Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 2

2

The second day after their arrival was Sunday. The sisters attended Laura Chapel in the morning, but the rain kept them home for the rest of the day.

‘I think the rain has followed us to Bath,’ said Constance, looking out of the window the third morning after their arrival. They debated over breakfast whether it would be a slight upon the master of ceremonies if the name of Mrs Duke Finnistone and her residence were not inscribed in the visitors book, even though she would not be attending any evening balls or concerts. Constance decided they had best err on the side of caution; neither sister wished to slight their neighbours. So the Monday after their arrival, Prudence dutifully made her way across Pulteney Bridge and down to the pump room to fulfil this social obligation, intending afterwards to call upon Mrs Smithyman about undertaking some sewing.

‘Must you go out in that old hat and coat?’ Constance protested on seeing her departure. ‘Lizzy should never have let you bring them.’

‘It is a perfectly serviceable hat and coat, and will withstand the drizzle better than any other. Would you have me ruin my smart bonnets? All soggy feathers and limp ribbons?’

‘I would have you send Amos for a chair.’

‘I am in need of a good walk after two days in a carriage and two days at home,’ said Prudence. ‘No one in Bath knows me. I shall not be the talk of the town for scampering about the streets in my old hat.’

Prudence also insisted on going out alone. Lizzy had the beginnings of a cold and should not be out in damp weather, and Amos’s pristine stockings would not bear the dirt of the streets on such a day.

On reaching the pump room she wrote in her neat, rounded hand into the visitors book the name of Mrs Duke Finnistone, Laura Place. An unmarried younger sister of no fortune was not worthy of The Book, so she did not add her own name. She scanned the latest page but did not recognise any of the names; she hardly expected to, not having moved much in society circles. A tall, broad-shouldered lady strode toward the table, evidently wishing to peruse the book for herself, so Prudence moved away, almost colliding with a young lady.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Prudence hastily. ‘I did not see you. How foolish of me. Oh, dear, I have caused you to spill your glass.’

‘It is no matter,’ said the young lady whom Prudence gauged to be a few years younger than herself. ‘It is only water. Barely more than a drop spilled.’ The girl dabbed delicately at her sleeve with a lace-edged handkerchief.

Prudence surmised that the tall lady now casting a gimlet glance at them from the table was the mother, though there was no resemblance in the least between the large woman with the long equine face, and the remarkably pretty young lady in a fashionable walking gown and bonnet. She was a sweet looking girl, so Prudence was amused when she leaned forward to whisper, ‘I wish the whole of the nasty stuff had been spilled, then I would not have to drink it! It tastes of old shoes. Worse than that, it tastes of old shoes in summer when one’s feet get hot. Do you not agree?’

Prudence stifled a laugh, and whispered in a calm reply, ‘As I have never tasted old shoes in any season, I cannot agree nor disagree. I shall have to take your word for it.’

‘ Regina ,’ said the tall woman in a voice that Prudence might describe as a bray. ‘Time to go.’ The assertive tone recalled the young lady to her dignity. She withdrew, made a little bow to Prudence, saying demurely, ‘Good morning,’ then whispered, ‘I hope we shall meet again, for you have just the kind of face I like,’ before tripping daintily away.

Prudence heard the woman scolding her charge as they went: ‘How many times must I remind you not to speak to anyone without an introduction? There are all manner of low persons in these public places.’

‘She was undoubtedly a lady,’ argued the girl. ‘And she had a very nice air.’

‘She may be genteel,’ said the woman, ‘but shabby genteel won’t do.’

‘Did you not read her entry in the book?’

‘I did. No one titled. And while she does reside in Laura Place, I daresay she is only a paid companion, judging by her appearance. That hat went out of fashion two years ago. You can always tell a paid companion, for they are the first to get their mistress’s hand-me-downs.’

Prudence amused herself with imagining her sister Charity’s laughter if she were to relay this conversation to her. Vulgar old tabby ! would be Chari’s pronouncement. She left the pump room, walking quickly through the streets to her next destination.

The back streets of the south side of Bath were in worse condition than the main thoroughfares. She picked her way through mud and puddles to the door of a tall, crooked house divided into rented rooms, squatting in a gloomy street not far from the river.

A child of about five years answered the door of the first-floor room. Prudence looked into a pair of large eyes in a pinched young face, saying kindly, ‘Is your mother home, poppet?’

‘Who is it, Lottie?’ came a woman’s voice from the room beyond.

‘Tell Mama it is Miss Grace.’ Prudence was not certain if Mrs Smithyman would remember her from two years ago, but the swift appearance of Mrs Smithyman at the door, her tired face momentarily lighting up as she exclaimed, ‘Miss Grace! What a pleasure to see you again! Come in, come in. Lottie, move Mama’s sewing basket from the chair.’

‘Please don’t trouble yourself,’ said Prudence, halting the child from emptying the only sound looking chair in the room. ‘I must be getting back to my sister. I called to enquire on her behalf if you would be at liberty to undertake some work for her?’

‘Indeed, and with great pleasure,’ said the woman. Prudence’s soft heart thought that Mrs Smithyman did not look like a person who had known much pleasure in her life.

‘I shall come directly if Mrs Finnistone wishes?’

‘Tomorrow will suffice,’ said Prudence. Little Lottie was staring as though mesmerised by the sight of their visitor. Prudence smiled, and Lottie whispered something to her mother .

‘Foolish child,’ said the mother affectionately. ‘She asks if you are a princess.’

The irony of being thought shabby genteel less than a half hour ago and now of royal rank was not lost on Prudence.

