The Keeper of Secrets (16 page)

We took nearly three days to reach Bath, preferring to make the journey in easy stages, despite Jem’s obvious impatience. While Turner plainly thought we should take rooms in the York House Hotel, we preferred the less expensive but still eminently respectable Pelican, in Walcot Street, which had the reputation of having a particularly good ordinary and was also very convenient for Lady Elham’s house in Camden Place. Needless to say, we bespoke a private parlour, which Turner submitted to a contemptuous stare that immediately elicited the services of a maid and a feather duster.

Leaving Jem and Turner to their various duties, Dr Hansard and I set out on foot, despite a thin, mizzling rain, to leave our cards for her ladyship. We did not move briskly, or even purposefully. Rather, we feasted our eyes on the elegance of the architecture and on the attire of those similarly promenading. We soon saw that the latter, though it was not of course of the first stare of fashion, Bath no longer being the haunt of the beau monde, was far more stylish than our own.

After my sojourn in the country, I had forgotten the sheer noise of a bustling town – the street-vendors, the chair-men, the carriages. There was a ceaseless clink of pattens protecting even the most elegant feet from the muddy streets. But however
sensible their footwear, the ladies eschewed practical outdoors clothes for delicate muslin dresses, of necessity sheltering beneath umbrellas carried by their equally elegant beaux.

Our feet carried us insensibly to the abbey, at the bottom of the town. As we came towards it, fitful sun gleamed through the rain, highlighting the warm golden stone and making it a house fit for God indeed. Inside we found trysting serving men and girls, middle-aged ladies weighed down with shopping simply sitting and staring about them and provincials like us armed with guides to the city. We also found a quiet corner, where, as one, we knelt in silent prayer, our souls uplifted by the light and grace of the building.

Try how we might, once we had quitted the abbey, we could not maintain the solemnity due to our endeavour. On Bond Street, Milsom Street and Bath Street, we dawdled before the rich variety of shops.

I ventured to point at the ware in one window. ‘Tell me, Dr Hansard, do you not think that that bonnet would suit Mrs Beckles? The gold silk one, cut exactly like a jockey’s cap?’ It had a most charming little tassel at the back

‘Indeed it would. But I fear it would offend her sense of delicacy were I to buy it for her.’

‘Surely she would not be offended by an addition to her library?’ I pointed at Duffield’s. ‘A volume of Scott’s poetry, perhaps?’

Despite himself, knowing her absolute weakness for books, Hansard drifted into the shop. I hesitated outside, and then darted into what was clearly an expensive
modiste
’s. The ambiguity of Hansard’s relationship to Mrs Beckles might prevent him from buying personal gifts. But from one who
stood almost as a son in her affections, surely a shawl would not be unacceptable, even if I could not afford the very best Norfolk silk – at fifty guineas! – that Lady Elham always wore. How many mouths would such a sum feed for a year? Then I too stepped into Duffield’s, to wallow in the glorious and inimitable perfume of new books, far more beautiful to me than any floral concoction from Paris. Eschewing the temptation of other men’s sermons no matter how much better they might be than my own poor offerings, I contented myself with buying a leather-bound prayer book for Susan.

‘Come, Tobias, a girl of her age would thank you more for ribbons and lace!’ Hansard declared as I explained my purchase.

‘Then she shall have both,’ I declared. ‘And Mrs Trent must have finery too!’

‘And Jem and Turner must not be forgotten.’

For the next hour we were like two schoolboys suddenly released in a fairground with a year’s pocket money. The best that could be said of us was that in this temple to Mammon, neither of us wasted our money on ourselves, a modish suit of clothes each apart. True, Dr Hansard found a new bag for his medical needs, and I well-made gloves, but these were necessities rather than luxuries, as were the boots we discovered we both required. All were despatched back to the Pelican, for our later inspection. Only then did we recall the serious reason for our presence in the city, and we crept guiltily back up to Camden Place.

As we expected, the houses in such a fashionable area were elegant in the extreme, and in the first stare of fashion. After looking about us, gaping like veritable hayseeds, at last we
sought the address that Mrs Beckles had assured us was her ladyship’s.

