Chapter 9
James clucked his tongue, and his rented Friesian mare continued up the hill to the Sauvenière.
His tired mind lingered on his chance meeting with Amy and how peculiar it was to spot her amid the early-morning throng traveling from the source.
He tried to repress the pleasure that had sprung up at the sight.
Pleasure in this case was inappropriate, especially after he had spent most of the night wrestling his account books into submission so he could purchase the jewelry Isabel so desired.
Isabel—the one he was betrothed to.
He had finally dozed off in the wee hours of the morning, which was how he found himself two hours late for the tour of the sources.
On most days, he followed the curists in the usual circuit to demonstrate his faith in the ritual of drinking the water.
When Pouhon was empty of crowds, he’d saddled a horse and rode up to the Sauvenière.
Unsurprisingly, the hour was too late even for this stop.
The train of visitors was already on its descent, although the carriages had paused for the usual calls of nature.
Never mind. He would drink his cup at Groesbeek, then continue on to Watroz to see if any of his patients had troubled themselves to stop there before riding on to the Tonnelet.
He crested the hill and steered his horse to the plateau near the steps, where he tied her off in the usual place before descending to drink two glasses of water.
The cold, sharp taste helped revive him, and as he climbed the steps, he realized he would have to skip Watroz and head directly to the Tonnelet if he was not to be late.
This was where he had invested the remainder of his trust, and he went nearly every day to see how the construction of the baths was coming along.
James had been in Spa less than a month when he became convinced that new baths should be installed in the Tonnelet rather than having patients depend on the dubious bathing conditions of the H?tel Waldeck in the town center.
Despite his belief in the effectiveness of bathing to relieve certain ailments, he could not argue against his patients’ distaste.
Men like Mr. Rosemund would reluctantly sink into the freezing water at the base of the windmill, only to have bits of vegetable peels and rubbery white strands of tripe float by them as butchers and merchants cleaned their products upstream.
Naturally, they balked at such indignity—and such cold.
The Tonnelet was located on the top of a hill east of Spa and within easy reach of Watroz.
Like the other frequented sources, besides Pouhon, Le Tonnelet was located in a sylvan setting.
Its basin was naturally formed of tree roots, giving the source its name, and silvery bubbles of natural gas regularly danced to the pool’s surface.
What James had found unusual, having studied various thermal sources, was that the Tonnelet source came from a great depth and was high in iron, sulfur, and carbonates.
The first time he’d sunk into the water, tiny bubbles erupted all over his skin and reappeared as soon as he swiped at them.
He’d had only to breathe in the air and float in such magnificent aquatic properties to experience a great sense of well-being and become convinced of its healing properties.
James had been so persuaded of the source’s worth, he’d sunk the remainder of his small fortune into building the structure for the baths. Now, all that remained was to finish the interior and convince Spa society of its virtues before he lost the ability to pay his bills.
The ground between the Watroz source and the Tonnelet was spongy and marshlike, making walking and riding difficult and sometimes even dangerous.
It was possible to go from one to the other by road, but through the marsh was quicker.
As he led the mare across it in a pattern she knew by rote, he stared with pride at the source’s new stone entrance held by three columns with the words Le Tonnelet etched in front.
Standing beside the entrance was Mr. Vroomen, and James lifted his hand in greeting.
His mentor had agreed to meet James here and inspect his project for the first time.
“Very elegant,” Mr. Vroomen said as James dismounted and tied his horse to the post.
“Thank you.” Gratified, James gestured to the left. “Let us begin here with the outdoor pool.”
Before the first snow had fallen last winter, he had funneled the source into an outdoor pool that allowed the old water to be constantly replaced with new.
Now, he demonstrated how it worked before leading Mr. Vroomen to the nearly completed wooden structure that jutted out from the other side of the stone entrance.
“This is where the covered baths will be placed.” Inside, laborers were creating stone basins to hold the copper baths with sets of stairs to climb into them.
