Marrying Miss Hemingford

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‘I wish I could do more. In fact, I intend to do more.’

‘Miss Hemingford,’ he said, looking perplexed, ‘why?’

‘For the same reason you have given me for what you do, because the need is there…’

‘I wish others felt as you do. Most people think that if they pay their poor rates, they have done all that can be expected of them.’

‘I am not most people, Dr Tremayne.’

‘No.’ She was most definitely not ‘most people’; she had the face of an angel, the figure of a goddess, soft expressive eyes and a pink complexion, which was something rarely seen among the people he usually dealt with, who were raddled with illness and gaunt with hunger. He had no idea how old she was, but she was certainly no silly schoolgirl, but a self-possessed mature woman, as unlike Sophie as it was possible to be. Sophie, beautiful, spoiled, faithless Sophie, whom he had once loved. He pulled himself together; it was all in the past and he had since learned to live simply and concentrate on the problems each day brought.

So why did the woman who faced him now make him want to rush out and buy himself a new suit of clothes and a dozen cravats, so that he could meet her on equal terms? What a ninny he was! He had no money to buy suits, hardly had enough to buy a handkerchief. And in any case it was better spent on medicines and bandages. ‘I am grateful for any help,’ he said.

‘I suppose taking on a pupil would not serve?’

‘It would be better than nothing, but so far none has turned up. Those whose fathers can pay fees, do not like the long hours, the unhealthy environment in which most of my poor patients live and they are afraid of catching something…’ He paused. ‘Are you not afraid of that yourself, Miss Hemingford?’

‘I enjoy the rudest of health.’

‘I am glad to hear it. I should hate to think of anyone as lovely as you are, falling victim to any of the common diseases to be found in my waiting room.’

‘Dr Tremayne!’ She blushed crimson at the compliment.

‘I beg your pardon. I am afraid I am too outspoken at times. You may blame living on board a man o’ war and then among people who tend to say what is in their minds without troubling about convention.’

She smiled. ‘You are forgiven.’

‘I meant what I said.’

‘In other words, you wish me anywhere but here.’

‘Yes. No. Oh, dear, you are confusing me. Clever women always confuse me.’

She threw back her head and gave a joyous laugh. ‘First I am lovely and now I am clever. You will quite turn my head, Dr Tremayne. I implore you to change the subject before I become too big for my boots.’

He looked down at her neat buttoned boots and realised they had cost more than he spent on housekeeping in a month. What did he think he was at, flirting with a lady of her calibre? Oh, he might have been able to hold his own a few years back, when he was still living at home, recognised for the gentleman he was, and even later when promotion was still a possibility, but not now. His poverty was all too apparent and she was only playing with him. He could imagine her going back to her fine friends and saying, ‘I had the most extraordinary encounter with a strange pleb this afternoon…’

‘I mean to try and find you an assistant,’ she said, when he had been silent so long she wondered if he would ever speak again.

‘And how do you propose to do that?’

She laughed. ‘Pay him.’

‘But you cannot do that. It would be a long-term commitment…’

‘And do you think I am incapable of making such a commitment?’

‘Not at all,’ he said hurriedly. ‘But I do not think pin money will suffice, unless—’ He had been going to say unless she was extremely wealthy, but stopped himself in time; the state of her purse was no concern of his. ‘Surely you have family and advisers looking after your money who have to approve the way you dispose of it?’

‘None,’ she said. ‘I am a free agent and I have more than I shall ever be able to spend.’

So she was wealthy. He was not sure if he was glad or sorry for that. Apart from her name, he knew nothing else about her. Who was she? Where had she come from? How could a single woman as young as she was control her own money? Surely she was not one of those demi-reps who pranced about Brighton on the arms of their aristocratic lovers, glad to have risen above the lives they were born to? Was it conscience money she was offering? He did not want to believe that. For the first time in years, he found himself admiring a woman, but stopped himself before his foolishness let him down again. She was beautiful, but Sophie had been beautiful too and what had that signified except a cold, calculating heart.

‘I think you should go away and think about this very carefully before you do something you might regret,’ he said.

‘Oh, I intend to. I shall make the most stringent enquiries, have no fear. You will not be burdened by a cabbage-head or an idler.’

‘I was not referring to the assistant, Miss Hemingford.’

