Searching For Captain Wentworth

by Jane Odiwe

  ‘And, of course, here people still understand the meaning of rank and consequence in its truest sense. A man in my position is able to oblige the needs of such simple folk with little expense to myself and yet still enjoy their unwavering deference and devotion.

  A lady of equal rank might expect so much more in a small society such as this. To be a Lady of the Manor in Lyme is a most fulfilling, rewarding role, one that any parent would be pleased to see accomplished for their daughter, I’m sure.’

  He was looking into my eyes with a determination I found not only uncomfortable, but also very intimidating. I looked through the window out to sea, at a sailing ship in the distance, and thought of Charles at once. I wasn’t sure that I liked Mr Glanville one little bit. On the one hand he appeared to be the epitome of a gentleman, all charm and good manners, but it was clear he was a snob and I didn’t like that at all. He was as self-important as Mr Elliot.

  ‘I do hope you will be able to accompany us into Lyme and show us all the sights,’ said Emma, smiling in her prettiest way in an attempt to get his attention.

  ‘It would be my delight,’ he readily answered, ‘and as soon as we can be ready, I suggest we take a stroll down to The Walk and the Cobb to sample a most refreshing entertainment.’

  ‘Oh, what can it be?’ cried Emma, ‘please do not tease me, Mr Glanville, I cannot wait to know what you are about!’

  Mr Glanville smirked. ‘All I will say, ladies, is that you may find it best to hang onto your bonnets. If we’re lucky it will be a light zephyr blowing and if not, we’ll be able to guess from the whitecaps whether going up on the top will take us off for an early sea bathe.’

  The afternoon proved to be a perfect one for walking in the sunshine. The sands were dotted with people staying in Lyme for the season, the bathing machines were all occupied and the sea awash with bodies all shrieking with laughter or terror as the bathers were submerged. Breathing in the tang of the sea took me back to another time I hardly remembered. I saw an image of myself as a small child standing before a seafood stall with my parents. Wrinkling my nose at the pots of cockles and shrimps fragrant with vinegar and the aroma of the sea, I remembered feeling astonished that I actually liked the taste of the pearl-grey creatures and plump, pink prawns. The fleeting vision evaporated as the stronger smells of rotting fish heads replaced it. Slung into barrels, the fishermen’s wives were gutting a fresh catch on the shoreline as we walked along to the Cobb, skirting round the little bay. Near the foot of an old pier, a young gentleman emerged from a small house, nodding to Mr Glanville and stopping to exchange a greeting as we passed by.

  ‘That’s Doctor Rockingham,’ Mr Glanville explained after the brief conversation. ‘He looks after our health both here and in Sidmouth where he is much in demand. Not that I’ve had much cause to consult him myself. Pleasant fellow, a little dour, perhaps, though it’s as well not to have a doctor who is too jovial, don’t you know?’

  I watched the doctor’s back disappear. Head bowed and clutching a bag, he looked to be in a hurry. I wondered if he ever had any rest at all. In a place like this, a lot of people would come to recuperate from illness though I suspected many more would be rich hypochondriacs with nothing better to do than spend their money on imaginary ailments.

  ‘Here we are at last!’ Mr Glanville shouted, waving his arm in triumph at the harbour wall rising to a great height before us.

  ‘There’s not a grander spectacle to be found anywhere else in this part of the country.’

  It was a brilliant sight with ships and boats moored alongside and the flurry of people briskly walking along the top. Children running with excitement, and being reined in for fear they might fall, elegant ladies and gentlemen strolling as they admired the scenery, were all full of anticipation as they climbed ever higher.

  We followed the crowd onto the Cobb where the summer breeze snatched at my bonnet, playing with my ribbons in an attempt to undo them. Mr Glanville walked alongside, halting whenever I paused to take in the view, giving his opinion on its merits. Emma was doing her best to intercept him, but he seemed intent on ignoring her and giving me his fullest attention. I couldn’t shake him off so I loudly exclaimed that I had a stone in my shoe before squatting down, taking as long as I could whilst pretending to shake it out and avoiding his eyes that I felt burning into the top of my bonnet. Waiting until I was certain that he’d given up on me and had moved once more to Emma’s side, I rose to take Mrs Randall’s arm.

