by Jane Odiwe
We were soon home, parting at our respective doorways with promises to meet again as soon as we could. Jane and Cassandra said their goodbyes first, leaving Charles who lingered.
‘I have enjoyed our picnic together, Miss Elliot, and I know my sisters always relish your company.’
‘I am sure that no one could have enjoyed the day quite as much as I did myself. Thank you so much for asking me to come.’
‘The pleasure was entirely mine.’ He lifted his hat and bowed.
‘Until tomorrow, Miss Elliot.’
The door opened to admit me into the cool, dark hallway. I caught sight of myself in the pier glass as I passed, and as the maidservant took my bonnet and pelisse, I examined my reflection turning my face one way and then the other. It certainly looked like my face. The eyes that regarded me were mine and as green as the jade vase on the table below me. It was very strange, but I was not certain if I could see anything left of Sophia at all unless what I observed was really her likeness after all. Was it my own face that I could see or had I simply become used to seeing another in the glass? I tried to remember but I couldn’t think about anything very much, except that I thought I might have been someone else a very long time ago. I didn’t want to think about that. There were other, much more important subjects occupying my mind. As I mounted the staircase lost in my thoughts about the day and the warmth of my feelings towards Lieutenant Austen, I sensed such a moment of happiness that I couldn’t think when I had last felt the same. Jane had talked of fate and in that moment I believed it was destiny that had brought us all together.
Chapter Twenty Four
The next day dawned as bright and warm as a midsummer’s day. I was looking forward to the gala, but each second and every minute that passed meant we were also getting nearer to the time of our departure from Bath. I didn’t want to think about the fact that there was only one more evening left to enjoy the company of friends who’d become so dear to me. That is, if I could manage to spend time with them and I grew anxious that I might not even have a chance to speak to them. Emma was lively and excited, happily chatting about the coming trip to Lyme. I couldn’t bear to hear any more about plans and preparations, Emma’s instructions on the best ways to pack gowns, or Mrs Randall’s enquiries on whether I was looking forward to the trip. The feelings of claustrophobia were overwhelming me again. As the afternoon dragged on, I knew I had to get out into the sunshine or I’d go mad and when I was happy that everyone else was busily occupied, I slipped out before they could stop me.
I escaped to Sydney Gardens. Fine weather had brought out crowds of people who promenaded in their finery. The sun felt very warm on my skin, and I wished I’d brought a parasol to keep me cool. I kept to the shadows and the sun-dappled paths, lingering under tall trees whose leaves rustled in the warm breeze over my head. I’d reached the white gate before I stopped to catch my breath and cool down. All of a sudden, I had the inexplicable feeling that I was being watched. I looked up, and then I saw him. There, not ten feet away was my very own Captain Wentworth, dressed in a blue uniform with a velvet stock about his throat. He carried his hat under his arm so that I saw the dark waves of his cropped hair above his lean and handsome face. It was Charles and I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had come looking for me.
‘I thought I might find you here,’ he said, a generous smile breaking to light up his face.
‘You look lovely,’ I said, before I could think of any alternative, and then immediately thought how inappropriate that would sound in this time and place.
Charles blushed but, far from being shocked, he actually seemed pleased by my reaction. ‘Thank you for your generous compliment, but it is you who truly does justice to the word.
Indeed, if I may be permitted to say it, Miss Elliot, you do look very lovely.’
It was my turn to blush.
Charles continued. ‘There’s a military parade at four o’clock, to celebrate the Peace.’
‘I confess; I did not know. I should love to come and see it, to watch you marching down the road.’
‘Well, we are to start at Great Pulteney Street with a march through the town and back again in time for the grand gala opening at six.’
‘I will come and wave at you.’
Charles smiled again, but then his expression changed to such a serious one that I wondered what on earth he could be about to say.
‘I have enjoyed our discussions, Miss Elliot. It has been an honour to know you and your friendship is one I shall always think on with pleasure.’
