Searching For Captain Wentworth (21 page)

‘He might not do
anything so foolish as to fall in love, but
your defence of him just now leaves me feeling no
more assured of
your ambivalence
toward Lieutenant Austen than before we started
this conversation.’

Mrs Randall was
looking at me with a most anxious
expression. Despite the fact that the real world I knew was
dimming into nothingness like the wisp of a dream
on waking, I
saw and
recognized in her the traces of my own mother. I couldn’t
help thinking about her and of how her life had
been cut tragically
short, robbing
her of the chance to see her only child grow up, both
denying us the friendship and love that forms such
special bonds
between mother
and daughter. Sophia and her mother had been
denied that relationship also. And, whatever I
thought of Mrs
Randall’s
interference, even I could see that she had Sophia’s best
interests at heart. There was only one way to
reply. I took her arm
in mine
as we crossed the room.

‘Mrs Randall, I
know you speak to me out of kindness and
concern for me. My mother, I am certain, would have
spoken to me
in just the same
way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for
standing in her place and I promise, I will never
give you any cause
for alarm or
worry in regard to matrimony or anything else!’

Mrs Randall made
no more comment, leaving me at Mr
Elliot’s side before hurrying away to see to Emma. I knew I was
changing, being taken over, body and soul. I was
not myself and
yet, I felt more
like the person I should be than ever before. I was
Sophia Elliot of Monkford Hall and the snobbish,
vain and irascible
Mr Elliot, I
hardly knew, was as much my father as if I had known
him forever. My own time and the people who
belonged there were
fading like the
moving pictures on an old celluloid film. I’d so enjoyed the ball after all, though
the real pleasure had
been in
spending time with the Austens, particularly Charles. When
Jane called the next day with an invitation to go
for a picnic to
Beechen Cliff on
Thursday, I didn’t hesitate. Getting permission to
go would be another matter, but I decided it might
be best if I didn’t
mention that
Charles would be coming with us. I stressed the fact
that I would be going for a walk with the Miss
Austens and was
extremely vague
about all the rest.

Thursday morning
arrived with delphinium skies and
sunshine. I’d been awake since the early hours thinking about the
pleasures of the day to come and was soon dressed,
hurrying down
to the kitchen
to beg whatever provisions I could for the picnic. Mrs
Potting, the cheerful cook, let me have the seed cake
she’d baked
the day before,
plus half the tray of muffins that had just come out
of the oven, even giving me napkins and a basket to
carry them in.

Thankfully, Mr
Elliot and Emma felt happy about leaving me
behind to go for their usual walk to the Pump
Rooms. Emma’s
desire to see Mr
Glanville was very obvious and all I could hope
was that he would be similarly attentive for all
our sakes. They
made a brief
enquiry about my plans, but I knew neither of them
was interested. Mrs Randall had not yet arrived
from her lodgings
to question me
about where I was headed, so I looked forward to
the day with mounting excitement. Sitting in the
window of the
d
rawing room,
which looked out over the gardens, I knew I should
be able to have sight of the sisters coming out of
their door. But, as
the time passed
and no one came, I began to worry.

I ran downstairs
looking for the housemaid, Rebecca, who
soon told me that no one had called. Grabbing my
pelisse and
bonnet and
hoping they’d forgive my impatience, I let myself out
and presented myself at the door of number four.

‘You’ve missed
them, Miss Elliot,’said the harried looking
maidservant. ‘They left this last half hour, at
least.’

I could hardly
hide my disappointment. ‘Did they say where
they were going?’

‘Up to Beechen
Cliff, as far as I remember, Miss, though
goodness knows why they want to go tramping up
there in the mud
and mire. Wait a
moment, Miss Elliot. I’ll ask Cook, she’ll know
for sure.’

The flustered
maid tripped away down the corridor and I saw
her vanish through the door at the bottom. I was
left standing in the
hallway,
unable to believe that I was really in Jane Austen’s house.
I caught my reflection in the looking glass on the
wall. It still gave
me a shock to
see it wasn’t my own, yet try as I might; I couldn’t
quite remember how I ought to look.

The console
table had a gentleman’s black hat upon it. It
looked just like the one I’d seen Charles wearing
on that day in
Sydney Gardens
and I wondered if it belonged to him. Casting a
furtive glance down the hallway I decided to risk
picking it up to
take a closer
look. I saw them straight away. Where the hat had lain
was a pair of gentlemen’s white gloves.

Then the door
opened. The maidservant returned, rushing
along the corridor with a beetroot face and barely
audible from her
huffing and
puffing. ‘Yes, Cook says they’re not expected back
until this afternoon. I’m sorry; Miss Elliot, I’ll
tell the Misses
Austen that you
called. Good day.’