  ‘Mr Glanville is a very attentive host and quite everything I expected him to be,’ Mrs Randall began.

  ‘Yes, he is pleasant enough, I suppose,’ I began, privately considering that I didn’t like him.

  ‘I am no matchmaker, as you well know,’ continued Mrs Randall, ‘being much too aware of the uncertainty of all human events and calculations, but from my observation it seems our host is quite undecided about where his affections lie.’

  ‘Do you not think there will soon be an announcement? Emma will be so happy when they are engaged.’

  ‘My dear, Sophia, only time will tell. Appearances of partiality are sometimes misleading and I have often noticed that a young man disguises the true object of his affections. Whatever Emma’s feelings maybe, we cannot be entirely sure of Mr Glanville’s at present. Whatever the gossip, he has no more picked her out than you and I own that to see you as a future married lady in her own right would make me very happy.’

  I made my way to stand at the end of the Cobb, pretending to look out over the views of the sea all around me and trying to remain calm. I wasn’t about to take Emma’s place if that was what Mrs Randall was hinting. I felt trapped and knew I must be on my guard more than ever. I was being smothered alive, by the clothes I was wearing, by the stiff behaviour, and by the conventions of a society that thought it was perfectly acceptable to buy and sell women like cattle. I wanted to run away, to tear off my clothes and run along the sands in my petticoat. Of course I couldn’t do anything of the sort, but I felt I couldn’t bear it for another minute and not for the first time wondered how on earth clever, intelligent women like the Austen sisters managed to cope so well and not go mad. And then I remembered that if not for her writing perhaps Jane might have suffered her own version of madness, brought on by the suffocation of a free and creative spirit. I thought about her escaping to her other worlds and knew that there she had rid herself of real passions where she enjoyed more than a little pleasure in exposing the kind of people that she knew and loved to write about.

  ‘We have hardly been acquainted, Mrs Randall,’ I said, as she reached my side. ‘I could not be satisfied that I really know his character. Mr Glanville seems agreeable enough, but there is something wanting. I cannot explain. All I know is that he could never be the man for me.’

  Mrs Randall said nothing further. Slipping her arm through mine, she patted it reassuringly and for the moment, I breathed again.

  Chapter Thirty

  The next week passed in a miserable way to match my mood. The weather turned for the worse. It was impossible to go out and high up on the cliff as we were, any opportunity to venture outside was prevented by the high gales that whipped round the house. The winds shook the glass in the windows and moaned through the cracks in the frames. All day and all night the rain lashed down and I was haunted by the feelings of being trapped with no escape. The mist rolled in off the sea and it seemed as if icy winter had made a return. No one but me seemed in the slightest bit upset by the change in the weather. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the fact that they were all closeted together and were very happy with the same activities, which soon became the routine. Card games were the favourite choice, along with the flirtatious chatter that accompanied the setting up of the card tables, so any chance I had, I disappeared to the library. At least there I could immerse myself in books, escape inside the head of another writer and forget that I might never be able to find my way home. Wherever home might be. When I tried to think about it, I could only see
Sydney Place and memories of Charles made me feel sadder than ever.

  By Friday, the weather had changed for the better much to my enormous relief. Stuck inside, I hadn’t been able to send Jane a letter and if I didn’t send one soon, there’d be no chance of her writing to me. The idea that I might not see her and Charles again was one I didn’t want to think about.

  A request from Mrs Randall to collect a tonic for my father from Doctor Rockingham meant that I had a wonderful excuse to get out of the house. At last the sun was shining, making a perfect day for a walk down into Lyme to call at the doctor’s, send a letter, and look at the shops, as well as take a stroll along the sands.

