Searching For Captain Wentworth (12 page)

I needed some
shopping so turned tail to walk back down the
hill into town to the supermarket and wandered down
the aisles
selecting some
chicken pieces to roast, a jar of Dijon mustard, a
garlic bulb and a bunch of tarragon, new potatoes,
French beans,
and of course,
the obligatory bottle of white wine. I’d missed my
lunch and was feeling ravenously hungry, a state
that seemed to be
an
ever-increasing problem since I’d moved to Bath. It must be all
that time travelling, I said to myself, though even
saying the words
in my head
seemed crazy as I stood at the very ordinary checkout
loading my
“bag
for life”
with purchases. Doubt that any of it had
actually happened and that insanity of a kind had
actually taken
hold, hit me
once more. I couldn’t explain any of it. When I was
there it was as if I belonged in that time, and the
present seemed
remote. Being
here in this supermarket with people around me
going about their everyday shopping felt just as
real and the past
seemed a figment
of my imagination. But I was beginning to feel
that all this analyzing about what was going on was
doing my head
in. I didn’t
want to think about it any longer.

I let myself
into the flat. There was a piece of paper just poked
under the door, which I knew immediately could only
be from Josh.
I opened it not
quite knowing what to expect.

Dear Sophie,

I’ve been going
through the catalogue of exhibits this
afternoon. I’ve just popped
over on my break because there’s a
painting here I’d like you
to see that I think might interest you. I
finish work about five, so
if you’d like to come over to the museum
then, I can show you.

I hope you
didn’t think I was too intrusive today – I apologize,
I’m just a very nosy person.

Anyway, if you’d
like to, I’d love to see you. Just ask for me at
the desk and someone will
show you the way.

Josh.

Oh dear, he’d
obviously mistaken my earlier vacant musings
for wounded sensibility. He’d been direct, but I
hadn’t thought he
was being overly
inquisitive, just very interested and I’d really
enjoyed the fact that he’d wanted to talk. I
wondered what the
painting could
be that he wanted to show me. I felt very curious
despite the pangs of gnawing hunger, so I grabbed a
biscuit before
deciding to
postpone eating until I returned.

The lady at the
reception desk was clearly expecting me.
Whether it was my imagination or not, I cannot say
for sure, but she
seemed to take a
great interest in my appearance. Looking me up
and down, staring at my embroidered bag and my
slouch boots, she
appeared to be
memorizing every last detail to tell her colleagues
about the girl who had come to see Mr Strafford. I
knew exactly
which way to go,
but of course I pretended that I didn’t know where
I’d find him. She took me upstairs leading me to
the exhibition
space that was
starting to look much more promising with one or
two pictures on the walls or propped up along the
sides and empty
glass cabinets
placed in a line waiting to be filled with exciting
objects. We stopped at the door of a room at the
back, just off on
one side. Josh
was seated behind a desk; his head buried in what
looked like a good deal of paperwork. The room was
dim, only the
glow from his
laptop was giving out an eerie, but totally inadequate
light.

‘Mr Strafford,
you’ll ruin your eyesight,’ the receptionist
scolded in a playful way, and switched on the lamp
in front of him.

‘Oh, I’ve been
meaning to put it on for ages, the time has just
run away with me this afternoon,’ he said, pushing
back a handful
of curls from
his forehead. He looked up and our eyes met. For the
first time I looked straight back at him hoping
that I didn’t look as
out of my
depth in this place as I felt. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not
stupid, and I love anything historical, but I
wasn’t an expert, not
like him.
It unnerved me just a little, especially when I admitted to
myself that I wanted him to think I was intelligent
and worthy of
his interest in
my family.

‘Sophie, you
came!’ he announced brightly and he sounded so
pleased that I felt myself grin with pleasure.

‘Thanks Alison,’
he said to the receptionist, ‘what would I do
without you?’ Alison almost fainted with delight,
even when he
handed over a
pile of post. ‘Would you mind taking care of these
for me?’

The effect he
had on Alison was the same I’d witnessed in the
Pump Room on the other women. She gazed at him with
sheer
adoration as if
he’d just given her the crown jewels for her own
personal safekeeping.

‘Can I get you
any tea for you and your guest?’ she asked.

‘No thanks,
Alison, we’ll only just be a moment.’

Satisfied that
she was no longer needed Alison beamed at him
again before departing, albeit rather reluctantly I
felt, with the vast
pile of letters.

There was an
awkward moment when neither of us knew what
to say.

‘You said in
your note that you had a painting you wanted to
show me,’ I said, breaking the silence. It was so
very quiet in the
room, which was
making me feel more nervous than ever.

‘Yes, I think
you’ll be really interested to see it. I’ve done a
little research; it was sold in an auction at
Monkford Hall sometime
in the
early 1900s.’

He said no more
and gestured towards the exhibition space. I
walked out of the room and on the opposite wall in
front of me I
could see a
large oil painting that I must have walked past on the
way in. Its subject was of two women in Georgian
dress and the
plaque at the
bottom of the painting was inscribed with a title and
the date, 1782.

‘The painting is
of your ancestor, Mrs Elliot of Monkford
Hall, and her cousin Mrs Randall,’ Josh said. ‘Do
you know
anything about them?’

‘No, not really,
I don’t know anything very much about the
family. I should think this was one of the
paintings that had to be
sold in
an effort to raise some money before it all had to go.’

