Miss Price's Decision Read online

  I winced. Lady Bertram was not particularly observant and rarely noticed the moods of others, but the nights of discomfort and uneasiness were beginning to take their toll.

  “I am fine,” I replied with a reassuring smile. “I thank you for your consideration.”

  Without further expressions of concern, Lady Bertram proceeded to voice her reservations regarding her upcoming appointment with the Harley Street eminence.

  “Ten o’clock just seems a very unreasonable hour. Mr Munro would not even think of visiting Mansfield Park before eleven. It must be a London thing, or perhaps it is because he is foreign,” she grumbled.

  “Monsieur is reportedly one of the most reputed physicians in town. It is very fortunate that he can see you at such short notice,” I replied.

  Lady Bertram’s complaints were mollified by the arrival of Monsieur Levain, who turned out to be a handsome gentleman in his mid-thirties dressed in a fashionable purple morning jacket and sporting the most delightful French accent. Her pug did not take to the visitor quite as well and had to be removed by Murphy to allow for a comfortable visit, but my aunt was quickly won over by the physician’s Continental charm. His general air of elegance and sophistication, traits Lady Bertram always admired in others, was undoubtedly behind the way she sheepishly answered Monsieur’s questions and did as she was asked during the very thorough examination.

  When Monsieur Levain declared himself satisfied with the visit, the footman accompanied him to the library, where the physician was to speak to my uncle. The little dog snuck into the room as soon as Monsieur Levain was gone and laboriously jumped onto Lady Bertram’s lap, claiming its spot. They were soon dozing contentedly.

  Some time later, Sir Thomas sent for me. Even before he spoke, deep creases appeared on his forehead and I prepared myself for the worst.

  “I had a long conversation with Monsieur Levain. He believes that there a disequilibrium in Lady Bertram’s humours, just as Mr Munro suspected, and has given me two alternatives with regards to her treatment. The first one is a tincture based on a certain chemical element recently discovered by a colleague of his, based in Geneva. It is unclear how it works but it seems to be very effective in cases like Lady Bertram’s. The second remedy is a concoction invented by an Englishman over a century ago, and proven to work on hundreds of patients. The main ingredient, believe it or not, is sea sponge. It is burnt thoroughly, and afterwards its ashes are mixed with the tincture.”

  I smiled. There was no question as to which option was his favourite. My uncle trusted physicians more than the average man, but even he was more likely to prefer a home-grown remedy of confirmed efficacy to a modern discovery by a foreigner. Sir Thomas had in all probability already sent one of the footmen to the nearest pharmacy to buy the sea sponge tincture.

  “Monsieur Levain has also recommended supplementing the treatment with a course of medicinal waters. We must travel to Bath, so Lady Bertram can have the full benefit of both remedies.”

  “Bath, sir?”

  My heart began to race and my breath became shallower.

  “Yes, and with as much expediency as we can muster” repeated Sir Thomas with determination. “I wish us to leave as soon as possible, ideally in the next two or three days.”

  Biting my lip, I nodded.

  After he left, I let out a deep breath and analysed the facts. Mr Cole was headed for Bath and I did not wish to run into him again, but, given Lady Bertram’s habits and delicate state of health, we were unlikely to attend many social events. It was also possible that Mr Cole would forget what I looked like. He had only seen me for an instant, in the darkness of a badly lit corridor. Would he recognise me in a crowded room? And, even if that were the case, we were as good as strangers: I did not have to acknowledge him, for we had never been properly introduced. I smiled inwardly, feeling slightly better. The rules of polite society would shelter me from him, should we run into each other in Bath.

  I resigned myself to spending another day in the house in the sole company of Lady Bertram, who was reluctant to go out of doors in case Julia appeared. We were working on our needlework when Julia appeared out of nowhere.

  “Mamma! Papa tells me that you are to depart on Monday!”

  “Are we?” asked Lady Bertram with a puzzled look.

  “Yes, you are to go to Bath to take the waters. Oh, Mamma, had I known you would be staying with us for such a short time, I would have tried my best to spend more time in your company!”

  “Bath?”

  “Sir Thomas thinks it is the best course of action,” I said, patting her hand. “He only thinks of your health, Aunt.”

