10 Finally, the truth comes out
10
Finally, the truth comes out
Benjamin
As soon as we get off the bus, I realise that Bath, like London, is not the same city it was two hundred years ago.
Streets have become noisier with modernity. There are shops everywhere, stalls dotted around with a variety of food and products, and Christmas decorations non-existent in my day adorn the pavements and the fronts of houses. The smell in the air is sweet, with a hint of peanuts. Some of the buildings and facades have been modernised. Almost all the doors are now coloured blue, black, and red. There’s an arrangement of leaves in the centre.
But even though everything is different… it’s still Bath, my home.
“Do you recognise it?” Bella asks, smiling at me. She’s wearing a pink coat, and her hair is tied up in a high bun, making her face stand out. The tip of her nose is flushed from the cold weather; her lips are coloured with pink lipstick; and her eyelashes are discreetly lengthened.
“Yes and no,” I say, putting my hands in my jacket pockets, where the cameo lies waiting to be worn.
I wondered whether to wear my own clothes but decided against it. It would be strange to come back in different clothes to those of my time, but it would be very uncomfortable if someone stared at us the whole journey, thinking I was a Bridgerton actor, as Isabella says, or someone famous. In today’s England, people in Regency clothes attract attention. Isabella herself seems to have a very significant thing for riding boots.
“What are we going to do?” she asks me. “Go straight to the museum?”
“I think it’s better, don’t you?”
I don’t want to be rude to Bella. I’d like to go round the town, see what’s changed, maybe even tell her a few stories, but I really need to sort out my situation. Not to mention that I’m too anxious to see the house to find out more about what happened.
“Let me see where it is on the map.” Bella starts to pick up her mobile phone, but I gently stop her.
“It’s not necessary. I remember the way home.”
She tilts her head, pretending to be impressed. “Wow, how proactive. Come on, then.”
I take a step but stop, looking at her. Considering that there’s a chance I’ll be saying goodbye to this lovely lady for good, I extend my arm in a chivalrous gesture.
“Shall we go, milady?”
Bella seems delighted and accepts my arm, wrapping herself around me.
“You really are a dream.”
I laugh again. I’ve laughed so much alongside her over the last few days that I wouldn’t be surprised if my face were sore. Life in the nineteenth century was not about happiness. Not with the prolonged mourning and all those duties. Now, despite being completely lost, I can smile with a strange ease.
I walk alongside her, guiding us through the streets of Bath. We see the abbey, on York Street, with its medieval architecture and three-pointed arches. Next to it, the Roman Baths. Bella says she visited them the last time she was in the city and was surprised by the hot springs and their history.
“Did you use the Roman Baths?” she asks me.
“Roman baths were used as spas but also as healing springs in my day. The city was famous for it.”
“I thought rakes and deviants used these houses as their dens of fun.”
Any other lady who said such a thing to me in my day would have astonished me. Bella doesn’t. With her, I have an intriguing desire to discuss, if only discreetly, my old and perverse habits.
“We went to other places.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Which ones?”
“Some specific houses for what we wanted. Games, carnal pleasures.”
She lets out a low chuckle. “Wow, how exciting.”
We continue talking as we walk through a Christmas market until we reach Gay Street.
“Look, this is the Jane Austen Centre.”
I look at the facade of the house, the pale statue of the girl in Regency clothes and the plaque on the door.
“There’s a museum for Miss Austen?”
Bella opens her eyes so wide that I’m surprised.
“Beloved father! Have you met Jane?”
“Yes, she lived here in Bath for a few years and was a well-known lady.”
Isabella squeezes my arm, jumps up, and screams, all at the same time. “Jesus! You’re God’s favourite – you met Jane Austen!”
Yes, I did, but I don’t understand anything at all.
“Bella, I’m lost here. What about Miss Austen?”
She looks at me as if I’ve insulted her.
“She is simply the greatest writer of all time. She used the best tropes: friends to lovers, second chances, enemies to lovers. She created Mr Darcy!”
I’m even more confused.
“Mr Darcy? The one from Pride and Prejudice ?”
I read this novel a little while after it was released because it was being talked about so much.
“Yes! That arrogant hottie.”
“Did Jane Austen write that?” I’m the one who’s amazed now.