She rose to go. ‘Oh, I know that, Dr Tremayne.’ She laughed as she offered him her hand. ‘But my mind is made up and those who know me best will tell you I am not easily diverted from my purpose.’

He could well believe that, he decided, as he took her hand and raised it to his lips before going to the door and opening it for her. He walked beside her down the corridor and passed the open door of the waiting room, already filling up with new patients. ‘You will be hearing from me again,’ she said. And without waiting for more protestations she stepped out into the street.

As soon as she turned the corner, she stopped and leaned against a wall to stop her knees buckling under her. Had she really had that extraordinary conversation? Had she really promised to find him an assistant and pay his wages? How, in heaven’s name, was she going to do that? She must be mad. She knew nothing about doctors or their assistants or where they could be hired. And, as for making stringent enquiries, she had no idea what questions to ask to verify an applicant’s suitability. And inside her, in the place where her conscience resided, she knew it had all begun as a ploy to keep talking to him, to enjoy his company, to look at that gaunt but handsome face and to wonder what it would be like shining with health. She had been imagining him among the people she associated with, fashionably dressed, his hair trimmed, his cravat starched, dancing with her at a ball, riding with her on the Downs, accepted by her friends as a gentleman. She was mad. Such a thing was not possible.

But that did not stop her from thinking about him and his plight. All the way home, she turned the problem of the assistant over in her mind. She had not come to a solution when she entered the house, nor when she arrived in her room to find Amelia in a taking because she had been gone so long and it was time to dress for supper. ‘Susan went to dress Mrs Bartrum an hour ago,’ she said. ‘And now there is no time to arrange your hair in the style we decided.’

Anne smiled and allowed herself to be dressed and have her hair coiled up on her head and fixed with two jewelled combs; she was hardly aware of Amelia’s grumbling. Her mind was in an untidy room in a back street, drinking tea and making outrageous promises to a man who seemed to have mesmerised her.

Chapter Three (#u49926106-f7e8-5f87-8ebd-2c7a1a840b9a)

The first of the carriages drew up at the door as Anne went down to the drawing room and there was no time for Mrs Bartrum to question her niece about where she had been, for which Anne was thankful. She knew her aunt would be horrified to know she had been visiting a man— not even a gentleman—and been entertained alone in his room. If she knew Anne had given him money and promised more, she would have apoplexy, so it had to remain a secret. It was a pity, because Anne longed to tell someone about it and ask advice about hiring a doctor’s assistant.

What, for instance, did an assistant do? Did he treat the sick himself or only do the menial tasks such as dosing someone for the ague or binding a cut finger? Any competent person could do that, surely? And how much were they paid? Would her bankers have something to say when she asked for a regular amount to be paid from her account every month? Would they insist on knowing why and investigating the recipient? Questions like that bred more questions, but she had to put them aside to stand beside her aunt and receive their guests.

Lord and Lady Mancroft arrived with the Major, magnificent in his regimental dress uniform, then the widowed Mrs Barry with Annabelle and Jeanette, whom she hoped someone would take off her hands before much longer. Lieutenants Cawston and Harcourt arrived on foot, followed by Sir Gerald Sylvester, who came in a cab. Sir Gerald, fifty if he was a day and thin as a bean pole, was got up in a dark blue evening suit, a blue shirt whose collar points grazed his cheeks and supported a pink starched cravat with an enormous bow. His waistcoat was heavily embroidered in rose and silver thread and his breeches were so tight fitting, Anne wondered if he would be able to sit, much less eat. Captain Gosforth arrived last, in a black evening suit, white shirt and brocade waistcoat, and hurried over to bow and make his apologies to his hostesses, which meant he was standing beside them when supper was announced.

‘May I?’ he asked, offering his arm to Mrs Bartrum.

Graciously she laid her fingers on his sleeve, leaving Anne to be escorted by Major Mancroft, who was quickly at her side. His parents followed and everyone else paired up to go into the dining room, the Barry girls with the two lieutenants and Mrs Barry with Sir Gerald. They all knew each other; indeed, it was Anne and her aunt who were the strangers to the company, but Anne did not mind that; it gave her the opportunity to observe their guests. None of them, she realised, was likely to be acquainted with a young physician looking for a first post. Such a being would be beneath their notice.

‘I took your advice,’ she said to Captain Gosforth as the soup was served by the two footmen her aunt had employed for the evening. ‘I took a dip in the sea this morning.’

