Searching For Captain Wentworth (16 page)

‘You are to make
yourself very amiable in the company of this
gentleman, Sophia, for the sake of your sister,’ he
said. ‘He is a
widower who has
made it known amongst the acquaintance of our
circle that it is time he thought about marrying
again. He is rich, the
owner of
several properties in the land. His largest estate is in the
north, a gothic castle, that I am sure would
satisfy all the romantic
notions
of any young woman.’

I breathed with
relief. It was impossible not to think of poor
Sophia being paraded before this Mr Glanville like
a prize cow
being led to the
slaughter, but at least, it seemed she might be
spared the ultimate sacrifice. That unenviable lot
would be left to
her sister Emma
to fulfil.

I was surprised
to find that Mr Glanville was not the grieving
widower, but young and good looking, appearing to
be both
charming and
very hospitable in an old-fashioned way. He was
confident and dressed expensively in clothes that
were cut to show
off his tall,
slim figure. I thought of all the men in my own time that
I knew, and decided I was definitely a girl with a
preference for
nineteenth
century manners.

‘My dearest
cousins, I am so delighted to make your
acquaintance once more. It has been too long, but I
hope we will
make up for lost
time now we are together in Bath. Tell me, have
you visited the theatre yet?’

Emma lost no opportunity
in speaking up, blushing pink as
she spoke. ‘No, Mr Elliot, we have not yet had that pleasure. Is
there a play that you would recommend?’

‘Why,
“
The
Rivals
”
– Sheridan’s masterfully funny play is a
wonder not to be missed. I am certain it would be
to your taste. I
know young
ladies like a romance, and those two heroines, Lydia
and Julia will not disappoint. I shall arrange a
box if you would like
it.’

‘Oh, Papa, may
we?’ Emma was smiling and happier than I’d
ever seen her. Mr Elliot agreed to the idea, but Mr
Glanville rapidly
moved on to
other subjects. He shared his love of poetry, not
forgetting to ask our opinions on our own
favourites, which had me
almost
scratching my head in remembrance of schooldays and
appropriate poems. When he talked about his
anticipation in
dancing at the
balls, I began to think that perhaps Emma could do
a lot worse than marry this man who would at least
be able to give
her a
comfortable life and who seemed to share an interest in like-
minded passions.

When we found
ourselves back at Sydney Place, Mrs Randall
sought me out, saying that she was delighted by the
visit, confiding
that the summer
before he’d married had been a time when Emma’s
first hopes with that gentleman had been
disappointed.

‘You were away
at school, so I daresay you knew little or if
you remember at all, but we expected a match for
your sister then.’

‘No, I do not
remember.’

‘It was the talk
of Bath. Mr Glanville sought your sister out at
all the dances during the first month of the
season. Everyone
admired Miss
Elliot, she was in her bloom and as pretty as a
picture. But when Miss Ancaster came along with her
family
estates and
fortune, we knew that Emma’s hopes would be dashed.

Your sister’s
dowry and lineage could not possibly compete,
though I shall always say that on beauty alone Emma
won the day.
I do believe
your sister suffered when he withdrew. Did she never
write to you about her disappointment?’

‘Possibly she
did, but I cannot recall the letter,’ I said
truthfully. ‘So, Mr Glanville made his choice based
on wealth and
gain and not on
the suitability of a partner by any other means.’

‘Only a foolish
young man would have acted to the contrary,’
admitted Mrs Randall. ‘But, now his wife has been
in her grave
these last
twelve months along with her poor dead babe, perhaps he
is ready to start looking about for someone to take
her place. This
invitation is
very encouraging, though, in any case, as a family
connection I am sure he would have sought our
acquaintance.’

‘I hope for
Emma’s sake, everything will turn out as she
hopes.’ I wanted to add that I would find it very
difficult, if not
impossible,
starting all over again with someone who had not even
wanted to marry me in the first place, preferring
to choose someone
who had more
money, but tried to remember that my own thoughts
were modern ones. Their way of going about
courtship and
marriage was
accepted by everyone. I’d read Jane Austen’s novels
over and over again to know that much. And I didn’t
know quite
what to think
about the charming Mr Glanville any more.

When Mrs Randall
left me, the impossibility of my escape
from the nineteenth century began to hit me with a
force like a blow
to the head. I
hadn’t really wanted to come back again, I’d wanted
to sort things out with Josh, and now, I didn’t
know if there was any
chance of
doing either.

The sound of a
gong calling everyone to dinner broke my
thoughts and as I passed the cheval glass in the
corner of my
chamber, I
caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. There
was something about the eyes I recognized, but the
face that stared
back was not
mine even though it moved in just the same way. I
stuck out my tongue, trying to catch out the vision
in the glass. Why
I was so
astonished when my mirror image did the same, I don’t
know. I remember thinking how much more of myself I
seemed to
be able to see
in Sophia’s face, in her figure and in the way that she
walked, and for a single moment, I could not
remember anything
about myself or
the life I’d left behind.

