Page 39 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘But, forgive me for speaking plainly … her parents will surely wish her to increase the family fortune, so it is not likely they’d look favourably on a match with a country curate.’

‘Except they have risen from very humble beginnings, I am told. The Fowles are several steps considerably higher on the social ladder, as far as they’re concerned. A respectable gentry family with connections to Lord Craven must seem a very attractive proposition. It may be a while before she inherits a penny, but Mr Fowle would be mad not to consider such an alliance.’

‘But, he may not even like her. And you only saw her from a distance … she may have freckles and buck teeth.’

I know she is trying to make me feel better, but there are no doubts about Penelope Brooke’s handsome looks. ‘Her hair is as golden as honey, her complexion like porcelain, and her lips red and sweet. It is no exaggeration to call her a beauty.’

‘Oh Cassy, do not underestimate your own charms. There isn’t another girl in Bath as beautiful as you, and besides, you have one more advantage over Miss Brooke.’

‘Pray, Jane, do inform me of such a benefit, for at this moment in time I cannot imagine what that could possibly be.’

‘Mr Fowle is already in love with you … our cousin Cooper wasted no time in telling me that he predicts a match between you after the last ball.’

I cannot help but smile. ‘Is that so?’

‘Edward said those very words, indeed, and his sister quite agreed with him. Now, let’s have no more of Miss Brooke, and enjoy a pleasant evening. Though, I see Lucius is as keen as ever, and you’ll have to be on your mettle if you are to avoid him.’

‘He may be, though I am not convinced the family still hope for such a match.’

‘But, I thought it was their wish, or at least prompted by Uncle Frank’s desire.’

‘Uncle Frank may have seemed to sanction the alliance, but you know yourself, the portraits have not even been finished, and neither are yet hanging on Uncle Frank’s walls. He’s very old, Jane, and I think the family are hoping he will die before anything is set in stone.’

‘Good Lord, Cassy, I hope you are right. You may be saved at last!’

Jane throws her arms round my neck and showers me with kisses. I laugh at her exuberant spirits and all seems right with the world once more.

***

We’ve walked out of our way in order to catch the ferry, and I can see immediately why Jane wants to cross the river this way. The sun is setting, the light is growing dim, and across the river we can see the entrance to the gardens lit with flares and lamps, as if showing the way to an enchanted garden. She is very quiet, and I know she is taking everything in: the sights and sounds, the conversations and the whispered asides. Her writer’s mind is busy in composition for something she may write one day.

‘I’m a little disappointed,’ my sister says when we’re through the gated entrance and walking arm-in-arm along leafy paths to the concert room. ‘It is not at all what I’d conjured up in my imagination.’

‘Places seldom live up to expectation, I find, but what did you imagine, Jane?’ I ask her.

‘Something closer to The Arabian Nights, I suppose, not painted wood scenery or shabbily dressed serving men in tarnished livery.’

‘I am glad I’m not possessed of the kind of mind you have or I know life would offer constant dissatisfaction. It is a wonder you are such an optimist and always so cheerful.’

‘It is because I always have hope that whatever happens next, I will discover that my imagination was right to be so confident, and that I can make the world what I wish it to be merely by thinking about it.’

I glance at her countenance, and see that she speaks the truth. As we hurry into the concert room to join the gathering crowds, her eyes are shining with expectation.

We find our places about three quarters of the way back, and spend the first five minutes looking for anyone we know. Our aunt and uncle Leigh-Perrot are sitting near the front in the more expensive seats, and they nod when they see us. The Coopers are two rows in front, waving and mouthing that they’ll meet up with us as soon as the concert is over. There is no sign of our Kentish cousins, for which I am exceedingly pleased to discover.

The concert consists of several compositions of the Operatic kind, some long and others mercifully short, featuring a number of ‘Italian’ singers, but they all have a very English air about them. Jane is yawning, and rolling her eyes, and our mother puts out her hand to touch her arm in admonishment. Papa has nodded off in his chair and when he starts gently snoring, my mother puts her other arm out to gently chastise him too. He opens one eye and shuts it again, and I see Jane’s shoulders shake with undisguised, yet silent laughter.

At last it is over, and the entire throng of people rush out into the gardens where a certain mysterious transformation is occurring. The sun has gone, and the gardens are dimly lit. It is more difficult to see that the painted backdrops of wild landscapes and Germanic castles are completely false, or notice how gaudily the booths where people dine on sliced ham are painted. Coloured lamps and lanterns lend a mysterious glow of light illuminating in places, and throwing shadows in others, so that everywhere is rendered magical - even the trees look like something from a fairy story.

Jane is better pleased, the Coopers arrive very promptly, and Edward says the fireworks are just about to start so we rush along the twisting paths with the crowd. There are so many people hurrying down the same narrow path that we are soon separated, but I have no doubt I shall find them when we get there. I can see Edward’s tall head in front and his arm waving overhead in an attempt to guide us. Jane is just in front with our mother and father, and I see her head turn anxiously to find me amongst a sea of faces. I manage to shout above the tumult, that I shall find them at the fireworks stand, just before we meet an adjoining path with another crowd to collide with ours, and soon my family is lost from view. I am not afraid, we are all walking in the same direction, but when we reach the spot, there is such confusion and so many people, I cannot see anyone I know.

Two young gentlemen suddenly appear before me blocking my path, one dancing from one foot to another to prevent me from stepping out of his way. The other takes my arm before I can do anything to prevent it.

‘What a pretty creature … she must be lost judging by the tormented expression on her countenance,’ I hear him say to his friend. ‘Come, my dear, let us help you find your friends.’

They smell strongly of liquor and my arm is gripped so tightly I feel frightened, especially when his accomplice runs round and grasps my other arm, preventing me from getting away. He demands in a chilling but civil tone that we go for a little walk.

‘What is your name, my dear? A lovely girl like you should be escorted in these gardens. There are many unscrupulous fellows about,’ he says, and the smell of drink is so strong I turn my face away.