Twelve
“I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions, the sea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of its having been of the greatest service to Dr. Shirley, after his illness.… He declares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month did him more good than all the medicine he took; and that being by the sea always makes him feel young again.”
Although the weather had cleared and the morning dawned sunny, evidence of the storm three days past yet cluttered the shore as Elizabeth and Georgiana walked down to the beach. Splintered wood and other pieces of the foundered ship lay strewn amidst the shingle, left by the tide like an offering. Occasionally a barrel washed up, exciting great interest—the merchantman had been returning from the West Indies—but most of the cargo had been lost or destroyed by the lightning bolt that claimed the ship.
The two ladies had reserved a bathing machine, one of the curious vehicles lined up on the sand like hackney cabs in Covent Garden following a theatre performance. Essentially small wooden huts on four wheels, they were designed to go where no ordinary carriage ought—straight into the water. This was to be Elizabeth’s first experience seabathing, and she looked forward to it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She wondered what it would feel like to completely immerse herself in the water, but also doubted the wisdom of doing so. After all, neither she nor Georgiana knew how to swim. She did not want to drown, of course, but she was almost equally fearful of making a public spectacle of herself.
Georgiana, who had bathed at other seaside resorts, assured her she had nothing to dread. “The whole process is quite safe and civilized. We will climb steps to enter the machine, and once inside, change into our bathing costumes. Then a horse will pull the machine into the water to the proper depth. The dipper—our attendant—will assist us into the water.”
“Will the water be very cold?”
“Compared to the indoor baths, yes, though it is August, so the sea will not be as cold as at other times of year. I have also gone in November and February, as physicians advise winter seabathing as most efficacious, but I could not bear to stay in the water above ten minutes. I much prefer the hot baths in winter.”
“What does one do once in the sea?”
“I mostly move around trying to keep warm.”
“Even in summer?”
“Even in summer. Depend upon it, by the time the machine takes us back to the sands, you will be grateful for this morning’s sun.”
Their machine was not yet ready for them, it being still in use by another patron who, the attendant informed them, was changing out of her bathing costume. At last she emerged, dressed in a modest but neat gown, a heavy shawl draped round her shoulders. She was a thin woman, with an angular face that looked to have been pretty once, before illness etched premature lines upon it. Her untied bonnet strings fluttered in the light breeze. Small hands gripped a cane, which she used to cautiously negotiate the steps.
She was accompanied by a plump woman of middle years, who attended her with warm solicitude. The two were in high spirits as the large woman helped the frail one down to the sand. They had apparently enjoyed their morning’s bathing, for they laughed and chattered almost girlishly, and thanked the dipper for a fine outing. “I was happy to immerse myself in the water again after the recent days of rain,” the slender woman said. “Provided the weather remains fair, we will return at our usual time tomorrow.”
They walked a few steps away from the machine, so that the next patrons could enter it, but the woman with the cane moved so slowly that Elizabeth and Georgiana held back so as not to make her feel rushed.
“The sedan chair is late,” the plump woman said to her companion. “If you wait here, I shall engage another.” She departed, walking as quickly as one can over shifting sand. In a few minutes, she had left the beach and disappeared from sight, headed toward Broad Street.
The breeze strengthened. The gust lasted only a moment, but in that moment it caught the thin woman’s bonnet. As the wind carried it off, she tried to recapture it, but the effort upset her already precarious balance on the unstable sand, and she fell.
Elizabeth and Georgiana rushed to her.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, yes.” The woman laughed self-consciously. “Merely clumsy.”
The bathing attendant retrieved a stool from inside the machine, and Elizabeth and Georgiana helped the woman onto it. She thanked them profusely, rubbing one of her calves through the fabric of her gown.
“Are you certain you are not injured?” Elizabeth asked.
“I will be fine. I suffer from rheumatic fever in my legs,” she explained. “Earlier this year I could not even walk, but having benefited from the hot waters in Bath, I have come to Lyme in hopes that the sea will advance my recovery still more. I try to bathe every morning, but with the recent rain, I have missed several days, and I suppose I overexerted myself.” She sighed. “I think when my nurse returns, I shall tell her I wish to go directly home. Usually after bathing we sit a while looking upon the harbor, simply inhaling the saline air. Both my doctor and Nurse Rooke claim it is quite medicinal.”
“Apparently, it can also be quite strong,” Elizabeth said.
The woman laughed. “That, it can. I do love to feel it on my face, though. It reminds me that despite ill health and other difficulties, I am yet fairly young, and among the living, and that is something to be grateful for.”
Her bonnet lay on the sand several yards away, and Georgiana went to retrieve it. When she returned, the woman thanked them again for their assistance. “Do not allow me to trouble you further—I am keeping you from your own seabathing.”
“You are no trouble,” Elizabeth said. “We will wait with you until your nurse comes back.”
“You have both been so kind. May I ask your names?”
“Mrs. and Miss Darcy.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Mrs. Smith.”
Tendrils of fine brown hair had come loose when her hat took flight, and they now blew round Mrs. Smith’s face as she put the bonnet back on her head. She tried to tuck them beneath, but they defied her.
“Would you like some assistance?” Elizabeth asked.
“If you do not mind. My hands are sometimes stiff after bathing, and the water was cold this morning.”
“We do not mind in the least,” Elizabeth said. Georgiana removed Mrs. Smith’s bonnet and held it while Elizabeth used Mrs. Smith’s hairpins to secure the wayward locks. When she had done, she put Mrs. Smith’s bonnet back on her head and tied the ribbons for her.
“I am much obliged to you, Mrs. Darcy. Nurse Rooke should return soon with the chair to take me home.”
“Is your house very far?”
“It is not my house, actually, but that of my friends the Wentworths—the most thoughtful, generous friends one could wish for! Mrs. Wentworth is a former schoolmate of mine. We fell out of communication for many years, but last winter we discovered ourselves both in Bath at the same time and renewed our friendship. She has been very good to me. When my physician advised me to try seabathing, she and Captain Wentworth invited me to come to Lyme and stay with them, despite their being recently married and just establishing their home.” She laughed. “I told them that newlyweds did not need a poor widow intruding on their privacy, but they so kindly insisted that I could not decline.”
“They sound like very good friends, indeed,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh! There is the chair now.”
Nurse Rooke approached, leading two bearers carrying a sedan chair. The conveyance—a windowed box with a seat inside, borne on two long poles—was as common a sight in Lyme as it was in Bath, for it offered advantages over horse-drawn carriages. Often, the chair men could negotiate the town’s narrow lanes and steep hills more