Everyone, absolutely everyone in my time, wondered who the lady was, the phenomenon behind the novels of the moment, praised even by Lord Byron’s own wife.
“Yes, Ben! Jane is still a phenomenon today. Here in Bath, there’s a museum, a festival dedicated to her and her works, and she’s even on the ten-pound note.”
Fascinating. I would never have imagined it.
“But tell me, what’s she like? Have you spoken to her? What did you talk about?”
Bella’s questions are spoken so quickly that I feel dizzy. We walk again, while I explain: “I haven’t seen her for years, but she was a pleasant lady to talk to. She was always accompanied by her sister. Abigail even commented that she was ill a few days ago. She lives in Hampshire now.”
Bella thinks for a moment, opening her mouth. “Wow, you’re from 1817, aren’t you? That’s the year she died.”
“Really? What day?”
“Hmm… 18 July, if I’m not mistaken.”
Wow. Less than a month after my disappearance.
“She must have suffered from that disease then.”
“Probably. Poor thing, she died so young.”
I find it curious how Bella refers to Miss Austen with affection as if she knew her personally.
“From the looks of it, you’re a big fan.”
She replies without hesitation, “All romance writers are.”
“Are those the kinds of books you write?” I ask as we cross the road in front of The Circus.
“Yes and no. In Jane’s day, people just rubbed fingers together. In mine, the couple do a bit more than that.”
A shiver of pleasure runs through my whole body.
“Are you referring to… indecent scenes?”
Bella blushes but doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes, Your Grace. The things you and your friends used to do in your pleasure houses,” she teases me, biting her lower lip.
Once again, we’re flirting with each other. And once again, I’m imagining my body on top of hers, showing with attitude what kind of things I used to do in the clubs I used to go to.
“Look, it’s here.” Bella points to a familiar facade.
In seconds, I go from a moment of desire to one of melancholy. I’m home. Two hundred years later, but I’m home. The facade remains identical, except for the front door, which is now painted blue. My eyes suddenly moisten, and my throat feels tight. Bella pulls away from me, touching my arm.
“Ben, are you OK?”
I nod, still looking at the house. “This is it.”
“Shall we go in? Are you ready?”
I meet her worried gaze, my breathing a little heavier. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I have to keep going.
We enter the house. The decor is different, and the old smell isn’t what I remember either. Bella speaks to a girl behind the counter in the entrance hall.
“Hi, we want to visit the museum.”
“Of course. It’s five pounds each,” replies the stranger.
Isabella presses a button on her mobile phone twice and brings it close to a little machine.
“What are we going to find here?” Bella asks the girl.
“The house has been practically preserved since the Regency period. The family that lived here were nobles, so there is some information scattered around, and a portrait gallery in the last room.”
I remain silent, just looking at everything. We walk together to the corridor, which now seems narrower than usual. The wallpaper has been changed; the carpets are not the ones my mum chose; and everything is brighter, different.
As soon as I see the staircase leading to the second floor, I turn to Bella. The moment of truth has arrived. “Bella, my study is upstairs.”
She understands me without demanding explanations. “Right. Are you wearing the cameo?”
I nod and reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out the locket. “Here.”
Bella looks at my outstretched palm. “Alright. I’ll give you some privacy.”
“Since there’s a chance I’ll go back to the past, I need to say goodbye.”
The words squeeze my chest. Bella, on the other hand, doesn’t seem as distressed as I am.
“I understand.”
“I need you to know that I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. For everything . I… would never have survived in this world without you.”
She lifts the corner of her mouth in a hidden smile. So sweet.
“I just want to see you well, Benjamin. I want to see you get better.”
“You think I’ll leave that room with a sane mind, don’t you?”
“I don’t think so, I just hope this visit helps you. But since you’re saying goodbye, I understand that this is important to you. So…” She lets out a breath, thinking about what to say. “If you really do go back, know that I’m happy for you. And for me, I am happy to have met you. These last few days have distracted me and amused me more than I realised. Your company does me a lot of good. I really needed something to do me good.”
“A distraction?”
She denies it. “No, not a distraction. Someone. Someone special who has listened to me, treated me well. It meant a lot.”
I believe every word she says to me.
“I said goodbye to His Grace, Duke, the dog, in the flat, but send him my regards, please,” I ask.
