Romantic Rebel Read Free

I intend to.”
    I had seen Bath twice before on visits to my aunts in Scotland, but it never looked so beautiful to me as it did that morning, all washed and shining in the sunlight. I think Bath must be one of the loveliest cities in England. It is shaped like a bowl, of which we stood at the bottom, gazing up at the steep tiers of the downs, with lovely Palladian buildings nestling amongst the trees. The peaceful Avon circles it all like a ribbon on a gown. It immediately flashed into my head that a description of Bath would make an interesting article for The Ladies’ Journal.
    This same lovely geography makes walking deuced difficult, of course, but it was not our intention to do much climbing up the steep hills. The three marks on our map were centrally located. Until I could afford to set up a carriage, we must reside close to the city’s creature comforts. After a dismal hour of looking at one set of rooms after another, each dingier and more expensive and offering less in the way of amenities than the last, we agreed we must give in and look up the hill, a little farther away from the Roman Baths.
    “But first we shall visit the Pump Room,” I decided. “It is all the go, Annie. A sort of meeting place, like High Street at home, only enclosed.”
    “Don’t expect me to drink those stinking waters, for I shan’t.”
    “I’m sure they serve tea, if you are determined not to look after your health.”
    “There’s nothing amiss with my health. It’s my head I should have looked at, letting you drag me here.”
    Annie had her tea, and I rather wished I had followed her example. The water tasted wretched. I cannot believe anything so vile can possibly do a body any good. But the scenery at least was unexceptionable. The classical architecture of the Pump Room is one of the sights of Bath, along with the Cathedral and the Municipal Building. It was very handsome inside, with the fountain and grand Tompion clock watching over all as it ticked away the seconds of our lives. A lively array of visitors promenaded all around, stopping to chat to friends.
    After tea we joined the promenade, and received our fair share of quizzing by the gentlemen. It was clear at a glance we were not in London. The costumes were elegant enough, but of a noticeably provincial cut. My own blue ensemble was as good as anything in the room. Papa was never clutch-fisted when alive, which made his will all the harder to comprehend.
    When we had had our fill of the promenade, Annie said what had to be said. “Shall we have another look at the advertisements, and see what other rooms are available?”
    “Yes, but let us go back to the hotel for lunch first. Perhaps Mr. Pepper has replied to my note.”
    There was a letter awaiting me, urging me to go to see Mr. Pepper at once. This buoyed my spirits remarkably. I waited only to eat, brush my hair, and change into my best slippers, for the streets were quite dry by this time, and I was eager to make a grand appearance. Annie insisted I could not visit a gentleman alone, even if it was business, and as Bath was rather old-fashioned, I agreed.
    I was glad she was with me when the cab headed across the bridge to the wrong side of Bath. I pulled the check string and stuck my head out the window. “There must be some mistake!” I exclaimed. “The publishing house cannot be here. It looks like a farming area.” The rough road was filled with cattle, and such buildings as there were differed widely from the Palladian beauty of Bath.
    “Temple Back is yonder, north of the Cattle Market,” he replied. I had no recourse but to let him proceed, slowly, with the cattle taking precedence. Mr. Pepper’s letter said Temple Back.
    After a long, jolting, expensive drive, we were deposited at the door of a weather-beaten old barn of a place. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw a small placard proclaiming Pepper Publishing Company. I felt I ought to give back the five guineas and let Mr. Pepper