Page 59 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘My uncle confided in me last night that his business affairs are not in good shape. He’s virtually bankrupt, and doesn’t know how he’s going to manage, though he’s always hoping someone will come along and save the castle. It’s a vain hope, I know.’

‘Oh, Harry, you’ve been worrying about so much, while I’ve been utterly selfish, thinking only of myself.’

‘All I’m worrying about right now is the fact that we’ll be going home the day after tomorrow, and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’

‘Do you think it’s likely … will we be able to see one another again?’ I asked, though I was afraid to know the answer.

‘Of course, I shall make it happen somehow. I will work overtime, and send you the fare so you can come to Bath any time. It’s not so long to wait until the summer when we’ll both be finished. I won’t be going back to Cheltenham immediately.’

I didn’t mention the fact that I’d have to look for a job as soon as the holidays started, and as much as I liked Bath, I couldn’t see me working anywhere else but in London. Though I knew my mother wasn’t expecting me to contribute to the household expenses I wanted to help her as much as possible. But, I held on to the hope that Harry might be coming to London too, and when he squeezed my hand, reassuring me that it would all work out, I squeezed it back again.

***

In the evening we walked down to the village where a little candlelit bistro clung precariously to the side of the harbour wall. There was a warm welcome, an eclectic mix of French and Italian food on the menu, and plenty of seafood. We both chose grilled lobster, which bought back flashbacks to the day every time Harry held his fork to my mouth, and afterwards I pulled him away from the path taking us back to the castle, insisting we visit the cove once more. I was tingling all over with desire, and the pleasure of feeling our bodies entwined together as we made love in the moonlight, his skin warm next to mine, was even greater than before. I’d never felt so happy. Later, with Harry’s arm draped protectively round me all the way home I felt cocooned in love.

He wrapped me in his arms once more as we reached the castle walls, and kissed me with such passion I felt completely weak, so entirely consumed by him.

‘Goodnight, my darling,’ he said, kissing me on top of my head. ‘I can hardly bear to be parted from you.’

‘No, I want to wake up in your arms, and know that you’re there with me.’

I could tell Harry was thinking the same thoughts, and that he was searching for the right words, but I knew deep inside he could make me no promises about anything that might or might not happen in the future. But, I didn’t mind, just to be near to him, and loved by him was all I wanted.

‘What shall we do tomorrow?’ I asked. ‘This has been such a wonderful day, but we should spend our last one with your uncle and Elsa, don’t you think?’

‘You’re a generous, sweet girl, Caroline,’ Harry said, pushing back my fringe and kissing me tenderly on the forehead. ‘I suppose much depends on the weather, but I’d like to get my uncle out of the castle if possible. Even if we just have tea in the village, it would do him good to get out and take some sea air.’

I had such a restless night of bad dreams along with the tossing and turning that goes with them, that I woke feeling exhausted the next day. Pictures haunted me in quick succession, filled with troubling images and emotions: a maze of narrow cliff paths, twisted trees contorted by the wind, driving rain in my eyes, and the dreadful feeling of plunging downwards in an endless fall, tumbling past rugged cliff faces, grabbing at rocks that just came away in my hand. I woke remembering the story of Harry’s aunt, and the feelings were so strong I imagined it was like being visited by her, almost as if she were trying to tell me something.

But, my dreams soon faded when I remembered all the deliciousness of the previous day, heightening my feelings with a sense of energy I’d never known before, coupled with an overwhelming belief in the power of love. Scenes and snapshots from our day at the beach flickered through my mind in a never-ending succession of images, each one filling me with a longing to see Harry and a need to be close to him.

We’d agreed to meet at breakfast and as the recollection of every moment we’d spent together surfaced yet again, I felt excited to see Harry, though when I opened the curtains I was disappointed to see it was raining, lashing against the windows as it had in my dreams. But, in this part of the world, the storms might blow over by the afternoon if we were lucky, so I got dressed, and headed off along the corridor into the rabbit warren of passages and staircases that led down to the Great Hall.

I don’t quite know what possessed me, but I found my legs taking a different path. All the while I was telling myself that it was just an alternate route, and that I’d worked out a quicker way to get downstairs, but I knew in my heart exactly where I was going. Whether it was the dreams I’d had that refused to dim, or whether it was just plain curiosity I couldn’t say, but I found myself at the foot of the ornate staircase leading to the French doors that seemed to beckon me on.

