Page 20 of Searching for Mr Tilney

The music is starting again. When Mr Fowle takes my hand I can’t help feeling the contrast between the way he holds my fingers and the same endured by Lucius. The moment is tender, and looking into his eyes, like deep liquid pools, I find myself drawn in and catch my breath. I know that whatever my family wishes for me, my heart rails against it.

‘I suppose there is nothing to stand in our way except a desire to make it happen, and for my part I have no wish to be engaged,’ I dare to say at last. ‘My cousin is hardly more than a boy.’

‘And yet, these sort of alliances are often formed from the cradle.’

We separate, and I feel the agony of having so little time to speak to him. When we come together again, Mr Fowle opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. He smiles instead, and then his hand is placed on the small of my back for just a moment, and his fingers are on the curve of my waist as we dance down the set. I feel the blush on my cheeks, and a rush of elation as the dance moves faster. It’s a country dance and the mood is shifting. The ballroom is a swirling frenzy of life and colour as the dancers clap and kick up their heels, link arms and twirl this way and that.

‘Or do you have a general disinclination for matrimony, Miss Austen? Is your heart never to be given to another?’

How shall I answer? Should I make my true feelings clear as my cousin Eliza would do? But, for the life of me I cannot invent a coquettish reply, and I know I can only be true to myself.

‘I should like to be married one day, Mr Fowle … but perhaps not just yet. I am little acquainted with the world and I should like to know something of it before I walk down the aisle.’

‘A very prudent answer, Miss Austen … I would expect nothing less. Coming to Bath must be a very great part of your education, I think.’

Is he laughing at me? There is a hint of a smirk making his mouth curve on one side. I must sound too earnest, and yet I cannot think how to show I can be as light-hearted as Eliza or my sister Jane.

‘It is most exciting, Mr Fowle.’

‘And what has been your greatest enjoyment so far?’

‘This ball, sir, undoubtedly.’

‘And dancing with me, I hope.’

Is it my imagination or has he increased the pressure on my fingers? He is gazing at me with such a delightful expression I cannot tear my eyes away, and as the dance finishes, and we walk from the floor, he hooks my arm in his before delivering me safely to my parents and the rest of our party. Mr Fowle bows and walks away without another glance. Our two dances are over, and I know, as much as I wish it, we cannot dance again.

‘Cassandra, your cheeks are flushed quite red,’ Aunt Leigh-Perrot remarks. ‘I think you need to compose yourself, my dear, and recover after such exertion. Perhaps we should repair to the tea-room, and find some cooling refreshment.’

I follow my aunt who starts to lecture me on the etiquette of dance. ‘However much we enjoy a country hop, Cassandra, it is not seemly to get worked up to fever pitch. Always maintain one’s composure … only a pale complexion is to be admired. We are not of the serving class jigging in a barn.’

‘No, Aunt, I shall remember in future,’ I say, though I feel it is hardly my fault.

We sit down at the table, and though I feel somewhat admonished, Mr Fowle’s dark head appearing in the doorway affords much cheer, and when he seats himself on the table opposite and continues to watch me, I feel my colour rise all over again.

Chapter Eleven

Caroline

Bath, Somerset

December 1975

I felt I should burst with everything I’d seen and heard, though some of it was fading quickly just as a dream evaporates the moment I was back. Entering the modern world again was strange. Though spending time in a place that seemed as real as the one I’m in now, it disappeared as soon as I walked back through the bedroom door. It was as if I’d been completely taken over - my mind, indeed, my very soul transplanted by another. It wasn’t exactly an uncomfortable feeling because after a while I forgot I’d ever been myself, if that makes any sense at all, and I felt in a matter of hours that I’d become the girl Cassandra with all her feelings, her thoughts and emotions. Yet, being someone else was utterly overwhelming and I felt quite frightened that if it happened again it might be even more intense than the last. What if I were to get stuck there, and couldn’t return?

And, as I write it all down, sitting in my nightgown, I can hardly believe any of it has happened, especially because according to the clock next to my bed, the hands haven’t changed. It is six o’clock; the snow outside is still falling, and the day hardly begun.

‘I’ve got a bit of news,’ Ellen said as we were sitting at breakfast. She was looking quite pleased with herself, and kept looking at Roger as if they shared a secret. She waved a piece of paper under my nose, and then my world really fell apart.

‘I’ve had a letter from my nephew Piers … Piers Howarth, he’s my sister’s son,’ she said. ‘I’m always inviting him to come away with us, and he’s never been able to manage before, but he’s got some holiday he needs to use up before Christmas. He’s an accountant, you know,’ she added, as if that would impress me. ‘You’ll get on like a house on fire, I’m sure … he’s a few years older than you, but very interested in art and music. I know you’ll have heaps in common.’

Something about the way she was talking really had me on my guard. So Ellen was trying to get me off with her nephew now, and the very idea made me want to run away, and go home to my mum. But, I knew Ellen was really trying her best to make me happy and the more I thought about that, the more miserable I began to feel.

‘I was thinking perhaps we might go to the Pump Rooms for tea this afternoon. I know how much you like it there, and perhaps you’ll see your friend,’ Ellen continued, as if she was half reading my mind.

I can tell by the way she talks about Harry that she’s already linked us in some great romantic love affair - perhaps she’s invited Piers as a back-up plan if all goes wrong. I am really attracted to Harry, but the truth is I don’t think he really feels the same way. I think he would have got in touch by now if he wanted to see me again, and I feel half mortified by the idea that he took pity on me at the theatre, and felt he had no choice but to ask me out. Spurred on by his sister, I wonder now if he asked me just to please her. Perhaps the idea of spending more time with someone obviously less intelligent was probably more than he could manage.

‘Piers can’t come until next week,’ Ellen said, ‘but we have lots to sort out before he arrives. Roger is going up to the Guildhall to purchase the tickets for the ball, just as soon as the snow stops. I don’t know if Piers is a good dancer, but his best friend is in musicals on the west end stage and was trained at the Royal Ballet School. Piers loves musicals too … he knows all the words to the West End shows, but I expect that’s because he has a marvellous record collection … what’s his favourite one again, Roger?’