The afternoon
light was fading into early evening twilight and
the glow of candlelight could be seen through
windows across the
meadows in the
curve of the Paragon and beyond to all the terraces
a
nd crescents of Lansdown lit up like tiers in a
vast amphitheatre.

The talk at
dinner touched upon one subject only, that of Mr
Glanville and of the honours Mr Elliot felt by
being received so
cordially.

‘Family
connections remind one of our place in society and it
will be to our great advantage to be seen in the
company of our
noble cousin.
Blood and good breeding will always find one
another. Emma, you behaved very prettily this
afternoon. And, I am
sure it
did not escape the attention of our host that you are in very
good looks.’

‘I flatter
myself that I take after you, Father,’ Emma answered,
with a smirk. ‘Indeed, I have often traced my
features in your
handsome
portrait at the Hall, and I am blessed to have the luck to
witness that face whenever I stand before the
glass.’

‘And Sophia has
equal good fortune to look like her dear
mama,’ said Mrs Randall.

I chanced to
look up from the plate of food that I wasn’t
entirely certain about. Everything had arrived on
the table at once.
Arranged
symmetrically on white gilded Wedgewood with a laurel
motif, the mahogany table gleamed under
candlelight, bearing
plates of
salmon with bulging, glassy eyes, jellied tongue glistening
with gelatine, Florentine rabbits complete with
heads and furry
ears, oily
mackerel in a sea-green sauce, a quivering white
blancmange, and the only dish I was tempted by, a
syllabub, like a
dish of snow
topped with crystallized flowers. I hesitantly tasted
the cold mackerel that stared at me balefully from
my plate. Was it
my imagination
or was the green gooseberry preserve that covered
it doing more to disguise the fact that the fish
had not seen the sea
for quite
some time?

Mr Elliot looked
me up and down through his quizzing glass
in such a way that I very quickly returned my gaze
to my plate.

‘She does,
indeed, and whilst she may never equal her sister in
handsome looks, she has got over that most trying
age and there is
an improvement
in her complexion, which was rather sallow. At
least, Sophia has the advantage over her sister
Marianne. The last
t
ime she came
home from school, she had a nervous tick that
rendered both eyes a most unattractive shade of
puce. I do hope she
will be improved
in the summer.’

Whilst smarting
on Sophia’s behalf it occurred to me that I
didn’t really know about this other sister
Marianne, youngest of the
Elliot
girls and fortunately for her far away at school.

Mrs Randall
looked at me as she spoke up with a kindness that
made me warm to her even more. I felt sorry for
Sophia, but at least
Mrs
Randall seemed to have her best interests at heart.

‘The Elliot
girls will be admired wherever they go, not only
for their beauty which they all share, but for the
qualities inherited
from their
parents whether they take the form of physical and
intellectual attributes or whether they are hidden
in other talents
that make up a
person’s character. Those qualities of sense and
amiability in Mrs Elliot, that made her the dearest
cousin and friend
to me, are the
treasures that lie within them all. I witness those traits
every day and am constantly reminded of her quiet
strength.’

I struggled to
eat as much of the cold fish on my plate as I
could. The second course arrived with plates of
roast beef and
duck, as well as
apple pies and custards, but my appetite had gone.

Mr Elliot turned
the conversation to Monday’s ball. ‘Mr
Glanville will be in attendance and has made his request that we
should be there to join his party.’

That wasn’t
quite how I’d remembered it, but I felt sure that
Mr Elliot would find some way of putting himself
forward. The
thought of the
ball filled me with dread, and as Emma spoke
excitedly about what she was to wear and which
dances might be
performed, all I
could hope was that the tedium of an evening spent
with the Elliots might be relieved with some
conversation from
Jane and her
brother Charles.

Time seemed to
pass slowly before the ball. Over the next few days
it was impossible to get out. I was thwarted at
every attempt to
escape; I saw
nothing of the Miss Austens and could only hope that
Mr Elliot hadn’t upset them too much. On Saturday
morning Emma
spent the entire
time trying on dresses asking my opinion about
which gown she should wear for the ball and how to
dress her hair.
It was
impossible to concentrate on anything. As far as I was
concerned, there was only one thing to think about.
I had an idea
that if I could
get to the gate in Sydney Gardens, I might be able to
get back to my own time. It was the only hope I
had. After
nuncheon, I
chose my moment carefully, when Mr Elliot’s snores
resounded loudly from his favourite chair and when
I knew that
Emma and Mrs
Randall were closeted away upstairs discussing
gloves and fans. I slipped away out of the house
and across the
road.

It didn’t take
long to find the white gate, although I knew as
soon as I saw it that it was hopeless. The gate was
locked, and in
my heart I knew
it had been a futile exercise. Without the glove, it
was impossible. There was nothing for it, but to
return to the house.

I wandered along
the gravel paths trying to convince myself that I’d
been given an opportunity that most people only
dream about. But
the world was
changed beyond anything I had ever imagined, and
I tried not to think about the fact that I could be
imprisoned there
forever. I felt
so completely alone.