Page 36 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘I’ve been enjoying a little sport,’ he said, thrusting the animal towards her, spattering her gown with beads of bright blood, ‘and thought to save the fox for you, Miss Cassandra.’

My sister, usually so quiet and the epitome of politeness, could not hide the fear or anger in her voice. ‘Whatever for, Lucius? What would I want with a dead fox?’

‘For you to draw, of course,’ he said, and his lips pouted like a sulky child, and for a moment I thought he might cry. ‘You’re always drawing from nature, and I thought you’d like it. Look, it’s very beautiful, and the fur would make a lovely tippet afterwards.’

The blood was dripping onto his arms, seeping through the fabric in his coat and down onto the oak boards. The dull stare of the fox’s eyes rendered it pitiful, as a fly buzzed round its gaping mouth.

Cassy was dabbing at her gown in horror, though her efforts to repair the damage were useless. I knew my sister did not know what to do or say so I stepped up to take charge. ‘Please take it away, Lucius, and give your fox a decent burial at the bottom of the garden. And, if you wish to please my sister you will refrain from presenting her with anything like it ever again. Keep your dead animals somewhere else.’

I closed the door and Cassy burst into tears, immediately stripping the blood-soaked clothes from her body, and washing her hands in a basin of water. ‘I cannot believe he thought I’d want such a wretched poor animal,’ she said, ‘What was he thinking?’

‘Killing animals is all he seems to think about,’ I said, as I helped her change into a fresh gown, ‘and whilst I know all boys enjoy some sport, there is something cruel in the way he goes about it. I think he knew your reaction would be one of pure horror, and judging from the expression on his face, I think he enjoyed your revulsion.’

‘Oh, Jane,’ Cassy sighed, turning to put her arms around me, ‘Whatever shall we do?’

I knew her plea came not from considering the question in terms of the present, but in terms of our futures. She had been half prepared to do a daughter’s duty and consider marrying for money, but even Cassy knew she would go against expectation and avoid it by any means after such an experience. And, I think we both hoped in our hearts we’d be saved by our beloved parents who, after all, only wanted our happiness.

***

Caroline

Bath, Somerset

December 1975

When I woke in the morning I felt I’d been somewhere else in my dreams - that strange feeling I had whenever I read Jane’s diary was stronger than ever. I felt her emotions so succinctly, and could visualise everything so clearly that it was as if I’d lived her life. I knew exactly how she was feeling about growing up, and the changes that were taking place, recalling the uncertainty and fear I’d felt myself, but I hoped there’d be someone kind for her to fall in love with when she was ready. I knew then that I was going to take the journal with me. I couldn’t explain it, but I was sure I’d been meant to find it. I wanted to finish reading it, and then I’d be ready to think about what I should do with it, even if it just meant putting it back where I’d found it.

I could hear the sounds of voices downstairs, and Roger sounding muffled as he called from outside in the street, the noisy banging of the car boot shutting and a door closing, and I guessed he was getting the car loaded for our journey back to Hampshire. We’d packed the evening before, and my precious Christmas locket I’d worn for the ball was safely in my suitcase. I wondered at the coincidence of Jane owning such a similar locket, but I couldn’t believe it could be the very same one - that would be too much of a fluke, but I knew whenever I looked at it or wore the locket again I would think of her, and the wonderful time I’d had in Bath. My clothes for the day were hanging outside the wardrobe, along with my beautiful ball gown, which had a special box all of its own. I hadn’t wanted to put it away last night, and I couldn’t resist getting up and burying my face in the delicious silky fabric reminding me of all that had happened. The halter neck straps carried a scent of Harry where his fingers had pulled me closer to him. I closed my eyes and felt his sweet kiss on my lips, his fingers in my hair, and wished I could bring him back to me. But, I knew there was no time for dreaming about things that couldn’t be, and I hurried to get washed and dressed. It had been the most magical time of my life, but now we were actually leaving Bath, in some ways I was ready to go home. I’d missed Mum, and I was looking forward to spending time with her over Christmas, having all the traditional fun of decorating the house, and eating far too much. And, another part of me was missing my old life and my work, which was so important to me. I needed to have time to think, and be my creative self again, focus on what I was doing and where I wanted to go.

