Angel's Touch Read Online Free Page B

lawn over a muslin petticoat with a
large cross-over handkerchief that effectively concealed her scanty
bosom, and was sporting a dashing feathered turban over powdered
hair which was suspiciously lush for her years.
    It was not perhaps a
costume that would have made fashionable London stare, but it was
quite good enough for this watering place and had evoked lavish
compliments from Mr Tyson. For he, and many like him, depended on
this custom for their livelihood, although the increasing number of
new residents was beginning to boost the hitherto meagre pickings
during the rest of the year.
    ‘ You will find us very little changed,’ Mr
Tyson said comfortably, ‘though we have done what we may to improve
the amenities. The Walks have been repaved this year, you know.’ He
coughed and, with a sly sideways glance at Lady Crossens, corrected
himself. ‘The Parade, I should say, for so it has now been decided to designate
it.’
    ‘ Parade? Parade?’ echoed her ladyship in disbelieving tones.
‘Bless me, Mr Tyson, whatever next?’
    The
master of ceremonies shrugged and spread his hands, uttering in a
self-deprecatory tone belied by the smirk about his mouth, ‘Wiser
heads than mine, Lady Crossens, wiser heads than mine.’
    ‘ Pish and tush! “Parade” indeed! They shall
never hear such a nonsense on my lips, I promise you.’
    ‘ Are
you speaking of the Pantiles?’ asked Verity, rather at a
loss.
    ‘ The Walks, ma’am,’ explained Mr Tyson, ‘was used to be the
official title.’
    ‘ Pho!’ scoffed the old lady. ‘The Pantiles it has ever been,
and will so continue, mark my words. All these new-fangled ideas! I
dare say I may find every pleasant custom overset, never mind that
poor old Nash may be turning in his grave.’
    ‘ By no means, I assure you, dear lady,’ said
Mr Tyson reassuringly. ‘You will find everything just as it used to
be. We still have our little pleasures in the Rooms—our concerts
and balls, and cards , as I know you will be glad to
hear.’
    ‘ Ah,’ sighed Lady Crossens with satisfaction. ‘Yes, I have
missed my whist. Of balls you may speak to my companion. I am not
going to make a figure of myself in the minuet at my
age.’
    The master of
ceremonies turned obligingly to where Verity was seated, by the
windows of the little parlour from where she was enjoying a view of
the main thoroughfare of Tunbridge Wells. For the lodgings that
Lady Crossens had taken, as she always did, were only a couple of
doors down from the coach office, in a suite of first-floor rooms
situated directly over the paved walkway affectionately known as
the Pantiles.
    The
effect in the light summer evening was very pretty. On the pavings
below a number of persons, in pairs and groups, were strolling
gently. Across the way ran an avenue of graceful trees concealing
to some degree the buildings on the other side. A theatre was
visible, though clearly just now uninhabited, and a species of
large hall from which plentiful light streamed. There was a small
musicians’ gallery, with trellis barrier and pretty columns and,
looking down the Pantiles, there could just be seen the end of the
colonnade that Verity had been told ran the length of the street
under the low roofs below her. There was a sound of music and an
occasional trill of laughter floated up to the open
window.
    A
rising thrill of pleasure fluttered in Verity’s breast as she
accepted with a word of thanks a copy of the master of ceremonies’
rules and regulations as Mr Tyson enumerated the entertainments on
offer.
    These appeared to be
considerable to one accustomed to the quiet backwater that
constituted Tetheridge village. Verity hoped her modest wardrobe
would be adequate to meet the demand likely to be placed upon it.
Unlike her patroness, she had donned a simple chemise undress gown
of sprigged cotton and threaded a bandeau through her dark curls.
But it looked as if she must soon delve into her supply of more
formal attire. The programme