Page 27 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘I don’t suppose you’d like to go out tomorrow evening, would you? There’s to be a candlelit tour of number one, Royal Crescent … I think you’d like it.’

It came out in a rush and for a minute I wasn’t quite sure if I’d heard him correctly. Had he just asked me out?

‘Oh, Harry, that does sound wonderful. Yes, I’d love to go.’

‘Of course, you must ask your friend to come too.’

‘Why don’t you ask Piers yourself? Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

We found Piers downstairs talking at length to the receptionist about his favourite eighteenth century painters, and he smiled broadly when he saw us both. After I’d introduced him properly, I waited to see what his answer would be when Harry asked him if he’d like to do the tour.

‘You’re so kind to ask me, Harry, but I always wash my hair on Friday evenings,’ he said with a completely straight face, and I nearly burst out laughing because I knew he’d only said that so I could see Harry on my own. I thought how bitterly disappointed Ellen was going to be at the news, though I secretly hoped she’d be pleased for me in one way. I knew she liked Harry, and I was sure Piers would find just the right thing to say to her, even if I suspected he’d say nothing as outrageous as the excuse he’d given to Harry.

Chapter Fourteen

I’ve just had the most magical evening, and I can’t seem to think of anything else.

It was very hard trying to decide what to wear this evening - I wanted to look as if I’d made an effort, but it was freezing cold, so after much deliberation I chose a Russian inspired top and skirt with a wide belt which I hoped would show off my waist, teamed with a pair of black boots. When I walked into the drawing room Roger asked me if I was going to do the cassock dance, so I laughed politely at his idea of a joke. Then I saw Ellen giving him “daggers” from across the room before she said, ‘You look very nice, dear - I’m sure Yves Saint Laurent had something similar in a collection recently.’

Harry came to call for me at half past six, and it all felt lovely and easy between us from the start. I was so glad we’d bumped into one another in the art gallery, and I was ready to enjoy myself. I’d never been to the house, which stands on the corner of the Royal Crescent - the most prestigious address in Bath. And as we walked up the steps to the front door in the moonlight, the sight of the lighted windows glowing with candlelight made me feel as if we’d returned to the past. But, I knew I was safe. Harry was still by my side, and even though the door was opened by a lady, dressed for the part as a housekeeper in mob-cap and gown, I was aware that I was firmly in the present day.

They’ve done a lot of work on the house and the rooms looked beautiful with long windows displaying the stunning views, where I couldn’t help thinking of all those generations who’d stood looking out over Bath at sunset from its golden panes. Every room was a picture. In the dining room a polished table was laid for dinner with sparkling porcelain, finely gilded dishes and decorated plates. Glass bowls of bonbons gleamed under chandeliers, making the sugar paste decorations and the dishes of sweetmeats glisten. The drawing room with chartreuse damask walls sparkled in the candlelight, the gilt frames on the paintings glittering in the soft light, highlighting rich red velvet, shimmering satins and lace ruffles.

‘I’d loved to have come here in the old days,’ said Harry. ‘Can you imagine sitting on that sofa over there, listening to the pianoforte and chatting to the Duke of York?’

‘It must have been something to go to an evening party like those Jane Austen describes in her books,’ I answered, thinking of the sisters I was coming to know, and realising people in the past were just as anxious about social gatherings. ‘I suppose you’d find the partygoers much the same as they are now. Someone is always the life and soul of the party and wants to be noticed while others hide in the background, praying they don’t get picked on to sing.’

‘And which one are you, Miss Heath? Are you likely to be dancing on the tables?’

‘Not me, though I see you have more than a hint of mischief in your eyes. Are you something of a dark horse, Mr Tate?’

Harry made me giggle as he raised one eyebrow and tweaked an imaginary moustache, but then he suddenly took hold of my hand and squeezed it, which set my heart beating as fast as the constant ringing of the clock on the mantelpiece, chiming the hours. He led me from the room as we followed the others at a distance upstairs to the upper floor, our fingers entwined. I gazed at his broad shoulders, felt his warm touch, and wondered if I was dreaming.