I carried down my bag of Christmas shopping, and the precious writing box that contained Jane’s journal, but I couldn’t manage the dress box as well. It would be easy to dash upstairs after breakfast, I thought, and it needed to go on top of everything in the boot so it didn’t get crushed. Mrs Partridge had come specially to say goodbye, cooking eggs and bacon for us, insisting that we needed the fuel for the long journey home.

‘Leigh-Perrot, that was the name,’ she said, putting a large flowered teapot on the table. ‘I told you Doris would remember, eventually.’

I knew instantly whom she was talking about. ‘Oh, so they didn’t always live on The Paragon,’ I said, forgetting myself for a moment. ‘Mrs Partridge, that’s such exciting news. It means Jane Austen might well have visited this very house … even stayed here.’

‘Yes, I’m certain she did. Mrs Ashton-Dennis said she’s always in hopes of finding something that belonged to her, though I think it’s a bit of a vain hope. It’s a funny thing, but she’s had the attic turned over so many times as if she’s looking for something particular, convinced that she’ll find a special treasure.’

I felt more than a little guilty when I thought about the diary, and was glad when Mrs Partridge picked up a pile of dishes from the sideboard, and went back to the kitchen. I still didn’t know what I was going to do about my discovery.

‘How are you?’ Piers said, when breakfast was over and we were left on our own so it was safe to talk.

‘About as you’d expect,’ I answered, ‘I wish I wasn’t going home, Piers, but I’ve got to face some hard facts. I don’t live here, I’ve got my degree to finish, and I’m sure someone as gorgeous as Harry isn’t going to mope about waiting for me. I’m trying really hard not to think about him too much because tears are close by - I’ve just got to get my head straight about it all, and in a way I can’t wait to get back home.’

‘Well, long distance relationships can survive across the miles. I think if two people really love one another, neither time nor distance will make permanent barriers.’

‘You are kind to say so, but I can’t think like that. I’m sure there are many more that break down than carry on.’

Piers took my hand and kissed it. ‘You’ve always got me, whatever happens in the future,’ he said. ‘Promise me we’ll stay in touch when you get back to London. Come and see me in Bayswater, and we’ll go to the West End for a show and a slap-up dinner. Simon can get us tickets, and I know a great Indian restaurant we can go to afterwards.’

‘I’d love to, that sounds wonderful. I’ve missed London in many ways, and as soon as I get back to art school I’ll call you. There’s a phone box on the corner where I live … I’ll save up my coins.’

And then Roger was calling us, there was no time left for sitting at the table any longer, and we got up from our chairs to go. At the last minute I remembered my ball dress, and rushed upstairs to fetch it.

But, before I got as far as my room, another thought wouldn’t let me go, and I was so curious to have a look at the object that popped into my head, that I headed off to the book room before I could stop myself. There was no fire lit today, and the musty smell of old books was stronger than ever, a fragrance so inviting I wished I could sit down in the chair with a pile of books. I hadn’t come to read books, however, and I knew what I wanted would be found on top of the japanned cabinet. I picked up the blackened umbrella whose silk lining revealed its original emerald hue, and as I held the wooden handle, a sharp picture returned. I could see Thomas, as clearly as I had when I read Jane’s journal, strutting round the garden making her laugh whilst twirling the parasol over his shoulder. I held the silk to my face and saw Jane again, her image reflected in a long looking glass, dressed for her portrait with her uncle’s pendant round her neck, and the parasol in her hand. And I knew this was no coincidence - I was sure this was the very parasol Jane had loved all those years ago. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the portraits - I’d only ever seen one of Jane painted by her sister, at a later time in her life when it was quite clear she wasn’t too happy about sitting for her portrait.

I was just putting it back, placing it carefully next to the watercolour box when another series of thoughts came hurtling from the back of my mind. So much had happened, I’d not thought of it straight away, but looking at the box of paints I was even clearer in my mind that the painting I’d seen in the house on the Royal Crescent was a portrait of Cassandra, painted by Ozias Humphry. Although I’d not seen Cassy sitting for her portrait, I knew she’d been painted with her watercolour box, and felt the likeness of the portrait was too close to be mistaken. It made such sense to me that the attribution of Zoffany had been in error. I was determined to see what I could find about how the artists’ work could have been confused.

‘Caroline, are you ready? I think we should be off now if we’re not to get stuck in traffic.’