Searching For Captain Wentworth (29 page)

‘I hope
Cassandra and Charles remembered to stop here,’ she
said. ‘I am very partial to gingerbread and I did
request some for
our picnic. It’s
not far now, we should see them soon hard by the
mill.’

I saw Charles
before he saw me. Dressed in a dark green coat
and buff breeches he towered over Cassandra. I felt
so pleased to
see him and
experienced a sense of excitement that I hardly dared
acknowledge. Beechen Cliff above us rose steeply
ahead. I was
soon out of
breath, but Jane and Cassy seemed to find it no effort
at all striking out at a march, their parasols
shading them from the
warm sun.
Charles, ever the gentleman, sauntered along beside me.

‘Will you take
my arm, Miss Elliot? The path is precipitous
and if you are not used to it, I fear it will be
very hard work.’

A fleeting
recollection of Charles’s future fate flashed before
me. I wanted to protest, to say that I could easily
manage but, even
as I willed
myself to do so, Sophia had other ideas. She, I knew,
wanted to take his arm. My body disobeyed my mind,
my arm
found his and we
fell comfortably into step. Jane and Cassandra did
not seem to want to wait for us and they soon
disappeared from
view, screened
by trees and hanging coppice.

‘It is wonderful
to be in England again and to see the beauty
of the landscape all around us,’ said Lieutenant
Austen looking
about him. ‘You
know, Miss Elliot, it is a funny thing but when I
am away at sea, all my memories and reminiscences
are of home
and of being
outdoors in scenes like these. I love my life as a sailor
and would not wish to be doing anything else. Yet,
I often think of
those I’ve left
behind. I dream constantly and am often astonished
when I wake to find I am in my cabin afloat, so
real and vivid are
the pictures I
see.’

‘I do not find
that surprising. You are evidently very attached
to your family and I’m sure it is only natural to
think of them, to
miss them so
much that they appear in your dreams.’

‘Yes, my dreams
are always of happy times with family and
friends. Never in Bath, I must admit. I am always
at home in the
rectory at
Steventon running through the garden on a summer’s
day.’

‘Jane talked of
your old home in just the same way. Tell me,
do you also miss it?’

‘Very much so
and though my brother James lives there with
his wife and daughter now, it is not the same. My
sister Jane does
not like to
visit at all. It broke her heart to have to leave Hampshire.
Just imagine, Miss Elliot, if you had to leave the
home where you
had always lived
and see someone else take possession of it.’

For a single
moment, I could picture our house in Camden, my
father standing at the gate waving me off, as I’d
set out for Bath.
But the image
evaporated like the wispy clouds overhead and I
couldn’t remember any more. A picture of Monkford
Hall, like the
print we had at
home, replaced the vision of the townhouse. Only
this time I could imagine it all in colour, see the
mellow stone of
the Jacobean
manor house, smell the lavender bushes lining the
paths of soft red brick in the formal gardens and
catch the call of a
peacock as it
displayed its iridescent blue tail. I felt a connection
with the place that I’d only ever dreamed of before
and experienced
a longing to go,
to see my ancestral home.

‘I should think
it the hardest thing in the world to have to
leave one’s home, the place where you were born and
where
everyone knows
you. And to leave friends behind must have been
especially difficult for the Miss Austens.’

‘I have not
experienced such hardship as my sisters. I went to
Naval College when I was a small boy and soon got
used to being
absent from
family life. I’ve spent more of my time away than at
home, but for my sisters who only went away to
school for a
relatively short
time, it has been much more difficult. They have
borne it all with such cheerfulness knowing that it
was our parents’
wish to retire
here. Jane, in particular, has not enjoyed the transition
from the country to the town. She pretends to be
happy, yet she
does not know
how much I can tell her spirits to be affected.’

‘It must be a
great comfort for her to have such a thoughtful
brother who is so sensitive to her feelings.’

‘I hope so, Miss
Elliot, I do what I can when I’m here. Jane
and Cassy are both such dutiful daughters and carry
out their
obligations to
my parents with true affection, but I do worry about
Jane. She has such an independence of spirit, with
a lively and
intelligent
mind. A character like hers is not meant to be so
suppressed, or confined to the restrictions of a
society where she
cannot find time
enough to be on her own or follow her pursuits.
She may have told you that she loves to write,
which is an
occupation that
many would not consider suitable for a genteel
young woman. I know her writing has suffered here
in Bath and
that she finds
it difficult to maintain the daily pursuit she was so
used to in Steventon. She is at the beck and call
of my mother and
her circle of friends.
It is no wonder she is subdued in our quiet
moments.’

‘Perhaps you
will be able to take on some of the duties Jane is
expected to do whilst you are here. Anyone would
appreciate the
gift of time
that will be hers if you are able to shoulder some of the
responsibility. I may speak out of turn, but it
seems to me a poor lot
for young
women to be so completely beholden to their parents.
Yes, we must care for them, but surely, your
sisters deserve to have
some
freedoms. It seems to me that men are free to do as they wish.
They may go out into the world and make their
fortunes without
considering
anyone else. I am certain your sister has a talent which
must be nurtured and it is in your power to help
her make the most
of her time, at
least for a while.’

