Chapter 10 #2
“You treat me as though I am still a girl, but I am a woman grown.” Marianne pursed her lips in a moue of displeasure and began sketching more quickly.
“He is the painter I told you about, so I do know him. Miss Prexley performed the introduction when he asked for one, and Miss Ferrin spoke highly of his talent. If neither of them have cautioned me, there is no reason for you to do so.”
“I think Papa ought to be informed of any acquaintance you make,” Amy replied, dismissing Miss Prexley’s and even Miss Ferrin’s approval.
It was easy for people to be lax in their choice of company, or not to voice misgivings—or simply to be wrong.
“After all, we are in a strange city and have few acquaintances here. There is no one to look out for us but Papa. We don’t know who any of these men are, except Mr. Fletcher.
They might present themselves under false pretenses. ”
“But Papa is never to be found when we need him and is distracted when he is here,” Marianne countered, stating only the bald truth.
The sketch in front of her was now beginning to take shape under her hand’s quick movements.
“How can I expect him to approve every introduction? I will never meet anyone that way.”
Amy wanted to reply with something wise but could return no good argument.
She resumed her seat, and little tremors went through her from the low temperature.
She tapped her feet to try to bring warmth to her toes.
She generally didn’t mind the cold, but it would be more bearable once they started walking.
When Amy was young and attended local assemblies, their neighbor had always performed the introductions and provided chaperonage in place of the mother they had lost. Mrs. Waiting possessed a cheerful disposition, was younger than their father, and had been widowed for nearly as long.
It was she who took the girls under her wing in Charing society.
She stood on excellent terms with Mr. Bridwell and did not seem to mind the fact that he was lost in academic wanderings or natural philosophy half the time.
Amy had always wondered if their neighbor had a tendresse for her father.
After all, despite suffering from rheumatism, he was still in reasonably good health and looks and was not given to overindulgence.
At the juncture of two alleys, Miss Prexley rounded the hedge and came into view.
At her side was Mr. MacFirbis, whose faded countenance was made paler by the white wig he wore.
He was imploring her in an earnest undertone, and she listened with a faint smile as though pleased by what he was pouring into her ear.
Although he was far less distinguished than James and could not be a true rival for her affections, Amy still thought it strange that she would accept to walk alone with a gentleman to whom she was not engaged.
But perhaps the rules were different in Spa?
Many other aspects were, such as the casual dress in the mornings, the shoes, the odd hours.
This might be another thing one practiced on foreign soil that one would not at home.
Miss Prexley slipped her hand from the gentleman’s arm when she spied Amy. “Mr. MacFirbis, I will leave you now. I wish to walk with my new friends.”
“I have finished,” Marianne whispered to Amy as they stood.
Miss Prexley stopped at the statue in front of them. Mr. MacFirbis greeted Amy and Marianne with a bow and, after another quick glance at Miss Prexley, walked away.
“Good afternoon.” Amy smiled, determined to be generous and above reproach, although conscious of a dull pain in her heart. She could not like Miss Prexley and was sobered to realize that it was probably because she was jealous. “I believe you remember my sister, Miss Marianne?”
“Of course.” Miss Prexley stepped between them, taking each of them by the arm and leading them away from the bench.
“In fact, I might say I know her better than I do you. We became acquainted while you were dancing with my intended. She and Miss Hannah have told me all about your families’ connections and your childhood in Charing—although your father did not immediately seem to recall Mr. Fletcher. ”
“Oh.” Amy did not know quite how to respond to this disclosure, which seemed to have some veiled meaning.
Did Miss Prexley learn that the Fletchers had not approved of her family?
That would surely relieve her mind—not that Amy wished to provide her with any excuse to look down upon them.
“I do not see you drinking the waters in the mornings.”
Miss Prexley greeted this with a shudder.
“I could not think of waking so early. The schedule the curists adhere to is entirely independent from the rest of Spa’s society.
I am astonished that you follow it. Drinking the waters is reserved for the older residents or for invalids—those who can manage the rigors of early mornings. ”
The early mornings must be hard on the invalids as well, Amy thought dryly. “Is it true that Spa’s society is always in bed by ten, except for the nights when the assembly hall is open?”