Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The Belles-Lettres Society was meeting in the drawing room of the Temple residence at Aldham Park. Several notable literary personages were in attendance. Summer shadowed Lenora as if she feared that one of the several gentlemen would snatch the young lady and ride off with her.

Lenora found it annoying but knew that her tutoress was only doing the work assigned to her by Sir Francis or Marie-Belle. With some fairness to her parents, she had been known to disappear from dinner parties and to show up some hours later, grass-stained and cheerful. Usually, these escapades had been in Dorian’s company, and the rumpling and stains had been from quite innocent pursuits.

This particular evening, Charles Hooper was dangling after Lenora, getting in the way of her ability to engage in conversation with Lord Whitchurch. Yet Charles did not seem interested in conversing with her, only in taking copious notes in a small, leather-bound book.

“What are you writing?” she asked him, peering over his shoulder.

“Oh, this and that,” he replied, turning to hide the writing from her. “It’s just notes for my book. I’m sure you would not be interested.”

With great want of courtesy, Lenora leaned over Charles, peering at the pages on which he was writing. To her surprise, Reuben’s name appeared and was repeated several times down the page.

“What are you writing about Reuben?” she asked, almost in Charles’ ear.

“Nothing. It is nothing,” he said, snapping the notebook closed. “Lord Whitchurch is an extremely interesting person. Are you trying to steal my research?”

“No, I’m just interested, that’s all. Oh, look! There he is now.” Lenora left off attempting to get Charles Hooper to share his information and moved into the receiving line so she could be sure to say hello to the gentleman under discussion.

“So nice of you to be here, Lord Whitchurch,” she said to Reuben. “How are you finding your stay in Bath?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” he replied. “I had hoped for better weather.”

“So had we all,” Lenora responded, ready to expand upon the subject.

Much to her disappointment, Reuben moved on. “Mr Hooper, Miss Blanch,” he greeted Charles and Iris. “Pleasant to see you here. Then, he moved away to mingle with the other guests.

He had been perfectly polite with all of them, but Lenora felt as if she had been brushed off like a piece of lint flicked from a sleeve. She was not ready to give up. His manners might leave something to be desired, but his shoulders filled out his coat to perfection, without the slightest hint of buckram wadding to achieve fashionable dimensions.

Ladies seemed to flock from various corners of the room, pause to speak with him, and then move on as if he had given them the same summary treatment he had bestowed upon her.

Dorian, Jonathan, and Emma all entered together. When they came to Lenora in the receiving line, Dorian bowed over her hand, straightened, and said, “I believe you are acquainted with Emma Holt. She and her father are lodging in one wing of Clare Place.”

“Perhaps you could come visit,” Emma said shyly. “I know so few people here in Bath. It is very lonely.”

“Of course, I shall, now that you have asked me,” Lenora said warmly. “Bath can be dreadfully dull if you don’t know anyone. Do you plan to stay long?”

“I truly do not know,” Emma said. “It depends upon the will of my father. Sometimes he stays in one place for a long time; sometimes, he moves on almost immediately.”

“That must make it difficult to find friends,” Lenora said sympathetically. “I shall make a point to call upon you soon, just in case his wanderlust should strike.”

“Thank you,” Emma said shyly, moving on to speak with Iris and Charles.

The exchange gave Lenora more ideas to ponder. Once all the guests had arrived, the receiving line broke up, and the people in it mingled with the crowd.

Her throat was dry from giving greetings, so Lenora got a cup of punch and settled into a corner table where she could watch the room. Groups coalesced and eddied, swirling around Lord Whitchurch and Mr Hooper. Lord Whitchurch seemed to be doing his best to avoid Mr Hooper, while Mr Hooper found odd corners where he frequently scribbled in his notebook.

They were not the only magnets for groups, however. Mr Holt had attracted a group of gentlemen whose intent expressions indicated they might be in the sciences. Emma and Dorian were engaged in a tete-a-tete at one of the central tables. After a time, Jonathan Holt shed the cluster of learned gentlemen, went over, and sat with his daughter and young friend. Something he said seemed to make Dorian uncomfortable and caused Emma to blush.

Lenora felt a flash of jealousy at that blush. She quashed the feeling immediately. What right did she have to blush about anything concerning Dorian? Dorian was Lenora’s friend, not her suitor.

As she watched, Reuben Manners stopped by the table where the four people sat. Jonathan Holt seemed to take his leave of his daughter and protege and went off with Reuben. This left Emma and Dorian sitting alone together. Again, Lenora felt that twist of irritation at seeing them in such an intimate situation.

Before she could get up and join Emma and Dorian, Jonathan and Lord Whitchurch returned. Reuben seemed remarkably cheerful but soon lapsed into what seemed an almost intoxicated daze. Lenora considered approaching the table, but Jonathan signalled a footman, and in a few minutes, Reuben was gently guided from the room.

“Young people these days,” Jonathan said loudly enough to be heard at adjoining tables, “just cannot judge the difference between an efficacious amount of brandy and enough to send one toddling off to bed.”

Both Dorian and Emma laughed dutifully at this sally as if it were the greatest joke. But Lenora thought Emma seemed ill at ease.

