Prudence Pursued (21 page)

Prudence sat up straighter. “I believe you are hoaxing me.”

James made a despairing gesture. “Not at all,” he insisted.

As she continued to turn the pages, studying the drawings of an assortment of rather fantastical mammals, Prudence listened in a happy trance as James identified each creature and gave her an interesting tidbit or two about their habits and their unusual features. She learned with incredulity that the flying squirrel, because it had a membrane growing between both its fore and hind legs, could soar from tree branch to tree branch.

The cheerful twittering of the little finches and the soothing timbre of James’s voice so near to her ear kindled within her a sense of rare contentment. She wouldn’t trade this small thimble of time for all the King’s treasure. When his fingers brushed lightly against her hand as he reached over to turn a page forward, Prudence felt the tingle all the way to her toes. Feeling ridiculously happy, she wanted these precious moments to last forever.

As she closed one sketchbook and reached for another, James flashed her a disarming smile, saying, “Miss Pentyre, you may be interested to know that I am about to become the subject of numerous sketches myself.” When she regarded him questioningly, James added with a bit of a rueful grin, “My dear Mama has commissioned an artist to paint my portrait. I believe he is coming to Bath at the end of the week.”

“And will you pose as yourself or will you don the ceremonial regalia of a rajah?” Prudence asked, with a hint of a smile. She could easily picture him in the conventional pose of a heroic conqueror, wearing a white shirt and tight trousers, with one knee bent and his hair blowing in the breeze. If the artist was talented enough, he might even capture that far-off look in James’s bright eye and the faint smile that so often hovered at his lips. “Perhaps you should wear the feathers of a hornbill tangled in your hair and tiger tooth earbobs dangling from your ears.”

With a throaty chuckle, James replied, “Mama would not appreciate such barbaric splendor. Her nose is already out of joint because I would not go to London to sit for the man in his studio. But as you know, I do not enjoy London over much.”

“You prefer Bath?” Prudence asked politely.

“I prefer Stalwood, my country estate. When I am here or in London, I am inevitably dragged from one play or dance to another.” He heaved a sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s all devilishly dull to my way of thinking.” With a quirk of his mouth, he added, “No doubt you do not find it so, Miss Pentyre, and therefore, will not sympathize with me. You could probably dance all night at Almack’s with the greatest of pleasure and then repeat the exercise the following evening with the same ecstasy of joy.”

Straightening her shoulders, Prudence protested, “Not I. Like you, I have always been happier in the country. To be honest, dances and card parties and routs—they are all well and good in small doses, but too many sate the palate and dull the senses. I don’t feel such social activities are quite real or even important—not the stuff of real life, I mean. It is not at all the same as helping to vaccinate children or seeking signatures for one of Mr. Wilberforce’s antislavery petitions.” She shrugged as she fixed her eyes upon his face. “I don’t know how to explain what I mean.”

Something at the back of his eyes set her heart to fluttering at a dangerous pace. “I understand you quite well, Miss Pentyre. Before my father died, I had no purpose in life. I did what he would have me do—I went where he sent me. Mine was an aimless, but dutiful youth filled with tea parties, fox hunting, and my university studies. With each passing year, I grew increasingly bored. I suffered from what you might call a spiritual restlessness too. My most enjoyable pastime was sailing my yacht around the coast and through the English Channel. As soon as my father died, I made up my mind to do as I pleased.”

“And it pleases you to travel and to keep pirates in check?” Prudence asked lightly.

“The first encounter came about quite by accident, you know, and I didn’t even recognize them as pirates,” he told her in a conspiratorial tone. “I figured it out soon enough and had just enough time to call the men to their battle stations, raise the boarding net and send up a flare. It was the bright blue flare that caused them to retreat. It scared them. We came off easy that day, but I knew we wouldn’t be so lucky a second time.”

“But you took to it like a duck to water,” Prudence noted.

“Someone had to face them down,” he insisted. “They rob and plunder wherever they go. They exploit the Chinese merchants who have settled on the island. They intimidate foreign investors who come to the island seeking to build lumber mills to harvest the forests of ebony and teak. They raid Dyak villages and rape the women. I will not allow pirates or villainous Malay princes or anyone else to disturb the peace or harm the individuals under my protection.” This was said with a decisiveness that caused a certain hardening of the muscles near his mouth.

Prudence licked her dry lips. “It is a wonder you have allowed yourself to return to England for such a length of time feeling as you do about your…er…kingdom,” she said.

