Searching For Captain Wentworth (36 page)

Whatever their
problems, even if they were never to be overcome
and I had a feeling that might be the case, I could
only wish them
time spent with
the other and of being together.

We left the road
after another mile or two to pass through
ornate gates and enter a carriageway twisting and
turning with no
view in sight,
but of trees on every side. Broad, leafy oaks and
chestnuts, their branches like the arms of graceful
dancers made a
green tunnel
over our heads. At last, the vista opened up to our
eyes. Standing serenely in its own remote valley
and enclosed by
sweeping hills
stood Monkford Hall, the gabled manor house of my
ancestors, glimmering in golden stone and gilded
with afternoon
sunshine that
winked in the diamond paned windows.

A young girl
about sixteen years old came flying through the door
and down the front steps attended by her nurse.
Marianne rushed up
to the carriage
door as we took our turns to step down, her cheeks
flushed and eyes shining with rude health.

‘Mrs Randall,’ she
cried, ‘I am so glad to see you, for no one
here is the least sympathetic about my poor throat.
Sophia, it is
such an age
since I saw you and this last week I had no word from
you at school. I could have died of a putrid fever
and no one would
have cared. You
all know my sore throats are worse than anyone
else’s.’

‘I am sorry to
find you unwell,’ said Mrs Randall. ‘You sent
me such a good account of yourself on Wednesday!’

‘Yes, I did not
wish to trouble you; but I have been so very ill,
I can assure you. Mrs Dilly has had no time for me
either, she’s
always busy and
her sewing is far more important than nursing
me!’

‘I’m certain
that Mrs Dilly has been most attentive,’ Mrs
Randall replied cheerfully, smiling at the old
nurse who looked to
be at the end of
her tether with Marianne.

‘Well, you will
soon be better now,’ I said, feeling that to jolly
her along might be the best course. ‘You know I
always make you
better when you
come home from school.’

The words felt
so familiar that I guessed I was feeling
something of Sophia’s emotions on the matter,
especially when it
soon became
clear that Marianne was something of a handful,
demanding attention at every turn, and imagining
she was hard
done by in
everything.

Supper was
ready; there was no time to familiarize myself
with the house or look round. Food was served in
the old hall. An
Elizabethan
space, the vast room was long and tall with windows
that were too high to see out of, but which let in
the dying light of
the sun at
twilight turning the walls to chalk pink. Shields and
mottoes ran round the top of the room adding to the
sense of age
and history.
Paintings of figures in padded breeches or satin gowns
with diaphanous ruffs of starched lawn, followed
our actions with
their eyes as we
moved. A long refectory table placed before the
fire at one end groaned with a selection of cold
meat, hot pies, and
other savouries
arranged on pewter plates. Whilst at the other,
glasses of lemon syllabub decorated with
crystallized fruit, tempted
us from a
tiered epergne dressed with cut flowers.

Everyone was
tired after the journey. Emma and Marianne
talked of their excitement at leaving for Lyme the
next day, but
were anxious to
go to bed so that they might be up early. I wanted
to explore the house. After all, I didn’t know if
I’d ever have a
chance to see it
again. Even though I’d returned in time, I felt
cautious about the likelihood of being around in
this century for
long. It seemed
I had little control over my coming and going and
so I wanted to make the most of any time I had.

Monkford Hall
was a much larger house than the one in
Sydney Place. The house in Bath could have been
swallowed up
several times
and although I managed to go all over it to get my
bearings, there were many rooms I did not enter.
The building as a
whole formed a
letter H. The earliest and narrowest part was
centrally positioned, housing the imposing entrance
with its grand
oak door and the
Great Hall. The two gabled wings comprised of
the kitchens, offices and a formal dining room on
the east, as well
as the drawing
room, the oak parlour and the library on the west. It
was a lovely country house with rooms furnished in
the English
style. Stuffed full
with ancient furniture, tapestries and tarnished
chintz, I fell in love with it all, feeling
instantly at home.

‘I’ve missed
you, Sophia, why could you not have come
sooner?’ Marianne said, coming to stand by my side
as I gazed
through one of
the mullioned windows. I felt the weight of her head,
rest against my shoulder. ‘Will you come outside
with me before
bedtime. We’ll
sit in the garden as we used to do and I can tell you
all my troubles.’

I turned to see
a girl who suddenly seemed a lot younger than
her sixteen years. With her large, dark eyes, she
looked like a
bewildered child
and if only she could stop scowling, I thought,
she’d be a very pretty one. We walked arm-in-arm
out into the
beautiful
garden, damp with dew and fragrant with the perfume of
summer blooms. Along the terrace, which ran along
the back of the
house, our feet
crunched along gravel paths until we stepped down
a flight of semi-circular steps to pass under an
arch in the wide
hedge of dark
yew that traversed the formal layout.

‘Upon my word, I
would not be sixteen for all the tea in
India,’ Marianne cried. ‘I was stuck at school
whilst you were all
being happy in
Bath. I do not see why I could not accompany you.

