Searching For Captain Wentworth (38 page)

‘That’s Doctor
Rockingham,’ Mr Glanville explained after the
brief conversation. ‘He looks after our health both
here and in
Sidmouth where
he is much in demand. Not that I’ve had much
cause to consult him myself. Pleasant fellow, a
little dour, perhaps,
though
it’s as well not to have a doctor who is too jovial, don’t you
know?’

I watched the
doctor’s back disappear. Head bowed and
clutching a bag, he looked to be in a hurry. I
wondered if he ever
had any rest at
all. In a place like this, a lot of people would come
to recuperate from illness though I suspected many
more would be
rich
hypochondriacs with nothing better to do than spend their
money on imaginary ailments.

‘Here we are at
last!’ Mr Glanville shouted, waving his arm in
triumph at the harbour wall rising to a great
height before us.

‘There’s not a
grander spectacle to be found anywhere else in this
part of the country.’

It was a
brilliant sight with ships and boats moored alongside
and the flurry of people briskly walking along the
top. Children
running with
excitement, and being reined in for fear they might
fall, elegant ladies and gentlemen strolling as
they admired the
scenery, were
all full of anticipation as they climbed ever higher.

We followed the
crowd onto the Cobb where the summer breeze
snatched at my bonnet, playing with my ribbons in
an attempt to
undo them. Mr
Glanville walked alongside, halting whenever I
paused to take in the view, giving his opinion on
its merits. Emma
was doing her
best to intercept him, but he seemed intent on
ignoring her and giving me his fullest attention. I
couldn’t shake
him off so I
loudly exclaimed that I had a stone in my shoe before
squatting down, taking as long as I could whilst
pretending to shake
it out and
avoiding his eyes that I felt burning into the top of my
bonnet. Waiting until I was certain that he’d given
up on me and
had moved once
more to Emma’s side, I rose to take Mrs Randall’s
arm.

‘Mr Glanville is
a very attentive host and quite everything I
expected him to be,’ Mrs Randall began.

‘Yes, he is
pleasant enough, I suppose,’ I began, privately
considering that I didn’t like him.

‘I am no
matchmaker, as you well know,’ continued Mrs
Randall, ‘being much too aware of the uncertainty
of all human
events and
calculations, but from my observation it seems our host
is quite undecided about where his affections lie.’

‘Do you not
think there will soon be an announcement? Emma
will be so happy when they are engaged.’

‘My dear,
Sophia, only time will tell. Appearances of
partiality are sometimes misleading and I have
often noticed that a
young man
disguises the true object of his affections. Whatever
Emma’s feelings maybe, we cannot be entirely sure
of Mr
Glanville’s at
present. Whatever the gossip, he has no more picked
her out than you and I own that to see you as a
future married lady
in her own right
would make me very happy.’

I made my way to
stand at the end of the Cobb, pretending to
look out over the views of the sea all around me
and trying to
remain calm. I
wasn’t about to take Emma’s place if that was what
Mrs Randall was hinting. I felt trapped and knew I must
be on my
guard more than
ever. I was being smothered alive, by the clothes
I was wearing, by the stiff behaviour, and by the
conventions of a
society that
thought it was perfectly acceptable to buy and sell
women like cattle. I wanted to run away, to tear
off my clothes and
run along the
sands in my petticoat. Of course I couldn’t do
anything of the sort, but I felt I couldn’t bear it
for another minute
and not for the
first time wondered how on earth clever, intelligent
women like the Austen sisters managed to cope so
well and not go
mad. And then I
remembered that if not for her writing perhaps
Jane might have suffered her own version of
madness, brought on
by the
suffocation of a free and creative spirit. I thought about her
escaping to her other worlds and knew that there
she had rid herself
of real passions
where she enjoyed more than a little pleasure in
exposing the kind of people that she knew and loved
to write about.

‘We have hardly
been acquainted, Mrs Randall,’ I said, as she
reached my side. ‘I could not be satisfied that I
really know his
character. Mr
Glanville seems agreeable enough, but there is
something wanting. I cannot explain. All I know is
that he could
never be the man
for me.’

Mrs Randall said
nothing further. Slipping her arm through
mine, she patted it reassuringly and for the
moment, I breathed
again.

The next week
passed in a miserable way to match my mood. The
weather turned for the worse. It was impossible to
go out and high
up on the cliff
as we were, any opportunity to venture outside was
prevented by the high gales that whipped round the
house. The
winds shook the
glass in the windows and moaned through the
cracks in the frames. All day and all night the
rain lashed down and
I was
haunted by the feelings of being trapped with no escape. The
mist rolled in off the sea and it seemed as if icy
winter had made a
return. No one
but me seemed in the slightest bit upset by the
change in the weather. Everyone else seemed to
enjoy the fact that
they were all
closeted together and were very happy with the same
activities, which soon became the routine. Card
games were the
favourite
choice, along with the flirtatious chatter that accompanied
the setting up of the card tables, so any chance I
had, I disappeared
to the library.
At least there I could immerse myself in books,
escape inside the head of another writer and forget
that I might
never be able to
find my way home. Wherever home might be.
When I tried to think about it, I could only see
Sydney Place and
memories of
Charles made me feel sadder than ever.