She laughs heartily. I’ll miss that sound so much…
“I’ll pass the message on.”
I approach her, taking her delicate hand and bringing it to my lips. I kiss the warm skin for a long time, hoping she can feel my gratitude.
“I’ll never forget you, Bella. Never.”
Bella moistens her lips and strokes my cheek.
“Me neither. But just so you know, if you don’t go back, I’ll be in the back gallery waiting for you.”
Always careful and kind, Miss Isabella.
“Thank you.”
Letting go of her is harder than I thought, but I do it. Isabella smiles at me once more before leaving me alone and walking towards the back of the house.
I face the steps and take a deep breath, moving forward. The walk down the stairs and through the corridor seems endless. The study door is the last, and it’s closed. I stop in front of my room. On the other side, on the opposite wall, is my sister’s old bedroom.
That’s where I go, with my heart pounding.
Abigail’s room is well maintained. The wooden floor looks newer; the curtains are darker than my sister would have chosen. However, the chest of drawers is the same, the bed and the canopy, as well as the mirror on the side wall, where so many times I’ve seen her smiling, happy in a new dress.
There’s no information about it on the few plaques scattered around in specific places. I still don’t know what happened. Images of my sister sinking into sadness under the sheets come back to me. The sound of her crying, her wailing, missing our brother and our father. My chest tightens with anguish, wondering what could have happened to her. I can’t ignore my dark memories of the time when Abigail lay there for days on end without even seeing the sunlight.
If I was the cause of something like this… I can’t even measure the guilt that overwhelms me.
With a lump in my throat, I shake my head gently and head down the corridor to my study. No more postponing my duties, my honour. I reach into my pocket, looking for the cameo. I take it out and hold it tight.
I’ll try to repeat what I did, try to return to the past in the same way I ended up in the future. And, who knows, maybe I’ll have a present to call my own after all this confusion.
The room is practically intact, I can even smell the tobacco in the air and the wood burning in the fireplace. The quill and inkwell are still on the table, although the papers there seem merely decorative. Above the fireplace, a plaque tells of the Waldorf family and its line of dukes. My grandfather, my father, my brother’s name, and then mine. I clench my fists as I read Gustave’s name, the only one I didn’t want to read. Damn him, he really did inherit the title, as I had feared. And, as it turns out, he ended the lineage since there’s no other name written after his.
I’m enveloped in a dark emotion as I position myself in the centre of the room.
Straightening my posture, I hold the cameo, rub it, squeeze it. I make my wish: I want to go home.
Nothing happens.
I close my eyes and wish again, with all the strength in my being. I think of Abigail and my old routine.
Still nothing. I insist for a few more seconds until my temples start to ache.
I open my eyes and it’s as if an anvil of disappointment has collapsed on my head.
It didn’t work, and it won’t work.
I’ve never felt so powerless, so… incapable. A frustrated sigh escapes my lips, but I don’t want to attract attention.
Defeated, I leave the room and go downstairs, looking for Bella, hoping that she really has been waiting for me.
The gallery is located in my old living room. I arrive in the bright room, the light of the cloudy day streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bella is standing there, looking at the portraits. I remember them all, but she’s staring at a specific one, right in the centre of the space.
That’s me there. The me of two hundred years before. My portrait, that of the fifteenth Duke of Waldorf, painted just a few months before I disappeared.
As soon as I approach, she notices my presence. Our eyes meet, plunging into each other, and I realise what has just happened: she has discovered the truth. My truth , that I somehow left 1817 and ended up in the future.
“It’s you…” Bella murmurs. “I don’t know how, but… it’s you.”
All is not lost today, for she finally understands. Isabella finally believes me.
“Yes. It’s me.”
Her eyes fill with water and her chin trembles. I get emotional too. The feeling of being understood moves me in an indescribable way.
“Ben, forgive me, I…”
“ Shh …”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, comforting her with a kiss on her temple. Bella blames herself too much. I don’t care one bit if she doubted me before. I don’t care that she thought I was out of my mind. Bella helped me, reached out to me despite that. Without her, I don’t even know what would have become of me. She doesn’t have to blame herself for anything, ever. Not if I can prevent it.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper into her hair. The scent of vanilla envelops me, cozy and soft. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”