‘And how did you find it?’

‘Very refreshing. I shall certainly go again.’

‘And did you see the commotion on the beach?’ Lieutenant Cawston asked.

‘No. Was there a commotion?’

‘I was strolling along the sea front when I saw a crowd round a big white tent, so I wandered over to see the cause of it.’ He paused, realising he had the attention of everyone. ‘One of the fishermen had caught a large sea creature in his net and was preparing to make an exhibition of it, hence the tent. There was a notice on a board inviting the public to view the merman at tuppence a time.’

‘Merman! There is no such thing!’ Lord Mancroft scoffed. ‘Nor mermaids either.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Walter Gosforth said. ‘When I was sailing in the south seas, there were stories of strange sea creatures who were said to have the head and upper body of a human and the tail of a fish. They were supposed to lure sailors on to the rocks with their singing…’

‘Oh, do you think the Brighton fishermen have really caught one?’ Jeanette Barry asked, wide-eyed.

‘Of course not,’ her mother said. ‘It is no doubt something they’ve constructed for gullible people to gape at.’

‘I do not think they have constructed it,’ Anne said. ‘I heard about it yesterday from the child of the fisherman that caught it. She said it was a monster.’

They all turned to look at her and she began to wish she had not spoken. ‘You remember, Aunt, I told you about the little girl who was hurt.’

‘Do tell us the tale,’ Annabelle said. ‘How did you come to be in conversation with a fisherman’s daughter?’

Anne was obliged to tell the same story as she had related it to her aunt, which was not very exciting when all was said and done, certainly not to her listeners, who had no interest in the doctor to whom she had taken the little girl. ‘We are indebted to the child’s mother for the fish we are eating,’ she said. ‘She wanted to thank me and that was all she had to give.’

‘So there really is some kind of strange creature on the beach,’ Mrs Barry said.

‘Yes, but it was not described to me as a mermaid or a merman, simply as a monster…’

‘Probably a whale,’ Major Mancroft said.

‘But surely there are no whales off our coast and, if there were, would it not be too big for the fisherman’s nets?’ Anne asked. ‘They would never be able to haul it aboard their vessel.’

‘Only one thing for it,’ Captain Gosforth said. ‘We shall have to pay our tuppence to have our curiosity satisfied.’

‘It’s a trick,’ Lady Mancroft said, wrinkling her long nose in distaste. ‘A few hundred gullible people at tuppence each would line the pockets of those chawbacons very nicely, don’t you think?’

‘They are very poor,’ Anne said mildly. ‘Who can blame them for wanting to supplement their income?’

‘Why not make an outing of it?’ the Captain suggested. ‘I shall be delighted to pay for everyone here to see it.’

‘Then could we not take a picnic with us?’ Annabelle suggested. ‘We could find a quiet situation on the cliffs and the gentlemen could light a fire. It would be such fun.’

Everyone agreed enthusiastically. Mrs Bartrum, who was still wondering how to use up all the fish she had been given, offered to bring shrimps and herrings to be cooked over the fire, and that led Lady Mancroft to donate slices of cold roast beef and a side of ham and Mrs Barry to offer to bring orange jelly and her special biscuits, the recipe for which was a closely guarded family secret. ‘And I will bring wine,’ Major Mancroft offered. ‘The mess has a particularly fine selection.’ He paused. ‘In case the Regent should arrive unexpectedly, you understand.’

‘I will put my chaise at your disposal to convey the servants and hampers ahead of us,’ Lord Mancroft added. ‘Then, if any of the ladies feels disinclined to walk back, they may ride.’

And so it was settled, and all because of Mr Smith and his monster catch. Anne had taken no part in making the arrangements, she was happy to agree to whatever they decided; her thoughts were elsewhere. Talking of the fisherman and little Tildy had reminded her of Dr Tremayne, working away in his consulting rooms, dishevelled, hard up, caring and proud. Oh, she knew he was proud all right. In spite of his shabby room, his untidy clothes, his lack of proper equipment and medicines, he was a man who stood upright and looked you in the eye, even when admitting that he begged. He did not beg on his own behalf, but for those poor souls who had no one else to help them. He said he had been a ship’s surgeon, but why had he gone to sea in the first place? Treating seamen wounded by war was very different from mending the heads of little girls and giving an old man medicine for a chronic cough. She had to see him again and learn more.