  Julia leaned into Lady Bertram with the biggest of smiles on her lips.

  “I have an idea, Mamma. How about we go to see a performance tonight? Mr Yates has a box at the new theatre in the Drury Lane, in Covent Garden. I believe some Shakespeare play or other is on.”

  “But your father disapproves of theatricals,” whimpered Lady Bertram.

  “We cannot hold his old-fashioned views against him, can we, Mamma? And in any case, even if he abhors modern plays, he cannot possibly object to Shakespeare.”

  “Perhaps. You had better ask him. I do like a play, and I am sure Susan will enjoy the theatre as well.”

  “I am afraid she will not be able to join us, Mamma. There are only two seats available in the box. Only you and Papa can join us.”

  “Oh.”

  “I am sure Susan will enjoy having the evening to herself. Did you not say that she enjoys drawing?” asked Julia, while looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, Susan has taken to sketching, and although she has had no formal instruction, she fares very well,” replied my aunt with evident satisfaction. “Your father says so.”

  “I look forward to seeing some of her work, then,” said Julia with a sweet smile.

  I clenched my fists but she avoided my gaze.

  “Now, Mamma, we have to find a large scarf for you to wear around the neck tonight. It is the latest fashion for mature ladies and I have an exquisite one in yellow silk that will be perfect. You must also wear your large diamond earrings, for they will stand out gracefully in the light of the theatre. You,” said Julia turning to Murphy, “fetch my mother’s jewellery box. I will help her pick the right pair.”

  In a complicit gesture, Murphy looked in my direction, but I lowered my gaze and took up my embroidery hoop. I did not wish my forced intimacy with Murphy to give her the sense that we were friends and equals. We only had to share our squalid quarters for another three nights at most.

  The day took an even stranger turn after my uncle’s arrival. Although pleased to see Lady Bertram so excited with the prospect of going to the theatre, he steadfastly refused to attend the performance, offering instead the coveted seat in the box to me. I was glad to oblige, if only to see a scowl on Julia’s face, and, after a quick trip to the basement, I located my best dress and asked Murphy to press it, so as to ensure I looked the part. I had enjoyed a handful of theatre performances in Portsmouth, the kind put together by travelling companies with a handful of actors using sparsely furnished sets, so I was keen to attend a proper play. I was also eager to see a little of London and its crowds.

  Lady Bertram followed her daughter’s advice and, as well as her best earrings, she wore Julia’s scarf around her throat, covering most of her prominent goitre. Julia, who was wearing an exquisite blue gown with fine lace on the bodice, approved with a smile of satisfaction. We were to meet Mr Yates in the Covent Garden theatre and we set off in good time. It was a clear evening, and, after four days inside the Berkeley Square house, even Lady Bertram appeared joyous with the excursion.

  The Theatre Royal was illuminated by magnificent chandeliers, each fitted with dozens of wax candles. Its main door was a swarm of people attired in silk, satin, velvet and fine wool. An usher showed us to our box, which was advantageously placed to offer a magnificent view of the stage. Mr Yates had not yet arrived. Th
e seats were reasonably comfortable, and I counted five of them. I discreetly looked around the other boxes. They were all occupied by gentlemen and ladies profusely adorned by feathers, gold thread and gemstones who shared a studied air of disinterest. Their main distraction appeared to be the observation of the souls below, like bored cats looking out of a high window.

  Quite by chance, my eyes fell on a box at the opposite side of the theatre. To my surprise, I recognised Miss Bingley sitting next to a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to her and was bound to be her sister. Behind the ladies I could just about see the tall, serious and handsome Mr Darcy and his pleasant friend, Mr Bingley. There was a third gentleman in the box, but the poor light made it impossible to identify his features. I felt a shiver down my spine and prayed he wasn’t Mr Cole.

  The bell announced the beginning of the play. It was a work I was vaguely familiar with: Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. The actors on stage performed with much feeling, but a few members of the audience decided early on that the play was not worthy of their attention, and spent most of the first act speaking in loud voices, as if they were in the front rooms of their own homes. In spite of my expectations of such an elegant venue, their behaviour was not very different from the unrefined deportment of the Portsmouth crowds.

