I was just summoning my reserves to leave when a curious thing happened. The three ladies, I am sure of it, simply forgot that I was there. Even though I had just trodden quite hard on one of their bunions, the pall of steam had cloaked me and perhaps my breathing was softer than theirs after all, but I am sure that the words which filled that muffled air were not meant for the ears of a stranger.
‘And you’re sure, are you, Mrs Riddle?’
‘Absolutely positive, Mrs Davies. My lady in Glasgow was perfectly clear that we’d not find them here. Not for a minute.’
‘They, Mrs Riddle? Is there more than one? That nice young man mentioned one only.’
‘Who’s to say, Mrs Scott? I’d be very surprised if, after everything that’s happened here in seventy-five years, it’s only been that one single time. That “nice young man” was out of his depth completely.’
‘Feeling his way.’
‘By pure faith.’
‘So unusual to find it in a youngster, never mind in a man.’
‘But we’re safe in here?’
‘As houses.’
‘But you shouldn’t be thinking of safety and danger, Mrs Davies. There’s no need to worry.’
‘I’m sure I don’t need to be lectured on that, Mrs Riddle. I’ve been active in my circle for twenty-odd years, a founder member, as you’re very well aware. And I have no fear of what we know. But this is something else again. All these… poisons, all these… ill humours.’
I was, as can fairly be imagined, electrified with interest about it all. As lost as a blind lamb on a moonless night, certainly, but fascinated all the same. I was breathing as quietly as I could, sitting stock still lest my feet make another of those slapping noises should I move them and only wondering if I could possibly stay without melting.
‘Actually,’ it was the voice belonging to Mrs Scott, ‘I’ve done a thorough check on my bed-sitting room and I’m convinced that we’d be fine there.’
‘Your bed-sitting room?’ Mrs Riddle’s voice could not ring out in that soft enfolding dampness but she gave it a good try. ‘Then what in the name of all that’s holy are we doing in here?’ There was a sucking noise as she peeled herself off the marble. I tucked my feet up and tried to disappear against the wall behind me. Either I managed it or, despite the swirling caused by their movement, they did not notice me, but in any case the door opened, once more drawing a great draught of the steam out into the clear air on the other side, and then it shut behind them, leaving me alone, in a state of perplexity edging into utter bafflement.
When my attention at last returned from my eavesdropping to my own comfort, I realised that besides being sopping wet, my head itched like a plague, my breath rasped in my throat and my cheeks and temples and my very eyeballs heaved in time to my pounding pulse. In short, it was long past time for me to draw my life’s association with Turkish bathing to a close. I stood, waited until I was sure I would not swoon, and then slipped out of the steam room.
Regina, the round little person in the blue uniform, was outside, almost as though waiting to pounce upon me.
‘Mighty!’ she said, taking a look at my face. ‘You’ve maybes overdone it, madam. Now, quick about you and cool off then I’ll give you a nice salt rub-down.’
‘Cool off?’ I echoed, hopefully. It sounded lovely but I needed details.
‘Plunge pool or cold sprays?’ she said, leading me through an archway towards the wet marble temple with the slabs. I could see a woman standing rigid with horror in one of the niches as jets of water assaulted her from every angle and a downpour from a rose contraption, such as one would find on a giant’s watering can, drenched her head and plastered her hair to her face.
‘The pool,’ I said firmly. Regina led me through a second archway from the temple to the long room where the pool lay waiting. I shivered. Even the air was cold in here, but I could still see vapours rising off the surface of the water and I had not forgotten the feeling as I dipped my wrists in. I moved to the edge and looked down.
‘Should one use the steps?’ I asked. ‘It is called a plunge pool after all.’
‘It’s up to you, madam,’ said Regina. ‘Do you knock back castor oil or sip it with milk? Not that pool’s not lovely.’ This last part was rather late and did not convince me.
‘Down in one,’ I said. I sat on the marble wall, swung my legs over the water, shoved myself off and dropped.
The one good thing that could be said about the water in the plunge pool was that it was less sulphurous than that in the pump room. This I knew because I swallowed a good half-pint of it, opening my mouth and gasping, helpless not to. It was like needles, like a hundred hedgehogs rolling over me, pressing hard, and as well there was an ache, instant and profound, deep inside my body, and another in my head and yet another in my teeth. I rose, thrashing like a salmon, and coughing until my eyes streamed and I could feel the tears as they rolled down my cheeks, could tell them apart from the rest of the water coursing off me, because they were warm. Shuddering, almost whimpering, I galumphed my way towards the steps in an ungainly paddle.
‘Quite cold,’ said Regina. ‘Quite a surprise the first time, I daresay. But if you can just stay under till you’re settled it would do you a power of good.’
‘Settled?’ I said. I was perturbed to hear how loud my voice was, ringing round the room. I even thought I heard a titter from through the archway at the far end that led to the resting room. ‘I’ll be st-stone d-dead if I don’t get out of here. I’ll be d-dead of… what is it that they keep dying of on p-p-polar expeditions?’
‘Hypothermia,’ said Regina. ‘But this water wouldn’t give you hypothermia unless you stayed in twenty minutes or more. And so long as your heart’s strong there’s no chance of palpitations.’
‘My heart?’ I said. I must have looked alarmed.
‘You don’t have a weak heart, madam, do you?’ Regina had rushed forward, eyes wide, and was down a couple of steps, with her rubber-soled shoes in danger of spoiling. ‘Please come out, madam, do.’
‘I d-don’t have a weak heart,’ I told her. ‘Although I have to say it f-f-feels rather shaky right now. So the st-steam and p-plunge is not for everyone? Dr Laidlaw told me to help mys-s-self.’
‘Just…’ Regina attempted a smile. ‘Just me being daft, madam. Nothing at all to trouble you. And please don’t say to Dr Laidlaw that I caused you alarm, for she has enough on her pl- Anyway, all’s well, madam. All’s well.’
But I had seen where she had looked, a flicked glance she could not help before her smile widened, and unless I was greatly mistaken (and I could well be, for I am able to get lost inside houses I have visited dozens of times), nevertheless, I was quite sure her eyes had turned to where Dr Laidlaw’s eyes had turned. In short, to that same locked door.
5
Like a peg on one’s nose for profile, like a book on one’s head for posture, like all of those minor tortures we girls went through, it was worth it in the end. I felt, once out, dried and dressed again, as though I could have lifted off from the stones of the terrace and floated over the valley floor on waves of… who knows what exactly. My woollen underthings felt like the softest silk against my skin; my lisle stockings too, and from the inside my face felt dewy and rosy and beautiful. I could have stretched backwards to grab my own heels and turned myself into a hoop, so limber did I fancy myself after my sojourn in the baths.
It was spoiled rather when Hugh caught sight of me.
‘Good God, Dandy,’ he said. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘Mother, really,’ said Donald, opening a sleepy eye.