Chapter Thirty

I fully expected the doors to be locked, so I was very surprised when they opened. I closed them carefully behind me, intending only to look down the corridor just to see how many rooms there were and where they were placed. Curiosity got the better of me when I saw there were at least four rooms along the passageway. The door of the first one was ajar, and when I peeped my head round the door I could see it belonged to a young man, even though the curtains were drawn and the light was dim. Everything was in its place; it was eerily tidy with hardly any personal possessions on show except for a guitar, a cricket bat, and an old record player. The chest of drawers had some photos arranged along the top. There was one of Elsa and Harry looking very young at about twelve years of age, one of a group of young cricketers posing with a cup, and another of a young woman, dressed like a hippy with a large hat and a guitar slung over her back. I couldn’t help thinking she might have been someone special, a girlfriend perhaps. There were bottles of aftershave and a bulging toiletries bag, zipped up, as if about to be taken on an adventure. The overwhelming feeling was sadness as I looked round the room, and when I picked up the book at the side of the bed and noted Hugh Tate’s name on the flyleaf, I wished I’d never looked in.

I wasn’t sure whether to go on, but I’d gone this far, and I really wanted to see if I could find Aunt Sylvia’s room. The next two rooms were empty, but when I came to the last I knew it was right as soon as I opened the door. Here the curtains were thrown back to let in the light, and I saw a spacious room with a bed and furnishings from the 1950s, which I guessed were probably chosen when they’d first married. A dressing table was covered in photographs of her son and husband, and several featuring Elsa and Harry with an attractive lady who I guessed must be their mother. I picked up a glass scent bottle, removing the stopper to smell the fragrance. It was light, a mixture of spring flowers, lavender and jasmine, that conjured up beautiful warm days spent in Provence with my parents when I was small. There was a jewellery box shaped like a silver casket, a malachite powder bowl, and a set of jade enamelled brushes, matching the base tone of the wallpaper which was scattered all over with large white roses. Over the fireplace was a portrait of a woman dressed in a ball gown of the same era. It was cut like the couture gowns of the time into a tulip shape, fitted into her tiny waist and of pale lemon satin. With a white, tulle stole draped round her shoulders, her beautiful face was smiling - it was impossible not to warm to her. The feeling in this room was quite different, despite the greyness outside and the sound of the incessant rain, I could sense this had been a very private and beloved domain.

I felt a little guilty, but I was glad I’d been to see it, though I still couldn’t help wondering about the circumstances of her death or why her portrait had been banished up there. It just seemed so convenient that she’d fallen off the cliff like that when everything pointed to the fact that Geraint Tate was a man with a quick temper, and had quarrelled with his wife that day. I shuddered when I thought about them setting off together, she not knowing that her life was soon to be over.

I remembered to pull the door to when I left, and hurried along the corridor being careful to open the French doors very quietly, closing them without clicking the locks. I knew it probably wasn’t likely that anyone would be up in that part of the castle, which seemed to have been cut off on purpose, but I didn’t want to risk drawing attention to myself.

I immediately noticed that one of the long windows in the corridor was open; the curtain was billowing out into the hall, snapping back and forth in the wind like a demented ghost, and the driving rain was coming in making a pool of water on the oak boards, and soaking the edges of the Turkey carpet. I was sure it wasn’t open before, and when I went to stand before it I was shocked to see how low the window frame was pitched. The scene through the leaded glass was stunning, but when viewed open to the elements it was breathtaking. I was drawn to the view, looking out over the steel grey sea where seagulls wheeled in the sky above my head, and I felt that strange sensation I always experience of wanting to be able to fly out like a bird, and soar into the heavens or plunge into the depths below. The rocks beneath me rose through the mist in jagged splinters, the sea dashing their sides with a spray of white spume, as the waves crashed relentlessly. It would be so easy to fall out, I thought. I couldn’t think why the housekeeper would leave the window open like that, unsecured on the latch, and holding onto the side I stretched as far as I could in an attempt to grab the handle and close it.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ said a voice behind me, and I jumped out of my skin, wheeling round to come face to face with Harry’s uncle. He was standing right in front of me, and I had no notion of how he’d got there, though the roar of the sea was so loud that it would have been impossible to hear him coming up the stairs. Even so, I felt he must have crept up them on purpose to scare me. My heart was racing so fast I thought it would stop.

‘I saw the window was open … I tried to shut it,’ I said looking back at his face, his eyes small and angry, his forehead bulging with blue veins.

‘And, just why were you up here in the first place … where have you been?’

I looked down at the floor desperately trying to think how I could answer.

‘No need to tell me … I know!’ he shouted into my face, a foam of spittle riming his lips. ‘You’ve been poking about where you were told not to go. I saw you. What gives you the right, do you think?’

I bit my lip. There wasn’t a thing I could say or do in my defence. How I wished I hadn’t let curiosity get the better of me. I knew very well I shouldn’t have trespassed into such a private space. All I could do was apologise profusely.