I could hardly meet his eyes. ‘I wish we were not going away just yet. I should so much like to know you and your sisters better.
Thank you for your kindness towards me, Lieutenant Austen.’
‘I hope we will meet again.’
‘We will meet this evening, I am certain.’
‘Yes, I trust we will, but if we are unable to speak to one another, if the opportunity does not arise ... Please write to my sister and tell her of your plans, where you are headed on your journey.
Do I ask too much, Miss Elliot?’
‘No, it will be my delight to do as you ask. I sincerely hope our paths will cross again one day.’
He paused. ‘I must go now,’ he said, ‘but I wished you to take this in remembrance of a friend who holds you dear.’
From the lining of his hat he produced a small package loosely wrapped in paper. Peeling back the layers, I found a small painted miniature in an oval frame made of gold. A rather serious, but handsome Charles dressed in naval uniform stared back at me from the glass. His skin glowed, his mouth betraying that characteristic humour in the merest hint of a smile and those beautiful eyes, I knew so well, glittered with confidence and hope.
‘It was drawn up at Algeciras,’ he said softly. ‘I hope you will think fondly of me if you ever care to look at it.’
I hardly knew how to reply. Knowing whatever happened, that I would keep it always; there were no words that could convey just how much his gift meant to me.
‘I will think of you with pleasure, Lieutenant Austen, and treasure your gift always.’
‘I hoped you’d say as much. I, too, will remember the time we spent together. I will never forget it, and I pray that …’
He hesitated and I waited to hear the words I longed for him to say.
‘Forgive me, Miss Elliot, but I must go now.’
I put out my hand to touch his arm, to prevent him from moving just yet.
‘Of course, do not be late on my account.’
Taking my hand in his gloved one he pressed it to his lips. I closed my eyes to savour his tender kiss.
‘Goodbye, Miss Elliot.’
I wanted the feeling to last. I hardly dared open my eyes because I knew he should have to leave. Suddenly, I felt the brisk release, he’d let go of my hand and when I looked, to my enormous surprise Charles was gone! Not only had he vanished into thin air, but the whole world as I was coming to know it had disappeared. His world, the time to which I wanted to belong more than ever, had completely evaporated along with the bright sunshine and the portrait I’d been holding. I found myself in the still, quiet gardens, standing alone by the white gate in my own time with spots of rain pattering down on my head, which gathered pace with every second. The mournful cry of a seagull broke the silence as it flew above into the thunderous clouds that were gathering, smothering any patch of blue with a blanket of steel grey. Such a contrast to the happy scene I’d been part of a moment ago made me long for the past. I closed my eyes, hoping against hope that I would feel the sun on my face and feel Charles’s hand holding mine. A spot of rain confirmed what I knew before I opened them again to see the gravel paths replaced with concrete, the sinuous walkways amongst towering beeches and chestnut trees and the secret alcoves, all but gone. I couldn’t think what had happened, or understand how on earth I could have returned. I could only think that somehow the power of Charles’s kiss had been too much, but that didn’t seem
to make any sense.
Not that anything about this whole crazy adventure seemed to work by any logical means. I searched the pockets of my jeans, snatching at the white glove as soon as my fingers found it, pulling it on in an attempt to get back. Nothing happened, and though I closed my eyes and prayed with all my heart to be taken back, it was no use.
Willing myself to go back was not going to work; I knew that from experience. I sat down on the path and cried. I knew my tears were completely selfish, but I didn’t care. I wept for myself and for the man I was sure I’d never see again.
At least the rain meant I didn’t meet anyone on my way home. There was no one in the park to stare at my red eyes or stop me to ask if I was all right. I dodged my way between the cars, not caring if they had to slam on their brakes in an effort to avoid running me over. I let myself into the house. Feeling totally disorientated, I had absolutely no idea how long I’d been away. In the past when I’d travelled back to the present the clocks had stood still, but somehow I couldn’t believe that this time had been the same and a pile of post outside my door confirmed my gut feeling. I felt I’d been away so long, but in any case nothing really mattered. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and feel sorry for myself. Fully clothed, I pulled the covers over my head and cried myself to sleep.
