Mrs Wilkes was not averse to a turn at the tables either, but her play was slow and deliberate, each card considered. Money stuck to her fingers like molasses. It was not what she was there for, however, and after a hand or two she would give up her place at the tables and accompany me into the ballroom. She had a deeper game to play.
The marriage game had its own rules and etiquette, winners and losers, like any other game of chance. The opening bid was an invitation to dance.
Mrs Wilkes had taken care to drop hints as to my wealth among her fellow card players, so I did not lack for partners. First one young man presented himself, then another. Mrs Wilkes watched, assessing each prospect, tallying them on a dance card of her own devising, rejecting those who were too old, too poor, too common, the fine lines about her mouth working like the drawstrings of a purse. If she thought one was right, off she went to secure an introduction to his mother. She would reel off to me their family history, going through their pedigree as if they were thoroughbred horses. Mr Amhurst, Barstow, Denton, Fitzherbert, Fitzgibbon; younger son, nephew, cousin; related, though distantly, to the Earl of somewhere or other. I could hardly tell them apart. Bowing figures in powdered wigs presented themselves in seemingly endless succession: sweating faces looking up at me, mouthing meaningless compliments; limp fingers in damp gloves leading me into the dance. All the time Mrs Wilkes watching everything, her fan fluttering faster than a dragonfly's wing.
I went through my paces, as expected, although all I wanted to do was to get out of there as soon as possible. The year wTas turning towards summer, the rooms wanted ventilation and were abominably crowxled, filled with a continually milling press and throng of people. As the night wore on the exertions of the dancers added to the wTarmth given off by the candelabras and chandeliers. The musky stench of overheated heavily-perfumed bodies made the atmosphere close to intolerable. At the stroke of eleven, the ordeal was over. Beau Nash, the Master of Ceremonies, declared the ball to be at an end. I went home with my face aching from so much smiling; my feet and legs sore from standing and dancing all night in thin-soled pumps.
Mrs Wilkes scolded me for being too cold, too distant, too aloof. She was beginning to despair that Fd ever find a husband, when a likely prospect presented himself. Mr James Phillips Calthorpe, younger son of a baronet, well bred and well connected. He had hardly a penny m his own right, and altogether no prospects, but he had the tastes that went with his station, liked the gaming tables quite as much as my brother, played with similar skill and enjoyed the same degree of success. I wras under no illusion. His ardour was fuelled entirely by his own greed and the size of my fortune.
Mrs Wilkes was beside herself. Calthorpe was considered handsome by some, although I thought his blue eyes altogether too pale, his colouring too vivid, and there was a weakness about his mouth and chin that I did not find attractive. I was envied for his attentions, but I cared for him not at ail, finding him shallow and vain with a vastly inflated opinion of himself. I did my best to ignore him and to act cold towards him, but he took my indifference as haughtiness and this served to stoke rather than dampen his interest, which rendered his attentions even more tiresome.
I was stealing myself for another evening of more of them when a young naval officer presented himself.
'May I request the pleasure?' He bowed before me.
I was waiting for Calthorpe, saving my energies for him. I did not want to dance before I had to, and began to refuse him, but when he straightened up and grinned at me, I saw that it was William.
Suddenly, everything was different. I tore up my card for the evening and determined to dance with him all night. The room now glowed with a golden light thrown out by the glittering chandeliers. The rows of dancers facing each other looked handsome, beautiful. The normal lines of callow youths and ageing rakes, overpainted women, elderly spinsters and awkward plain-faced girls seemed to have stayed at home. Everyone moved with grace and agility. No one turned the wrong way, barging into me, or treading on my toes. The windows were open. The scent of lilac came in on the air.
Calthorpe arrived too late. He was with his friend Bruton and, when it was clear that I would not leave my new partner for him, Bruton said something that did not improve Calthorpe's temper. He turned on his heel and marched out, fury and humiliation painting his cheeks, but what did I care? I was being partnered by quite the handsomest man in Bath.
My head filled with so many questions to ask William. What was he doing here? How long had he been in Bath? How long was he going to stay? But there was little chance to talk. I had to content myself with looking. I had not seen him for two years and he had changed. He was a man now. His uniform made him look very dashing, buttons and buckles shining, white stockings and white gloves immaculate. Maturity had carved away the boyish roundness from his cheeks and chin, but his dark eyes wrere as expressive as ever and his mouth still quirked up at the corners showing that he had not lost his humour or sweetness of nature. I'm sure that I had changed as much as he, but I knew in an instant that all was the same between us. I did not need words. His eyes and the touch of his hand told me enough.
Looks and smiles can convey a great deal in the intricate motions of the dance. My heart beat faster as each step brought him closer and closer, then stopped altogether when his face, his lips, were only inches away. I ached with the waiting as the dance took him away from me, and seethed with jealousy to see him join hands with another. Then he was coming back to me and the delicious rising excitement began all over again. I knew then what dancing was all about.
I thought that there would be time to talk in the interval, but as the last dance ended he told me that he had to go.
'But why?' My eyes filled as if I had received a sudden blow. To have such happiness offered and then snatched away was cruel.