I was dismissed,
and disappointed. I couldn’t think why they
hadn’t called. Had I misunderstood? But, I was sure
I hadn’t
misheard and it
was definitely the right day. It all seemed so
strange. I stepped outside feeling really dejected.
Perhaps Charles
was embarrassed
that he’d danced with me twice, or felt he’d
singled me out too much. All that talk about love
must have
frightened him
and he was letting me know in no uncertain terms
that I should keep my distance. I was sure it must
be something like
that, though I
felt hurt that even Jane had not called to try and
explain about the reasons for now wishing to go on
their own.

I knew then that
I didn’t want to stay. I took the glove out of
my pocket and turned towards Sydney Gardens where I
knew I
would find the
white gate, hoping it would be unlocked. Yes, I
know it was so very wrong of me to have stolen it,
but the
opportunity
presented itself and I found I couldn’t do anything else.

Finding myself
back in the twenty-first century was an enormous
relief. The transition was as smooth as passing through
a time
portal could be,
almost like walking through a garden gate at any
other time. What was more, I felt energetic not
drained like on
previous
occasions. I’d made a lucky escape even if I felt sad about
leaving my friends, and in particular, I was sorry
that I might never
see Charles
again. My heart tugged with an ache I didn’t want to
recognize when I pictured him in my mind. But,
perhaps it was for
the best and if
I was honest with myself, I knew I shouldn’t really
be there interfering in their lives. I’d felt a
dangerous attraction to
Charles
and the more I thought about it, the more I reconciled
myself to the fact that I’d done the right thing.
I’d got carried away
f
or a
moment. After my relationship with Lucas the last thing I
needed was to be falling for someone else,
especially a guy who
lived in
another time zone. Just thinking about that made me realize
how ridiculous the whole episode had been and
brought me
instantly back
down to earth.

It felt like
coming home when I reached the flat and once I’d
picked up some shopping I resolved on starting to
work on my
book. I’d need
to do some research, which I fully intended to do,
but right now I wanted comfort, some soothing
consolation.

Picking up my
old battered copy of
Persuasion
, I decided this
would be the best place to start if I wanted to get
things right in my
head, and
hopefully, it would also provide some inspiration or
insight into Jane’s world. Spending the next few
days reading and
making notes was
good therapy for the pangs of regret that surfaced
every time Captain Wentworth’s name was mentioned
or when
Charles popped
into my head. But I knew that locking myself away
was not going to accomplish anything. I decided
that joining the
library would
get me out into the real world, and help enormously
with my research. Besides, I’d started feeling
lonely, and I needed
to see
people again.

The very next
morning I set off into town. I strolled along
Pulteney Street in the sunshine thinking how lovely
and familiar it
all looked.
Peeking into the windows of the charity shops, I was
unable to pass by without looking at all the books
on display.
Suddenly, the
sight of an old volume, opened up at the frontispiece,
grabbed my attention and when I saw it, I felt
goosepimples all
over. I just had
to go in. It was fetched out of the window at my
request, and the red, cloth-bound book put into my
hands. What
struck me with a
bolt of recognition was the engraving; a portrait
of Jane Austen that I’d never seen before. Dressed
in sprigged
muslin, and carrying
a parasol, there was the Jane that I knew. It
looked like a photograph, but I suppose that’s
because it was in
black and white.
Younger, a girl of about fourteen perhaps, but with
the same intelligence sparkling in her eyes and a
hint of a smile
lighting up her
face as if amused by her thoughts. My eyes were
immediately drawn to the text of the book and in
the preface, one
paragraph stood
out above all others.

“Hence the
emotional and romantic side of her nature—a very
real one—has not been dwelt upon. No doubt the Austens were, as
a family, unwilling to show their deeper feelings, and the sad end
of Jane’s one romance would naturally tend to intensify this dislike
of expression; but the feeling was there, and it finally found
utterance in her latest work, when, through Anne Elliot, she
claimed for women the right of ‘loving longest when existence or
when hope is gone”
.

So, the book was
not going to give up any secrets about Jane, and
it seemed I was not the only one to think that
Persuasion
must tell
the tale of her one great love. I couldn’t wait to
read more and
looking through
the pages saw that it also contained copies of her
letters, which I’d never read in their entirety.
Flicking through, I
couldn’t find
anything about Charles apart from his date of birth on
a quick look, but guessed there must be more hidden
within its
pages. I must
admit, there was a part of me that didn’t want to know
what had happened to him, but I knew I could no
longer avoid
knowing the
truth. I handed over my money, popped the book into
my bag, and headed into town.

I’d just reached
the bridge when I ran into Josh. When I say I
ran into him – I did see him coming towards
me for a few yards,
but I could do
nothing about it. There was nowhere to hide on the
pavement. He’d seen me too and once he’d waved at
me, I could
hardly turn
round and run in the opposite direction. I wanted to, of
course, but the thought that the last time I’d seen
him I’d made an
awful impression
made me stubborn enough to want to change that.

I was determined
that he would see a person who was totally
indifferent to him and not at all like the man
chaser he’d assumed.

‘Hi, Sophie, I
haven’t seen you for a while. How are you
doing?’

‘I’m very well,
thanks. And you?’