“I assure you the portion of the island under my control is quite small. The Dutch control the majority of the island to the south. Thankfully, they share my concern for protecting the island from pirates and to see that commerce and mining go on unimpeded. And one can always count on one or more British navy vessels to be in port in the north at any given time. It’s important that the Crown protect our foreign investments.”

“Of course,” Prudence replied lamely. “I understand there has been a cholera outbreak in your absence. You must be quite concerned.”

“How did you hear of it?” he asked, a frown furrowing his brow.

“Mr. Alfredson mentioned it.”

James gave a curt nod. “Fortunately, the epidemic has been confined to the settlement at Kuching--for now.” As his expression stiffened, he took on a defensive posture. “I am a good administrator,” he insisted. “I am doing the best I can for the people there. But I suppose you find me pompous and possessive.”

There was a note in his voice so self-condemning that Prudence was cut to the heart by his apparent vulnerability. “I do not think so, and I beg your pardon if I gave that impression,” Prudence hastened to apologize. “I know you take your responsibilities seriously and that you care a great deal for the people under your protection.”

After clearing his throat, James gave her a slightly embarrassed but grateful smile and then opened a new sketchbook for her perusal. This one contained several riverbank scenes, portrayed so realistically, Prudence could almost feel the hot stickiness of the place. “Have you shown these sketches to Eleanor and Arthur?” she asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

“No, should I?” he replied, taken aback.

She nodded. “I think so. It will bring the place to life for them in a way your anecdotes cannot. Arthur is going with you on your return voyage. He is full of missionary zeal. I believe Eleanor will make up her mind to accompany him, but leave their little son with his grandparents.”

“So they told you about it, did they? Do you disapprove?”

This time it was Prudence who was taken aback. “Not at all. Why should I?”

James shrugged. “Dorothea Greenwood is a close friend of yours, I know. You’ve become fond of Eleanor too, I believe. Perhaps worrying about the younger Greenwoods taking the perilous journey to the Far East has cut up your peace?” He looked at her questioningly.

“Eleanor believes you can protect her from any and all hazards,” she told him with a wan smile.

“If only that were true!” James declared, looking troubled. “You must know I will do my best to watch over them.”

Prudence nodded. “I know that you will,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. She didn’t even want to consider who would be in charge of watching over him. She supposed she must leave that to God. As she continued turning pages, a companionable silence fell between them. After a while, Prudence asked, “Have you invited Harry Paige to accompany you on your voyage?”

“No, not particularly. I did offer him an open invitation once and promised to save him a berth if he’s serious about coming. He’d be devilish good company,” James admitted. “I could count on him to do anything I might ask or to help in anyway. But I don’t believe he’ll be coming with me after all.”

When Prudence tipped her head to the side, arching her brows inquiringly, James said, “Arthur and I called upon young Harry not so many days ago to see how he is managing with that wrenched ankle. While we were there, his father took the liberty of informing me that as soon as Harry is able to travel, he will be accompanying Mr. Paige up north — somewhere in Scotland, I believe, to learn how to manage the family estate up that way.”

James rubbed his chin in a considering way. “Although he didn’t come right out and say it, Mr. Paige led me to believe he would not look favorably upon his son receiving an invitation to accompany me on my return journey to the Far East.” He shrugged. “So it appears circumstances beyond Harry’s control will prevent him from joining my motley band of adventurers this time. But if Harry wants to come along, I wouldn’t have the heart to fob him off.”

“Should it come to that, I believe you may rely on Margaret to talk him out of the venture,” Prudence told him, a smile wavering upon her lips. “My cousin told me yesterday she is weary of everything tropical.”

“Margaret said that?” He sat back in his chair.

Prudence gave a nod and turned another page. “She did.”

“Why, she must have found me the biggest bore ever when we were in company!” he declared. With an amiable smile, he added, “I must admit I spoke of little else when I was with her. People have come to expect me to talk of my travels, so I do with great enthusiasm. It isn’t difficult. Having seen the splendors of the East, even the English countryside, which you and I so greatly admire, now appears somewhat bland and tame. And of course with the next journey on the not-so-far horizon, my thoughts are frequently consumed with details, such as acquiring the necessary trading goods like scented soap, yards of velvet, candy, cigars, knives and scissors. You cannot know, Miss Pentyre, how valuable a good pair of scissors can prove to be when it comes to settling a dispute between insulted warriors or winning the trust of a skeptical chieftain.”

