Page 47 of Searching for Mr Tilney

I’m feeling fitter and happier than I’ve ever been before - I want to stop the world revolving to enjoy every moment, but there is no sign of it slowing down. Two weeks have flown by, and I shall be going home tomorrow. I haven’t even had a chance to look at Jane’s journal, my mind and every waking thought have been filled with Harry, and all my hours spent in his company. In any case, to read Jane’s journal is to risk being taken into her world or that of Cassy’s, and I’ve no wish to gamble with the time we have left.

***

Harry said he’d pick me up in the evening, though he wouldn’t tell me anything about where we were going or what we were doing. It was awful thinking it would be our last evening together, but at the same time it was very exciting. I couldn’t think of anyone in the world I’d rather be spending time with, and I wanted to savour every last moment we had.

I took my time getting ready, picking out one of my own designs to wear, a long romantic dress in tiers with small flowers dotted all over the fabric, and lace across the top of the bodice. I ran a bath and filled it with bath salts from the glass container on the shelf. Soaking in the water, watching the steam rising into the cooler air was both relaxing and stimulating, especially when I thought over the events of the last couple of weeks. There’s nothing like having a bath for thinking over problems or pleasures, and topping it up with more hot water is blissful. Harry had given me the rest of a chocolate box we’d shared at the theatre, as we hadn’t got round to eating many of them. As I lay basking in the hot scented water I sucked three chocolates in a row, letting the velvety texture melt on my tongue while contemplating every single moment of every enjoyment of the day before, and of the ones to come. I washed my hair with scented shampoo, used the best Floris soap, and tried to time it so the water didn’t go too cold before I needed to get out. Rushing down the corridor wrapped in towels, I hoped my hair would dry before I had to go out.

Flinging the door open in my haste, I was into the room before I realised that my whole world was changed in a moment. At the sudden realisation that I was once again no longer in the time I wished to be, I tried desperately to turn in an attempt to change it. But time slowed down so every movement was impossible. The door seemed to retreat further and further away with every step of mine becoming more laboured. And then as it loomed in front of me, just as suddenly, the door slammed firmly before I could step through it. And, though I was sure I’d banged my head very badly, in the next moment it was clear I was still in one piece, if not quite myself.

Chapter Twenty Three

Cassandra

Bath, Somerset

August 1789

It is a perfect summer’s day, and all of Bath is out for a promenade after church, every young woman in the city dressed in white - gowns fluttering in the breeze, parasols providing much needed shade against the glare of the midday sun. We are to dine with our Aunt and Uncle Leigh-Perrot this evening, but we’re going for a walk to the Crescent Fields this afternoon where everyone will be gathered.

‘I am quite sick of Bath,’ says Jane, as we reach the top of Gay Street and come out onto the Circus where streams of people, like a procession, are all headed in the same direction. ‘There is so much attention demanded every day from each and every one of our relations that I have had no time to compose or please myself.’

‘Well, we won’t be in Bath much longer,’ I say, ‘and when winter comes to Steventon and we’re stuck inside the house every day, I daresay you’ll be much happier.’

‘I do not relish the idea of winter, but I should like nothing better on a day like this to find a quiet spot by the river and take time to lose myself in writing. I find no pleasure in being paraded about, and the thought of having to spend an evening playing cards, is a prospect I am certain will be very dull indeed. I would much rather stay at home and read a book.’

‘I shall not scold you, though perhaps I should. I must admit; I wish we were going home to our own apartments. This afternoon will prove trial enough.’

‘What do you mean, Cassy? We might see Mr Fowle; just think of that. He is sure to cheer us up.’

I am thinking of Mr Fowle, but far from looking forward to seeing him, I am dreading it. We have not spoken since the evening in Spring Gardens, and though I’ve only seen glimpses of him since, he has always been in the company of Miss Brooke and her family. They were not at the last ball at the Lower Rooms, and I couldn’t help thinking of their families preferring to spend time with one another, becoming more intimately acquainted in the privacy of their lodgings.

There is a great crowd all along the Crescent and spilling out onto the fields, and we’re soon caught up in the throng.

‘Smile, girls,’ says my aunt, ‘you’ll never attract a husband if you look so miserable. And stand up straight, Jane. Do stop hopping about, and behave with some decorum.’

Jane does not have to say a word, a glance from her tells me everything she is thinking. And as we walk down the slope with fixed smiles, I dare not look at her. She is pulling such a comical expression, her teeth bared in a grinning mouth, and when she thinks my aunt cannot see she jigs right up behind her, dancing a sailor’s hornpipe.

I’m scanning the whole scene before us but cannot see Mr Fowle or his family. They did not attend the Octagon chapel this morning, but I suppose they may have been in the Abbey with their friends instead. And then just as I’m starting to think I may not see him, and feeling a mixture of both relief and disappointment, I see them at the top, entering through the gate. He’s offering his arm to the young woman at his side and even from this distance I know it can only be one person. I cannot look any longer and turn my back against the sight, hoping they will not walk in our direction.

It is a vain hope. Before another five minutes has passed my mother is calling out their names in a cheery halloo, and the two families are standing before us. Though I hear my name, I become mute during the introductions. I cannot look Mr Fowle in the eye, and yet, I feel sure he is looking at me. I blush, knowing he must be remembering the last disagreeable time he saw me, and I wonder if he feels glad he is in more refined company. My aunt is inviting them all for an evening party next week, and my heart sinks. I do not know how I shall endure an evening in Mr Fowle’s company, watching him lavish all his time and attention on someone else.

‘And shall we see you at the theatre?’ Reverend Fowle is asking. ‘There’s a performance of The Wonder … I remember you’ve always wanted to see it, have you not, Miss Cassandra?’

Reverend Fowle is always so very kind to me. I manage to look up and smile with genuine warmth.

‘I know of no plans to go, sir, though I have heard it is a most entertaining play.’

‘But, we have tickets, Cassy, I secured some just yesterday,’ my father is saying. ‘I did not want to say so before, in case they were all sold out.’

‘I hope I haven’t spoiled a surprise,’ says Reverend Fowle, and my father insists not, saying he just forgot to mention it with all that’s been going on.

‘We shall be able to meet again very soon,’ says my mother, and everyone is laughing and bowing. I catch a glimpse of Mr Fowle’s countenance. He is scowling, he looks to be in a dark mood, and it is he who seems to be avoiding my eye now. I watch him proffer his arm to Miss Brooke, and cannot mistake the look of sheer admiration on her face as she looks up at him. With reassurances to meet once more at the theatre ringing in my ears, I feel a cloud of despondency settle on my shoulders like a weight. I must rally and compose myself, but it is hard to shake off the feelings of despair. Jealousy is such a harmful and depressing emotion, and I try as hard as I am able to fight it, telling myself I must be happy for my friend. If I love him, as I truly do, I should be desirous of wanting the best for him.

The pain is over, and we are walking back to The Paragon at last.

‘You are very dull today, Cassandra,’ says my aunt. ‘You scarcely spoke a word to your friends, and Miss Brooke seems a pleasant sort of gel who could be very useful to you. You were not very encouraging. I hope you’ll liven up for my party or we’ll have a miserable evening. I do not know what is wrong with young people nowadays. In my day we knew how to enjoy ourselves.’

Jane has taken my hand, and I am grateful when I feel the pressure of her fingers against mine. She knows just how I am feeling, I am certain.