Page 37 of Searching for Mr Tilney

Roger’s voice calling from downstairs brought me back to the present in a moment, so I smoothed the silk on the parasol one last time, and stroked the top of the watercolour box, before I closed the door on the precious treasures, to dash along the corridor and up the next flight of stairs. In my haste, I almost fell into the room, I was so anxious not to keep them all waiting, but, as the door swung back, and I stepped inside, I was struck by a force stronger than anything I’d ever felt before. Feeling the pressure of an unseen hand that seemed to pin me against the wall, the light in the room was so bright I had to close my eyes. How long I was held I don’t know, but when I finally thought it was safe to open my eyes once more, I could see across the veil of time, and I knew it had happened once again.

Chapter Eighteen

Cassandra

Bath, Somerset

August 1789

‘Have you come to fetch me?’ Jane says, adjusting her bonnet, and smoothing her hands down her gown. She’s looking very pretty today, and I think is beginning to understand that it’s not so very terrible to be regarded in a certain fashion by young gentlemen passing by.

‘Oh dear, it will not sit quite right, and the ribbon is all knotted. Cassy, will you help me?’

‘You seem very keen to make a good impression today,’ I say. ‘May I ask whose attentions you crave?’

‘Cassy, I make myself fine for my own desire, and am not interested in any coxcomb wishing to make himself known to me. Anyway, they dare not approach … it is clear I am not yet out, and therefore I can have no conversation. But, I must admit I quite enjoy staring back to see the effect. Cousin Eliza showed me what to do, though I wasn’t very interested at the time.’

‘I’m not certain you should be taking advice from cousin Eliza,’ I say, and then I see Jane’s eyebrows knitting together in a frown. I do not mean to sound truculent, I am very fond of our cousin, but, there is no other way to say it … she is a great flirt, and hardly the person to be a model of good behaviour for my sister. The Christmas before last Eliza teased Jemmy so much, and made such a play of affection towards him, I think he is quite in love with her, and even young Henry did not escape her attentions. Not at all the conduct of a married woman, I do not think. Most of her behaviour was conducted under the guise of play-acting, theatricals that were well received by all our friends and neighbours, but I know how she’s turned both Jemmy and Henry’s heads. And my sister is practising the ways of a coquette too … how much has changed within a year. Jane thinks I do not notice, but I’ve seen her aping her cousin’s ways. If Mama is sensible of it, she’ll be very cross, and so I must do what I can to prevent that happening.

We’re attending the Pump Rooms this morning, and I am in hopes of seeing Mr Fowle. There is to be a concert tomorrow in Spring Gardens, and I am most anxious that he knows we are to attend.

The people talking in the Pump Rooms always remind me of the dawn chorus, as voices rise and fall, twittering and chirping, relating the latest gossip, and as they fly about the room settling on another crumb of scandal, or engage on pulling up another worm of tittle-tattle, the rumours change until every tale is reported as fact.

Today the talk is all about the happenings overseas in France, and the horrors of man’s inhumanity to man. A revolution is taking place, and there is much consternation about the safety of Englishmen who have yet to make their way home. We wait for news on cousin Eliza’s husband, the Comte de Feuillide, but our hopes that his country life will keep him from the Paris troubles is all we can wish for.

‘The Duke of Dorset will resign his post, I am certain,’ Lucius’s father is saying. ‘Though he is a favourite of Queen Marie Antoinette, I have no doubt he will be recalled. My father has heard such shocking reports that no Englishman is safe, let alone the French.’

‘It is a sad business,’ answers my father, ‘but my sister Phila will not be surprised to hear of this escalation of events. Thank heavens my niece Eliza is safely in England with her son. I should not want any member of my family to be in such jeopardy.’

Eliza has told us stories about the vast wealth of the royal court in France and I’ve heard my mother discuss the fact that the Duke of Dorset is more than just a favourite of Queen Marie Antoinette. I remember my cousin telling me about a ball she attended once where the queen’s gown was covered in diamonds and precious jewels, and how she recalled driving through villages where the peasants had barely enough to eat and were shabbily dressed. It is little wonder that the people are disgruntled, but surely a revolution might have been foreseen and prevented? Here, where elegant couples parade the room and talk of the horrors, it is hard to believe that such events are taking place across the water that divides us, and sometimes I fear what will happen to us all.

‘Will you take a turn with me, Miss Austen?’

Lucius is here and proffering his arm. My mother nods and smiles, and I take it. What else can I do? To refuse him would be rude, and I can only do what is expected; my duty to my family must come before everything else. I could not bring myself to tell Mama about his strange behaviour last summer in Kent, when on more than one occasion he gave both Jane and I great cause for alarm. I am sure my mother still hopes that we will become engaged, and she has said more than once that, since our cradles, it has been the wish of Great-Uncle Frank that our families be more intimately united.

And, then I see Mr Fowle walking through the door and I want to unhook my arm from Lucius’s whose grip is too firm. But, my arm is trapped, clamped against him so I have to stand too closely at his side. I could not shake him loose even if I wanted to, and before I manage to turn so Mr Fowle does not see, I know he has observed me. He is looking first at Lucius’s arm holding mine, and then his eyes meet my eyes, and I cannot show him how distasteful this predicament I’m in makes me feel. I want to run to him, and beg that he should speak to me, that what he sees is not what I want, but it is impossible. He bows most politely and turns away, and though I smile, he does not look back or return it. He looks graver than ever.

I escape as soon as I can to find my cousin Jane Cooper who is looking very beautiful dressed in white. Sometimes I can trace the features of her dear mother in her countenance, and feel sad that she is not here with us.

‘Isn’t that Mr Fowle over there by the pump?’ she asks. ‘It is not like him to keep his distance. He is always such a very attentive young man, especially when you are in a room.’

I cannot help but smile. ‘I do not understand your meaning, cousin.’

‘No? I have heard he is come to Bath on purpose to seek his particular friends.’

‘Shocking girl, I do not believe a word of it. Anyway, I am sure he has many friends. Look, he is talking very animatedly to one over there and he has just handed her a cup of water. Perhaps she is the special friend he looks for.’

‘Oh, Cassy, what nonsense. I watched the sparks flying between you at the last ball. You cannot deny it to your old cousin of so many years. Tell me, is it true that you like him as much as your dancing gives you away?’

I am laughing because I cannot help myself, and for once cannot pretend anything but the truth. ‘I do like him.’

‘I knew it, and I’m glad to have my suspicions confirmed. Tell me, are you going to the concert in Spring Gardens tomorrow evening?’

‘Yes, there are plans to go. It does sound delightful … music, fireworks and a turn round the bowling green. Jane cannot wait to cross the river by ferry. You know how romantic she can be … she says she will be Fanny Burney’s Evelina arriving at Vauxhall Gardens.’

‘And does your suitor have plans to attend?’

‘I have little idea, and I doubt he will speak to me now. It is clear he is otherwise engaged, and besides, he saw me arm in arm with my cousin Lucius. He thinks it is my desire that we will marry, but he couldn’t be further from the truth.’