I was
mesmerized. Mrs Elliot stared out of the painting
looking every inch like an older Sophia with her
hair bundled under
a satin cap. She
had a kind face.

‘Poor Mrs Elliot
died in childbirth in 1788,’ Josh continued. ‘I
looked her up in the archives. She had three
daughters, Emma,
Sophia and
Marianne. Her last child was a stillborn son.’

‘All I know is
that I was named after her middle daughter. It’s
so sad to see her looking so young and full of hope
without any idea
of her future
fate.’

I was moved
emotionally by her story, but not
entirely by the portrait of Mrs Elliot alone. The painting fascinated
me in a way that made me feel most peculiar. It was
the likeness of
Mrs Randall that
intrigued me most of all, for I knew her face
almost as well as I knew my own. I had that feeling
again of goose
pimples all
over; accompanied by the sensation that Josh and I were
not the only people in the room. I stared and
stared unable to say a
word.

‘Is anything the
matter?’ asked Josh. ‘You look as if you’ve
seen a ghost.’

‘I have,’ I
muttered inaudibly.

‘The painting of
Mrs Elliot reminds you of someone, I can
tell.’

I shook my head.
‘No, it’s not Mrs Elliot’s portrait, but Mrs
Randall’s that is remarkable. She is the very image
of my mother.
It’s quite
uncanny. I wish my Mum were alive to see it, she’d think
it so funny to see such a resemblance of herself
all dressed up in
satin.’

I couldn’t tear
myself away and I couldn’t imagine why I had
not realized the likeness before, but then the Mrs
Randall I knew
was twenty years
older than the lady who gazed at me with the
same wistful expression my mother always wore. I’d
not seen my
mother grow
older, and it seemed to me that perhaps twenty years
in those days left a far greater impression on a
lady’s looks than it
would
now. Mrs Randall was seated on a mahogany chair and
dressed in a gown of steel-grey satin with a
vermillion shawl
around her
shoulders. An organza cap covered her hair, ruched and
ribboned in front to match the frills about her
throat and the fabric
at her
décolletage. Mrs Elliot looked just as elegant on a matching
chair with a tasselled cushion in russet silk.
There was a table
between them
where tea was being made. A silver teapot, sugar box
and milk jug took pride of place beside a steaming
kettle with blue
and white
teacups scattered over the tabletop. But there was one
more surprise, which really set my heart beating so
fast I was sure
Josh would be
able to hear it. Behind them on a desk was a box that
I recognized. Made of rosewood and inlaid with
mother of pearl,
the lid was open
and a pair of white gloves was draped over its
edge.

‘Oh dear,’ said
Josh, ‘the last thing I wanted was to upset you.’

‘No, I’m not
upset in the least, not the way you mean, anyway.

In fact, I’m
thrilled.’ I turned to look at him again, and was met
once more by his frank expression, his dark eyes
showing concern.

‘Thank you so
much, Josh, for inviting me to see the painting. I’ll
have to text my dad and tell him. He’ll think it’s
wonderful.’

‘And you’re not
too disturbed by it?’

‘I am, but in a
good way.’

‘Well, thank you
for coming, Sophie.’ He was still looking at
me as if he thought he’d done something dreadful. I
suppose the
surprise must
have shown in my face, because he reached across
and took my hand holding it between his two large
ones. ‘You still
look in shock
and I’m thinking it’s all my fault.’

I didn’t move my
hand. I couldn’t for one thing and for
another, he’d started patting it softly as if he were trying to get my
circulation going or something. It felt lovely and
I felt cherished,
which sounds
silly, but I really did feel that he cared.

‘I’m absolutely
fine, but I suppose I’m a bit hungry,’ I said at
last. ‘I haven’t really eaten very much since
breakfast.’

He let go of my
hand. ‘Sophie, you should have said. Look, I
feel totally responsible. Will you let me take you
for supper? My
treat. Lara does
the best food this side of the bridge and it’s not far
to go. We can be eating in ten minutes.’

I wanted to say
yes, but I didn’t really want to go to the pub.
Besides, Lara and the rest of the locals might put
two and two
together making
up something about our relationship that just
wasn’t true, and I was worried that the glove might
be mentioned.
I was feeling
very guilty about it and didn’t know quite how I was
going to resolve the situation. As time was moving
on, it was
getting
increasingly difficult to return it to him. I couldn’t think
how I was going to explain that I had the glove and
to be perfectly
honest, I wanted
to keep it just for a little bit longer.

‘Would you mind
very much if we didn’t go?’ I said, thinking
quickly. ‘I’ve got some chicken at home that needs
cooking and I’d
love it if you’d
share it with me.’ I wondered if that all sounded a
bit intimate as soon as I’d said it, but Josh
answered without any
hesitation
saying he’d love to have supper with me.

We left straight
away and headed home. I was enjoying his
company and he did seem a nice guy, but even as he
took my arm
to guide me over
the road, I had a memory, as clear as if it had
happened yesterday, of Lucas being similarly attentive
when we
first met. Well,
I was sure someone as good-looking as Josh would
have a string of casual girlfriends anyway and I
was not about to let
my guard
down. Not that he appeared to be attracted to me in any
way. He seemed genuinely friendly, but I felt a
sense of detachment
about him that I
couldn’t quite explain.