The rest of the meal passed in small talk: the doings of the Regent, hardly seen in public since he was so badly received at the victory celebrations earlier in the year: the peace talks going on in Vienna where the allies were carving Europe up between them; the fate of Napoleon, now banished to the remote island of St Helena, and the fear of riots and insurrection as the soldiers returned home to find there was no work for them. Anne wanted to hear more about that, but her aunt quickly suggested it was time for the ladies to withdraw and instead she found herself talking about the latest fashions over the teacups in the withdrawing room.

When the gentlemen joined them, the older members of the company sat down to whist while the younger ones were prevailed upon to sing or play. Walter Gosforth stood beside the piano to turn the page of music as Anne played her piece. ‘Splendid, Miss Hemingford,’ he said, when she finished and everyone applauded. ‘I heard you had a prodigious talent and now I know it to be true.’

Anne laughed. ‘No one but my aunt could have told you that, and I do believe she is biased.’

‘She is a very vivacious lady. I did not like to ask, but how long has she been a widow?’

Anne looked at him sharply and smiled. ‘Nearly two years, Captain. It was a very happy marriage…’

‘Oh, I do not doubt it,’ he murmured. ‘Someone more agreeable than Mrs Bartrum would be difficult to find.’

‘I could not agree more,’ she said, hiding a smile. ‘She also has a very pleasant singing voice. Shall I prevail upon her to sing for us?’

‘Oh, please do. I will be delighted to accompany her on the pianoforte.’

The whist game was drawing to a close. Lady Mancroft was gratified to have won and her rather haughty expression had softened. Anne approached the table and was in time to hear her aunt telling Major Mancroft that her niece had been laid very low by the old Earl’s death, but she would soon be in spirits again. ‘She is a considerable heiress,’ she said. ‘And very independent in mind and spirit, which cannot be altogether good for her. I think she needs someone to guide her, someone as strong as she is—’ Seeing Anne, she stopped in mid-sentence.

‘Aunt, we should be pleased if you would sing for us,’ Anne said. stifling a desire to laugh at her aunt’s less than subtle hints. ‘Captain Gosforth has said he will accompany you.’

‘In that case, of course I shall oblige. Major, do you take a turn about the room with Miss Hemingford.’

‘Delighted,’ he said, rising and bowing to Anne.

‘You know, Major,’ she murmured as her aunt went to consult Walter Gosforth about the music and they moved slowly round the room, ‘I do not need someone to guide me, my aunt is mistaken in that.’

‘I did not think you did, Miss Hemingford. But it does no harm for your aunt to think so, does it? She is a delightful lady and truly devoted to you.’

He was a kind man, she realised. ‘I know. I would not dream of contradicting her.’

Mrs Bartrum sang one solo and one duet with the Captain, which had the effect of sending Major Mancroft to her side, offering to play a duet with her. She declined and suggested he should ask Anne.

It was all very amusing. Anne could see that the Major and the Captain were vying with each other to be noticed by her aunt and yet the lady herself seemed unaware of it. Not for a minute did Anne think either of them were rivals for her own hand, which meant she was saved the business of having to discourage them. By the time the party broke up with everyone promising to meet on The Steine after attending morning service next day, she was feeling exhausted. It had been a long, long day.

The front pews of the parish church of St Nicholas were full of the beau monde, dressed in their finery, intending to see and be seen. At the back, also in their Sunday best, were the working people of Brighton: fisherfolk, bootmakers, chandlers, harness makers, candlemakers, hatters, seamstresses, all the people who worked in the background to cater for the visitors who flocked there every summer as soon as the London Season was over. Sitting alone, neither with the elite nor the artisans, was Dr Tremayne. He was wearing a plum-coloured frockcoat, grey pantaloons, a clean white shirt and a white muslin cravat starched within an inch of its life. He held a tall beaver hat on his knees. Everything about him was neat and clean; he had even made an attempt to control his dark curls.

Anne and her aunt arrived late and most of the pews were full. Anne touched Aunt Bartrum’s hand and indicated the vacant seat beside the doctor. He was kneeling to pray, but rose and moved along to make room for them and it was then she noticed that, though his boots were polished to a mirror shine, the heels were down and the soles worn paper thin. Poor man! But she knew she must not pity him, must betray no sympathy except for his work. ‘Good morning, Doctor,’ she whispered, settling herself beside him. ‘I trust you are well.’