Chapter 21
The inauguration of the Tonnelet baths occurred without pomp.
There were precisely two visitors willing to try it.
The first was an enthusiastic Mr. Rosemund, who raved over the pleasure of having his first hot chalybeate bath.
He had declared himself very pleased for his part, especially since he no longer had to deal with fragments of tripe or vegetable peels floating by.
He promised to share his enthusiasm with all who listened, but he was not Spa’s most distinguished visitor and his praise would not bring James the patients he needed.
James’s spirits had not recovered from his dismal meeting with Isabel, and he attempted to greet Mr. Rosemund’s enthusiasm with an expression that was not quite so morose.
The second patient was a skeptical Mr. Bridwell.
James helped him into the baths himself, then went into the receiving room to give Mr. Bridwell some privacy and wait for more patients that would not come.
When the prescribed time had elapsed, he indicated for the servant to assist the patient into his clothes, then invited him to sit so he might take his pulse.
James tested Mr. Bridwell’s flexibility and his level of comfort and was satisfied.
“It might have helped,” Mr. Bridwell admitted. He turned a clear-eyed gaze to James, his brows knit in reflection. “I think this should be attempted with a tuning fork to harmonize the waters and align their vibrations. Do you not agree? Otherwise, the minerals will merely float in chaos.”
James had no ready reply, and Mr. Bridwell seemed to accept his silence for agreement, for he added, “Do you think I should use my brass or silver tuning fork?”
James swallowed and decided on the one less likely to be ruined by the experiment. “Perhaps the silver fork would be better for this water. Although you must expect some cosmetic change to the metal.”
“Of course.” Mr. Bridwell beamed. “Then I will know it is working.”
“Yes.” James stared for a moment, hesitating. He wished he could ask him about Amy—ask whether Mr. Bridwell knew he had once courted his daughter. But what good would it do? In the end, he mustered a smile and wished Mr. Bridwell a good day as his servant came to help him into the carriage.
When no more bathers arrived to test the waters, James decided to return to his rooms. He had hired one of the rigs before the early excursion to the Sauvenière, which meant he would be walking home.
As he followed the road down the hill, his mind was heavy with preoccupations.
It was not that he had truly expected the baths to be an instant success, but receiving only two patients on opening day seemed to augur badly for his project.
At least the two patients he did have seemed to have found the baths beneficial, but neither were well-known or likely to bring in more prestigious clients.
How would he make ends meet? He had lost his inheritance and would have to subsist entirely on his living as a physician.
And not even the loss of his inheritance had freed him from a betrothal he was now certain would bring him a lifetime of misery.
A bird did not change her feathers, and Isabel had shown hers clearly enough.
Now he had an expensive wife and no income.
The path leading to town was treelined and broad, and he saw the tops of the iron gates of Waux-Hall well before he reached it.
He thought of his apology to Amy when they had visited the site together.
It had not precisely changed anything. In fact, it seemed to have increased the tension between them because it dredged up memories impossible to resolve.
Their past should not bother him, for their lives had joined together again briefly only to separate, and this time forever.
But it did bother him. He couldn’t bear for their memories of each other to be anything but the good moments they had once shared.
As he drew near the Pouhon source in the center of town, he caught sight of Amy coming in his direction.
He ducked into a narrow side street to avoid her and began walking toward the H?tel d’Irlande.
He would take a different route to his inn, for he was not able to face her.
His heart couldn’t take any more torture.
James was lost in these somber thoughts when someone stepped into his path, forcing him to look up.
“James, you are with your head in the clouds,” Mr. Vroomen said, smiling.
“You are very right.” He attempted a smile. “I have had my inauguration of the baths today, and I received all of two visitors.”
Mr. Vroomen gave him a sympathetic look. “There will be more,” he assured him. “In the meantime, we must visit my patients together next week or divide them up, for Mrs. Vroomen and I are not to leave after all. My wife has sprained her foot and cannot travel.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” James was indeed chagrined for Mrs. Vroomen, whom he liked very well. He could also not help but regret the loss of income from taking over his mentor’s patients while he was away.
As though he could read his mind, Mr. Vroomen added, “You are a fully practicing physician and do not need my mentoring. I will share the doctor’s fee with you for the time I had expected to absent myself.”
“That is very good of you,” James said. It might be the only thing to keep him from drowning in debt.
They parted ways with an agreement to meet the next day, and James arrived in his lodgings, where he discovered a letter sitting on the console in the entryway.
The servant who cleaned his rooms must have received it for him and left it there.
He stared at the writing, thinking that it looked like Isabel’s, although she had sent him only one written note in all of their courtship.
He flipped it over and found Mr. Prexley’s seal.
His breath left him, and he brought the letter over to the armchair, which he sank into.
Dare he hope she had thought the better of holding to their engagement despite his lack of inheritance?
No, it could not be. It was more likely to be a threat or something of that nature.
He broke the seal and spread the letter out.
10th June 1770
Honored Sir,
Yes, I do address you formally, Mr. Fletcher, for I am releasing you from an engagement that has become unpalatable to you.
You have shown me in several ways that you do not wish for this betrothal anymore.
Well, I have decided that neither do I. You have lured me into an engagement under false pretenses.
My father and I are now convinced that the document you showed us proving your inheritance was fabricated.
He will send a notice to the Gazette about our rupture, but do not think you shall be spared, for it will be clear where the fault lies.
My father will reveal the false circumstances behind your bid for my hand.
As for myself, I can only be thankful that I was given a view of your true nature in time to free myself from a life of poverty. Do not expect me to acknowledge you in the streets, for I shall not do so. Everyone will know you for the trumpery piece you are.
In the hopes that truth will prevail, I remain, etc.
Miss Isabel Prexley
James dropped the letter and sat for a long moment, scarcely able to credit what he had read.
He breathed in deeply. That was the end of it, then.
The worst mistake he had ever made in his life—after allowing Amy to drift away without making a push to save her from her own disastrous engagement.
Fortunately, she had extricated herself from that bad bargain in time.
Only by chance had he done so as well, although he had no doubt that Isabel and Mr. Prexley would carry out their threat to ruin his name.
Perhaps his character would speak for itself. He could only hope so.
And then there was Amy. He could pursue her now. He had held himself back for so long that it was difficult even to contemplate this possibility. He sat musing over the idea, but after applying a bit of common sense, he began to see it wouldn’t be quite so simple.
It mattered little if his heart was free to offer her; he still could not offer his hand without anything to live on.
The income from Mr. Vroomen’s patients, even shared, would save him from his most pressing debts, but the finished construction of his baths had come much later than expected.
He had not had the time to build a regular clientele as a result, and he could not think of what to do to remedy this.
The difficulty in seeing his way through it all kept James in a state of languor, which went on into the evening.
It then settled on him like a winter frost.
Over the course of the next three days, James fought against the desire to declare his feelings to Amy now that he was free.
Each time he stopped short from doing so when he remembered he could not offer her marriage, for it would condemn her to a life of poverty.
His fear of being carried away by his feelings—of confessing his love to Amy when he knew he shouldn’t—kept him from going to places where he might run into her.
It meant he scarcely left his rooms, except to visit the Tonnelet and his handful of patients.
He saw Mr. Bridwell there each morning, and they discussed his health, but James dared not pay another visit to his hotel for fear of seeing Amy.
He was still wrestling with this seemingly impossible dilemma when a knock came on the door to his rooms, and he went to answer it.