In a second came
the vivid memory that I knew Jane’s time
was short, that her life was going to end far too
soon. It was
difficult to
equate this thought with the young Jane I knew, the
sparkling girl who burned with energy and radiance.
I didn’t want
to believe it.
And while I told myself I couldn’t really do anything
to help, I clung to a new idea. Perhaps I could
help to alter this one
small
part of history. If Jane’s years in Bath were productive and
happy, could that be enough to change the past. I
wanted to urge
Charles to do
all he could.

‘I do understand
you. Forgive me, Miss Elliot, for talking so
confidentially to you in this manner, but you make
me feel that I
might open my
heart to you. I do not know how to help her or my
sister Cassandra, although I will try very much to
do all that you
suggest. I know
they certainly value your friendship. Indeed,
having your acquaintance is the very tonic we all
require.’

We’d reached the
bottom of a flight of stone steps. They
seemed to stretch above us heavenwards and it was
impossible to
see the top.

‘Are you ready
for Jacob’s Ladder, Miss Elliot?’ Charles stood
with one foot upon the step striking an attitude.
His dark green coat
was cut away to
reveal nankin breeches tucked into gleaming
chestnut boots, which delineated every muscle. He
held his hand
towards me.
‘Now, if you please, I will lead you to paradise!’

I took his hand
and felt his fingers link mine for a second,
before he joined my arm with his. I caught the
scent of his skin, a
clean
fragrance sharp with the aroma of lime and musk and found
myself inclining my head towards him to savour it.
Not for the first
time did I think
about how much I liked him, but with those
thoughts came the memory that I knew he would one
day be
married to
someone he did not yet know. The details were fuzzy
and I began to wonder if I’d dreamt it all. I
couldn’t imagine any
other
time but the one in which I stood now and could no more
imagine Charles married than I could myself.

The stone
staircase laddered above us, turning into steps of
banked earth twisted with tree roots. No sooner did
I think we must
have reached the
top than the staircase curved once again climbing
higher and ever more steeply. In such restrictive
clothing, I found
myself having to
stop for breath. Charles turned to me with an
anxious look. He was so close; I could see the
flecks of gold in his
eyes like
hot embers amongst nuggets of coal and felt his warm
breath on my cheek. I was drawn to his eyes, which
seemed to
swim with mine
in that moment, just for a second before we both
turned our eyes to the summit almost in view. The
surrounding hills
spread out like
a patchwork quilt of viridian, burnt umber and
sienna, hazy under the sun. Wild garlic blooming
with white
flowers lined
the pathway, its sweet perfume rising in the heat
against the scent of dark earth and green grass
crushed underfoot.

When we got to
the top, Jane and Cassy were waiting. They
were sitting under a tree in dappled shade chatting
to one another
and I thought
once again how lucky I was to have been invited.

‘What do you
think of Beechen Cliff, Miss Elliot?’ Jane
asked.

I was tempted to
say that it reminded me of the South of
France, as I knew Catherine Morland had suggested
as much in
Northanger Abbey
. But, even as I suppressed that thought another
came out of my mouth.

‘It doesn’t feel
very English, we could be in an Italian forest
or some such exotic place,’ I said, wishing that I
hadn’t voiced
anything quite
so stupid out loud.

Jane seemed
amused. ‘Oh yes, I haven’t quite thought of it
like that before, but it puts me in mind of the
countryside one might
find in
one of Mrs Radcliffe’s horrid novels. Is that what you were
thinking of, Miss Elliot?’

‘Yes, like
something from the scenes in
The
Mysteries of
Udolpho
, perhaps.’

‘Beechen Cliff,
the perfect scene for a gothic romance,’ Jane
declared with more than a hint of irony and a
chuckle that escaped
from her
lips to light up her eyes, ‘but then, I am not sure if the
view of Bath from here lends itself to such horrid
inclinations of
gloomy grandeur
or dreadful sublimity. We may see vast imitations
of Italianate villas, crescents and columns enough
to satisfy any
Roman
inhabitant, but we know them to be false, do we not? Bath
must be a pale imitation of the real Italy and its inhabitants
too
tame, too sickly and far too dull
to fulfil our romantic notions of a
Valancourt with manly grace and a hunter’s costume. We will find
no Italian counts within any building, and very
sadly, no evil
brigands lurking
in the solemn duskiness of the forest. I hate to
disappoint you, Miss Elliot, but you are far more
likely to meet
with romance on
the open sea with a sailor than you are at Bath.’

I was very
conscious that her speech seemed to be directed
with her usual precision. Jane’s whole expression
was one of quiet
mockery, her
eyes being fixed on Charles and I the whole time.

Intent on
teasing us, I guessed she was goading him for an answer.
A wry smile played around Charles’s lips. I sensed
that he was
biding his time;
that he didn’t necessarily wish to respond to her
teasing. In her usual way, Cassandra immediately
stepped in.
‘I do think that
we should make the most of this fine weather
and enjoy our picnic. It is a sad fact that in Bath
one never knows
how long such
sunshine might last. Indeed, there are dark clouds in
the distance and it is such a humid day, I fear we
may yet be rained
upon.’