civic dignitaries and some of the senior officers of the regiment and their ladies were ranged under it in tiers. They made a brave show, a suitable focus of attention, medallions, civic regalia, ermine, gold braid, bright red Eton jackets. But the limelight was stolen by the milliners; you could hardly see a face for the hats, and you could hardly see the hats for the trimmings, ostrich feathers, swansdown, fruit, flowers and humming birds.
‘Gorgeous, don’t you think?’ demanded Bridget, cherries bobbing aggressively.
‘Unparalleled.’
‘ She’s there, of course.’
‘She is? Where?’
‘In the second row, third from the right, wearing white lilac and convulvulus. They’re artificial.’
He stared between shifting parasols, expecting to be rewarded with a glimpse of Zena’s haunting features. ‘The second row, you say. I don’t see her. That isn’t your mistress, Bridget. She doesn’t have copper hair. Good Lord!’
‘Not my mistress,’ said Bridget, with emphasis. They were looking at the young woman from Lewes Crescent, Dr. Prothero’s riding-companion.
‘What is she doing up there?’
‘Don’t you know who she is? That’s Miss Samantha Floyd-Whittingham, the daughter of the Colonel. She’s very well known in Brighton. Her father has set her up in a big house on the front. They say it’s because he won’t trust her in the officer’s quarters with so many men about. Instead she has the run of Brighton, and the Colonel thinks she sits indoors counting seagulls from her window.’
Five minutes later they were seated in an almost deserted tap-room.
‘You know who that was, don’t you?’ said Bridget.
‘Miss Floyd-Whittingham, you mean? A friend of Dr. Prothero’s I believe.’
‘Friend! You’ve got a fine sense of humour, sir.’
They sipped at their drinks, watching each other.
‘How did the doctor meet this young woman?’ asked Moscrop.
‘I couldn’t tell you. He’s a ladies’ man, as you must have seen for yourself. It’s obvious to everyone but his wife. I’ve had to remind him of his position once or twice myself, I might say. I think it must have been last year he was introduced to her, at one of them musical evenings. We come to Brighton each year, you know. He’s always been one for going out and about, and the mistress thinks nothing of it. She believes everything he tells her. Has she told you about the patients he’s supposed to be visiting every afternoon? Patients! I ask you!’
‘Such an unlikely woman to be deceived,’ observed Moscrop, almost to himself. ‘Who would credit it? One has only to hear her speak—that sparkling conversation. An emancipated woman in every syllable she utters.’
Bridget smirked. ‘That shows how much you know about the fair sex. It ain’t the quiet ones that lose their husbands, Mr. Moscrop, it’s Mrs. Prothero and her kind, bubbling over so passionate they don’t notice their men creeping out the back door. Or won’t admit to it.’
‘You know what is going on between the doctor and this person, then?’
‘Everyone does—except my mistress. I don’t think she’d see it if they was sitting on her own sofa holding hands, poor woman. You’ve taken a fancy to her, haven’t you?’
‘Never mind,’ said Moscrop. There were limits to plain speaking.
Bridget was not so easily deflected. ‘I’ve seen you with the glasses to your eyes, Mr. Moscrop, and I’ve watched you on the beach and outside the hotel when the mistress hasn’t known you were there. I take you for a man that goes to a great deal of trouble to get what he wants. I saw you talking to the bathing-machine woman the other day when I was in the water with Guy. Oh, don’t concern yourself. It don’t bother me what you’ve seen or what she told you. I wouldn’t be the first of my sort to give a little tuition to the gentry—not that Guy needs much. Takes after his father, I can tell you, and that’s why I’ve no fears from that quarter.
‘Gorgeous, don’t you think?’ demanded Bridget, cherries bobbing aggressively.
‘Unparalleled.’
‘ She’s there, of course.’
‘She is? Where?’
‘In the second row, third from the right, wearing white lilac and convulvulus. They’re artificial.’
He stared between shifting parasols, expecting to be rewarded with a glimpse of Zena’s haunting features. ‘The second row, you say. I don’t see her. That isn’t your mistress, Bridget. She doesn’t have copper hair. Good Lord!’
‘Not my mistress,’ said Bridget, with emphasis. They were looking at the young woman from Lewes Crescent, Dr. Prothero’s riding-companion.
‘What is she doing up there?’
‘Don’t you know who she is? That’s Miss Samantha Floyd-Whittingham, the daughter of the Colonel. She’s very well known in Brighton. Her father has set her up in a big house on the front. They say it’s because he won’t trust her in the officer’s quarters with so many men about. Instead she has the run of Brighton, and the Colonel thinks she sits indoors counting seagulls from her window.’
Five minutes later they were seated in an almost deserted tap-room.
‘You know who that was, don’t you?’ said Bridget.
‘Miss Floyd-Whittingham, you mean? A friend of Dr. Prothero’s I believe.’
‘Friend! You’ve got a fine sense of humour, sir.’
They sipped at their drinks, watching each other.
‘How did the doctor meet this young woman?’ asked Moscrop.
‘I couldn’t tell you. He’s a ladies’ man, as you must have seen for yourself. It’s obvious to everyone but his wife. I’ve had to remind him of his position once or twice myself, I might say. I think it must have been last year he was introduced to her, at one of them musical evenings. We come to Brighton each year, you know. He’s always been one for going out and about, and the mistress thinks nothing of it. She believes everything he tells her. Has she told you about the patients he’s supposed to be visiting every afternoon? Patients! I ask you!’
‘Such an unlikely woman to be deceived,’ observed Moscrop, almost to himself. ‘Who would credit it? One has only to hear her speak—that sparkling conversation. An emancipated woman in every syllable she utters.’
Bridget smirked. ‘That shows how much you know about the fair sex. It ain’t the quiet ones that lose their husbands, Mr. Moscrop, it’s Mrs. Prothero and her kind, bubbling over so passionate they don’t notice their men creeping out the back door. Or won’t admit to it.’
‘You know what is going on between the doctor and this person, then?’
‘Everyone does—except my mistress. I don’t think she’d see it if they was sitting on her own sofa holding hands, poor woman. You’ve taken a fancy to her, haven’t you?’
‘Never mind,’ said Moscrop. There were limits to plain speaking.
Bridget was not so easily deflected. ‘I’ve seen you with the glasses to your eyes, Mr. Moscrop, and I’ve watched you on the beach and outside the hotel when the mistress hasn’t known you were there. I take you for a man that goes to a great deal of trouble to get what he wants. I saw you talking to the bathing-machine woman the other day when I was in the water with Guy. Oh, don’t concern yourself. It don’t bother me what you’ve seen or what she told you. I wouldn’t be the first of my sort to give a little tuition to the gentry—not that Guy needs much. Takes after his father, I can tell you, and that’s why I’ve no fears from that quarter.
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