Page 22 of Searching for Mr Tilney

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After a few days of resting I felt much better, but I’d quite forgotten that Piers was due to arrive, and I was very tempted to suffer a relapse. The thought of having to make small talk was bad enough, but the realisation that the visit wasn’t a one off occasion, and that he’d be here for a couple of weeks was enough to make me run for Beechen Cliff, that noble hill Jane wrote about. I was longing to explore it - except that it was so muddy and cold, the thought wasn’t very tempting. I considered coming back again in the summer, though the idea of returning to Bath wasn’t filling me with much joy. I really didn’t feel myself, and the weird things that had happened to me were beginning to make me question my mental state. I wondered if I could go home early. I was very tempted to write to my mum, but I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t grateful for my little holiday.

It was snowing again, and Ellen was worried that Piers might not be able to travel, or even if he did arrive that we’d be stuck inside with no way to entertain him.

‘Oh dear, Caroline, whatever shall we do if it doesn’t stop?’ Ellen said, as we sat in the drawing room, the snowflakes like feathers, fluttering past the window.

‘It isn’t quite as thick now,’ I said, watching the brave souls outside stomping through the drifts in thick coats and Wellington boots. ‘What time is Piers coming?’

‘He’s due on the three o’clock train, so there’s still a little time. You’re absolutely right, it’s definitely not falling quite so fast, and at least it doesn’t seem to be settling like before. Never mind, dear, I’m sure you can keep yourself occupied this morning.’ Ellen turned with a quick smile, as if she’d just remembered something. ‘Did you know there’s a little library up on the first floor? I’ve discovered a lot of old books, but you might find something to amuse you, and I know Mrs Partridge lit a fire in there this morning. I picked out an Edith Wharton that I haven’t read before … Glimpses of the Moon … have you read it, Caroline?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ I answered, trying not to sound the way I felt. I still wasn’t really feeling very well again - perhaps I’d been overdoing it, but it was so frustrating not to feel well and full of energy. And while I liked the idea of a library, I didn’t think there’d be much to interest me in the one upstairs. I like a nice murder or a horror story, and I wasn’t sure I’d find anything like that.

Ellen and Roger started talking about their plans for the following week. I didn’t want to be in the way so I went upstairs to see if I could find the library. It didn’t take long to find the cosy room, which wasn’t large but lined almost completely with shelves full of books, many leather-bound. There was a long window interrupting the flow of books, looking out onto houses in the next street, and on the remaining wall were alcoves either side of the chimney breast where a fire blazed in the grate sending blue flames darting upwards like dragon’s tongues. A Chinese lacquer cabinet, which made me think of Northanger Abbey was displayed on a stand in one of the alcoves, with figures in gold leaf picked out over the doors, and some ancient items carefully arranged along the top. The tallest point of the cabinet was on a level with my eyes, so it was easy to fetch down the objects to have a closer look. On one side was a very old watercolour box, much used, with dried paint encrusting the tubes and a few stubby looking brushes, and on the opposite side was a small wooden box with a painted lid, though it was too dirty to make out much of the picture. Finally, between the boxes lay a blackened umbrella. At least, I thought it was black, but on closer inspection I could see it was faded badly. I was very careful because the silk was wearing very thin in places, and the fringing on the edge was starting to fray and unravel, but when I tentatively opened it up with one hand, holding the long wooden handle with the other, I could see that at one point it must have been a beautiful parasol in a stunning shade of emerald green. I wondered who must have enjoyed such a lovely object, and imagined a young girl twirling it over her shoulder as she walked along on a fine summer’s day. Disappointingly, there wasn’t very much inside the old cabinet except a yellowing sheaf of mostly blank pieces of paper, though I didn’t search through all the little drawers with trembling fingers. I felt as if I were prying, and though one or two old letters looked quite interesting on first glance, most of the remaining papers seemed to be boring bills such as Catherine Morland had found.

The bookshelves looked very promising after all, and I soon found a few to interest me. Several of them were really old, and I recognised their names from Northanger Abbey: Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, and Necromancer of the Black Forest. I put those down on the little table by the fireside chair, and went back to the shelves to see if there was anything else to take my fancy. There’s an unmistakable smell in a library, the scent of old books is a fragrance that delights me beyond most things, so it wasn’t long before I started to feel excited by the discovery of the exquisite little book room and felt at home. I found some old editions of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility from the 1920s, and a biography of Jane Austen, and when I opened it up I knew it would be everything it promised. I sat down in the winged chair in the other alcove next to the fire and opened up the book, losing myself in its pages. It was full of beautiful illustrations and interesting text, and before I’d read very far, I found an excerpt from a letter included, written by Jane Austen’s father to his sister just before Jane was born in December 1775. We have now another girl, a present plaything for her sister Cassy, and a future companion. She is to be Jenny … I paused to smile at all these words, and the last of my doubts about the journal just melted away. It was true; Jane’s pet name in the family had been Jenny, though it seemed that had changed, as she was growing up.