“I did not know it, but I never tire of hearing such things,” Prudence admitted, reaching out a hand toward him. She had intended it as a gesture of friendly reassurance. Not everyone was as easily bored as her cousin Margaret. But as soon as James’s hand closed over her own, she was conscious of deeper, unspoken feelings between them. Blushing fiercely and mortified by her bold behavior, Prudence glanced at him with shy inquiry and noticed a strange gleam in his eye. It was not an amorous gleam or even a tender one. It seemed rather self-mocking.

“How absurd! I am doing it again!” James declared in a light manner, releasing her hand and shaking his head at the same time.

Prudence forced herself to laugh. “So you are.” She tucked the offending hand in her lap and held it there in the form of a fist.

“You must think me the greatest sapskull,” he went on, his voice constrained. “It seems I cannot speak of anything else but my travels.”

“There is much to speak about,” Prudence said with brazen calm. Pointing to the next page in the sketchbook, she asked rather too brightly, “Tell me about this enormous insect—is it a beetle? How fearsome it looks.”

When James leaned closer to peer at the indicated sketch, she breathed in the scent of his starched linen, the hint of sandalwood soap and stifled a ragged sigh.

They were still perusing the sketchbooks when the butler came into the room to announce that Dr. Phipps desired a word with Sir James.

Rising from his seat, James replied, “Show him in, Linton.”

Prudence could tell by his slight frown and the quick, apologetic glance he cast in her direction that James had not been expecting a visit from the doctor.

Phipps, slightly breathless and with an air of slight anxiety, entered the room with long, purposeful strides. Pulling a letter from the inside pocket of his dark blue coat, he announced, “Brownell, it’s beyond the pale! I have received another one!”

The man checked when he saw Prudence seated at the desk. She’d twisted halfway around in her chair so that she might face him directly. As she regarded him, Prudence observed how the doctor’s dark eyes appeared kindled with anger. “I beg your pardon,” he hastened to say. “I do not wish to intrude.”

“You do not, Phipps,” James assured him, moving forward to greet him. “Come in. I believe you know Miss Pentyre?”

“Yes, of course. We first met at Lady Oldenfield’s,” the doctor said, giving Prudence a slight bow. “I trust your cousin Miss Leyes has fully recovered from her vaccination?”

“Indeed, sir, she has,” Prudence replied with a smile. “And I thank you for performing the procedure with such professional competence.”

He gave her a brisk nod before turning again to James. “If I might have a word with you in private, Sir James.” Phipps held up the missive in his hand and glowered at his host from beneath furrowed brows.

“I have had one too,” James confided. He took the letter from Phipps, slipped it out of the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. With a slight frown, James shook his head, declaring, “Such piffle!” His expression was one of both consternation and slight amusement.

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. He cast a concerned glance in Prudence’s direction, appearing hesitant to discuss the matter further in her presence

Now more curious than she cared to admit, Prudence realized she should promptly excuse herself to join her aunt and Lady Brownell in the drawing room, so her host could speak privately with his newly arrived guest. It would be the polite thing to do. However, she didn’t feel polite nor did she want to leave. It was unpardonable, of course, and certainly none of her business, but Prudence burned with longing to learn the contents of the doctor’s mysterious letter. She decided to remain seated until James dismissed her.

“Sit down, Phipps,” James invited. “Do not worry about Miss Pentyre. She may be of some help to us in this matter, now that I think about it. For a young woman, she’s quite levelheaded. I believe she may be able to offer us a fresh perspective on the subject.”

Prudence glowed as she gave a tiny squirm of pleasure. She did not know which compliment she valued the most—the fact he’d referred to her as a
young
woman or a
levelheaded
one. When the doctor still appeared reluctant to discuss the contents of the mysterious letter in her presence, James flapped his hand with impatience.

“Go on, Phipps. Tell Miss Pentyre about the letters,” he said with an encouraging nod.

Dr. Phipps gave a sigh of resignation. “Miss Pentyre, what I am about to reveal to you, I do so reluctantly,” he confessed, with a disapproving glare in James’s direction. “I implore you to keep silent about what you will hear. You must not discuss the matter with anyone else.”

“That includes my dear mama and your Aunt Judith,” James added with a smile as he locked his hands behind his back. “Nor are you to swoon or become prostrate with palpitations when you hear what Phipps has to say.” His smile broadened into a grin.

“Brownell, I protest!” the doctor said, jumping to his feet and casting an anxious glance at Prudence. “This is insupportable! If Miss Pentyre is likely to swoon, I refuse to discuss the matter in her presence.”

