Page 24 of Searching for Mr Tilney

I could hear the gong sounding, reverberating through the house, breaking the dream-like trance induced by reading the diary. It was time to join Ellen and Roger for lunch, though I didn’t want to put the journal down, and was longing to know more. I couldn’t help thinking about the green parasol that Jane had written about, or wondering if it was anything like the one I’d found on top of the cabinet. There were so many questions buzzing round my head and no sure way of finding the answers, and I knew with Piers’ imminent arrival there’d be little chance of finding out much more.

When I got downstairs Mrs Partridge was bustling about with dishes of hot stew and freshly baked bread, just the perfect lunch on such a cold day. I said how much I’d enjoyed being in the library, and I told them about the intriguing objects, and the lovely book I’d found about Jane Austen.

‘I believe this house belonged to relatives of the novelist at one time,’ said Mrs Partridge. ‘Mrs Ashton-Dennis, the old lady who owns the house told me about them, and once, I remember, there were some people outside taking photographs. They were a group of Janeites, I think that’s what they call them.’

‘Really, Mrs Partridge … this house actually has a firm connection to Jane Austen?’

‘Oh yes … dear me, now what was their name? I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. I believe this wasn’t their only home in Bath. They didn’t come to live here until about 1810 or thereabouts, but apparently those Janeites were sure Jane Austen must have visited.’

‘I’ve never heard anything so exciting, Mrs Partridge,’ I said. It confirmed that she’d stayed here, perhaps more often than I’d realised.

‘Well, this house if full of old junk … Mrs Ashton-Dennis is always finding something or other in the attics. She loves putting it out, though it’s a devil to dust, I can tell you, and I’m not sure if all of it is antique, as she likes to call it. But, it amuses her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if those wealthy people had left half of their possessions behind.’

That idea excited me even more, though I knew the possibility of exploring the attics was very remote.

‘I’d love to stay and chat,’ Mrs Partridge went on, ‘but I’m going to my sister’s in Larkhall for a cup of tea. I go every week, and if I’m not there on time she’ll just think the worst. The number of times I’ve been run over by a bus, you wouldn’t believe.’

She popped her head round the door five minutes later to say goodbye, a smart felt hat pulled over her ‘blue rinse’ to protect it from all weathers.

‘I’ll find out the name of those relatives, Caroline. It’ll vex me until I recall it, but I daresay Doris will remember … she never forgets a thing I tell her. She’s just like an elephant …’

We couldn’t help but chuckle at that when she’d gone, and Ellen said she was very pleased I’d discovered such an exciting piece of information regarding my favourite author. It only remained to find out which particular set of relatives they’d been.

Piers was only delayed by half an hour, after all, and I’m relieved to note that so far he’s made a good impression. Ellen fussed over him the whole time, treating him as if he were a small child instead of a grown man of twenty-nine.

‘Such a long way to come by yourself, I hope the journey hasn’t worn you out. I know Caroline is anxious to be out and having fun - she’s been having a hard time of it, lately, with no one to take her out anywhere.’

He looked as if he were quite used to it, and at one point rolled his eyes at me when she wasn’t looking. I had to bite my lip to stop myself smiling. After Ellen spent the first hour going on and on about how we should waste no time in getting to know one another, Piers suggested we venture out and find a coffee somewhere. I must admit it was a relief to leave the house.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, after we’d tramped through the wet snow as far as Pulteney Bridge, ‘I expect you’re getting used to it now. Aunt Ellen’s heart is in the right place, though she just can’t help herself from interfering.’

We looked at one another and both laughed. I knew then that we were going to get along just fine.

‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I shouldn’t have laughed. Ellen’s been marvellous, and so kind to give me this trip to Bath.’

‘But, she hasn’t found you a boyfriend yet, or worse, got you engaged to be married, and she’s hoping I might do the job before Christmas.’

‘I think that’s the general idea.’

‘Well, Caroline, let me be the first to reassure you that’s not going to happen, and I hope we can now be good friends.’

I laughed again. ‘Oh, Piers, I do hope so.’

‘Now, what shall we do? Coffee first or shall we hit the antique shops? I want a dear little Georgian trio to take home for my friend Simon. I wish he could have come with me - he’d love it here. He’s got such a lovely collection of white and gilt, that I’m determined to find him a piece or two to add to it.’

‘Is that your friend the dancer? Ellen mentioned him.’

‘Yes, that’s right, he’s currently starring in Ipi Tombi at Her Majesty’s Theatre so he can’t get away very easily. I’ve been to see it three times already.’

‘I’d love to see the show - I hear it’s had fabulous reviews.’

‘Well, when you’re back in London we must arrange it, and you can meet Simon. He loves it when friends come to see him, especially if we stand at the stage door afterwards, like adoring fans. So, which is it to be, coffee or treasure?’

‘The market and the antique shops first, do you think? And then perhaps we can find a spot of lunch.’

We headed off for the market first where we found someone selling jewellery and a few porcelain pieces, but nothing quite as old as the kind of trio that Piers was talking about. Going on to Guinea Lane proved much more successful and here we were spoiled for choice. He found exactly what he was looking for, a white and gilt tea cup and coffee can with a matching saucer, and when the precious items were wrapped in newspaper and carefully placed in a carrier bag we headed back out into the sharp cold air.

We went on into the centre of town, to a little café in Northumberland Place, that turned out to be a little faded and old-fashioned. The bell above the door tinkled when we walked in, and we sat in the bow window where a jumbled collection of stale cakes on glass tiered stands and a variety of browning cake boxes vied for space on the shelf in front of us, along with two or three dead flies. And because it was so quiet in the shop it was a bit difficult to rush out again in horror, especially as the waitress appeared very promptly. Dressed in a black dress and grubby frilled apron she took our order, licking her pencil before jotting it down on her notepad, while struggling simultaneously with a white lace cap that seemed unable to stop from flopping in her eyes.