I am quite of an
age to go dancing.’

‘But, Marianne,
everyone has to go to school and when you
are older, I am sure you will look back on such
times with fondness.
If you
had come to Bath, you would have left all your friends
behind.’

‘I never want
them, I assure you. They talk and laugh a great
deal and are so full of their own importance it is
too much to bear.
Isabella never
fails to remind me that she is the daughter of a
baronet and therefore requires precedence in all
matters, and
Penelope is
spiteful and unfeeling. Do you know, she said that my
sore throats were a figment of my imagination?’

‘Oh dear,
perhaps she meant that you must try not to think
about them too much.’

‘She is a
heartless girl. I understand her meaning perfectly
well, but I do not wish to waste any more of my
precious breath
talking of her.
Ask me instead about my afternoon with Henrietta
Coles yesterday. Mrs Dilly and I stayed for tea.’

‘Were you well
enough to go then? I thought you’d been ill for
some days.’

‘Of course I
went. I could not have stayed at home; Sophia, I
should have been missed by all my other friends.’

‘Well, I am very
glad you were able to go, and have a lovely
time.’

‘There was
nothing extraordinary about it. I knew beforehand
exactly who would be there and what refreshment
would be on
offer. I tell
you, if I see another potted shrimp, or wretched seed
cake at one of these parties, I shall die.’

I didn’t know
what to add. Marianne seemed upset with
everything and everybody. I decided that what she
really missed
was the care and
attention of her mother and if everything was
centred on Emma all the time, being the youngest
and left out on
the activities
of her elder sisters would be bound to have its
difficulties.

We entered a
small courtyard styled in the old Tudor fashion
of parterres with squares of columbines dotted in
between low box
hedging, their
lavender heads nodding in the breeze. I was drawn to
the Elizabethan sundial on a plinth in the middle.
Carved in a stone
spiral with many
embellishments around the circular face was the
motto:
Time is but a shadow; Too slow, too
swift, But for those who
love, Time does not exist.

I shivered. My
mother would have said someone had just
walked on my grave and the doves up in the church
beyond the
house flew from
the bell tower, their wings flapping against the still
air. The words on the sundial resonated with me,
but I couldn’t
think where I
had read them before. They seemed so fitting. I
couldn’t think of a more apt description to the way
I was feeling.

Whenever Charles
and I were together time did not exist. Time
made up its own rules and like shadows we were at
its mercy,
floating between
the layers like sunlight passing through lace to
leave its patterns fleetingly marked in shade.

‘What are you
thinking about, Sophia? You have a most
faraway expression. But I think I know and I’ve
guessed why you
seem so
different since you arrived. You are in love!’

The challenge in
her voice brought me up fast. Was that what
I was feeling? Was I truly in love with Charles
Austen?

‘You’re
blushing, so it’s true!’ cried Marianne, pulling me
down to sit beside her on a stone seat. ‘Tell me
about him, Sophia.

Is he rich like
Mr Glanville? What do Papa and Mrs Randall think
of him?’

‘I am not in
love,’ I began and hesitated, as I didn’t wish to
confide in anyone about the complicated feelings I
had for Charles.
I was doing my
best to deny them knowing that his love could
never be mine.

‘But, I am sure
you’ve met someone,’ Marianne insisted. ‘I
can see that you have and I shall feel most put out
if you do not tell
me all about
him.’

‘I did meet a
very interesting family when we were in Bath, a
set of the most delightful people. I fell in love
with them all … they
have such
a funny way of saying things that show them to be
sincere and openhearted, quite unlike other people
who present a
smile, but then
have no real interest in you at all. The Austens are
a creative, artistic family. Cassandra is an
accomplished artist and
Jane is a
talented writer. I also met their parents, a brother James
and his family, all literary and interested in
books. There is a sailor
brother,
too.’

‘And I believe
that this brother is the very one who has stolen
your heart.’

‘Lieutenant
Austen is very gentleman-like, but my heart is
intact, I do assure you.’

‘But you do like
him?’

‘Yes, I like
him, as a girl might like a brotherly figure. In any
case, he has yet to make his way in the world and
has no time to
fall in love.’

‘Oh well, at
least there will be one wedding to attend. Emma
will be married before September.’

‘Marianne, you
should not say such things before an
engagement is announced.’

‘I know, but
some sisters keep me informed, whereas others
do not. Emma told me that she is certain to get
William Glanville
now and that he
has hinted as much. I’ve never received so many
letters from her on the subject in my life before.’

‘However, I
think it might be wise not to discuss or use the
word, “engagement”, especially in light of her
previous
disappointment.
There has been no formal proposal yet.’

Marianne pressed
her lips together petulantly. ‘I shall be as
silent as the grave, but all I know is that she
will get him at last, and
then
introduce me to all his friends!’

It was hard to
bite my tongue, and resist the temptation to tell
her what I thought, but thinking about the
influence her sister