Torn between indignation and amusement at James’s goading, Prudence rose from the desk chair and made her way toward the physician with a reassuring smile. Taking a seat next to him on the settee, she said in her calmest voice, “Do be seated again, Dr. Phipps, and pay no mind to Sir James. I have never swooned in my life, and I am not at all susceptible to palpitations. Pray tell me, what sort of letter have you received? You and Sir James have made the matter out to be one of great mystery. My curiosity is aroused. If I can be of assistance, I am happy to do so.”

“It is a threatening letter, ma’am. The language is not fit for a lady’s ears.”

Even as the doctor spoke these words, James handed Prudence the missive to read for herself. As she did so, she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. It was short, crude, and harsh, implying Dr. Phipps would spend eternity in hell for his part in vaccinating the helpless children of gullible parents against the smallpox. It also implied someone might soon hasten his departure into the afterlife.

“It is quite horrid,” she murmured, handing the letter back to him.

“Precisely so,” the doctor replied, taking it with a sad shake of his head.

“This is the second one of its kind that Phipps has received,” James informed her. “I received a similar one earlier this week. Someone is well informed about our vaccinating duties, I must say. I am certain the anti-vaccine league is behind them.”

“Are you taking the threats seriously?” Prudence asked, looking from one man to the other. “Have you informed the magistrate?”

James shrugged. “What good would that do? We have no proof concerning who sent the letters.”

“Nor do we have any suspicions,” Phipps pointed out. “We are not acquainted with any official members of the league in Bath. These letters may have been sent from London, in fact.”

“And none of the threats have been carried out or even attempted,” James added. “It is all huff and bluff to make us fearful, in hopes we will cease our vaccination efforts.”

“Have you compared the handwriting?” Prudence inquired. “Is it possible each letter was sent by the same correspondent?”

Phipps and James exchanged glances. “I had not thought to do so,” James admitted.

“Even if we had done, we could not tell by the writing who the ruffian might be,” Phipps admitted.

Taking the letter from Dr. Phipps again, Prudence studied the words and the writing with concentrated intent. Looking up, she said, “I am not certain this particular letter was sent by a ruffian at all. The paper is cheap, that is true. The handwriting, however, is quite neat and each word is spelled correctly. Even the punctuation is correct.”

She passed the letter back to the doctor again. James came forward, holding out his hand for the missive, which he glanced over quickly. “By Jove, she’s correct, Phipps! I told you Miss Pentyre might prove helpful.” He beamed at her as though she were an apt pupil.

Prudence basked in the glow of his approval, but lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see her raw happiness. She treasured his praise. Until this moment, she had not fully realized how much she craved it and how much it meant to her.

“I am concerned,” Phipps said. “This letter is more vulgar than the first. Perhaps we should take the matter to the magistrate as Miss Pentyre has suggested.”

“I find the whole matter tiresome and rather childish,” James protested. “Someone wants to prevent you from doing your work and keep people like me from supporting it.”

“I would like to see the letter writer punished,” Prudence said. “This sort of thing should not be allowed. Someone could get hurt.”

“Me and Brownell for starters,” Phipps pointed out.

“Never fear, Phipps,” James soothed. “We shall evade every snare they set for us. I refuse to be intimidated.”

Lowering his head, Dr. Phipps studied the tops of his boots and said, “That’s one of the reasons I have come, Sir James. I need your help.” He went on to explain that he’d agreed to vaccinate the grandchildren of a local tailor named Goldman. Fearful of repercussions, Mr. Goldman had requested Dr. Phipps not perform the procedure at his shop on Milsom Street. “I can’t say that I blame him. I may be followed. Will you help me, Brownell?”

“Certainly, Phipps. That goes without saying. Do you wish to meet with your tailor here?” James offered.

“No, Mrs. Dorothea Greenwood has graciously consented to allow me to perform the procedure at her residence in Sydney Place. The Reverend Arthur Greenwood will communicate the details with Mr. Goldman.”

“I can see you have thought this out between you,” James said, with a nod of approval. “What would you have me do then? I will help in any way I can. Why not?”

“Together with my wife Mrs. Phipps, you and I will pay a social call upon Mrs. Greenwood,” the doctor informed him. “But as my gig is all too familiar, I thought perhaps we could use one of your vehicles.”

James laughed. “My mother’s blue barouche is hardly discreet. We may need to hire a carriage.”

“I am sure my aunt would not mind if you use hers,” Prudence volunteered. “It would not draw any particular attention at all.” She felt a surge of pride that her friends the Greenwoods were willing to place themselves at possible risk for such a worthy cause.

