Marrying Miss Hemingford. Mary Nichols

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      ‘Is he in residence?’

      ‘He is expected, I believe.’

      ‘And does Lady Mancroft come to Brighton every year?’

      ‘Almost ever year. My father finds sea water very efficacious for his gout, you know. He drinks it with milk every day.’ And when Anne pulled a face, added, ‘I believe there are other ingredients, even more unappetising.’

      ‘I think I will confine myself to bathing in it,’ she said.

      ‘I agree wholeheartedly. Perhaps we shall meet in the water again before long.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, thinking of Dr Tremayne.

      He declined an invitation to come in for refreshment when they arrived, saying his mother was expecting him, but he looked forward to having supper with them that evening, and with that he bowed and departed.

      ‘He really is most agreeable,’ her aunt said, as they divested themselves of their outer garments and went to the morning room for a light nuncheon. ‘But I was mortified when he approached me in the water. I am quite sure that it is not the thing, for all he says people think nothing of it. No doubt he thinks he has stolen a march on his friend Gosforth. If they see themselves as rivals, it could make our stay very interesting.’

      ‘Rivals, Aunt?’ Anne teased. ‘You mean for your hand?’

      ‘Do not be ridiculous, Anne. How can you say such a thing? I am a widow and shall remain one to the end of my days. It was your hand I was thinking of.’

      ‘You promised not to matchmake.’

      ‘Nor will I. There is no need, the gentlemen will come flocking.’

      ‘If you are right, they will be torn between my fortune and your sweet nature.’

      ‘Then we shall have some fun, shan’t we?’ Her aunt, mischievous as always, laughed.

      After they had eaten, Mrs Bartrum declared that bathing in the sea had made her tired and she wanted to be at her very best for the supper party, so she proposed to lie on her bed for an hour or two and suggested Anne do the same. But Anne was full of energy; besides, she had a secret mission she wanted to accomplish. She waited until her aunt’s bedroom door had closed and Amelia had settled down in the parlour to stitch the lace and flowers on her evening gown, then left the house to visit the bank where Harry had arranged she could draw on funds as she needed them. She drew a hundred guineas in cash and, weighed down by the clinking coins, set off for Doctor Tremayne’s house.

      The waiting room was as crowded as ever and she wondered if she was wrong to interrupt him at his work, but when Mrs Armistead told him she was there, he instructed the woman to conduct her to his private room at the back of the house and he would be with her as soon as he could.

      Mrs Armistead led her to a small drawing room, bade her be seated and asked if she would like refreshments, but Anne declined. ‘I can see you are very busy,’ she said. ‘I shall be quite content to wait until the doctor can see me.’

      ‘Do you wish to consult him? There is no need for you to come here; he would visit you at home.’

      ‘Oh, I am not ill, Mrs Armistead, I never felt better. But you may recall I promised a donation. And to tell the truth, I am fascinated by the doctor’s work and should like to know more.’

      ‘I am sure he will be happy to accommodate you.’ It was said a little stiffly and Anne realised she had sounded pompous, as if she meant to inspect the place before handing over money; that was not what she intended at all. But before she could put matters right, the woman had excused herself and disappeared.

      Anne looked round the room. It was very small and ill furnished with two stuffed chairs whose arms were worn, a table that had once been highly polished but was now stained and dull, some dining chairs and a bookcase. She rose to inspect the titles of the books it contained. The doctor’s taste in reading was broad to say the least. There were medical tomes, philosophical works, books on flora and fauna, tales of the sea, books of poetry and the novels of Sir Walter Scott and even two of Jane Austen’s. She was leafing through a treatise on the efficacy of sea water when the door opened behind her and Justin Tremayne entered.

      The books and the room itself faded from her vision as she turned to face him. He had retrieved his coat and put it on, but otherwise he looked just as he had on their first meeting. He was every bit as handsome, his brown eyes just as cold, his jaw just as firm, but his swim seemed to have done him little good; he looked so thin and tired, she had an unexpected urge to mother him, to make him sit down and rest and provide him with nourishing food. His opening words soon disabused her of the idea he was an overgrown child.

      ‘Madam, I understand you wish to inspect my premises. The two rooms in which I work and the kitchen you have already seen on your earlier visit, and now you have had time to look round the drawing room. There is nothing else but my bedroom. Do you wish to see that? I have to tell you the bed is probably unmade and my garments strewn about—’ He stopped abruptly when he noticed the look of astonishment on her face.

      ‘Dr Tremayne, you quite mistake the matter. I have no wish to inspect your premises, much less intrude on your domestic arrangements. My interest is purely in the work you do. I admire it greatly and would like to do something to help.’

      He bowed, unsmiling. ‘My apologies, ma’am.’

      ‘Oh, please, do not call me ma’am, it makes me sound so old.’ It was said with a friendly smile that quite unnerved him. He had taken her for an interfering do-gooder who wanted to take over his charitable work and run it for her own gratification, but perhaps he had been wrong.

      ‘Miss Hemingford, I beg your pardon. Please be seated.’ He picked up a little brass bell and rang it vigorously. ‘I will ask Mrs Armistead to bring us some tea.’

      ‘Only if you were planning to stop for some yourself. I have no wish to take you from your work.’

      ‘He needs to take a rest, Miss Hemingford.’ Mrs Armistead had come quickly in answer to the bell and had heard her last remark. ‘I have great trouble making him stop to eat at all.’

      ‘Tea, please, Janet,’ he said wearily. ‘And some of those little biscuits you made yesterday.’

      ‘You look tired,’ Anne said, as Mrs Armistead left them. She seated herself in one of the stuffed chairs, knowing he would not sit himself unless she did. ‘Could you not take on some help?’

      ‘If I could find someone who would work for nothing, I would gladly do so,’ he said, collapsing in a heap in the other chair. ‘But as no one is prepared to do that, I struggle on alone.’

      ‘Why do you do it?’

      ‘Now there’s a question!’ His expression was lightened with a genuine smile. ‘I suppose because the work is there, crying out to be done, and someone ought to do it. Brighton is full of wealthy people, aristocrats many of them, able to pay handsomely for medical treatment for whatever ailments their imaginations conjure up, so it attracts the ambitious physician out to make his mark in the world, but they are not the only ones to fall ill. The poor are suffering too. Their ailments, unlike those of the rich, are often the result of too little food and not over-indulgence—’ He stopped, realising he was almost certainly СКАЧАТЬ