Searching For Captain Wentworth (14 page)

‘Somebody is
bound to have a theory about it. I do know that
the time she spent in Bath is shrouded somewhat in
mystery. She
wrote endlessly
to her sister, but for some reason there is a
complete gap in the correspondence between 1801 and
1804.
Nothing, not a
single letter, not even really much writing! “They”
say that her sister burned them all.’

‘I’ve always
wondered why she placed her most emotional
novel in Bath. I remember reading that she disliked
Bath but, if that
was true, why
would she set her most romantic book here? And
why the mystery? Do you think she had a love affair
or something?’

‘That’s it! Josh
thumped his fist down on the table in a
triumphant gesture. ‘That’s what you should write
about, a novel
about Jane
Austen’s unrequited love. I bet you could find masses of
information for research, here in Bath.’

I couldn’t help
laughing at his enthusiasm and I was surprised
how closely his ideas mirrored my thoughts. It set
me thinking.

Maybe there
might be a way I could find out what I was curious to
know, as well as find out more of Sophia’s story.
But there was only
one way to
discover what I wished to know about my ancestor and
that particular method would, of course, involve
the use of a certain
white
glove. Yet, I knew that I was feeling very uneasy about still
having it. And I also knew that in the unlikely
event of Jane Austen
ever
choosing to confide in me, I would never betray her secrets.

‘I expect
someone’s already done that, anyway. But, I really
would like to find out more about her life. I’d
like the answers to a
few
questions I have. Everyone has their own idea about Jane
Austen and I’d like to explore that in some way.’

The meal was over.
I hadn’t any pudding to offer, but Josh
said he couldn’t eat another thing, thanking me
again for a lovely
meal and for my
company.

‘It was so
lovely of you to ask me to supper. I’m always on the
move with my job and I don’t usually get to meet
anyone much, let
alone be invited
home for a meal.’

‘I really find
that hard to believe. I would have thought there’d
be females falling over themselves to take you
home.’

I could have
bitten off my tongue the moment I’d said it.

He gave me a
long look, almost quizzical. ‘Would you?’

I felt my cheeks
burn. ‘Well, I just meant that women always
seem to hone in on blokes on their own. It’s like a
primeval instinct
somewhere
between wanting to mother and ensnare them.’

Josh regarded me
from under dark brows, his eyes
questioning.
‘Is it?’

My friends at
university used to despair because I never did
know when to shut up, especially when it came to
conversations
with the male
sex. I had a habit of saying totally inappropriate
things at the wrong time and I knew I’d just made a
classic one.

Josh was really
staring at me now. I couldn’t believe what I’d just
said. All I kept thinking was that he would assume
I’d lured him to
my flat in a
sorry attempt to seduce him. Suddenly, it seemed
terribly important to inspect my fingernails in
minute detail. When
I finally
glanced at him, he looked away as soon as our eyes met. I
stood up to start clearing the table. It wasn’t my
imagination. There
really was an
awkward silence now.

‘I’ll wash up,’ said
Josh at last, rising to pick up the plates I’d
collected together.

‘Oh no, please
don’t, I’ll do them later,’ I said. I was starting
to wish he’d go. All my feelings of self-doubt and
of being an
absolute failure
at everything were returning. I just kept thinking
how he’d probably tell the lovely Alison at the
museum all about
his narrow
escape from the lecherous clutches of his neighbour
who had delusions of becoming a writer. In my head,
I could see
them laughing.
‘No, I’m sure you’ve got other things to do, places
to go.’

Everything I
said just seemed to make it worse. Nervously, I
rubbed my forehead and ran my fingers through my
hair
desperately trying to think of
something to make it better. My face
must have given away how I was feeling, because in the next
moment I heard his voice, soft and gentle.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,
you’ve had a long day, and I’ve talked you to
death just now.’

I’d only gone
and made it worse. I didn’t know what to say to
put it right so I kept quiet. The silence in the
room was deafening.

At last, Josh spoke.
‘Well, I must be going now, I’ve still got
a bit of work to do, and I promised to catch up
with an old friend
later,’ he said,
avoiding my eye and taking out the plates. He
reappeared moments later, standing at the door with
his jacket over
his arm. ‘I’ll
leave you now to get some rest. Thank you very much
for having me.’

He sounded so
formal, almost solemn. As I approached, he
seemed to lurch down the passageway for the front
door and
opened it before
I managed to get anywhere near him.

‘I’ll see you
around, then.’

I managed a
smile. ‘Yes, see you around.’

I felt a bit
deflated when he’d gone. The sound of his door
shutting made me feel worse and all I could think
about was how
he must be
congratulating himself on his early escape. Then I told
myself not to be so silly, that he’d probably got
stuff to do, as I had,
even
though I knew I’d practically told him to leave.

