Page 13 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘I love gardens too - I always feel much more alive when I’m outdoors and can always think better after a lungful of fresh air.’

‘So, will you settle down in the countryside when you’ve finished your degree?’

‘I doubt it. While the idea is very appealing, I wonder if it might be too quiet - I’m so used to living in a town, though Bath can hardly be compared to London.’

‘You’d miss the bright lights.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘What about your family? Have you any other brothers and sisters?’

‘No, there’s just Mum back in Cheltenham, Elsa and me. My father was also in the church and spent his working life trying to help other people, though I was only just getting to know him when he died. My cousin Hugh was the nearest I ever got to having a brother. We had some amazing times together when we were young.’

‘Is that your cousin who lived in the castle?’ I said being careful to avoid mentioning his death.

Harry nodded, but I could see he didn’t want to talk about him any longer. He looked at his watch. ‘Come on, it’s getting late. We’d better be getting you back home before Mrs Appleby sends out a search party.’

We were only fifteen minutes away from home and the conversation seemed to dry up, though it was as if that didn’t really matter. Harry was deep in thought, and I felt very conscious of him walking by my side, though he didn’t take my hand or anything like that. When we stopped outside the door he was very close to me, and when he bowed his head I couldn’t decide if he was going to whisper in my ear or if he was going to kiss me. But then the front door opened before he had a chance to do anything, and Roger was there to say goodnight to Harry and thank him for bringing me home. He walked off into the night with a wave of his hand, and I watched him swaggering down Pulteney Street, the flaps of his coat billowing out behind him like the sails of a pirate ship.

***

It was only later when I went to bed that I realised Harry hadn’t said anything about meeting up again, but I decided he knew where I lived, and the conversation between him and Roger had been friendly enough so I didn’t need to worry that he’d been made to feel unwelcome. I hoped he’d call soon to make arrangements to see me. I’d really enjoyed the evening, and he was such an easy person to be with. I was longing to ask him more about his mysterious uncle and the castle - it all seemed very strange that his uncle would cut himself off from his family like that, though I knew well enough that grief makes people behave in ways they wouldn’t do ordinarily.

I found it very hard when my father died, and spent long periods still talking to him as if he were still there. It comforted me to do that, and though he never answered back with a sign or anything like that, I often felt convinced of his presence, catching the occasional waft of his favourite cologne, even if my rational head told me it was probably a trick of my mind brought on by my overt longing to see him. Harry’s uncle had lost the two most important people in his life, and perhaps his nephew reminded him too much of former days and memories that were too difficult to acknowledge.

After such an exciting evening I’m finding it difficult to settle down and go to sleep. I’ve read four more chapters of Northanger, but my thoughts and my eyes keep straying to my writing box, and I know when I’ve finished writing this entry I shall fetch out the journal. I am curious to know about the arrival of Jenny’s cousins, to learn if they lived up to expectation and discover just what happened next.

Chapter Eight

Jenny

Sevenoaks, Kent

July 1788

I thought we might die laughing from a kind of hysterical relief brought on by discovering Cassy’s love interest to be very wet behind the ears. Far from finding a dashing hero in our cousin Lucius, he uttered very little to engage my sister’s heart, and even she had to admit to some disappointment. Lucius may turn out to be handsome one day, and he may come into a fortune in the not too distant future, but he just spent the entire time looking furtively at us both, as he blushed with cheeks redder than mine. He was also exceedingly cruel to the dog he brought with him on a leash - he was only young, the sweetest Newfoundland puppy and every time he yelped, our cruel cousin pulled on his collar in an attempt to make him quiet, which only had the reverse effect. His brother Thomas objected strongly to this behaviour, I was glad to see, and removed the dog whenever he could.

By great contrast, Thomas seems much older than his brother, though he is younger - and just a little older than myself. He is fair, in contrast to his dark-haired brother, and he talks of nothing but sport, which I like him for. Thomas has an athletic build - he’s tall too, and loves riding to hounds, he told us, and playing cricket. We all walked in the gardens after dinner, which was early, as usual. I felt sorry for Cassy because Lucius stuck to her side like glue, though he didn’t speak. Every now and then I caught him staring in a most ungentlemanly way, but my sister has such a pretty figure that I can almost forgive him for appreciating it. I glared at him when I could to give him a taste of how it must feel - I could see how uncomfortable Cassy felt under such scrutiny.

I thought Thomas might be shocked when I told him how much I like cricket and how often I play with my brothers. Henry taught me everything I know, and he says there are not many who can bowl as well as I.

‘A girl who can play cricket?’ said Thomas in clear surprise. ‘Now, that’s not a common sight.’

‘No, I daresay in Sevenoaks you might never see such a thing, but I can assure you that in Steventon, it is an every day occurrence in the summer months.’

Thomas seemed to find this highly amusing judging by the expression on his face, but he was kind enough not to laugh at me.

‘You are a way from home in Hampshire … how do you like Kent?’ he asked, looking into my eyes. I’d never seen such vivid blue eyes before - they had a translucence about them that seemed to pierce into my mind. I knew I could not lie to him, I felt he knew my every thought.

‘I like it very well,’ I said, ‘everyone is rich here.’

That made him laugh. ‘I suppose you are referring to my grandfather … he is certainly well off, and a very generous man. But surely people in Hampshire are just as wealthy.’

‘I believe some of our neighbours …’ I began, and then stopped. I didn’t want Thomas to think we were very poor, even if I knew my parents found it hard to make ends meet sometimes. It felt very important that he should know how well respected my father is, but I couldn’t think quite how to say exactly what I wanted. ‘Well, yes … and being rich isn’t always measured by how much pewter one owns. A poor man may be vastly well off in other ways … rich in the love of his family, and beloved by his friends, esteemed by his neighbours who turn to him for advice … that sort of thing.’

I was floundering, and starting to babble, but Thomas butted in to change the subject before I let myself look very silly. I knew my face, which is always the colour of ripe tomatoes was burning, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.

‘Do you ride, Miss Jane?’