'I have stayed longer than I intended. I only came to deliver a message. My captain's wife is here. I had a letter for her. Now I must get back to my ship.'
I looked at him. There was no opportunity even to say farewell. Our words were lost in the din of those around us. We were being pushed apart by a crowd of people, all struggling to gain the refreshment rooms at the same time.
'Meet me!' I whispered in his ear. 'Meet me outside!'
William went to collect his cloak and sword, and I went back for my wrap. I tripped down the stairs and out of the doors. I stood looking about, ignoring the link boys' curious looks, fanning myself as if I needed air, although it was scarcely cooler outside than inside the building. Then I heard his whistle.
He was at the archway that marked the beginning of Harrison's Walks that ran down by the Avon.
'Will you walk with me, Miss Nancy?' He offered me his arm. 'How long have you been in Bath?'
'Three weeks or so,' I replied.
'And do you enjoy yourself? With all the entertainments, music, dancing, and so on?'
'What do I want with dancing? I despise dancing.'
He laughed. 'Come, Nancy. That's not true! You seemed to enjoy it well enough just now.' He was teasing, his mouth curved up in a broad smile, but his eyes held a deeper seriousness, a sadness even. He knew as well as I did why young ladies were taken to Bath.
'That's because I was dancing with you.'
'What about all the other young men that you have met? Do you not like to dance with them?'
I shook my head. 'I like to meet young men rather less than I like to dance.'
He smiled again. 'I thought the two things went together.' He was silent for a while, running his hand over the nodding heads of the roses that lined the walk, releasing their scent. 'Perhaps you already have a young man, and do not want to meet another.'
'Perhaps I have,' I said.
He blinked as if at some sudden sharp pain, then he looked away. He walked in silence, eyes cast down in resignation, and he sighed as if he'd heard what he most dreaded and most expected, all in the same breath.
We went on for a few paces, then he turned to me.
'In that case ... ' He looked about, at a loss for what to do, what to say.
'No.' I gripped his arm tighter. 'That's not what I meant. I meant ... '
I stopped. I'd suddenly run out of words as well. Perhaps I had no words for it.
'I have no young man. Other than ... '
'Other than?'
He was looking at me now, his dark eyes bright and intense.
I took a deep breath. 'Other than you.'
'Do not trifle with me, Nancy.'
'I'm not trifling with you. Why would I trifle? I do not trifle.'
'Truly?' He looked down at me, his face still serious.
'Truly. Of course. I am not the trifling sort.'
He began to smile again and his smile spread wide, reaching his eyes.
'I have thought of you every night, and every day since I went away.' He paused, as though to collect his thoughts. 'If it had not been for you, I would never have obtained a place with Captain Robinson on the frigate, Colchester, and he's been like a father to me. You were my saviour, Nancy, but you are more, much more.' He stopped again, as if these words were hard for him. 'You had always been there, from our earliest years, like a sister. Always a friend: strong, and brave, and loyal. When we were playmates, do you remember?' I nodded. 'But when I came back, you were different. You were dressed like a lady, in silks and satins. You seemed to have gone so far above me, a common sailor, and you a rich man's daughter. I thought that I could never ... ' He shook his head. 'You were the finest, cleanest, prettiest thing I'd seen in an age. I was so glad to see you, but it seemed so hopeless ... ' He sighed. 'I vowed that I would not come back until I had made my way in life. Until I was in a position ... '
'In a position to do what?'
'To ask your father for your hand. I have my commission now, Nancy.' He pointed to the gold at his collar. 'I have money from prizes and my wages. My prospects are good. I should make captain – '
'I do not care a fig for that.' I put my fingers to his mouth to hush him. 'I am not my father, you can save the speeches for him.' I drew him closer. 'You could come home barefoot in a sailor's rig and I would still want to marry you.'
'In that case ... ' He bent his head to kiss me. His arms went about me and he held me close, his mouth warm on mine. I felt suddenly breathless, almost as though I were swooning, as though my very bones were melting. I wanted the kiss to last for ever, but eventually he broke the embrace.
'We will be sweethearts, you and I. Promised to each other,' he murmured. 'Take this as a token.'
He drew a ring from off his finger. It was a man's ring, heavy gold, and so big that it would only fit on my thumb.
'Then you must have this.'
I reached for the ring I wore on the middle finger of my left hand. It had belonged to my mother. I had been given her jewellery on my last birthday.
It reached the knuckle of William's little finger.
'I'll wear it around my neck.' He took the ring and kissed it, slipping it into his uniform pocket. 'Now I must go.' He looked up at the sky. 'I have to ride back to Bristol and there is going to be a storm.'
In the distance, thunder growled as if to confirm his prediction. Rain was beginning to spot as he kissed me in parting. I had to hurry back to the Assembly Rooms to avoid a soaking. I ran up the stairs, humming a merry dance tune. The second half of the evening had already begun, but I wouldn't be dancing. If we had come to Bath to find me a husband, then as far as I was concerned the search was done. William had to return to his ship, but I didn't care. I was sure of him and he'd be speaking to my father just as soon as his duties allowed.
