Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

B ath, November 1813

Jo followed Aunt Sarah into the Pump Room, with Cousin George beside her. This was only the second time she had come with Aunt Sarah. She had accompanied Mama here every day for the fortnight Papa had spent with them in Bath, and had hardly left her side. As a result, the only people she recognised were the few women of Mama's age who had spoken to her then.

George was looking about the room as if he, too, knew no-one present. That was entirely possible—he and a friend, James Newman, had taken rooms rather than staying in the house Lord Yelden had rented for his family, and had accompanied his mother to only a few entertainments.

"Shall we take a turn about the room, Jo?" George said, offering his arm.

Jo fell into step beside him, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve. "Thank you for accompanying me, George. It was kind of you to volunteer."

He grinned, and she couldn't help smiling back. She knew Aunt Sarah had all but ordered him to come.

"Are you to take some water back for Aunt Frances? "

"No. Chivenor sent one of the footmen this morning, when Mama said she could not come." Jo had tried to persuade her, but to no avail; she had insisted that even being carried in a chair was too fatiguing, and Jo had given up when Mama showed signs of becoming tearful.

George patted her hand in unspoken sympathy, and they walked slowly on. A few older women nodded at Jo, but not in a way that encouraged her to approach and speak to them. She was glad of it; beyond relating Mama's continued poor health, she didn't know what else to say.

"Miss Stretton, how pleasant to find you here."

Jo turned, surprised to find Mr Bengrove behind her. She nodded. "Mr Bengrove. I didn't know you were coming to Bath. Is Catherine with you?"

"Indeed." Mr Bengrove indicated his wife in a group of other women at the far side of the room. "She will come over directly."

"I will be pleased to see her. May I introduce my cousin, George Yelden? George, this is Mr Bengrove, Alfred's brother."

The two men made their bows. "Do you stay in Bath long, Yelden?" Mr Bengrove asked. "We are to return home shortly—hunting season, you know."

"I have no plans to leave," George said. Catherine approached, and George was introduced. He turned to Jo. "Shall I leave you to women's talk, coz?" He couldn't completely hide his hopeful expression.

"By all means," she said, and was unable to resist adding, "I hope you will accompany me again tomorrow." She smiled at the dismay that briefly crossed his face.

Catherine took Jo's arm, and they walked to a quieter part of the room. "I was sorry to receive your note telling me that your mama had taken a turn for the worse." Her gaze followed Mr Bengrove and George, as they talked a few yards away. Jo could see from the way George was standing that he wanted to be gone.

"Have you been in Bath long?" Jo asked. Catherine seemed to be ill at ease—perhaps she was as uncomfortable with strangers as Jo was. She had only ever met Catherine in private until now.

"We only arrived yesterday. "

"How is your baby?"

Catherine's expression softened. "She is doing well. I was sorry to have to leave her with Nurse while we were here."

"Is she not a good traveller?" It must be trying to be in a carriage with a crying baby for several days.

Catherine grimaced. "When we took her from London to Bengrove Hall, the journey was rather difficult." She was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter from a nearby group. "We cannot talk properly here," Catherine said. "Will you call? Or should I come to you one morning?"

"I will call, if you give me your direction. Thank you."

"I am at home most afternoons." Catherine took a card from her reticule and gave it to Jo. "I hope to see you soon."

As Catherine walked away, Jo wondered why Catherine seemed so keen to see her now, when the only communication she'd received since Catherine had gone to Bengrove Hall was a brief note to say she'd been safely brought to bed with a little girl. Then she shrugged and looked around for Aunt Sarah. She had satisfied Mama's wish to come here, and Mama would be happy to know she had met Catherine Bengrove again. There was no need for her to stay any longer.

Jo's life in Bath soon settled into a routine. Each day she went for a walk in Sydney Gardens or attended the Pump Room in the company of Aunt Sarah or, sometimes, a reluctant George. She had also called on Catherine Bengrove several times, which helped to pass another half hour or so.