Not long after the incident, Jonathan Holt said he needed to see to his patients and took his daughter off with him. Dorian sat at the table, twirling his glass between his hands, seeming to be lost in thought.

He looked lonely. Lenora got up, fetched two cups of punch that she was pretty sure was just fruit juice, went over, and sat down beside Dorian. “You look a little lost,” she said.

“Where is your watchdog?” Dorian asked.

Lenora started, then looked around and realized that she did not see Summer anywhere.

“She must have retired to the ladies’ lounge,” she said. “No doubt someone trod on her dust ruffle and pulled it loose.”

“Dust ruffles,” Dorian said, taking a sip of the drink. He hastily set it down. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“From the refreshment table,” Lenora said.

“Someone is playing a nasty joke,” Dorian explained. “Have you tasted it?”

“No,” Lenora said, surprised. “I had some punch earlier, but I wanted something milder for the late evening.”

“This isn’t it,” Dorian said. “It tastes as if someone dumped a beer tankard of brandy in it.”

Lenora held her drink under her nose. “Goodness!” she exclaimed. “This is labelled fruit juice. Someone is certainly trying to play a practical joke.

Dorian sighed. “Let’s go see if we can discover whether all the punch has brandy added or if it is just this bowl.”

A quick investigation revealed that the labels for the drinks had been rearranged. “Just a joke,” Lenora observed.

“But a nasty one if someone is limiting their alcohol intake,” Dorian said. “Fortunately, it is easily remedied, and the drink is not wasted.”

“Who would want to do such a thing?” Lenora asked. “It is truly uncivil.”

“No doubt about that,” Dorian remarked. “If I knew who might have done it, I would surely take him to task.”

Lenora had the feeling that he had some idea of who the perpetrator might have been, but Dorian said no more on the subject. He merely got fresh glasses for them both and filled them with the fruit juice Lenora had intended to obtain in the first place.

“So, how goes the husband hunting?” Dorian asked when they sat back down.

“Not that well,” Lenora admitted. “I simply cannot seem to engage Lord Whitchurch’s attention.”

Dorian sighed. “I am in little better case. The young ladies of Bath are all flirtatious and sweet, but none of them engage my interest.”

“Should you be telling me this?” Lenora asked.

“Probably not. But if you cannot tell your best friend in all the world your troubles, then what kind of friends are you?” Dorian took a sip of his fruit juice. His cup partially hid his expression, which seemed a trifle off from what he was saying.

“I suppose listening is what friends are for,” Lenora agreed. “Certainly, no one else is going to pay attention to our difficulties. How are things at the hospital?”

Dorian frowned. “Troubling. It seems there is some sort of illness being passed from bed to bed.”

“There are no reports of illness in the town,” Lenora observed. “You would think that if a sickness were about, there would be signs of it elsewhere.”

“Exactly my thinking,” Dorian said.

Lenora sipped her fruit juice, then frowned at it. “Is there something that could cause the hospital patients to be ill but not the people in town?”

“One does hear of such things,” Dorian affirmed. “There are contagions that originate in wounds or in illnesses that are slow to respond to treatment. But I have not seen signs of either in my patients.”

The pair sat and sipped their juice.

At last, Dorian said, “I had best go. I have clinical patients to see in the morning.”

“Be careful, stay well,” Lenora wished him.

“You also,” Dorian returned. Then he went on out to the foyer to collect his hat and coat.

There was still a tiny bit of juice in Lenora’s cup. She sipped it and stared into space, trying to make sense of the bits and pieces that had come to her this evening.

Slowly, she became aware of another presence. Her father was seated beside her, sipping a steaming cup of tea. “You seem deep in thought,” he said. “You are aware our guests have all gone home.”

“Yes,” Lenora replied simply.

“Yet here you sit, as if still entertaining. Why so inwardly absorbed?” he asked.

Lenora gave back a question instead of an answer. “Father, how much do you know about Jonathan Holt and his relationship to Dorian?”

Sir Francis studied her for a moment. “What everyone knows, I should imagine. Jonathan is brother-in-law to Dorian’s now-deceased aunt on his mother’s side. When Dorian’s parents met with their accident, he became Jonathan’s guardian. When Dorian came of age, he inherited St Justus. Until then, Jonathan had administrators installed to supervise the facility. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It just all seems very odd.” She carefully did not mention what Dorian had said about the strange illness in the hospital or the labels switched on the punch.

“Human interactions are often strange,” Sir Francis said. “Jonathan is a scientist, a man as driven in his field as I am in mine. He has something of a chequered past, but he seems genuinely fond of Dorian, and he loves his daughter. I cannot imagine him doing anything to harm either of them. Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose it must,” Lenora said.

“Then I am for bed,” Sir Francis said. “And you should be, too. Good night, daughter.”

“Good night, Father,” she returned.

Sir Francis walked quickly out of the room. Lenora rose to leave, as well. No doubt the servants were impatient for them to be gone so they could get to the clearing up.

As she moved towards the door, she saw a scrap of paper on the ground. When she picked it up, she realized it was a corner out of Mr Hooper’s little book. It had one word on it: Opus.