  Marianne begged to come along so we rushed out of the house before anyone else could join us. I was glad to get away from Mr Glanville’s increasing attentions and knew that Emma would be glad that she’d been left on her own with no one to distract the object of her fortunes. Having dispatched my letter, we headed for the circulating library to look at the books and spend Marianne’s money that she was desperate to lose on some frivolous item. I bought paper for writing and some for sketching with the idea that I might be able to draw the beautiful scenery and perhaps encourage Marianne to do the same. To my surprise, after she’d looked at all the lace gloves, fans and pretty combs with sighs of adoration, she decided to buy a box of paints. Clutching our purchases, we set off down Broad Street and turned onto The Walk and along the seashore to find a suitable place to sit and paint. We found the steps leading down to the sands and walked along feeling the warmth of the sun and the soft, sea breeze on our faces. I couldn’t help thinking of Charles. I wished he could have been there and thought how much he’d enjoy the wonderful views. The fishing boats were out at sea or tied up along the harbour wall, the fishermen struggling with nets full of gleaming silver fish. They doffed their caps and cried friendly greetings as their wives worked swiftly and expertly at their side.

  With their skirts hitched and their bare feet planted firmly in the sand, they didn’t speak but, I saw their eyes observing us, looking at our clothes with a mixture of envy and curiosity.

  ‘We ought to call at the doctor’s house first. It’s just a little further along,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, Sophia, must I? I’d much rather wait here.’ Marianne was not about to be moved. She was already finding the best place to arrange herself and her box of paints, though I did wonder how long it would be before she lost interest in this newfound enthusiasm.

  ‘If you promise you’ll stay just there and do not stray, I will not be long,’ I said, giving in to her pleas, knowing that any amount of cajoling her simply would not work.

  I hurried along to the little house near the Cobb Gate and was invited in by a young woman who introduced herself as the doctor’s sister.

  ‘My brother’s been called away to a patient,’ she said, showing me into a small parlour, ‘but Mr Elliot’s medicine has already been prepared. I’ll fetch it now. Do make yourself at home.’

  Packed full of country furniture brightened by embroidered cushions on the oak settles, there were polished pewter plates on a dresser, jugs of wild sea pinks and samphire on every surface and a grandfather clock in the alcove, which whirred into life, striking the hour with eleven bright chimes as I sat down.

  At last she returned with a glass bottle twisted into brown paper to make it secure. Miss Rockingham, as pretty as her parlour, chatted away all the time. She knew all about us, she said, and that the Elliots were staying with Mr Glanville.

  ‘For there are no secrets in a place as small as Lyme, you know, Miss Elliot. No one may arrive or depart without the whole place knowing about it.’

  ‘I expect you see a lot of people come and go,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, indeed, it’s been our pleasure to meet a lot of travellers. Lyme is a splendid place for invalids to recuperate and we try to help those that are sick and in need of good, fresh air. We have a room we let out in the summer months for just such a purpose. But, Miss Elliot, as glad as we are to see them better, we are always sad to say goodbye. People arrive for a month or more at a time and just as you think they are becoming great friends, off they go again.’

  ‘I confess; I’ve had some experience of that myself in Bath. I made friends with the family next door and now I do not know if I shall ever see them again. I wonder, Miss Rockingham, whether you ever met them. I know they were visiting in the area last year.’

  ‘Well, I don’t claim to remember everyone, but perhaps I might know of your friend.’

  ‘The family name is Austen. Miss Jane Austen is the friend to whom I refer. They spent some time in Sidmouth, I believe, and stayed in Broad Street here in Lyme.’

  Miss Rockingham’s face lit up. ‘Oh, my dear, I know Miss Jane very well and her sister, Miss Cassandra. We had the good fortune to become very well acquainted with them during the autumn months. They were happy days! My hope is that we might see them again this year and the young gentleman, who lodged here with us. Forgive me for being so bold, but tell me, Miss Elliot, is it too much to hope that they became engaged?’

  I hardly knew what to say. ‘I am afraid, Miss Rockingham, that I know of no such engagement, nor of the young man to whom you refer.’

  ‘Oh dear, it was never my intention to talk out of turn, but I never saw two people to suit one another so well. It was a delight to see them together. My brother and I attended poor Mr Austen in Sidmouth many times and during these visits I became acquainted with the young ladies of the house. They duly called here when they came to Lyme and spent a considerable time with us – I feel sure that the young man lodged here on Miss Jane’s recommendation. It was a pleasure to see them together. They used to sit just where you are now; a book between them, their heads bowed together, his so fair and hers so dark. He was such a clever fellow and Miss Jane shared all his passion for novels and discussion. I was certain an engagement was about to be announced. Dear me, how I should love to see her again. Tell me, how is she?’