When I woke, I really didn’t know where I was for a moment or for how long I’d slept, though I recollected that I’d seen daylight come and go more than once as I drifted in and out of sleep. And then when I realized, remembering all that had happened, all my emotions came flooding back to overwhelm me again. I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous, that it wasn’t possible to have fallen in love with Jane Austen’s brother, but I couldn’t tell my heart not to be broken at the thought of never seeing Charles again. It simply wouldn’t listen. Now I was back once more the feeling that my experience was all part of some weird dream hit me again. What I’d thought had happened was totally impossible I tried to tell myself, but the ache in my heart refused to go away. It was real. Every time I closed my eyes Charles’s face was there. I felt my hand in his and saw his lips plant his sweet kiss.
With a lot of effort I managed to haul myself out of bed. I had a bath, put on clean clothes and dabbed on a little concealer to hide the redness round my eyes. Feeling strangely underdressed I decided that the best way to pull myself together would be to go out and get some fresh air though I couldn’t bear the thought of going to the gardens. I flicked on the radio. The presenter was announcing the news and when they gave the time and day’s date, I knew that this last trip back had been in real time. Days of my life in the present had actually gone missing and I’d been physically occupying space somewhere else. Time travelling was a real puzzle, I decided, resolving not to think too hard on the subject. None of it seemed to make sense. All I knew was that I felt I had been away for an age.
Two weeks passed where I slowly began to accept what I’d learned and even started to convince myself that the feelings I thought I’d had for Charles were not real, not even my own. All attempts to go back failed completely and every time I tried on the glove, it was with renewed hope and excitement. But, the enchantment seemed all but used up. As before, the present swiftly took over my consciousness and the memories, although still present in my mind, were fading like a sepia photograph making me question everything I’d experienced. That’s not to say that my feelings did not overwhelm me from time to time, but I did my best to bury them. Feeling so wretched was a pointless exercise. Nothing could change the truth. I was not Sophia, and clearly, Charles had not felt the same. He’d never been in love with her.
I didn’t see anything of Josh, and I guessed he was too busy to bother popping up to see me with the last minute preparations for the exhibition and the launch party. The invitation propped against the mantelpiece proclaimed its desire for my company the following evening. Although I couldn’t imagine how I was going to cope, I was glad to be seeing Josh again knowing that somehow his company would be good for me.
Chapter Twenty Five
As the day of the launch party dawned, I tried not to think about how nervous I was going to feel about seeing Josh again and spent the morning writing. I’d half expected to receive a note saying that he was going to be taking his friend Louisa to the launch instead and wondered if they’d managed to make contact. The day was sunny and it seemed as if the world had dressed itself in finery for the occasion. Over in the gardens flowers bloomed as the lilac trees drooped with heavy, fragrant boughs, their blossoms fading and turning russet in the heat.
When it was time to get ready, I took a deliciously scented bath. I carefully dried my long wavy hair, parting it in the middle and taking the sides back to pin it into place with some pretty slides. Slipping on the dove grey dress which fell in soft folds about my feet, I felt much more confident. A touch of my favourite rosebud lip balm, a flick of mascara and a brush of blusher later, I turned to view my reflection in the long, cheval glass. The whole effect was rather Regency in a way, but far more comfortable. And when I thought about the emotional highs and lows of the last couple of weeks, I was surprised to find that instead of seeing a care-worn harridan looking back at me, the mirror showed someone quite respectable. A spritz of my favourite perfume on my wrists and neck was the final touch, filling the air with the lingering fragrance of Morrocan rose and warm bergamot.
I poured out a glass of wine to help calm my nerves. I didn’t know why I was feeling so nervous, but the prospect of being in a room full of people all looking at me and wondering why I was with Josh unnerved me. I really didn’t want to let him down; he’d been so kind.
