valuable prize amongst husbands. Mina, who thought herself as good as the next person and needed no husband, professorial or otherwise, was unimpressed. More importantly, she had learned long ago that scholarship did not always mean that a man was right in his pronouncements, and neither did it ensure common sense, or knowledge of character.
Two other ladies were also present, Mrs Peasgood and Mrs Mowbray, cheerful widows in search of entertainment, whose confiding manner towards each other suggested that they were sisters. Mrs Phipps, the lady who had slept through most of Mr Bradley’s healing circle, arrived leaning heavily on the arm of her nephew, who looked highly embarrassed to be there at all, stared at the curtained corner with alarm, and hurried away as soon as he felt able to do so without appearing to be impolite.
The last visitor to be introduced was Dr Hamid, a quiet man of middling height, about forty-five and very gentlemanly, with black hair going grey and a neatly trimmed beard. All Mina knew of him was what her mother had told her, that he was the son of an Indian physician of great distinction and a Scottish mother, and the proprietor of Dr Hamid’s Indian medicated vapour bath and shampooing establishment in Brighton, whose customers had spoken very highly of the relief afforded them from his treatments. The oriental ‘shampoo’, or ‘massage’ as it was sometimes called, appeared by all accounts to be a frightful ordeal in which the practitioner pressed and rubbed and sometimes twisted or even stood upon the recumbent form of the patient. Mina had heard about travellers to the East who had submitted to the ministrations of large Turkish gentlemen in the bathhouses popular there, and had later written of their clicking joints and spines cracking like pistol shots. As if to remind her of this, her shoulder gave her a savage pinch.
Dr Hamid wore a dark suit and cravat and carried black gloves. There was a black band around one sleeve and his hat, but Mina saw that this was not the formal fashionable mourning of a man who had slipped easily into an outward show of widowerhood. As they were introduced she saw an ill-concealed pain in his eyes, the look of a man who was searching for a part of himself that had been suddenly and cruelly snatched away, which he had been unable to acknowledge was gone forever. Just as she was crushed in body so he was crushed in spirit and who could know if his prospect of recovery was any better than her own? There was no trace in his expression of the pity or curiosity with which she was often viewed; rather there was interest, and a hint of recognition.
The company was ushered to their seats, Professor and Mrs Gaskin securing places on the front row, as might have been expected, although they did not sit together but at either end, like sentinels. Mina, her mother and Miss Whinstone made up the centre of the row, but Miss Whinstone, clutching a lace handkerchief and flapping her arms nervously, exclaimed that she did not think she could bear to be so near to the curtain as she dreaded to think what lay behind it, and she really believed that she might faint if she was to see anything at all. Mrs Gaskin did her best to reassure her increasingly agitated guest, but to no avail, and so Miss Whinstone was sent to the back row, and since it was thought best that she be seated with her friends, Mina and her mother were asked to join her, with Dr Hamid and the two widowed sisters taking the seats in front. Mina quietly protested that she was unable to see the proceedings but her mother insisted that she should remain beside Miss Whinstone to attend to her if she should faint. Dr Hamid, overhearing this exchange, at once rose and turned to address them. ‘Excuse me, ladies, if I could be of assistance. It would be my pleasure to attend on Miss Whinstone, and Miss Scarletti could then have my place.’ It was all done in such a disarming manner that Louisa could do nothing
Two other ladies were also present, Mrs Peasgood and Mrs Mowbray, cheerful widows in search of entertainment, whose confiding manner towards each other suggested that they were sisters. Mrs Phipps, the lady who had slept through most of Mr Bradley’s healing circle, arrived leaning heavily on the arm of her nephew, who looked highly embarrassed to be there at all, stared at the curtained corner with alarm, and hurried away as soon as he felt able to do so without appearing to be impolite.
The last visitor to be introduced was Dr Hamid, a quiet man of middling height, about forty-five and very gentlemanly, with black hair going grey and a neatly trimmed beard. All Mina knew of him was what her mother had told her, that he was the son of an Indian physician of great distinction and a Scottish mother, and the proprietor of Dr Hamid’s Indian medicated vapour bath and shampooing establishment in Brighton, whose customers had spoken very highly of the relief afforded them from his treatments. The oriental ‘shampoo’, or ‘massage’ as it was sometimes called, appeared by all accounts to be a frightful ordeal in which the practitioner pressed and rubbed and sometimes twisted or even stood upon the recumbent form of the patient. Mina had heard about travellers to the East who had submitted to the ministrations of large Turkish gentlemen in the bathhouses popular there, and had later written of their clicking joints and spines cracking like pistol shots. As if to remind her of this, her shoulder gave her a savage pinch.
Dr Hamid wore a dark suit and cravat and carried black gloves. There was a black band around one sleeve and his hat, but Mina saw that this was not the formal fashionable mourning of a man who had slipped easily into an outward show of widowerhood. As they were introduced she saw an ill-concealed pain in his eyes, the look of a man who was searching for a part of himself that had been suddenly and cruelly snatched away, which he had been unable to acknowledge was gone forever. Just as she was crushed in body so he was crushed in spirit and who could know if his prospect of recovery was any better than her own? There was no trace in his expression of the pity or curiosity with which she was often viewed; rather there was interest, and a hint of recognition.
The company was ushered to their seats, Professor and Mrs Gaskin securing places on the front row, as might have been expected, although they did not sit together but at either end, like sentinels. Mina, her mother and Miss Whinstone made up the centre of the row, but Miss Whinstone, clutching a lace handkerchief and flapping her arms nervously, exclaimed that she did not think she could bear to be so near to the curtain as she dreaded to think what lay behind it, and she really believed that she might faint if she was to see anything at all. Mrs Gaskin did her best to reassure her increasingly agitated guest, but to no avail, and so Miss Whinstone was sent to the back row, and since it was thought best that she be seated with her friends, Mina and her mother were asked to join her, with Dr Hamid and the two widowed sisters taking the seats in front. Mina quietly protested that she was unable to see the proceedings but her mother insisted that she should remain beside Miss Whinstone to attend to her if she should faint. Dr Hamid, overhearing this exchange, at once rose and turned to address them. ‘Excuse me, ladies, if I could be of assistance. It would be my pleasure to attend on Miss Whinstone, and Miss Scarletti could then have my place.’ It was all done in such a disarming manner that Louisa could do nothing
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