  ‘Miss Austen is well, at least, she was in good health when I saw her last.’ I could hardly comment on her low spirits. ‘I know they are to travel soon to the West Country but whether they shall come to Lyme, I cannot tell you.’

  ‘Miss Austen and her young man loved one another, that’s certain. Well, that is something of a mystery, if nothing came by it. Anyway, it was not my purpose to tittle-tattle. How are you settling in Lyme, Miss Elliot? Mr Glanville is a very agreeable young man, is he not? And I know he loves to entertain when he’s here. Nelson House is one of the most beautiful buildings for miles around.’

  ‘It is splendid, I quite agree, and a comfortable home.’

  ‘It is a lovely house, Miss Elliot, but what it really needs is a female hand.’

  I couldn’t think of anything to say which would stop her thinking that I had any designs on Mr Glanville. Every sentence that jumped into my head seemed to indicate some partiality to him. I saw her smile knowingly and knew it was time to go.

  ‘I hope we shall see you at the Assembly Rooms, Miss Elliot,’ she said, as she handed me the bottle. ‘I know Mr Glanville loves to dance, so I would reckon it a sure thing. Anyway, you have cheered me up. It’s been a treat to talk to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Rockingham, I’m sure we shall meet again soon.’

  She waved me off from the door. I could imagine Jane fitting in very well within the homely atmosphere I’d found there and pondered once more on the fickleness of time and place. Miss Rockingham had mentioned a gentleman with fair hair. Could he possibly be the young man I’d seen Jane with in Bath? I didn’t really need an answer. I was sure he must be.

  When I reached Marianne she was still sitting in the same spot, her painting things had been abandoned and she was looking very cross.

  ‘Where have you been? I’ve been sitting here for an age and I’ve quite given up. It’s just impossible to paint out of doors. Everything keeps blowing away.’

  ‘Come on, it’s time to go somewhere else.
Let’s walk along the Cobb,’ I said, ‘then we will have views on every side to choose from.’

  ‘But, it is so high and very windy up there – I’m sure to get blown off,’ Marianne complained. ‘And every surface is wet, I am certain I shall slip on the steps.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. Come along; hold onto me. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  Complaining all the way, Marianne took every opportunity to grumble. We took the nearest steps to climb onto the Cobb wall. Up on the top, Marianne clung to my arm and her bonnet, screaming partly with exhilaration but mostly with fear, as the fresh breezes propelled us along quite out of our control. But even Marianne laughed like I did, as a gust blew us to the edge. She screamed; the sound carried away on the wind out to the indigo blue sea.

  We were coming to the fork of the harbour wall where it split into two. Watching the waves as they crashed and foamed onto the rocks below, I suddenly noticed a gentleman standing at the end near the edge. In complete shock, I stared intently, gasping in disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, I watched unable to tear my eyes away. But then, a cloud passed overhead to reveal dazzling sunshine that seemed to get behind everything, winking in my eyes so that I couldn’t see. Against the bright light he appeared almost in silhouette, a shade framed against the tumbling water that leapt and broke against the wall. Could it really be him?

  Chapter Thirty One

  It was Charles, I was sure! He seemed to be enjoying the dangerous game of standing too near the water’s edge and retreating just before a wave broke over the surface of the wall, leaping and jumping out of the way of the spray. I started to walk a little quicker, had almost reached him and was about to call his name, when he turned and I immediately realized how much I’d been mistaken. For although there was something familiar about his stance and in the way that he moved with his dark hair curling into his collar, it was not Charles Austen. I felt embarrassed, for he’d turned to see me racing towards him dragging my sister in tow and he now looked at me, as if I were some kind of mad woman. However, he clearly was a gentleman. He quickly recovered himself, bowed, raised his hat and wished us a good day. He was smiling with that expression which still seemed to be extraordinarily like one I knew so well, and his lady who stood a little way off watched us with interest, bobbing a curtsey in our direction as if very slightly amused by our odd behaviour.