Searching For Captain Wentworth (23 page)

‘But, it must be
exciting being able to travel around and see
new places all the time.’

‘I have enjoyed
it very much but lately, I’ve felt it’s not really
taking me where I want to go. I don’t know … it’s
just at the
moment, I feel
as if I’m not living in the real world.’

You and me both,
I thought.

Josh paused
again.
‘How about you,
Sophie? Is the writing going well?’

I could have
lied, but for once decided to tell the truth. ‘No. I
can’t say it is going that well at the moment.
There are too many
distractions for
one thing and I still haven’t got past feeling that I’m
on holiday. I do find Bath very inspiring; I just
need to be a bit more
disciplined
about my work, I suppose.’

‘Yes, nigh on
impossible, if you’re in holiday mode.’ Josh put
down his fork to squeeze my hand. ‘Don’t worry,
you’ll find your
muse. I know you
will, Sophie, just keep the faith. I think you’re
probably still soaking up lots of stuff that you’re
going to bring to
your novel.
Being here in Bath is surely all part of your research.
You’ve got to give it a chance. I’m sure it will
write itself when the
time is
right.’

It was lovely to
feel I had a friend, someone who believed in
me. ‘That’s exactly how I feel. Thank you, Josh, it
is nice to have
someone who
thinks I might be able to have a go. I do want to be
a writer so much though I’m not sure I’m going to
achieve all my
goals. The
chances of being able to live off my writing are very
slim, I know. Sometimes I think I should just go
and find a proper
job so that my
Dad doesn’t have to help support me any more. I
long to be free, to be independent.’

‘You can
understand how frustrating it must have been for a
woman like Jane Austen, can’t you?’

I thought about
Jane and her sister both tied to their parents
because they didn’t even have the option of getting
a job. ‘At least,
Jane was
beginning to learn that she could make money from her
writing. The true tragedy is that she never knew
how much her
books would be
loved, or how independent she might have been
had she been able to live in another time. Oh, it’s
too sad to think
about.’

‘And even more
reason why you shouldn’t give up! What
would Jane think if she thought you were going to fall at the first
hurdle? If you can’t do it for yourself, you’ve got
to do it for her
because all her
opportunities to write as many books as she wanted
were taken away. You’ve got to keep going for Jane
and Captain
Wentworth, for
all the chances that she missed and the love she was
denied.’

That last
statement had my eyes smarting once again. ‘Oh
Josh, you’re right.’ And I would add one more
person to that list, I
thought
to myself. My own, dear mum who sacrificed so much of
her own career to bring up her daughter and who
never got the
chance to
fulfill her dreams of becoming an artist. It was time to
think about how I was going to start.

‘Come on. Let’s
go for a walk. I think we’re in need of
inspiration.’

‘Where shall we
go?’

‘Do you really
need to ask, Sophie? Where might the power
of conversation make the present hour a blessing
indeed?’

Of course, a
stroll along the Gravel Walk only reminded me
more than ever of that other gallant man in my
life, Charles. Not
that we had ever
strolled along there together heedless of every
group around us, seeing neither sauntering
politicians, bustling
house-keepers,
flirting girls, nor nurserymaids and children, like
Anne and her Captain at the end of
Persuasion
.
I wondered if Jane
had snatched a
turn along the Gravel Walk with the man she’d
loved. But just thinking of Jane and her novel kept
a certain
gentleman of the
Navy in my mind. Though Josh was funny and he
kept making me laugh despite my low spirits, I
couldn’t help be
reminded of the
walk to Beechen Cliff that had never taken place
and wondered for the millionth time what it was
that had caused the
Austens to
change their mind about calling.

Josh and I
walked side by side. Sunshine fell through the
leaves of tall trees in dappled spots of gold, like
coins of light, on
the cool path as
we passed the higgledy piggledy backs of the
houses in Gay Street. Josh talked about his dreams
and then
listened to
mine. By the time we’d walked to the Royal Crescent
and then back down again to the flat, I realized a
whole afternoon
had passed by.

I was feeling
much happier as I let myself into the flat. Josh
had really cheered me up and I was able to think
about things much
more clearly.
One fact was indisputable. Everything I’d
experienced as Sophia had already taken place a
long time ago. It
was probably the
case that I was feeling her emotions, seeing her
memories. My senses had tricked me into believing
that I was
attracted to
nothing more than a whisper, a veil of an apparition, a
shade. The feeling of ghosts in the house was such
a strong one that
the idea
couldn’t be dismissed, even though I would normally have
said that I’m a fairly level-headed person. I felt
them all around me,
which you’d
think would be enough to send you running, but the
connection with them was so intense, that I knew
they meant me no
harm. The house
was full of my family, those who had known and
loved me, as well as those who had lived before me.
Yet, Charles
was as real to
me as Josh had been today. For a moment, they fused
in my mind. Both living and breathing, both
physically resplendent
in youth
and manliness, I could summon them both in my mind’s
eye, vital, thriving, alive, despite the two
hundred years that
separated them.