  Mr Yates must have had word of the play not being outstanding, because he only made a brief appearance towards the end of the first act. When the bell rang, he excused himself and left. I, too, was ready to stretch my legs, but Julia insisted on staying in the box. Lady Bertram, never one to choose exercise over convenience, was happy to follow her daughter’s lead, so we remained in our seats, idly observing the comings and goings of the gentlemen and ladies below. The exaggerated greetings, expressions of surprise and well wishes amongst patrons were quite a spectacle. It was becoming apparent to me that the main purpose of going to the theatre was to see and be seen, irrespective of the developments on stage.

  A few moments later, Mr Yates returned in the company of Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley and Miss Bingley. I anxiously glanced towards the door to see if there was a third gentleman in the party, but nobody else came into the box. Julia greeted the visitors warmly, and introduced them to Lady Bertram, who gave them a graceful nod and presented me in turn.

  “Dear Miss Bingley, how are you liking the play?” asked Julia.

  “I declare, one never tires of Shakespeare! That is what I was telling my sister, Mrs Hurst, just now.”

  “So she is the lady in your company,” observed my cousin, searching the box that Miss Bingley had occupied until a moment ago, and smiling with satisfaction. “I can see the resemblance. Is the gentleman next to her her husband?”

  “Indeed,” replied Miss Bingley.

  I almost sighed with relief.

  “A charming couple,” remarked a civil Lady Bertram.

  The conversation continued for a few minutes, but I barely listened. Cole was not in the theatre, and that was all that mattered. With my mind at ease, I discreetly observed Mr Darcy. In Mr Yates’ study, little more than a foot away from me, he had looked remarkably like Jamie, but in the current setting I struggled to see more than faint similarities in their features.

  The Bingleys and Mr Darcy left when the bell announced the beginning of the second act. Judging by the general chat, which was growing louder, the quality of the performance was suffering a steady decline. When the second interval was finally announced, I prepared myself for another half an hour of vacuous conversation when then there was a knock on the door of the box. Mr Yates went to attend to it, and he soon returned with a smirk on his face.

  “Miss Price has made quite an impression in her first night out in London. There is a gentleman at the door wishing to pay his respects to her.”

  “A gentleman? It must be a misunderstanding,” replied Julia. “Perhaps he is at the wrong box. She does not know anyone in London, let alone in a place like this.”

  “He says that he is a friend of her brothers and that they are well acquainted. He is also a not too shabby-looking fellow. Miss Price, allow me to escort you.”

  I blushed and followed his lead, not quite knowing where to look or what to expect.

  Right outside of the box stood a gentleman in a dark green coat, carefully pressed breeches and fine stockings. His face was looking the other way. The minute he heard us, he turned around and the ground opened beneath me.

  In front of me was none other than Jamie Gartner. There was little left of the gangly boy I had spent so many afternoons playing hide-and-seek with in the backstreets of the Portsmouth harbour, surrounded by the strong smells of rotten fix, wet wood and sea bream. In the five and a half years that had passed since his departure, he had grown into a man, but his twinkling eyes were just the same.

  “Miss Price,” he said with a bow. “I saw you from the stalls.”

  “What a surprise,” I replied with as much composure as I could muster, aware that Mr Yates was watching my every move. I was sure I was blushing, it could not be otherwise, and I had to rein in the impulse to touch Jamie’s coat sleeve to confirm that he was real.

  “I trust your parents, brothers and sisters are well.”

  “They are, I thank you.”

  “I am deeply sorry about the loss of your brother Richard. He was a good friend. You will be comforted to hear that I was with him when he drew his last breath, and I can assure you that the naval surgeon on board did as best as he could to prevent him from suffering unnecessarily.”

  I nodded. Richard and Jamie had left Portsmouth together, aboard the same East India Company merchant ship. However, my brother did not make it to the East Indies, on account of a fever that ended up killing him near the Cape of Good Hope.

  Sensing that it might be better to change the subject to happier topics, Jamie spoke again.

  “I see, however, that William is rising the ranks in the Navy.”

