“Are you leading me to my demise?” she managed to ask him.
“Almost there,” he replied. They reached the end of the tunnel and entered a larger space.
“We are outside again,” Jane declared. She could see nothing, but the air had changed. Fred let go of Jane’s hand and walked away. “Do not leave me here, sir!” she demanded.
“Back in a tick,” he said cheerfully.
Jane stood on the spot and hoped a ghost did not seize her. She could see less than a foot in front of her, making out stone blocks and perhaps a column. The air felt warm and wet on her shoulders and face. “If you do not return in an instant, I shall scream,” she announced into the space.
“Ten seconds! Almost there,” Fred called from somewhere.
Jane counted to ten in her head. Nothing happened. She opened her mouth to scream, then a yellow light beamed above her. Jane looked up into it and it blinded her. “Goodness,” Jane said. “I see spots.”
“Don’t look straight into the light. Maybe I should have mentioned that. Sorry!”
Jane’s eyes recovered. Light bathed the area. She stepped back and gasped. “Oh my,” she said.
A double-story cloistered courtyard stood before her. Greek columns carved from warm golden stone held up the walkway, and gargoyles looked down on them from above. The middle of the courtyard did not consist of grass or stone, but rather a giant pool of pastel green water.
“It’s a bath,” Jane said with astonishment.
Fred laughed. “It’s the bath. The greatest of them all.” Fred angled his giant lamp and the beam hit the surface of the water. Steam whorled across the surface in loops and wisps.
“This is the Roman Bath?” Jane asked. “Of the Pump Room?”
Fred nodded. “This is the bath that Bath was named for. Does it live up to its name?”
Jane looked down at the sacred spring. It stood lovelier than it did in her dreams. “I believe it might. How are we permitted to enter at night?” she asked.
“We’re not,” he replied. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone.” She waited for him to explain. “See those Roman statues?” he said.
Jane looked up. She stood corrected: the statues above her formed not gargoyles, but Nero, Claudius, and Julius Caesar, rendered in stone. They loomed over the pool, observing the scene. “They are marvelous,” she said.
“They get covered in acid rain,” he said. Jane squinted. “The restorers come in every so often and clean it off. We’re bringing the students here tomorrow for an excursion, to check out the restoration. One of the caretakers is a friend of mine and he gave me a key,” Fred said. “Do you like it?” He gestured to the baths.
“I had no idea it looked this way,” she said. She could scarcely believe she was standing in a place she had never been permitted to enter before.
Fred beamed. “The Romans were master builders,” he said.
“They could not have been that masterful,” Jane said. “They built no roof. All the heat escapes.” She pointed. Steam rose from the water’s surface, then evaporated into thin air.
“There is a roof,” Fred said with a nod.
Jane frowned. “I do not see one.”
“You can’t see it from this angle. You have to get in to see it.” He nodded toward the pool.
Jane scoffed. “In the water? Impossible.”
Fred laughed. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance! The pool is not open to the public to swim in.”
The frigid night air already made her shiver. “I will freeze to death,” she said.
“You won’t. I promise.”
“Is it safe?”
“Sure. The restorers drained and refilled it yesterday,” he said.
“It looks rather green.”
“Don’t drink it then,” he replied with a laugh. “Are you scared?”
“Not at all,” Jane said, petrified. She scrambled for an excuse. “I have no sea-bathing clothes.”
“I thought you might say that. Here.” He handed her a ball of fabric.
She unraveled it. “What is this?”
“A swimsuit,” said Fred.
Jane held up the fabric and gasped. It was a tiny scrap of material in the shape of underclothes. “I am to wear this?” Jane’s eyes bulged. “That’s obscene.”
“Oh,” he said. He looked concerned. “I’m sorry. The woman in the shop said her grandmother has the same one.” He showed Jane a small card attached to the underclothes. It was a picture of a gray-haired woman holding a large orange ball; she wore the bathing clothes. “She’s having fun.”
“She looks drunk,” Jane said. Perhaps that was the only possible mind-state in which to contemplate the scenario: inebriation. “You promise me this is no trick, that this is what women wear? For bathing. In public.”
Fred laughed. “I promise.”
Since arriving in this time, Jane had seen enough women in their drawers with exposed ankles and bosoms to know this bore truth, but the idea of wearing such a miniature outfit herself mortified every creed and protocol of her existence. “I am sorry. I cannot.”
“I promise I won’t look,” he said. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
“No,” she lied. She turned toward the pool. The water sparkled. The surface seemed opaque.
Jane’s brother Frank had written to her once of swimming in the Praia da Luz in Portugal with his fleet. He described the water as warm and golden, and the experience as heavenly. He even claimed to have seen a mermaid. It was a rare line of poetry from Frank. The Austens had a soft spot for a body of water; they were all seduced by its mystery and immersion. Jane shared the attraction, but her experiences were theoretical up to this point.
“Go on, take a chance,” Fred said.
Jane held the bathing suit and winced. The vicar preached the message from every pulpit: exposing one’s flesh to a man was to place one’s soul in mortal danger. A woman’s body was meant for singular consumption. Once a man’s eyes looked upon the flesh, his gaze spoiled her for all others.
She was aware that her thoughts on this score were outdated compared to