To our horror we found the knocker had been removed, and the shutters and blinds firmly closed. No one was at home! A few pence elicited the information of a crossing sweeper that the house had not been occupied for many a day. He spat copiously. He clearly could not understand why anyone in possession of such a property should not be in want of a tenant. Every other householder, he averred, was keen to rent out their properties, often for huge sums.

‘How many days has it been vacant?’ I asked.

‘Hard to tell, there’s been so much coming and going.’

‘But you would know Lady Elham’s carriage, black and gold with a crest on the door?’

He spat again. ‘So be they all – some flasher than others. But I know her ladyship’s carriage all right. But there have been others too, a-coming and a-going.’

I pressed another coin into his filthy palm, and he knuckled his forehead. But he clearly saw it as payment for information already given than an encouragement to dredge his memory further. ‘When did you last see her ladyship’s coach?’ I prompted him.

‘It must be soon after Christmas.’

‘So Mrs Beckles was mistaken,’ I said sadly, turning away.

‘Or Mrs Beckles was deliberately misinformed,’ Hansard suggested.

It was a sober pair who finally repaired to the Pelican, where we chose to dine at six, a compromise between the country hours we were used to keeping and the more fashionable
hours kept here. Turner, apprised of the latest developments while assisting us at our
toilette
, undertook to convey them to Jem, currently visiting his cousin. Between them, he had no doubt, they could establish almost to the hour, certainly to the day, when Lady Elham removed from the city and discover her intended destination.

To my immense pleasure, Dr Hansard had contrived, via the estimable Turner, to procure tickets for a performance at the new Theatre Royal. He assured me he had once unforgettably seen Mrs Jordan act; I fear that this evening’s leading lady was no more than acceptable in her skills, but
The Rivals
still provided us with honest entertainment.

Although Hansard had told him not to wait up, Turner was awaiting us with his usual carefully blank expression. Only when asked did he declare, ‘It seems true that Lady Elham has scarce been seen in Bath since Christmas. There is a strong rumour that Lord Elham is unwell and that she has been caring for him. But not, I venture to add, sir, at Moreton Priory.’

‘Quite so.’ Hansard waited while Turner served us some punch he had prepared against our return. ‘Thank you. Did Rumour have any suggestions as to their whereabouts now?’

‘As to that, sir, I regret that it is entirely contradictory, especially as one story was that she was attending him at the Priory. Her ladyship has an estate in Devon, of course, as part of her marriage settlement. But then, Lord Elham has properties all over the country. And at this time of year, there is the lure of London.’

‘There is indeed,’ I said. ‘And even if we do not find Lady Elham there, perhaps we may find Lady Templemead.’

‘Shall we be proceeding to London tomorrow, then, sir?’

‘I don’t know, Turner. I am loath to career around the countryside on the mere off-chance of running our prey to earth,’ Hansard grumbled. ‘Imagine getting all the way in London and finding the good ladies had been residing in their far-flung country seats all the time! Cornwall, Northumberland? Where might they not be?’

I stroked my chin. ‘On the grounds that one day’s labour might save us many, might I make a suggestion? The attempt might be tedious in the extreme, and eventually fruitless.’

‘Spit it out, man.’ He did not need to remind me that Turner could not leave us till he was dismissed, and that Jem was even now probably awaiting his company. The balmy air had made me tired; how much more fatigued must our trusty retainers be, since it was to them that all the work had fallen?

‘To have left Bath on any of the major roads, Lady Elham must have passed a turnpike,’ I reflected. ‘Ten to one the keeper would recall an equipage such as hers as it passed?’

Hansard shook his head. ‘As our friend the
crossing-sweeper
pointed out, there must be many such – Bath still attracts the beau monde, at least those fancying that they would benefit from the waters.’

Turner coughed. ‘I fancy that the Master of Ceremonies in the Assembly Rooms might have some idea as to her movements, provided that she signed the subscription book.’

‘I cannot imagine my cousin neglecting any social protocol,’ I said.

‘Your cousin! I had forgotten you are related.’

‘It is a very distant connection, Edmund. She wanted a gentleman as her parson; I needed a benefice. It pleased us
both to think ourselves as part of the same family, at least at the start of our acquaintance. She came to refer to me less as “Cousin” and more as “Parson”, so I fancy I displeased her in many ways.’