“I am reproducing the same system with the indoor baths to renew their water. I’ve ordered that copper basins be constructed and placed here, which will be separated by temperature. ”
Mr. Vroomen nodded, saying little as James explained the process of both replacing and heating the water, making it possible to bathe in all types of weather.
“Where is Mr. Rosemund currently taking his bathing cure?” Mr. Vroomen asked. “Not here, I see, for you are not quite finished.”
James smiled, shaking his head. “The H?tel Waldeck still. But I have ordered that the water be brought to a basin indoors and heated for him, at least by a few degrees. He is the only one attempting it this early in the season.”
“I can imagine,” Mr. Vroomen said with a chuckle.
James called a greeting to the laborers on the roof who were covering the timbers with thatch, then led his mentor to the other part of the bathing structure.
“And this is where the women will bathe.” He eyed Mr. Vroomen, curious of what he would think of women bathing as a cure.
Not many females would be intrepid enough to try bathing, but James reasoned that more would attempt it when they could be assured of a comfortable, private experience.
What he had in mind would be worthy of Spa’s elevated status.
“Will any women attempt it, do you think?” Mr. Vroomen asked.
James shrugged. “I certainly hope so.”
At the end of their visit, Mr. Vroomen turned to him. “You have come up with a good notion here. I shall have to try it myself before I recommend it to my own patients”—his eyes twinkled—“or Mrs. Vroomen.”
James grinned in appreciation. The physician’s wife would likely be courageous enough to try it.
Satisfied that things were progressing as quickly as they could—although not as quickly as he would have liked—he bid the workers good day and went to where their horses were tied.
The slow progress made him anxious, but it was not the workers’ fault that he was coming to the end of his means before he could begin to earn back from his project.
They rode a different way back to town, past the new assembly hall being built.
When the narrow path forced them to ride in tandem, cutting off their conversation, his thoughts drifted to Amy.
A smile came to his face unbidden at the memory of her picking her way over the stones to the line of carriages that morning.
Their interaction had been more akin to the friendship they had once had, with her joking and speaking naturally about the calls of nature.
He could not imagine Isabel doing such a thing for all she was the daughter of a physician.
But then, he and Amy had always been good friends even before their feelings grew into something fonder.
He did not require friendship from his wife, he supposed.
“I must ask you to act as my replacement in a month when we visit Mrs. Vroomen’s mother,” the physician said as they neared town. “Can you do so?”
“Readily. I will make myself available.” It would help James to have some additional income.
Of course, it would be more advantageous to visit patients with Mr. Prexley, since those were the cases he would actually take over in the autumn, but Mr. Prexley had been surprisingly reluctant to invite him.
After stabling their horses, they paid another call on Miss Bainesworth.
A servant led them to her bedroom, where her maid stood at the back of the room and Miss Bainesworth sat on the cane chair beside her bed.
Despite her pedigree as the daughter of a baron, she did not exhibit the usual poise of a society lady.
And as she seemed more resigned to James’s presence this time, Mr. Vroomen said nothing about him leaving.
He asked the usual questions about her eating and sleeping habits as he felt her pulse, then asked if there was anything in her life to disturb her or cause her anxiety.
Miss Bainesworth looked perplexed at the question. “What do you think might cause me anxiety, sir?”
Seated on the chair facing Miss Bainesworth, Mr. Vroomen regarded her with his kindly air and answered in Flemish-accented English.
“You are refusing to eat, and I am left to suppose that there is something—or someone—in your entourage whose behavior troubles you. I have heard of young women refusing to eat as a way of regaining control of their situation and wondered if this might be your case.”
Although Miss Bainesworth attended the assemblies and promenades as did everyone else, James did not recall seeing her dance, converse with young ladies, or engage in other pleasurable activities of a woman her age.
She was excessively thin, but there was nothing in her countenance or demeanor to suggest she was sickly.
Before consulting with her, he could only assume she had accompanied her parents while they drank the waters and was merely shy.
Her mother seemed the doting, hovering type, and he knew nothing of Lord Spencer other than that he suffered from gout.