Page 57 of Searching for Mr Tilney

We entered the room without knocking because Elsa said her uncle might be asleep, and that he hated to be woken up. The room was quite dark, lit only by a bedside lamp throwing Geraint’s face into vast planes of light and shade, highlighting his drawn features, the hollows of his eyes, and his cheekbones where the skin was stretched like thin, yellow parchment. There was an armchair on one side of the bed, which Elsa invited me to sit in, and a hard bentwood chair on the other where she sat, folding her hands and smiling at me.

‘He’ll wake up in a minute,’ she whispered, and all at once his eyes flew open so that I jumped out of my skin. They were wild and staring, and I couldn’t help feeling alarmed.

‘Who’s there?’ he said, clutching at the bedclothes.

‘It’s just Elsa, Uncle,’ she said in a calm voice. ‘I’ve brought Caroline along as you requested.’

He turned his head, and for the first time I noticed how very white and sharp his teeth looked as he grinned, until I told myself it must be the lamplight. I decided there and then I wouldn’t read any more of Dracula late at night - it simply wasn’t good for my imagination.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Harry’s uncle had been in a restless mood. He seemed agitated and unsettled so we were relieved when he fell asleep again, and we didn’t stay long. Out in the corridor I told Elsa that Harry had related what had happened to their aunt, and she confided that her uncle still suffered from nightmares, that she’d witnessed him re-living many difficult scenes in his sleep. He looked a tormented soul, I thought, but the whole tragedy had left its mark on everyone and everything. I wasn’t sure I liked the castle if its past haunted all those who lived within its walls, though certainly by day it was a beautiful sight, a monument it was impossible to see without feeling moved. I loved the way the ruined parts of the castle had been overtaken by wild flowers, and even cherry trees blossomed in the sheltered areas, blowing their white petals onto the grass. It made me think of home, and the blossom in Jane Austen’s garden, and I hoped my mum wasn’t missing me too much.

The next couple of days were gloomy and miserable with grey skies and mist shrouding the castle so it felt as if we were captured in a snow globe, except for the driving rain that made it impossible to get out. We three became a team, playing games or cards, and reading ghost stories aloud in the evening, although both Elsa and Harry rejected my help when it came to their uncle. By Wednesday they were both looking shattered, but Elsa said her uncle had made vast improvements and would be getting up the next day to join us. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed once again. Harry and I had hardly spent any time on our own, and as much as I loved being with them together, what I’d hoped above everything else was that Harry and I could have some time alone occasionally, just as we’d had in Bath.

When I came down to breakfast on Thursday morning I was surprised to see Harry’s uncle sitting at the table, both dressed and looking in good health. He apologised for the fact that he’d been so ill and unable to join us before, saying it was the nature of his illness, that once recovered from a bout, he was capable of making fast progress. His recovery was remarkable, even his face seemed fuller and returned to a pinker complexion. I remembered the shrunken figure in the bed and thought they could have been two different men. I couldn’t help thinking about Count Dracula who also made such a recovery after a night of drinking blood, though I tried to push the thoughts to the back of my mind.

‘Have you been shown the rest of the castle yet, Caroline?’ he asked. ‘I’d love to take you round, though I’m sure our humble way of living is nothing compared to what you’re used to at home or with your friends.’

I didn’t want to contradict him, but I was slightly puzzled. Harry must have given him the impression I came from some great landed family, though I couldn’t think how, unless Harry had talked about my ancestors.

‘I would love to see more and learn about its history,’ I said. ‘I love the fact that we can follow the different eras through from the medieval parts, seeing every age until we reach the present day. It’s so beautiful from what I’ve seen so far.’

Elsa said she needed to talk to the nurse, saying she wouldn’t be long and then Harry said he was sorry, but he had a few things to buy in the village so he wouldn’t be joining us either. Elsa left, and Harry said goodbye shortly after, promising to meet up later, and then he was gone.

I’d started to feel that our relationship was never going to be what it had been, though a part of me felt I was being very selfish. I could see Harry was tired, but he seemed to have withdrawn from me almost completely. He was friendly, but certainly nothing more, and I didn’t quite know what to think or do about any of it.

***

Geraint insisted I take his arm as we walked round the numerous rooms looking at rich furnishings from long ago, and the portraits of ancestors on the walls. It struck me as rather strange that there didn’t seem to be any pictures or photos of his wife or his son. Having photos of my father had given me enormous comfort. Thinking about it, I hadn’t even seen any in Geraint’s bedroom, which was sparsely furnished and had little decoration.