‘Not least in your benevolence to the poor,’ Edmund nodded. ‘But we digress. Turner, I agree that we should make best possible use of our time here, so that we do not set out on some wild goose chase. Pray ask Jem to join us here tomorrow morning so that we make the best disposal of our resources.’

The following morning masters and men foregathered in our private parlour for an early breakfast of ham and cold beef, washed down by ale. The previous day’s rain had gone quite away, and the room was flooded with inspiring sunlight. For all Jem insisted that he should hire a horse and make all the enquiries himself, we were united in feeling that a division of our labour was fairest. Accordingly Jem and Turner set out to the nearest livery stables where they might both acquire hacks. Dr Hansard and I, more used to the pleasures of walking than our servants, strode south to cross the river at the Old Bath Bridge, turning first of all west, for the Bristol turnpike, then south to enquire on the Wells road, and finally – having had no joy so far – east for the Widcombe to Bathwick road. Fatigued, perspiring and disheartened, both by the lack of hard information and the readiness of grasping toll-gate keepers to haggle for such as they had, we turned back in silence, the spring sunshine by now really strong.

Finding an agreeable coffee house as we trudged back to the centre of the city – were its roads really so very much harder than those we were used to? – we agreed to cut our losses,
hoping that our servants had had better luck. To mask our disappointment, perhaps, we confined our conversation to the excellence of the landscape surrounding the city, and the elegance of the buildings within, truly a sublime blend. Refreshed, I was happy to acquiesce in Edmund’s request that we visit the Baths themselves, though he resolutely declined the hot spring water offered to him when we adjourned to the Pump Room. I confess I did but sip at mine, finding it brackish, indeed, unwholesome.

‘If you ask me,’ he growled, forgetting that he had once wished Lord Elham’s old nurse could have the luxury of treatment here, ‘the chief benefit of taking any spa’s waters is not the waters themselves, but the fact that you separate yourself from the temptation of the groaning table that caused your symptoms in the first place. As for the baths themselves, good God, have you seen the way that no distinction is made between diseases as patients are lowered into the waters? I should have thought you stood a better chance of taking someone else’s illness than getting rid of your own!’

But he was in better mood after a late luncheon, taken in our private parlour. Of Turner and Jem there was no sign.

We had not yet signed the subscription book at either of the Assembly Rooms. First we progressed down to the Lower Rooms, and then we made our way back up to the New – or Upper – Rooms, where we had the good fortune to meet Mr King, the Master of Ceremonies, in person. To my amazement, he recognised me immediately although it was nearly six years since I had visited the city with my parents, and at that time I was not in holy orders. It was the work of
a moment to tell him my new title, which he received with a generous bow.

I was delighted to present Dr Hansard to him. No one could have been more gentlemanlike in his greetings, or more concerned when we told him we had to take bad news to Lady Elham in person.

‘I have to say that I have seen very little of her this year,’ he said. ‘Her attendance at our entertainments has naturally been limited by her mourning, and one would not have expected her to play cards or attend balls. But even when she has promised to attend a concert, she has cried off at the last minute – she has been quite unlike herself.’

‘To what do you ascribe her behaviour?’ Dr Hansard asked. ‘I speak as her medical adviser, not as a common gossip.’ When Mr King hesitated, he added, ‘It is for reasons of her health that I am particularly resolved to break this bad news face to face, not through the unfeeling medium of a letter.’

‘Your kindness does you credit,’ Mr King said. Leaning closer, he continued, ‘All I have heard is that her son is unwell – some nervous disorder, I understand. But I do know that her housekeeper here has taken a new post with the Salcombes – perhaps she would know more. You will find them in Laura Place.’

Dr Hansard made a note. ‘And her butler? No man knows more of the household, after all.’

‘I believe he has left the city. But if you furnish me with your address, I will make enquiries and wait upon you there.’

‘Pray – might I be so bold as to make one further enquiry?’ I asked. ‘Have you news of Lady Templemead? I believe she is a cousin of Lady Elham, and a conversation with her might
spare us all time.’ For all I knew, of course, the connection between the two ladies might be as tenuous as that between Lady Elham and myself, but I did not share that doubt with Mr King.