"Is Mama still in her room, Chivenor?" Jo asked as she removed her bonnet and gloves after a trip to the circulating library. She had been looking for an undemanding story that she might read to Mama.

"I believe she is dozing in the front parlour, miss. Some letters have arrived for you—I have left them in the back parlour."

"Thank you." She went to change into her working gown before going to the small back room she used during the day—it hardly justified the name of ‘parlour'.

There was a letter from Papa, mentioning a couple of the investments that Jo had helped to research, and hoping that Mama was still taking the waters. A sealed packet from Papa's secretary contained copies of the London newspapers, and also a letter that had arrived for her in Russell Square. It was from Captain Delafield.

She hesitated before unfolding the paper. This could be a reply to the letter in which she'd expressed her worries about Mama. After she'd sent it, she had wondered if she had been too personal, and if that might have made Captain Delafield uncomfortable with their correspondence. She hoped it was not just a single sentence of sympathy, which was all she'd had from the briefer news she'd sent to Alfred.

It wasn't. The captain hadn't written a great deal, but what he had written was heartfelt and sincere. Jo blinked away a prickling in her eyes and read the rest of the letter.

I hope it is not too impertinent of me to mention this, but what you say about your mother's illness bears a resemblance to the trials of some of the officers here in Verdun. It is sadly too common that those who need opium in some form to ease the pain of severe wounds become dependent on it if it is needed for some time, and still require its use in ever-increasing quantities when their injuries have healed. This is to the detriment of their body and sometimes their faculties as well.

I do not pretend to any medical knowledge, and hope I have not distressed you in any way. This may, of course, be completely unrelated to your mother's case, but I thought it better to write this rather than fail to say something that might be of some use.

Mama's medicine was making her ill? No, it couldn't possibly be.

Jo put the letter to one side, surprised that Captain Delafield could have written such a thing. Turning to the newspapers, she began her usual search for items of interest. But when she had had to re-read the same article for the third time, she gave up.

The captain's idea sounded preposterous. Could Mama's medicine really be harming her? Mama's physician would not poison her deliberately, she was sure. With a sense of unease, she recalled that Doctor Walsh had provided what he called ‘stronger' tonic several times.

She must tell Papa. He could talk to Mama's physician in London and find out what the situation was. If the captain were wrong, she could put it from her mind. If he were right, could anything be done? She didn't know. But she would not say anything to Mama—she would leave it to Papa to decide what to do.

Papa arrived three days later, long after darkness had fallen. Jo had been on tenterhooks since she'd sent her letter with a messenger, wondering if she was making a fuss out of nothing, and even if Papa might be angry that she had mentioned Mama's illness in a letter to Captain Delafield. She heard Papa's voice from her back parlour and went to greet him.

"Jo." He gave her a quick hug, and the trace of a smile. "You were right to pass on what your captain said. I will speak to you in the morning—I'm afraid all I want at the moment is my bed. But do not worry—I have everything in hand."

Jo comforted herself that there must be some hope of improving Mama's prospects to make him travel so late in the day.

She had to wait longer still, for Papa came late to breakfast. He ignored the food set out on the sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee before coming to sit opposite Jo.

"I went to see Doctor Walsh as soon as I received your letter, Jo. It was not a pleasant interview." He rubbed one temple. "I did not accuse him of anything; I merely asked if there was any possibility that some of Frances' symptoms were due to the tonic. He said I was impugning his professional competence, and I was free to find another physician."

"Oh dear." Jo frowned. "That sounds very… defensive? "

"It was. I spent some time trying to find a physician who both had the time to see me and was willing to do so. I managed to find two. Understandably, they talked only in vague terms about the likelihood that the symptoms of the original problem may have been worse than the potential harm from the laudanum."

"So giving it to Mama in the beginning may have been the right choice?"

"Indeed. They did also confirm that Frances' current symptoms could be the effects of laudanum, and described the difficulties of stopping its use. It seems that not only does the person wish for more of it, but the effects of stopping its consumption can be painful and distressing."