I was feeling so
much happier and had really enjoyed Josh’s
company, but I was glad to get home. I knew that
the time was
right, that I
must face whatever would be found in the pages of the
book I’d bought and with a second sense knew that
it was not likely
to be easy
reading. The afternoon sun had disappeared. It felt
decidedly cold in the flat, reminding me that
although summer was
on its way, it
definitely hadn’t arrived just yet. I lit a fire, pulled up
my chair in front to toast my toes in the hearth
and fetched out the
book. I started
to read a page at a time determined to read every
one. But, it was a weighty book and I knew it would
take more than
one evening to
read. Not only that, I knew I was avoiding the truth.
The fire roared in the grate, the heat of the
flames warming the star-
like
petals of the lilac bough Josh had picked for me, scenting the
air with their fragrance. Skimming the pages
impatiently trying to find any mention of
Charles’s name, as soon as I turned over the correct
leaf, it
immediately
jumped out at me in black print burning itself into my
brain. And I knew despite the cheerful fire, why I
instantly felt
chilled to the
bone.

During these
years, Charles Austen was long engaged in the
unpleasant and unprofitable
duty of enforcing the right of search on
Atlantic seaboard of
America. Hardly anything is said in the
extant letters of his
marriage to Fanny Palmer, daughter of the
Attorney-General of Bermuda,
which took place in 1807.

Written there
was all I needed to know. I’d guessed all along
that something must have happened to prevent Sophia
and Charles
becoming more
than just friends. My sensible head told me that if
their friendship had been anything else, I would
have known
something about
it and that there would have been some history in
the family. The truth was that Charles had found
the love of his life
and
married. That didn’t stop the immediate questions about what
had happened and I couldn’t help wondering why
Charles’s wife or
his marriage
were not mentioned in the letters, giving rise to other
feelings. Had Jane been disappointed by his choice,
I wondered? In
any case, I now
knew that Sophia must have been disappointed
because in my heart, I recognized that she must
have fallen in love
with him.

A week passed by
during which I started to write again. I
wasn’t quite sure where to start, but having
equipped myself with a
new
notebook and a vast file of paper, the ideas started to flow. I
knew straight away that the experiences I’d had
were going to be
recorded. I
wanted to write about meeting Jane and Charles even if
no one else would ever read about what was to me
such personal
knowledge. The
only problem was that although I’d decided that I
couldn’t see them again, the very act of writing it
down made me
long to do so.

I didn’t see
anything more of Josh. He was out early in the
morning working long days and sometimes didn’t seem
to be
around at all. I
knew he was working hard on the exhibition and in
any case, I was so busy now I was caught up with my
own writing
and research
that I didn’t really have much time to give him a
thought.

Monday dawned
with a formidable purple sky and rain
sheeting down as it only seems to in Bath, the perfect day for
staying inside and writing. I’d just settled down
with a steaming
mug of Earl Grey
tea, books and papers to hand on every surface
including the sitting room floor, when there was a
knock at the
door.

I knew it could
only be Josh, and was slightly disconcerted by
the thumping of my heart as I opened the door and
the fact that I
was altogether a
little too bothered about what he might think of my
scruffiest trackie bottoms and a baggy jumper with
more holes than
the colander on
the draining board in the kitchen.

‘I’m having a
break and giving myself a day off,’ he said. ‘Are
you busy?’

‘Erm … not
really, come in and have a cup of tea,’ I said,
knowing that he’d instantly see my work strewn all
over the floor.

‘So, you’ve
started the book, then?’ he asked immediately, in
his typically direct way. ‘Sorry, Sophie, I’ve
completely interrupted
you,
haven’t I?’

‘Well, I’m very
happy to be interrupted,’ I said, grabbing
armfuls of paper, picking up books three at a time
off the sofa and
chairs to put
out of the way so he could sit down. To be honest, I
didn’t want him to be looking at it and even though
I’d not known
Josh for long, I
knew he was going to be really curious.

‘When can I read
it?’ he said immediately and when I turned
from thrusting it all up high in the cupboard in
the alcove,
managing to
simultaneously drop half of it at the same time, I could
see him grinning at me.

‘Maybe, never.’
Suddenly, I couldn’t bear the thought of
anyone reading it, least of all Josh.

‘I knew you’d
feel like that,’ he said, helping to pick up the
papers. ‘I haven’t done much writing myself, but
I’m reliably
informed that
it’s a bit like baring your soul or standing naked in
the high street before asking everyone if they like
what they see.’

I laughed out
loud partly because of the ridiculous and
hideous picture of myself, trotting around without
clothes in the
middle of Bath,
that I conjured up in my all too lively imagination
and partly because he was so right. Watching him
shuffle the papers
together like a
news presenter, I hoped he hadn’t been able to
glimpse a word.

‘I just came to
ask if you’ve seen the Jane Austen display at
the Fashion Museum yet and to see if you’d like to
come with me,’
he continued.
‘They’ve got the film costumes from every
adaptation ever made, and I thought if you hadn’t
already seen
where Jane
danced, you’d like to see that too. The Fashion Museum
is in the Assembly Rooms. I know you’ll love it
because they
filmed so much
of
Persuasion
there.’