‘Of course the upkeep of any building like this is very costly, as I am sure you’re aware,’ he was saying as we walked through a series of bedrooms, each leading on from the other. ‘I’ve sold more paintings than I care to mention to help towards the cost of maintaining it. It’ll be a heavy burden for the next person who inherits it.’

I noticed he made no reference to whom that person might be, and wondered whether it really would be a good thing to be saddled with such a building. It hadn’t escaped my notice that it had the same feeling of faded grandeur that our own much humbler house possessed, and I couldn’t help thinking, as much as Harry loved the place, it might end up being a responsibility he couldn’t easily take on.

‘I suppose your godmother doesn’t know about such hardships,’ Geraint said, as we climbed another set of stairs. ‘I wish I still had my house in the country, but I sold it to help with the upkeep of this pile.’

I was very confused and didn’t quite know how to answer him until he started speaking again. ‘Everyone should have a benefactor, someone to spoil them with trips to Bath. The Applebys have a manor house in Somerset too, I hear, and no children. Well, you’ll be a lucky girl one day, I think.’

If I was baffled, it was very clear that Geraint had his wires crossed. He must have mixed up two different stories in his mind, I decided, and I didn’t quite know what to say. He obviously thought I would be inheriting vast wealth from the Applebys, and I was beginning to wonder if this was why he’d been so keen to get me to the castle with a view to helping renovate it in the future. If he imagined there’d be a chance Harry and I would end up together that would make sense. I thought he might be cross if I contradicted him so I just smiled, and it seemed he’d already answered his own questions without any replies from me. I couldn’t blame Harry - I was sure he’d never have told lies about me or given his uncle the wrong impression.

When we reached the top we entered another corridor where I could see another shallow staircase ahead, adorned by ornate carvings in the balusters, leading off into another passageway where grand double doors finished the vista at the end. I saw a set of mullioned, lead-paned windows which showed striking views across the sea, but when we reached the wide carpeted steps, Geraint turned abruptly, saying he was feeling tired after all, and that the tour was finished. He suddenly seemed upset, and I hoped it wasn’t because I hadn’t been able to give him any assurances. He practically ordered me downstairs, saying he would find his own way without any assistance when I offered to help.

Elsa was in the drawing room when I got downstairs. When I explained what had happened, she said she was sorry if it hadn’t quite gone to plan.

‘It’s such a shame, I was really enjoying the tour, and seeing all those beautiful beds dressed in satin and sequins, all the beautiful chests and japanned cabinets that made me think of Northanger Abbey. The staircase we passed was beautiful … I’d have loved to see what was beyond the double doors.’

‘Oh, that’s why my uncle was upset,’ she said. ‘You must have come across the corridor where my aunt and my cousin’s bedrooms were … they’re shut off now, and absolutely nobody is allowed to go up there. It’s completely out of bounds.’

‘I see, that does explain his change of manner,’ I said, though I didn’t really. I loved nothing more than spending time in my father’s study, looking at his things that my mother had left just where they’d always been. I suppose some people might think that macabre, but I’ve never understood the need to wipe away someone’s life, removing their clothes and possessions, as if they’d never existed. I loved to pick up the precious objects dear to my father’s heart - a pale shell I’d found on a beach in Cornwall and made a present of to him, the drawings of mine he’d collected, a lock of hair belonging to my mother secured with a silk ribbon, a photograph of them both looking so young on the day they married. I could sit and look at his books, have imaginary conversations, and feel his presence in a place that had meant so much to him. I couldn’t help thinking there were other reasons why Harry’s uncle refused to look into their rooms. Being racked with guilt over their deaths would be enough, I supposed, to keep him away.

‘I’ve seen lots of paintings and photographs around the castle,’ I said, ‘but there don’t seem to be any of your aunt. I’m sorry to be so curious, but I’ve heard so much about her I can’t help wondering what she looked like.’

‘There used to be a portrait in the library … you can see where it used to hang by the brighter patch of wallpaper over the fireplace. I don’t know what happened to the pictures of my aunt or my cousin. Mrs Davies told me that my uncle burned a lot of things, letters and photographs, as if he couldn’t bear to see them. It’s so sad. I’m sure my aunt would hate to know how much my uncle was changed by all that happened.’

Not hanging portraits or having photographs about I could almost understand, but burning letters? The only reason you’d burn letters were if you wanted to hide something, surely? My most treasured possessions were letters from my father, which had been read so much they’d almost fallen apart. It was impossible not to wonder what might have been hidden in Geraint’s letters, and the feeling that there was more to the whole story washed over me once more, in resounding echoes like the crashing waves I could hear down below.

***