"So is it possible that she could stop taking it?" Was there some hope?

"It can be done, but is not easy. Not at all, from what they told me. However, one of the physicians did give me the names of a couple of practitioners here in Bath who take an interest in the subject. I have written to them this morning, but it may be several days before they can examine your mother."

Jo nodded.

"And Jo, even if it is the case that Walsh's tonic is poisoning her, it does not follow that stopping or reducing what she takes will help. It sounds as if the cure for her current problems may be worse than the problem itself, in some respects. Your Mama will have to want to stop using it."

"I understand, Papa. It is hard to wait, though, knowing that she might be well again."

"Keep yourself busy, Jo. Farley will forward only the most urgent matters for now, so I will have plenty of time to sit with her. She will be reassured to know that you are going into society."

"Mama was happy to know that the Bengroves—Mr and Mrs Bengrove, that is—are here. I called on Catherine again yesterday."

"Then pray continue to do so. But Jo, it would be best not to say any of this to your Aunt Sarah, not until we know more."

Jo did as he asked, going to the Pump Room with Aunt Sarah later that morning, with George's rather unwilling company, and accompanying her aunt on calls later in the day. And the following day she called again on Catherine Bengrove. Jo still had too much on her mind to make conversation easily, but Catherine was happy to chatter about the weather and the local gossip.

"Do you go to the concert in the Assembly Rooms this evening?" Catherine asked, when those subjects had been exhausted and Jo was about to take her leave. "You could accompany us if you wish, unless your mother is well enough to go? I understand your father is in Town at the moment."

"Thank you, but I will be accompanying my aunt and cousins," Jo said. She didn't tell her friend that Papa had returned to Bath, in case Catherine asked her why. She had no wish to invent a reason.

"I will see you there," Catherine said, before taking her leave.

But Jo did not go. She would not be able to concentrate on the music, and politeness would keep her trapped there for the length of the concert. She sent a footman to Aunt Sarah with a note of apology and spent the evening trying once more to go through the latest batch of newspapers.

Chivenor knocked on her parlour door the next morning. "Mr Yelden has called, Miss. He is awaiting you in the parlour."

"Mama sent me," George explained when Jo joined him. "She is worried that you are staying at home too much, so I'm under orders to take you for a walk on such a fine morning." He tilted his head to one side. "Are you well, Jo?"

Jo sighed. "I am worried about Mama, but that is nothing new. I will gladly walk with you." She managed a smile. "Am I your escape from escorting Aunt Sarah?"

He grinned in return. "You are indeed. Shall we go to Sydney Gardens? Wrap up well. It is very cold, even in the sunshine."

George was good, and undemanding, company as they walked briskly among the bare trees and shrubs. He talked about a horse he was considering buying, the places he intended to ride to around Bath, and his amusement at the way his friend James Newman was trying to court his sister Lydia—all without requiring much of a response from Jo. It suited her mood, and she felt better for the exercise. The following morning, Mr Newman came along, too, and they climbed Lansdown Hill to the racecourse. That was far more strenuous than the walk in the gardens, but Jo enjoyed it, and was pleasantly tired when she returned.

"Mr Stretton wants to talk to you, miss," Martha said as she teased the tangles out of Jo's windblown hair. "He said to join him in the parlour when you're ready." She pushed in the last pin, stood back to admire her efforts, then started to remove Jo's chemises and petticoats from the drawers of the clothespress.

"What are you doing?"

"Mr Stretton said we'd be staying with Lady Yelden in Sydney Place for a week or two."

"What…?" Jo stopped; Papa would not have explained why to Martha.

"Is Mama worse?" Jo asked her father, as she hurried into the parlour. "She was much the same as usual yesterday—what has happened?"

"No, no, don't worry. It is good news. Well, it could be good news. Come, sit down and I will explain."

Not completely reassured, Jo sat. "You have spoken to the doctors?"