He let my hand fall to usher me through into a pretty bedroom looking very much like Jane’s in Pulteney Street with its dressing table and mirror draped into muslin skirts, the four-poster bed hung with flowered chintz curtains to keep out the draughts. There were fresh smells of starched linen and the fragrance of lavender sprigs, mixed with the dusty smell of horsehair stuffing from upholstered seats and wood smoke from a fire crackling in the grate. The quill and arrow running along the cornice suggested a room made specially for being loved in, and every object, Derby figures, patch boxes and fans, appeared to have been chosen with a lady in mind. The candles glimmered in sconces and candelabra, casting pools of light and creating soft dark corners and intimate spaces - I’d never seen such a romantic room.

The touch of Harry’s fingers didn’t leave my mind, as we pored over a sheet describing the furniture and paintings. My ability to concentrate seemed to have gone, but best of all, the dim candlelight meant we had to stand very closely together, our heads bent and almost touching to read the words.

‘Candlelight makes time stand still, don’t you think?’ Harry whispered.

I managed to look back into his blue eyes, almost navy in the gloom. The nearness of his face next to mine was making my insides flip. ‘Especially in a room like this, that looks unaltered for a couple of hundred years. I can just imagine the daughter of the house sitting there at her dressing table with her powdered curls cascading down her back.’

‘Would you like to swap your life for the pampered one she would have known?’

‘While the idea is tempting in some ways, I don’t think so. I’m glad I was born in this century, with all the advances women are making … even if I confess that I like the idea of dressing up in a Georgian gown.’

‘I can picture you in a room like this, your dress trailing behind you along the carpet, and your bonnet with a fall of white plumes.’

‘I must admit, I rather like that picture.’

‘And in my mind,’ Harry whispered, ‘it’s a beautiful one if you’re in it, Caroline.’

I felt my cheeks blush pink and I couldn’t look at him any longer, and I was almost relieved when the guide, a young girl dressed in a regency gown, started talking again, breaking the spell momentarily. I’m not sure I really took a lot in. The candlelight made everywhere appear magical, and had the effect of making couples huddle together in whispers. I was too wrapped up in the moment, all feelings and sensations tuned to high pitch. I shall never forget the scent of oranges and cloves combined with the fragrance of melting wax, the sharp green smells of holly and ivy brought in to decorate the mantles and Harry’s cologne of spiced cinnamon and amber. Every now and then, he pulled me back, holding onto my arm so we were left on our own in a room, flickering with flames from the fires and candles that felt very intimate. I was aware of the silence, his eyes upon my face, and the shadows of the people who’d once lived there long ago lingering on the edges of time, witnessing our bad behaviour, and yet, I felt they’d seen it all before and were encouraging it.

As we headed back downstairs our guide pointed out several of the paintings hanging on the walls that were on loan especially for the Christmas exhibition. We’d almost reached the last step when at the bottom, there was one painting, in particular, that caught my eye, making me prickle all over in recognition and surprise. It was of a young woman dressed in a white gown sitting on a grassy bank, paintbrush in hand with a box of watercolours open at her feet. She was very pretty with a sweet smile, but I couldn’t get the idea that I knew her out of my mind. There was more than a passing resemblance to Cassy Austen, yet there didn’t seem to be any reason why she’d be hanging on a wall in this house, even if Jane’s journal entry kept surfacing in my mind. The painting transfixed me. The longer I looked at it, the more convinced I became that I was looking at a portrait of Cassandra. It wasn’t only the way she sat or the recognisable way her hair was styled, but something in the expression on her face. It was like looking in a mirror, at least, like one I’d seen in a different place and time.

Harry’s eyes followed my gaze as I stopped in front of the picture. ‘She’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she? It says here that they don’t know who she is … an unknown sitter by an unknown artist … though possibly by Zoffany … on loan from a Mrs Harrison.’

The name didn’t mean anything, and I decided it wasn’t very likely the painting was of Cassy, even if the eyes of the girl in the painting continued to smile serenely from a distance, as if to say I was right. I couldn’t resist one last glance back at the painting. The girl’s eyes continued to follow me, and I couldn’t let the image go, as we carried on through the hallway and into a room where hot mince pies and cream were being served. I really needed to stop thinking about Jane and Cassy quite so much, I thought. I was becoming obsessed with those Austen sisters, and my imagination was working overtime, as usual.