“Perhaps you would accompany us, Miss Pentyre?” James suggested. “Then you need not invent some flim-flam tale for your aunt’s benefit regarding why Dr. Phipps and I should wish to borrow her carriage.” He arched his brows questioningly.

“I would be happy to accompany you,” Prudence assured him. “We cannot allow these troublemakers to prevent innocent children from receiving the vaccine.”

“I could not agree more, Miss Pentyre,” the doctor spoke up. “But I fear you may be putting yourself in harm’s way.”

“As Sir James has said, this is probably no more than huff and bluff,” she replied in her most confident manner, winning another approving smile from Sir James as her reward.

The three of them finalized their plans. Two days later, Prudence found herself in her aunt’s carriage on her way to collect first James and then Dr. Phipps and his understanding wife--a quiet, sweet-faced woman with an abundance of brown wavy hair. “Do you think there will be trouble?” Prudence asked Dr. Phipps, her heart pounding with cautious excitement.

“I cannot say. But we must be prepared for the worst,” he acknowledged.

“You are not afraid, Miss Pentyre,” James said. It was a statement, not a question.

“No, I am not afraid,” she assured him. His faith in her courage was bolstering. Still, she watched the street warily and noticed James did the same. His strong jaw appeared somewhat clenched and his eyes quick and narrowed. His attitude of staunch determination emboldened Prudence even more.

“Thank you for accompanying us, Miss Pentyre,” Mrs. Phipps said. “I must confess I do not know Mrs. Greenwood well. We are mere acquaintances. I understand that you and she are good friends, so I feel better about the pretense with you in our company.”

“Dorothea is one of my dearest friends,” Prudence told her.

“As a doctor’s wife, I am often worried about the dangers my husband exposes himself to,” Mrs. Phipps went on in her quiet voice.

Dr. Phipps made a
tsk-tsk
noise and shook his head.

“These generally take the form of deadly diseases,” Mrs. Phipps went on, ignoring him. “Occasionally, he is called to a house fire or carriage accident upon the road. Over the years, I’ve come to brace myself for these events and the eventuality that he may encounter some accidental danger. I am trying to trust God to protect him, but it is altogether different when I consider that someone would actually want to harm my husband intentionally. I confess the thought frightens me. He only intends to do good, Miss Pentyre. Why should anyone wish to deliberately harm a doctor?”

“I cannot say,” Prudence admitted. “But I am certain no one shall harm him this day—not with the Reverend Greenwood and Sir James to attend him,” she assured the doctor’s anxious wife.

Upon arriving at Dorothea Greenwood’s residence in Sydney Place, James emerged from the carriage first. He helped Mrs. Phipps from the vehicle first and then offered his large, warm hand to Prudence, smiling at her in a reassuring way. The touch of his hand sent a mild tingle up her arm. Prudence caught her breath before taking Mrs. Phipps arm to lead her up the steps. As she did so, she noticed James and the doctor having a quiet but intense conversation with the carriage driver and the tiger, both armed with cudgels. She noticed too that both James and the doctor carried walking sticks.

“Come, Mrs. Phipps. I am eager to make you better acquainted with my dear friend, Dorothea Greenwood.”

Mrs. Phipps gave a short sigh. She seemed to approve of Prudence’s attempt to calm her shattered nerves. “You must think me quite a pudding heart, Miss Pentyre,” she said with a wan smile.

“Indeed I do not!” Prudence protested, knocking upon the door.

With a flutter of genuine welcome, Dorothea greeted them at the door herself. She took a moment to glance out into the street, giving a short sigh of relief when she did not notice any suspicious malingerers. With a tremulous smile, Prudence squeezed her hand before following her and Mrs. Phipps upstairs to the drawing room. James and the doctor followed close behind. There they found Arthur, arms akimbo, being measured apparently for a garment of some sort.

“Arthur! What a frippery fellow you are!” James declared with mild levity. “This is no time to be concerned about a new coat.”

“As Mr. Goldman wisely thought to bring his tools of the trade, we decided he should be allowed to use them,” Arthur replied good-naturedly. He nodded a greeting at Dr. and Mrs. Phipps and then introduced them to the tailor, a short man with a row of noticeably white teeth gleaming through his dark beard. Next to him on the floor was a small open valise, which contained measuring tapes, pins and other equipment presumably needed for the measuring of a gentleman in need of a new suit of clothing.

“It was my idea,” Eleanor spoke up, appearing alert with excitement. She stood next to the settee where two small dark-haired boys sat, wide-eyed and silent. They were introduced as Caleb and Judah. “I did not want Arthur to be caught in a fib—especially not in front of the children,” she explained.