‘She thinks every fine lady a princess,’ said Mrs Smithyman. ‘She’s over fond of talking of princesses, seeing as she was named after one. Poor young thing.’

Prudence was unsure if the ‘poor young thing’ referred to young Princess Charlotte who had died in childbirth three years ago, or to her own child dressed in a patchwork gown that doubtless came from the scraps from Mrs Smithyman’s sewing work. She did not like to enquire on this point, but did enquire if Lottie was the only child at home.

‘She is,’ said Mrs Smithyman. ‘And she’s the last. Mr Smithyman went to heaven a year and half ago.’ She lowered her voice to whisper, ‘At least I hope that’s where he went, though it seemed to me he had more in common with him down there than him above.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that,’ said Prudence. She did not like to enquire as to the cause of death in the hearing of the child. ‘Are the others at school?’

‘School?’ Mrs Smithyman gave a weak laugh. ‘They’re out at work. My elder girl is in service, and my boy works at the quarry. It takes all of us working to pay the landlord and put food on the table.’

Prudence instinctively glanced round. The room was as tidy and clean as it could be, but the streaks of damp and mould on the outer wall and the boarded-up window made for a dismal living space.

‘I keep it clean,’ said Mrs Smithyman, seeing Prudence’s look. ‘But I can’t get the damp to go, nor the window mended, and the chimney smokes dreadfully. ’

‘That is the landlord’s responsibility,’ said Prudence, feeling a rush of indignation towards the negligent owner.

Mrs Smithyman gave a defeatist shrug. ‘I’m a little behind on the rent. Not by much, but with the interest that gets added to it I can’t get out of the debt, and I’m told the landlord isn’t obliged to do repairs if the rent’s not up to date.’

Prudence’s usually mild eyes blazed with another rush of anger. But she schooled herself to say pleasantly, ‘Do bring Lottie with you tomorrow, Mrs Smithyman. She may look at picture books with me while you confer with Mrs Finnistone. Shall you like that, Lottie?’

Lottie’s eyes widened further; she whispered something to her mother.

‘She does not know what a picture book is, miss,’ confessed Mrs Smithyman.

‘Then I shall have great pleasure in showing her. Shall we say half-past eleven?’ Prudence turned to leave. ‘Good bye, Lottie.’

Mrs Smithyman urged the child to say goodbye to the kind lady, but Lottie could not be prevailed on to speak, though she did run to the door when Prudence passed out of it and stood watching her walk away. Prudence gave a last wave at the child before exiting the building.

‘Well!’ she exclaimed, releasing her pent-up indignation. ‘If I can get my hands on that immoral wretch of a landlord, I shall have strong words to say to him!’

She made a visit to a bookseller near the bridge before returning to Laura Place where she put down her purchase of picture books on the hall console and handed her hat and coat to Mr Hervey with an apology for their dampness. Then she hastened upstairs to the drawing room to enquire after her sister’s morning appointment with the doctor .

‘He has prescribed a course of blood strengtheners, and commends me to drink the waters daily,’ Constance replied from the sofa she was sat reading on. ‘I am not permitted to walk more much above a quarter of an hour at a time, which is vexing, but I shall be a good patient and do as I am told, for the doctor says I may be able to go home in a matter of weeks if I respond well to the treatments, for I may do just as well with his directions and physic at home as here.’

‘Then we may be back at Lindford long before Christmas,’ said Prudence. ‘That is good news.’

‘Oh, I could not bear to be away from them all at Christmas.’

Prudence hastened to distract her sister from homesickness by speaking of her visit to Mrs Smithyman. ‘She is in worse straits than when we last saw her. Mr Smithyman has died, and all the children, save the youngest, have gone out to work or into service.’

‘But her daughter would only be ten or eleven,’ said Constance. ‘And her son not much older. To go into service so young, the poor children, and poor Mrs Smithyman.’

‘We must do what we can for her. We can keep her well employed in the weeks we are here. I think I may heed your advice and have some new gowns made up after all. You are right, I ought not to be walking about in old clothes. I care nothing for myself, but I may bring unpleasant remarks upon you. People might say you are keeping me in hand-me-downs out of miserliness.’

Constance was glad to hear her sister’s change of heart on the matter. ‘Order what you will, dear. The modistes in Bath are far more skilled than any we have about us at Lindford. Let them make your gowns, and Mrs Smithyman can do all the plain work that you usually do yourself. ’

‘I was intending for Mrs Smithyman to make my gowns.’

‘But she is not a modiste. She is a general seamstress.’

‘She might like to learn to be a modiste. Consider how much more she could earn if she were able.’

Constance did consider this. She shared all Prudence’s philanthropical tendencies to the full, so was happy to give Prudence all license to do as she saw fit in the matter, and to fund any schemes.

‘I shall look about for a good apprenticeship for the boy,’ continued Prudence. ‘He shall be shackled in poverty if he continues as a general labourer. He needs a trade he can advance in. And recall what a slip of a boy he was. He was not made for hard labouring. And if Mrs Smithyman can earn the wages of a modiste, her daughter could assist her and keep house, instead of working long hours away from home. And as for their landlord! Just let me find out who he is, and I shall have strong words to say about the improvements required! Oh, Connie, what dismal lives some people have, and we have so much!’

Constance was in full agreement, and between them they hatched many a plan for the assistance of Mrs Smithyman and her children. It was only when Prudence noticed the zealous gleam in her sister’s eyes that she dampened down Constance’s passion by announcing that she would undertake all arrangements herself. Constance was under strict orders to rest. Prudence only wished for her sister’s counsel, and her open purse, but not for any physical effort.

Constance agreed, but only on condition that she could at least write out a list of the steps that were to be taken in this scheme.