Searching For Captain Wentworth

by Jane Odiwe

  ‘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.’

  From her basket, she produced a cloth in which were wrapped chicken pies. ‘These are fresh-cooked, and with the gingerbread that Charles and I went shopping for this morning, I hope you will consider joining us in our feast, Miss Elliot.’

  It was a relief to hear the conversation changed. Cassy and I exchanged smiles as we set about our meal, uncorking bottles of spruce beer to wash it down.

  ‘I believe this is the finest gingerbread I have ever eaten,’ mused Jane, brushing crumbs from her gown. ‘There is nothing quite so delicious as a slab of dark, sticky gingerbread. You know if I were ever to be persuaded to seriously contemplate matrimony, it would have to be with Mr Smith whose recipe for this delightful sweetmeat is a celebrated secret. Just imagine being able to indulge your fancy whenever you wished. One might wake to a breakfast of such treats every day.’

  ‘Oh Jane, you do talk such nonsense,’ said Cassandra, shaking her head in disbelief, but smiling at the idea of her sister indulging her pleasure for gingerbread whenever she wanted. ‘I could no more see you married to a shopkeeper than I could the Prince of Wales!’

  ‘I do not know why the idea should be so offensive to you,’ her sister replied. ‘If I loved him, I should not care what his occupation.’ Jane selected another piece. ‘And, believe me, at this very second, I feel myself to be in love most pertinently.’

  ‘But you cannot live on love
and gingerbread alone,’ commented Charles, ‘and unless Mr Smith also has a secret fortune, I do not believe you would truly consider him.’

  ‘You may be right. My love for pewter is undeniably greater than my love for gingerbread, but there’s not much in it, I can tell you. Poor Mr Smith, I hope I will not break his heart but, if he should ask me, I should have to refuse him.’

  I watched Jane nibble thoughtfully on the rest of the gingerbread relishing every last morsel. ‘What do you think, Miss Elliot? If you were to fall in love with a man who had not yet made his fortune, would you consider him as a likely suitor?’

  I had a very strong feeling that there was more to this question than there appeared and I couldn’t help thinking that she must be referring to her own brother. I chose my words carefully.

  ‘If I truly loved a man, his fortune or lack of one would not make any difference to me. In any case, we cannot always choose with whom we fall in love. When it happens, it is not something we can just dismiss on a whim or tell to go away. There is no rhyme nor reason in matters of the heart.’

  Jane smiled rather wistfully. ‘I believe what you say is true, yet it is not always in our power to follow our hearts. Obligation and duty are often the arbiters in cases where love has happened by mischance. And yet, still more cruel is the hand of fate, the harshest judge of all.’

  Silence followed this little speech. I sensed an atmosphere of discomfort, of unspoken words remaining unsaid. Jane sat quietly for a moment or two, her face averted as if she stared at something in the distance. Jumping up to her feet, she opened her parasol with a snap, holding it over her head and obscuring her face as she walked away. Charles was about to get up to follow her when Cassandra assured him that she would go. It was evident that Jane was upset by something and that it had related to our conversation seemed obvious.

  ‘I hope it wasn’t anything I said that upset Miss Austen.’ I watched Charles’s expression, his eyes following his sisters with concern. We could see them both quite far off now. Cassandra seemed to be making reassuring gestures, taking Jane’s arm, stroking her hand as they walked along.

  ‘No, Miss Elliot, do not worry.’ Charles looked across at me and smiled, but said no more on the subject, busying himself with the task of collecting the remnants of the picnic together.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Despite the appearance of grey cloud, briefly overhead, the sun decided to challenge the densest vapour, evaporating all into whipped confections like floating meringues in the cobalt sky. The sisters returned. Jane’s mood was bright, but if anything she was overly talkative and I wasn’t completely convinced that she was as happy as she appeared. She sat down a little way in front, looking out at the view across Bath. I watched Cassandra reach inside her basket producing a pocket sketchbook, a pencil, a bottle of water and a small box of paints.

  ‘Do not move, Jane,’ she called. ‘I shall picture you for posterity … a portrait of unwearied contemplation.’

  ‘Just as long as you do not paint my face!’ Jane called, turning her back to us, arranging her dress and striking a pose.

  ‘I would not dare … I know how much you dislike sitting for me. No, I shall not ask you to turn. I shall capture the folds in the back of your gown instead and paint your elegant bonnet.’

  With swift strokes of her pencil, Jane’s figure was outlined. Dressed in turquoise blue with her bonnet strings undone, she sat upon the grass, one neat little foot poking out from under her gown, her hand resting upon her knee. Only the most tantalizing curve of her cheek was displayed so it was impossible to guess her expression or sense any emotion. After a few minutes, she protested at sitting still for so long. Ignoring her sister’s requests to sit for five minutes longer, she was on her feet in a second and came over to my side. Ever restless, Jane held out her hand to me.

  ‘Shall we walk, Miss Elliot? Sitting about all day is apt to make one sleepy. I am not in the least bit tired but if I know my brother and sister, they shall soon be slumbering.’