"Yes, and two of them have examined your mother."

While she had been safely out of the house with George. Jo tried not to feel put out about it; Papa was only trying not to worry her.

"They both concluded that at least some of her ills are due to the amount of opium in Walsh's tonic. They suggest we start by trying to reduce the amount she takes—but even this could be very unpleasant."

"Does Mama know?"

"Yes. I have explained it all to her, and she has agreed to try." He gave a slight smile. "No, more than ‘agreed'. She wants to try. Jo, I know she has been somewhat confused at times, but be assured I talked to her about this on two separate occasions, and I am sure she understands what is involved. She wishes you to stay with your aunt, so you do not need to witness any distress she may suffer. Will suffer."

"Oh, Papa!" Jo's voice wobbled.

"Now, Jo, no tears! Your mother is a very determined woman. She will have me to look after her, and Halsey, and the physicians will call daily."

Jo nodded. She could not be any more worried about Mama than Papa was.

"I want to hear that you have been out with your aunt, or for a walk, at least once a day, so I may tell Frances."

"Very well, Papa."

Three days after Jo moved to the Yeldens' rented house, George and Mr Newman accompanied her up onto Lansdown Hill again. She preferred walking with her cousin and his friend to going about with Aunt Sarah; she found it difficult to make polite conversation at the best of times, and felt even more awkward in company when worry about Mama was in her thoughts.

Today, the sun was almost warm enough to take the chill from the breeze. The two young men waited for her at the top of the hill, leaning on a fence admiring the view. Jo stood next to them, regaining her breath.

Eventually, George broke the companionable silence. "Funny chap, that Bengrove."

"I didn't know you'd met him," Jo said.

"Mama introduced us in the Pump room. But I was playing cards at Lord Elverton's last night, and he came up to me. Started talking about his brother, saying how he was looking forward to coming back to see you."

"What's odd about that?" Jo asked, feeling some guilt that her concerns about Mama's health had meant that she had not given Alfred much thought recently. "You aren't saying he shouldn't be keen to see me again, are you?"

"Ha, no! Of course not. But then he said, looking right at me, how ungentlemanly it was for a chap to go around with another man's betrothed when the man couldn't be here himself."

Jo frowned. What business was it of Mr Bengrove's? "How did you reply?"

He grinned. "I said I didn't see why you should have to be a hermit. Then I said how much I enjoy your company, and that the Bath air suits you, as you're looking very well. He went rather red in the face. Then James said you were a jolly good sort and it wasn't any effort to escort you around. Thought the man was going to hit one of us."

"Really?"

"It's true," Mr Newman corroborated.

"Why didn't you just say we are cousins, George?"

"Oh, I did! But cousins can marry, you know."

"Don't be silly, George. We are friends, that is all, and neither of us wishes it to be different."

"True enough. And James wants to marry Lydia…"

Jo looked at Mr Newman, raising an eyebrow. He went very red. "Well, it must be perfectly plain!" he protested. "Lydia doesn't like long walks, but she doesn't mind me escorting you!"

"And I am happy to have your company."

"But George is right, Miss Stretton. Bengrove was very strange. He more or less came right out and asked George if he was… was interested in you."

"So you said no?" Jo asked, looking back at George.

"No, I said it was none of his damned business!" George looked genuinely angry now. "I wouldn't blame you if you were having second thoughts, Jo. I mean, you didn't know Bengrove—Captain Bengrove—for very long, and your father never met him. If he's anything like his family…" Words failed him, and he shook his head. His friendly feelings for Captain Bengrove, so evident last year, seemed to have worn off.

"We'll have to see what happens when he comes home," Jo said, not willing to discuss this any further. "But George, do try not to tease Mr Bengrove about it if he speaks to you again. He must be worried about his brother. "

George was about to say something else, but obviously thought better of it and instead started bickering with his friend about exactly how far they could see—leaving Jo to wonder, yet again, how she was going to manage to live in the same house as the rest of the Bengrove family if she married Alfred.