I’d got a book
to write and I hadn’t even started. It wasn’t
going to be easy having no laptop, internet
connection or even a
pen and
paper, but I thought I’d start with a bit of thinking about
my characters. The heroine, obviously, was going to
be a lot like
me, but I was
having a bit of trouble with the invention of my hero.
Despite every effort, I couldn’t see beyond a naval
uniform. And
I’m slightly
ashamed to admit, the breeches figured quite
prominently too. My eyes strayed to the little
table. Opening the
rosewood box, I
took out the white glove looking for inspiration. It
was then that I heard Josh’s door shutting
downstairs, and the front
door
being opened. What happened in that short window of time,
I’m not sure how to explain, but a sudden pang of
overwhelming
guilt made me
shove the glove in my pocket, grab my coat and run
downstairs.

Only once did it
cross my mind that Josh would think I was some
kind of obsessed stalker as I ran up the road after
him. But, I
convinced myself
that all would be forgiven when I handed over
the glove. Thinking about the ideas for my novel
had made me
resolve on doing
the right thing. I wasn’t going back to interfere in
the lives of people I didn’t really know any more.
The past was
better left
alone and if I was intent on writing a book of fiction, I
must use my imagination, not rely on any event that
might have
happened in real
life. To do so would be cheating, somehow, and I
knew if I did go back in time once again that the
experience would
completely
colour my writing. That wasn’t to say that having a
glimpse into the past hadn’t been useful. My mind
was full of the
images, sounds
and smells that I could bring forth just by touching
the glove. I was careful not to handle it too much
again. It was safe
in my pocket.
Quite how I was going to explain to Josh what I was
doing with it was another matter, but I was
determined to hand it
back to
its rightful owner.

The light from
the street lamps lent their dim beams to
shimmer in rosy blushes as if dashed by an artist’s
hand in ripples
on the dark
pavements, wet with rain. I saw Josh turn left at
Pulteney Bridge, but by the time I reached the same
spot, I’d lost
him. Drawing my
coat closer about me, I forged ahead buffeted by
strong cold blasts roaring up from the river as it
foamed over the
weir to churn
and froth. There were a few people crossing making
their way towards town. I thought I caught a
glimpse of him at the
end of
Grand Parade, but even though I started to break into a jog
again I could hardly keep him in my sight. On
reaching the Abbey,
I saw the
silhouette of his dark head framed in the light from a
streetlamp. Towering above everyone else, his mane
of curls
distinguished
him as he moved quickly along Cheap Street. Then
he disappeared, but as I reached the archway
opposite Union
Passage, I
realized he must have taken a turn. There were lights
glowing from the Pump Rooms, so I turned left and
crossed the
pump-yard.
Josh’s unmistakable figure could be seen in the glass of
the revolving door.

There must be
some sort of function on, I thought, and
hesitated before I stepped onto the quadrant
putting my hand out to
stop the
door from moving like a carousel. I looked through the
glass, but I couldn’t see Josh. The dark, heavy
doors needed all my
weight to move
them, but once I’d got them started they swiftly
seemed beyond my control to stop. Very quickly, the
doors picked
up a frightening
speed and started to spin so rapidly it was
impossible to make any attempt to get out. Faster
and faster they
turned, moving
with a force all of their own. No matter how much
I shifted my weight to lean against the one behind,
nothing would
slow the
increasing acceleration of the revolving doors. I clung
onto a brass rail with fear, shutting my eyes tight
because I felt so
giddy and
nauseous. It was only when the sensation completely
stopped that I dared to open them. Even then it was
a few moments
before I could
take everything in.

I might have
known that I’d passed back through another
portal, a doorway through the present into the
past. This time,
though not
exactly comfortable and feeling completely
disorientated, I knew as I examined my dress, my
hands and my
feet, that I had
returned to be Sophia Elliot once again. It was
daytime and morning, I guessed. The sun was
streaming in bright
yellow shafts
through the long, glazed windows, illuminating the
ladies’ ethereal muslin gowns to angelic brightness,
casting
shadows over the
wooden floors and glittering dust motes to
sparkle through the air. Mr Elliot, Miss Elliot and
Mrs Randall were
less than two
feet away. It almost broke my heart to realize the
resemblance of that lady to my dear mum, but though
the likeness
was
extraordinary, there were enough differences to see that she
was someone else entirely with a whole different
set of
mannerisms. She
even moved in a different way and I supposed
that was partly why I’d not noticed the similarity
before.
Thankfully, they
were far too busy talking to be much bothered
with me, so I could wander at leisure and have a
really good look
at everything.

Although I felt
I was in familiar surroundings, the Pump
Room was far less fussy than the tearoom that I knew.
The
chandelier still shimmered, but
the room was pared back in
appearance.
The long windows were naked of fabric, unlike the
swarm of bodies who paraded about the room in
fashionable dress
unhindered by
tables and rout chairs, which were ranged along the
walls for those who wished to observe. The clamour
of voices all
talking and
gossiping on the subject of one another seemed much
the same, punctuated with an occasional silvery
laugh rising into
the high
ceilings. It was quite a sight.

I’d hardly registered
where I was when the figure of a tall man
stepped up, smiling as if he recognized me. I
smiled back. There
was something
familiar about him though I had no idea who he
could be. What struck me most about him, despite
the fact that he
was very good-looking,
was his tanned face. It seemed so
i
ncongruous amongst a sea of pale faces. He bowed.