  Charles and Cassandra laughed as if in agreement. They flopped down together on the grass, lying on their backs, spreading themselves out to watch the skies looking for pictures in any clouds that chanced to float above their heads.

  I stood to take Jane’s arm and we walked along admiring the view, pointing out the landmarks that we recognized. Bath looked like a toy town far below us in miniature. Up here, amongst the trees studded on the steep slopes, lush and green, it seemed a world very far away.

  ‘I love the scenery up here,’ Jane continued. ‘If we turn our back on the city, the countryside around is very reminiscent of a favourite spot of mine in Dorsetshire, Miss Elliot. I admit, whenever I come up here, it is to remind myself.’

  ‘I like that part of the world very much,’ I answered. ‘I wonder; do I know of the place to which you refer?’

  ‘Pinny, near Lyme, Miss Elliot. Do you know it? Of course, the scenery is even more dramatic. It is a place for romance of every kind with its plunging green chasms and romantic rocks amongst scattered forest trees. I confess to having left a large part of my heart behind in Pinny.’

  Jane’s features seemed to shadow over as if a dark cloud had passed once more overhead. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a sigh that escaped instead.

  ‘And dare I ask if it was only the place where you left a piece of your heart?’ I asked.

  Her eyes were bright with tears. I instantly felt embarrassed because I realized if I hadn’t been so inquisitive, the moment could have passed before she had had a chance to get upset. She blinked them away, her lips pressed together in determination to fight her emotions.

  ‘I am so sorry, Miss Austen, I did not mean to upset you. I should not have spoken as I did. It is clear that there are some painful memories associated with the place of which you speak so highly.’

  ‘But when pain is over, the remembrance can be a delight. I do not love Lyme any less for having suffered in it because there was so much that I will always look back on with great fondness. I experienced such enjoyment; my good memories far outweigh any other.’

  ‘Do not speak if it upsets you, Miss Austen.’

  ‘When love strikes, Miss Elliot, we must make the most of it and not worry too much about what the future will bring. I learned true romance at a time when I thought I should never know what it was to be in love again. After all, I am an ageing spinster. I shall be twenty-seven this year.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Austen, you cannot believe that age should be such a barrier to love.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but you must also be aware that chances for single women with little fortune and fading charms are few and far between. My sister Cassy gave up all hope of ever marrying and falling in love again long ago. In any case, her heart would only ever be true to her first and only love. She also knows too well the penalties for being unable to take the moment and fly. Be sure that you learn from it. Prudence is one thing, Miss Elliot, but true happiness and love are quite another!’

  There was nothing I could say in return and the wind chose to rush through the trees at that moment bringing with it a strong blast of foreknowledge that only served to chill the air around me, and tighten my hold on Miss Austen’s arm. I was sure there must be some reason why Jane could not be with the young man I’d seen that day in the Labyrinth and felt certain her heartfelt words had some connection to him.

  The descent was in many ways easier than the climb to the top had been, but in long skirts it proved to be more difficult. Jane and Cassandra, used to walking in such clothing, negotiated the steps with ease. Once more, Charles held out his hand to me when he saw that I was struggling. I took it but, even so, there were several deep steps sloping away at a sharp angle that took me by surprise.

  Walking up them had been one thing, coming down was quite another. Forced to jump down the steep steps, Charles gripped my hand and my confidence soared. However, it was a self-assurance that came too soon. I stepped out too quickly, my boot slipped and
I landed awkwardly on a stone ledge. As I turned instinctively towards him, grabbing his arm to steady myself, I felt loose stones shift under my twisted foot and I lost my balance. Charles’s free arm caught my waist sharply, pulling me towards him to stop me from falling and dragging us both down the steps together. His fingers gripped the curve of my waist, and a tender pang of desire quickened inside. We were so close I could see the pulse throbbing above the white neckcloth wound round his tanned throat. Pulling away in my confusion, it was impossible not to be drawn by his eyes that crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Now hazel in the sunlight, fringed with dark lashes, they rested on mine.

  ‘Miss Elliot, forgive me, are you quite steady?’ he asked, the gentle pressure of his fingers’ touch increasing like a caress as he pulled me closer.

  I could no longer look at him. ‘I am so sorry, Lieutenant Austen. I do not think I am a very accomplished walker.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but you are perfectly proficient in the art of falling down steps which is far more fun,’ he said, slowly releasing his arm from my waist, but retaining a firm grip on my hand.

  He looked so serious that I didn’t know whether to laugh, but then he grinned and I knew he was teasing me again. His dark eyes moved from the top of my bonnet to rest on the curls framing my face, before he glanced momentarily into my eyes. His gaze slowly shifted to stare at my lips, which parted as if at his request.

  ‘There are not too many steps now, Miss Elliot, and they are not so steep. Here, take my arm again and we shall navigate ourselves just a little way further. I am rather mindful of the fact that I’ve left my sisters to shift for themselves.’

  I thought his words rather prophetic as I considered how the men in Jane’s life seemed to let her down one way or another, from what I’d read. Perhaps the reason that Jane and Cassandra were so close was because they knew that ultimately no one else had the time or inclination to truly meet their particular wants and needs.