By Friday, the
weather had changed for the better much to my
enormous relief. Stuck inside, I hadn’t been able
to send Jane a
letter and if I
didn’t send one soon, there’d be no chance of her
writing to me. The idea that I might not see her
and Charles again
was one I didn’t
want to think about.

A request from
Mrs Randall to collect a tonic for my father
from Doctor Rockingham meant that I had a wonderful
excuse to
get out of the
house. At last the sun was shining, making a perfect
day for a walk down into Lyme to call at the
doctor’s, send a letter,
and look
at the shops, as well as take a stroll along the sands.

Marianne begged
to come along so we rushed out of the house
before anyone else could join us. I was glad to get
away from Mr
Glanville’s
increasing attentions and knew that Emma would be
glad that she’d been left on her own with no one to
distract the
object of her
fortunes. Having dispatched my letter, we headed for
the circulating library to look at the books and
spend Marianne’s
money that she
was desperate to lose on some frivolous item. I
bought paper for writing and some for sketching
with the idea that
I might be able
to draw the beautiful scenery and perhaps
encourage Marianne to do the same. To my surprise,
after she’d
looked at all
the lace gloves, fans and pretty combs with sighs of
adoration, she decided to buy a box of paints.
Clutching our purchases, we set off down Broad Street and
turned onto The Walk and along the seashore to find
a suitable
place to sit and
paint. We found the steps leading down to the sands
and walked along feeling the warmth of the sun and
the soft, sea
breeze on our
faces. I couldn’t help thinking of Charles. I wished
he could have been there and thought how much he’d
enjoy the
wonderful views.
The fishing boats were out at sea or tied up along
the harbour wall, the fishermen struggling with
nets full of
gleaming silver
fish. They doffed their caps and cried friendly
greetings as their wives worked swiftly and
expertly at their side.

With their
skirts hitched and their bare feet planted firmly in the
sand, they didn’t speak but, I saw their eyes
observing us, looking
at our
clothes with a mixture of envy and curiosity.

‘We ought to
call at the doctor’s house first. It’s just a little
further along,’ I said.

‘Oh, Sophia,
must I? I’d much rather wait here.’ Marianne was
not about to be moved. She was already finding the
best place to
arrange herself
and her box of paints, though I did wonder how
long it would be before she lost interest in this
newfound
enthusiasm.

‘If you promise
you’ll stay just there and do not stray, I will
not be long,’ I said, giving in to her pleas,
knowing that any amount
of
cajoling her simply would not work.

I hurried along
to the little house near the Cobb Gate and was
invited in by a young woman who introduced herself
as the
doctor’s sister.

‘My brother’s
been called away to a patient,’ she said,
showing me into a small parlour, ‘but Mr Elliot’s
medicine has
already been
prepared. I’ll fetch it now. Do make yourself at home.’

Packed full of
country furniture brightened by embroidered
cushions on the oak settles, there were polished
pewter plates on a
dresser, jugs of
wild sea pinks and samphire on every surface and a
grandfather clock in the alcove, which whirred into
life, striking the
hour with eleven
bright chimes as I sat down.

At last she
returned with a glass bottle twisted into brown
paper to make it secure. Miss Rockingham, as pretty
as her parlour,
chatted away all
the time. She knew all about us, she said, and that
the Elliots were staying with Mr Glanville.

‘For there are
no secrets in a place as small as Lyme, you
know, Miss Elliot. No one may arrive or depart
without the whole
place knowing
about it.’

‘I expect you
see a lot of people come and go,’ I said.

‘Yes, indeed,
it’s been our pleasure to meet a lot of travellers.
Lyme is a splendid place for invalids to recuperate
and we try to
help those that
are sick and in need of good, fresh air. We have a
room we let out in the summer months for just such
a purpose. But,
Miss Elliot, as
glad as we are to see them better, we are always sad
to say goodbye. People arrive for a month or more
at a time and just
as you think
they are becoming great friends, off they go again.’

‘I confess; I’ve
had some experience of that myself in Bath. I
made friends with the family next door and now I do
not know if I
shall ever see
them again. I wonder, Miss Rockingham, whether
you ever met them. I know they were visiting in the
area last year.’

‘Well, I don’t
claim to remember everyone, but perhaps I
might know of your friend.’

‘The family name
is Austen. Miss Jane Austen is the friend to
whom I refer. They spent some time in Sidmouth, I
believe, and
stayed in Broad
Street here in Lyme.’

Miss Rockingham’s
face lit up. ‘Oh, my dear, I know Miss
Jane very well and her sister, Miss Cassandra. We had the good
fortune to become very well acquainted with them
during the
autumn months.
They were happy days! My hope is that we might
see them again this year and the young gentleman,
who lodged here
with us. Forgive
me for being so bold, but tell me, Miss Elliot, is it
too much to hope that they became engaged?’

I hardly knew
what to say. ‘I am afraid, Miss Rockingham,
that I know of no such engagement, nor of the young
man to whom
you refer.’