I didn’t want to read any more, though I was dying with curiosity to know more information about Jane and her sister. I knew Jane had died young, but I didn’t want to see it in black and white, written there in a book, when the girl I was coming to know seemed so vibrant and full of life. I felt quite the same about Cassy, wanting only to experience her life when she cared to reveal it to me. I put the book back on the shelf, resolving not to pick it up again and went in search of the journal I longed to read once more. Fetching it from my bedroom I returned to the library and settled down in the fireside chair to read it.

Chapter Twelve

Jane

Sevenoaks, Kent

July 1788

All the days are starting to run into one another and I cannot begin to think what I must write yet. I’ve been out every day on the horse and I am grown into a confident horsewoman. Even G-U-F, who doesn’t venture far these days, took a walk out to watch me and said I was very competent.

Thomas continues to be a kind cousin, though his brother is a strange fish. He pulls spiders’ legs off, and executes tiny mice for entertainment, and loves nothing more than to hear Cassy scream when he does it. At other times he appears to be as kind and thoughtful as his brother - we cannot make him out.

Whenever we can, Cassy and I escape to the gardens on our own - she to draw, while I read or compose. I’m at my happiest when I’m writing, and I know Cassy loves her painting, and she’s collecting quite a lot of landscapes now, which have been very much admired in the evenings when we sit in the drawing room.

‘I should like to do something for the girls,’ G-U-F announced last night, a particularly sunny evening after dinner when Cassy was looking her prettiest, and charming our great-uncle with her accomplished paintings. ‘They must be introduced into the world. I’m not getting any younger, and matters must be settled.’

I saw my mother instantly sit up to pay attention. ‘How kind of you, Uncle Frank. I know you’ve always had our family’s best interests at heart.’

‘Mr Humphry writes to tell me his brother Ozias has arrived in Seal. Well, what do you think, Cassy and Jane? How should you like to sit for your portraits?’

My mother tried not to show her disappointment, and Cassy spoke up instead. ‘I should be very honoured to have my portrait painted, sir. I’m sure I can speak on Jane’s behalf too, when I say we should both be delighted.’

‘In that case, we’ll drive over to Seal tomorrow and have the whole thing settled.’ G-U-F tapped the side of his nose, and looked knowingly at my mother who actually blushed when he spoke again. ‘Fine portraits of pretty young girls will keep them in the minds of their cousins when they’ve left the county, and show them that their old uncle holds his nieces in high esteem when they’re hanging on my dining room walls. I’ve several fortunes to discharge when I’ve gone to join my maker, and it’s as well to keep the family guessing as to who might benefit best, and keep them all dancing attendance.’

He laughed out loud after that, and I was shocked to see my mother and father joining in, but I suppose they’re just one part of the family to whom they’re hoping that G-U-F will be favourable. Cassandra didn’t look very happy, and I cannot blame her if our uncle is intent on securing an alliance for her with his grandson. I am choosing to ignore the fact that he mentioned the word cousin in the plural, and am glad to know that we’ll be gone in another month, away back to Steventon, and far from talk of marriages and settlements.

***

We had a pleasant day at Seal last week, visiting the Walters and the Humphrys. Mr Ozias Humphry has just returned from India, where he said he’d painted many miniatures, but he was very disappointed not to have received all the money he was owed. G-U-F arranged for Mr Humphry to paint our portraits and make some initial drawings, which seemed to cheer him up enormously. G-U-F said my mother must take us into Sevenoaks to visit the mercer for some stuff for new gowns so we shall look our best for our pictures. It is so long since I had anything brand new, being more used to having Cassy’s cast-offs, and G-U-F’s been so generous we could afford the most exquisite silk and muslin. My mother had every fabric in Whitby’s brought before us but in the end the choice was very simple.

Now it has been made up I do not think I ever possessed any dress of such perfection, and my uncle declares we shall have a dinner and a ball before we go home so I can wear it. My gown is after the new French style that Eliza has written to me about; it has a pink satin layer underneath the finest white gauze, banded with fine stripes and covered entirely with glossy spots. I feel quite like a woman of the first fashion!

I hadn’t expected Thomas to take any notice.

‘Now I must look at you, Jane,’ he said with the warm smile of an affectionate brother, ‘and tell you how I like you and your glossy spots … indeed, you look very nice.’

‘Thank you, it’s the new dress that my great-uncle was so good as to give me,’ I said, my cheeks aflame. ‘I thought to wear it for my portrait, and I shall be able to wear it at the ball … I feel very fine.’

‘You’re a picture, my dear. A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white,’ my uncle pronounced, and I must admit, I enjoyed being so flattered very much.