The buzzer went, I opened the door and my mouth followed suit. There aren’t many men who have ever made me gasp at their beauty, but Josh Strafford was a vision. I don’t know what I’d expected, really, but I suppose I’d only ever seen him in jeans and tees before. He was wearing a black suit, of some fabulous very slightly glazed fabric, that was beautifully cut, fitting him to perfection and making his eyes appear blacker and more glittering than ever. Underneath, a charcoal shirt with a very fine stripe was buttoned to the neck with no tie and had long cuffs that gave a glimpse of silver cufflinks. We looked as if we had planned our outfits together and I suddenly felt rather self-conscious. Josh leaned forward kissing me on the cheek and the smell of his cologne took me back for an instant to the Fashion Museum and that incident I’d almost blocked out of my mind.
‘You look divine, Sophie, like a Greek goddess.’
I was so overwhelmed; I didn’t know what to say, but he’d already turned and stood at the top of the staircase. ‘Shall we go?’
Josh opened the door to the evening air. It was cooler, but it was still warm, which was just as well because I hadn’t wanted to wear my old jacket or threadbare cardigan over my gorgeous dress that made me feel wonderful, it was so soft against my skin. I was still reeling from what Josh had said. I did feel good, but I was sure he was just being really nice putting me at my ease like he always did. He was so charming, a perfect date. Not that I meant the use of that word in its proper sense. It was just that he was such a gentleman and I knew I would have a lovely evening.
I needn’t have worried about being stared at or worried by the impression I was making on anyone. Nobody looked at me. Several of the men, as well as every single woman in the place positively drooled over him. He was very attentive and saw that I was introduced to his colleagues and he even started to show me round the exhibition. But inevitably, he was the centre of attention. Everyone wanted to be introduced to him, everybody wanted to talk to him. He apologized more than once, but I told him not to worry. I wandered off to look round by myself.
The champagne was flowing and there were plates of hors d’oeuvres being handed round to nibble on but I couldn’t eat much. I wandered about trying to look as if I didn’t mind being on my own. It felt a bit like intruding in a private club and inevitably after a while people gave up trying to talk to me in favour of c
atching up on the latest office gossip. I was anxious not to drink too much. It would never do to have copious amounts and fall over, not that I’ve ever done quite that, but the problem was that my glass kept being filled up when I wasn’t looking and it did seem to have gone straight to my head. Feeling a little light-headed and strangely unsettled by the whole event, I took myself round to look at everything. The exhibition was fabulous; Josh had done an amazing job. It was the way he’d pulled all the artefacts together, whether they were prints, paintings, objects or examples of costumes, and it was displayed so imaginatively using pieces of film, or real figures, and tableaux to represent what was being shown. Anyone, whatever their interest, would have gained something from it. I hoped he felt proud of his achievement.
I was halfway round when I couldn’t avoid the painting any longer. I didn’t want to avoid it exactly, but I knew on seeing it, that it would arouse so many emotions that I wasn’t sure I could keep in check. There was Mrs Randall resembling my mother more than ever. Sophie’s mother looked vulnerable; so young and beautiful. I wondered what they must have discussed as they sat together having their portrait painted. My eyes wandered to the box on the bookshelf. Even if the white gloves had been draped there for a compositional device, it still gave me the shivers to see them. It confirmed in a way I hadn’t wanted to believe before, that there was more to all this than mere fancy. There was also something else. I hadn’t noticed it last time because I’d been so pre-occupied by the sight of recognizable objects being there in the painting, but jutting out from the box on one side, ever so slightly open, was what appeared to be a small compartment, or perhaps it was a drawer. It was difficult to see, what with the painting being a very large one and the box on the shelf appearing so much higher than my head, but it was clear that there was also something inside it. I couldn’t remember noticing a drawer in the box that Great Aunt Elizabeth had sent. In fact, I was sure I would have noticed it if there had been one.