  Smiling, I told Jamie about William’s naval career, how proud he was making the family and how much my father hoped Sam, Charles or Tommy would follow his lead. Jamie smiled encouragingly, but every time our eyes met I forced myself to look away, convinced that my heart would stop beating if I held his gaze.

  There was much I wanted to ask him. I could not quite comprehend how the midshipman that I had said goodbye to at fourteen had become the gentleman in front of me. I longed to hold his hand, to feel his touch and reassure myself that he was indeed in front of me. Above all, I needed to know if I was still in his mind, just as he was always in mine. However, Mr Yates’ stare did not leave us for a second, and I could tell he was growing impatient.

  “I am afraid I must return to my friends, Mr Gartner.”

  Addressing him formally felt strange. Jamie looked down and nodded.

  “Before you go, may I enquire where you are staying?”

  “We are at Berkeley Square with my cousins Mr and Mrs Yates, but are headed for Bath on Monday. My aunt is to take the waters.”

  I heard desperation in my voice, and hoped dearly that Mr Yates did not notice.

  “I see. I wish you safe travels. It has been an absolute pleasure to see you again, Miss Price. I trust our paths will cross again soon.”

  Jamie gave me one of his side smiles, a gesture that brought back many happy memories and gave me a glimmer of hope. He would find me, of that I was sure. With my insides in a knot, I smiled back. Instants later, he was gone.

  I rejoined my party with burning cheeks. Mr Yates made a few enquiries about Jamie, but I was able to escape his questioning when the bells announced the end of the interval. I do not recall the rest of the play, only that I searched the stalls for Jamie’s dark curls, and once I found them, I kept my gaze on them without looking away once.

  Chapter 7

  Jamie caused quite an impression on Mr Yates, who must have told his wife everything he knew about my mysterious visitor. In the days before our departure, as I was busy running errands for Lady Bertram and making the final preparations, I notic
ed Julia’s enquiring gaze following me from room to room, and on a couple of occasions I thought she would ask me about Jamie, but she never did. Perhaps she was too proud, or knew how unlikely I was to engage with her in a friendly manner given her little hospitality towards me.

  Had Julia interrogated me, my words would have betrayed big gaps in my knowledge of Jamie’s current circumstances. Jamie’s father, a vicar, died from the sweat when he was a boy of ten. His mother, a sickly woman with no relatives to assist her, came to rely on charity to survive, and Jamie was put to work, mending ropes for cantankerous old Tobias in a miserly workshop near the port. Upon her passing, Jamie was quick to convince my late brother Richard to embark alongside him as midshipman aboard an East Indiaman. Jamie and Richard sailed to sea a few months before Fanny arrived in Portsmouth, cheerfully waving handkerchiefs from aboard the vessel as it became more distant, while I remained onshore, clenching my fists and telling myself not to cry. That was the last time I saw him. When my grief-stricken mother wrote to Mansfield Park to inform us that Richard had died of fever at sea, all contact with Jamie was lost, and with it, any news on his change of fortune.

  Our last day in London went by very quickly, for there was much to arrange and very little time, which thankfully left me with little time to think of Jamie. In the morning we went to church and had lunch with Mr and Mrs Yates, but we barely saw him for the rest of the day and he was absent at dinner. Julia spent some time alone with Lady Bertram in the parlour, and both emerged unusually quiet, although Sir Thomas did not seem to mind. We had an early night, so as to be rested for the long journey to Bath. The road was one of the better ones in the country, but one can never be too prepared.

  We departed after sunrise, so I had the chance to see more of London than on the day of our arrival. We drove slowly, past shops, inns, chop-houses, coffee-rooms, warehouses and all manner of workshops, along streets that were full to the brim with loaded carts, phaetons, landaulettes and curricles. The stench of horse dung was overpowering, to the point that Lady Bertram and I needed lavender-scented handkerchiefs to be able to breathe. The sharp odours, however, did not appear to bother the vast majority of the souls that went about their business. There were cries, shouts, much blasphemy and general confusion, and the cacophony of noises immediately brought me back to my Portsmouth childhood after the arrival of large merchant ships, when a procession of carts would head to the port and chaos would ensue.