I came to the last turn of the stairs and met two men lounging there. James Calthorpe and his friend Edward Bruton. I smiled a greeting by way of apology for slighting him earlier and was about to explain about William, but Calthorpe ignored me and carried on his conversation with Bruton, turning his back as they began to descend the stairs. It was, perhaps, little more than I deserved, and I was not disposed to think the worst of him for it, but then he made a comment and I could not but overhear it.
'What did you say?'
They looked at each other and smirked. They were both in varying degrees drunk, although Calthorpe was the less steady of the two.
'A merchant's daughter is bad enough,' Calthorpe repeated, enunciating his words louder and more clearly. 'But a sailor's whore, I could never endure – ' He looked at his friend and they both fell to laughing. I could not bear the insult, to William, or to me.
'At least he's not a rake like you two. He risks his life for King and country. Who do you think you are, to slight the jacket blue?'
That set them laughing louder, so much so that I could not endure it. Temper and pride flared together as I looked down at Calthorpe's braying face a step or so below me. I reached back my arm and punched him square on the nose. It was not a girl's slap, or a wild swing, but a short, sharp jab from the shoulder just as Ned had taught me. It was a well-placed blow. Brother Ned would have applauded. I heard the bone crack. Blood spurted and splattered, adding a poppy-petal pattern to the pale embroidered silk of his waistcoat.
Calthorpe reeled back, holding his face. If Bruton had not caught him, he would have gone toppling down the stairs. Blood seeped between his fingers as he snorted and swore, his words thick and indistinct. I turned on my heel and left them.
A storm was coming. William had been right. It came full force in the night. The wind screamed about the houses and rain hit the windows like scattering shot. Mrs Wilkes had to raise her voice to have her orders heard above the commotion, but the growing tempest did not seem to trouble her, beyond a fear for the slates and chimney pots.
Those who live by the sea always keep an eye on the weather. Susan declared that she would not sleep a wink.
'I don't like the sound of it,' she said when she came to help me undress. 'If it be like this here, what's it going to be like in Bristol? Or out in the Channel?'
The windows were shaking in their sashes as she looked out into the rain-streaked blackness. The wind that screamed about the houses of Bath would be blowing twice as strong out at sea. Any ship caught far from shore would stand little chance. The captain would have to make safe harbour or be at the mercy of the storm.
'There'll be wrecks tonight.' She rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms. 'You see if there's not.'
Susan and I knelt together that night to pray for all those who might be in peril on the sea and for any whose ships were driven on to the shore. I added a silent prayer for William, giving thanks that he wasn't at sea, and asking God to keep him safe.
By morning, the storm had hardly abated. Instead, it continued, growing and building, turning itself into one of the worst storms in living memory. It went on all that day and into the next. Up at King Road, the safe anchorage at the mouth of the Avon, ships were thrown up on the shore. That had happened only once before. By the end of the third day, the damage was grievous. Word slowly filtered into Bristol of the number of vessels wrecked and lives lost. Whole fleets had gone down, although we knew nothing of that in Bath. Trees blocked the roads and the rivers were swollen to bursting. It took a further two days for the first coach to reach us from home.
It brought Robert with a letter from my father. Mrs Wilkes read it quickly. She did not share the contents with us, but whatever news it contained made her white about the mouth.
'What's that all about?' Susan asked Robert as she fed him in the kitchen.
Robert shook his big head, his long face graver than I had ever seen it.
'The Master says to come home.'
7
My father sat in his study, encased in gloom. His clothes were wrinkled, as though he had slept in them, and his wig was dishevelled and set at a slant. He looked shrunken as if he'd lost flesh. His waistcoat no longer strained at the buttons; his florid face was dull as putty and sunken under a three-day silvering of stubble. His eyes were lustreless, rheumy and red from lack of sleep. He looked far
older than when I had last seen him, as if he had aged twenty years in as many days.
He had been expecting a convoy of ships from Jamaica. Only one had arrived safe in port.
'Don't fuss, Madam!' he roared at Mrs Wilkes. He waved her away as if warding off a buzzing insect. 'I can't bear it!'
'Father – ' Joseph began, but got no further.
'You be quiet, Sir!' My father half rose from his chair. 'If we are ruined, it is largely your doing. What you have done is near criminal. Where are the funds I forwarded to you in order to secure the cargoes?'
My brother had no answer. He didn't even bluster, just hung his head as if he were ten again and been caught pilfering by some shopkeeper.
'You borrowed on expectation of profit, and now the whole lot is lost. All at the bottom of the sea.' My father rose, leaning on his desk to face his son. 'How am I to pay the creditors? How am I to pay the planters whose sugar we were shipping, the merchants who have bought it? Perhaps you could tell me? I have to stand surety. How can I do that without ships and money? You are guilty of fraud, Sir, or as near as dammit! I could turn you over to the justices, and will do if you are not very careful.' Joseph opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Father's fury left him gaping like a fish. 'I'll speak to you later. Now get out of my sight!'
I thought he meant me, too, so I went to follow my brother out of the room.
'Not you, Missy.' He called me back. 'I want to speak to you.'
I stood waiting, but it was as if I were not there. He sat down and remained lost in thought, staring out of the window at the city spread below.