables and was whispered to be an ivory turner. But they had already spoken about this, and there was no point in doing so again.
“Did you see the new arrivals?” Morry asked. “Three ladies have come with their father from the looks of it. Have you any idea of who they are?”
“I was not informed of any expected newcomers, and Mr. Vroomen has said nothing of it. They must not have written ahead to engage the services of a physician, unless it was directed to Mr. Prexley or Mr. Hughes.”
James frowned when mentioning the latter. Before arriving in Spa, he had not thought himself a difficult fellow to please, but Mr. Hughes was a physician who believed almost solely in drinking the waters as a means to heal any and every complaint—that, and a proper bleeding. He took no stock in modern medical practices, despite there being ample evidence for their effectiveness. As his student, MacFirbis was on a fair way to reproducing his practices to a letter.
Morry shifted the carved wooden cane into his other hand, a sign of his discomfort. “Well, I, for one, am delighted to welcome three additional ladies to our society. I have seen the same faces all winter and am almost ready to try dancing.” He lifted an eyebrow, challenging James to contradict him.
“I regret to inform you, my dear Morry, but you will not be dancing for at least another six months.”
“Oh, do stop lengthening your lip at me.” Morry smiled, then examined his neatly buffed nails on the hand that was not gripping his cane. “You are no more my physician than Hughes is, although I would prefer you over him any day of the week. Before I handed my case over to Mr. Vroomen, he must have taken enough blood from me to bring a man back to life.”
“You are in better hands now,” James assured him, then sent Morry a wry smile. “Rather than dancing, I shall endeavor to escort the fairest of the three young ladies to sit at your side and listen to your entertaining conversation instead.”
“Now,thatis something I would not mind.” Morry held out his elbow for James to take. “I am ready to sit now, as a matter of fact. I have been following Mr. Vroomen’s orders and have walked from one end of town to the other. Anything to strengthen this leg of mine.”
“If Mr. Vroomen suggested it, it will surely work.”
“I hope it may. I still have my mind set on dancing, though. Waux-Hall opens in six weeks, and I intend to lead a lady onto the floor for the first set of that historic moment.” Morry spoke with humor, but James knew that his slow convalescence was more painful than he liked to let on.
“Very well. I shall not discourage such determination to improve. In fact,” James said, clasping a hand on his shoulder, “I applaud you.”
“As well you should.” Morry sank down into one of the armchairs that were placed between the tall glazed windows. “In the meantime, I expect you to present me to all three newly arrived ladies at La Redoute’s ball tomorrow, so I may be properly entertained.”
“On that you may rely,” James said. “Perhaps you will find one suitable for the role of your wife.”
“I will settle for a dance,” Morry said.
Chapter 4
Whether it was a mercy or a curse, Amy had little time that day to dwell on James Fletcher or his presence in Spa. Not a half hour had passed after the proprietor showed them to their suite of rooms when a knock on the door heralded the first of a stream of visitors, leaving them with no time to unpack or even catch their breath. Honor of first rights went to two smiling monks from the Capuchin monastery, who graciously invited the family to join their morning mass, if of the Catholic faith, and to avail themselves of their garden. The walled garden was open to both men and women, which was in itself a marvelous quality. The monks then complimented their father on his discernment in having chosen Spa as the first destination of his Grand Tour and reminded him that the Capuchins subsisted solely on the generosity of the city’s visitors. Inspired by their eloquence, Mr. Bridwell was moved to give them two louis.
The monks had scarcely quit the premises when another knock announced the arrival of the town’s most prominentperruquier, who assured them of his ability to craft any sort of wig they might need no matter how tall or elaborate the style. This was followed by a furniture maker, a cloth draper, a pharmacist, and a merchant of luxury goods—the finest to be found in all of England and Europe. No sooner had the door been closed tothe latter, who had not been easy to fob off, than they opened it again for the local laundress, who called herself Annette. She had merely come to leave the housekeeper her direction and price list, assuring Hannah in earnest tones that for the most modest prices, she would launder all of their garments, including their silks and precious lace. She didn’t attempt to stay, and Amy liked her the better for it.
Just when she thought they might at last have a reprieve, a Mr. Gaetano arrived, offering his services as owner of the only publishing house in Spa.
“You must signla liste des seigneurs et des damesbefore this week’s publication goes out,” he announced in a cheerful Italian accent. “All newcomers of consequence must do so to be received by the other guests residing in Spa. And you will of course wish to have calling cards made up and distributed to Spa’s most prominent residents. This may be done for a mere five florins—little more than a crown, if you will.”
Amy had spent every ounce of her own energy in the barrage of visitors, reeling all the while from the shock of her discovery. It had all become too much, and she left her father to agree to the calling cards and make the necessary arrangements to fetch them the next day.
It was not until she lay in bed that night—in an unfamiliar room and staring up at the ceiling partially lit by a full moon—that she was given the luxury of being alone with her thoughts. Not even in her solitude, however, could she find rest. Her heart, battered and worn by novelty and exertion, was not ready to contemplate what it might mean to be in the same city as James again. To meet him and perhaps be reunited with him, although she dared not allow herself such hope. The most she could hope for was a new day with fresh strength. For sleep, which came eventually.
James’s mission of speaking to Mr. Prexley or his daughter the previous evening had come to nothing. Following his morning visit to the sources that included the special baths he was constructing at Le Tonnelet, he entered the breakfast salon, where Mr. Hughes sat eating a solitary breakfast. While most of Spa took their morning meals at the assembly hall called La Redoute, James often took his at the private inn where Mr. Vroomen stayed with his wife. With few patients of his own this early in his career, James elected to accompany Mr. Vroomen on his visits three times a week. The older physician had an uncanny sense of what truly ailed a person, and his creative and effective methods of healing were instructive. James also learned from Mr. Vroomen’s compassionate approach in his consultations. The man showed a degree of respect for his patients’ own observations that was often missing from other doctors’ approaches.
James formally greeted Mr. Hughes, then went to serve himself from the sideboard. The meal was more copious than what could be had elsewhere at this time of day. It was essentially an English breakfast with the addition of fried potatoes, cheese from the Herve region, and wild boar steak. The servant poured coffee for him and set it at his side.
Mr. Hughes folded the newspaper he had been reading. “A gentleman has taken up residence on the first floor of the Hôtel de Lorraine who will be consulting me on his rheumatic complaints.” He picked up his knife, then cut his steak with vigor.
“George Moreau spoke of him and mentioned he was accompanied by three daughters,” James said. It was early enough in the season that new arrivals were worthy of notice. He set his plate on the table and sat. “Are his daughters all in good health?”
“They were not mentioned in his letter, so I assume it to be the case. I am to meet with him today.” Mr. Hughes looked up when the door opened. “Ah. Mr. Vroomen.”
“Goedemorgen.” James greeted his mentor with a smile. Althoughhe spoke French fluently, he had not managed to learn more Flemish than the basic civilities.
“Good morning to you, too, James. Good morning, Mr. Hughes.” Mr. Vroomen bowed to the other doctor as he took a seat next to James. “I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Morrison’s condition cannot be relieved by the waters. I believe we will have to try more traditional methods.”
“What ails him?” Mr. Hughes asked.
