Chapter Eleven #2
I nearly choked on my tea, and as she chattered on, reminiscing about the past and sharing far too much information, I shut myself off from it all.
But, Ellen was probably right about Harry - he hadn’t bothered to call round to say he was going back to Cheltenham, or even just to say hello.
Misery engulfed me in overwhelming waves.
I only seemed aware of the pounding in my head, and the sound of the Tompian clock behind us that started blocking out all other noise, as its rhythmic ticking grew louder.
Time slowed down, and for a moment I thought I might faint.
The room was spinning, and overwhelming ripples of nausea were making me feel really unwell.
‘Caroline, are you not feeling yourself, my dear?’ she said, taking my hand across the table and patting it. ‘You’re looking very peaky, and washed out.’
I really wasn’t feeling myself in so many ways, and as I looked round the room I couldn’t decide where or in what time I was for a moment.
It was probably my mind playing tricks again, but the place seemed full of people in Georgian clothes.
I could hear Ellen’s voice, but I felt held between two places at once, as if trapped between two dimensions.
It was all over in a minute, but I could see how worried she looked.
Ellen bustled me off home as soon as I spoke again, and she and Mrs Partridge, between them, insisted I go to bed.
***
After a few days of resting I felt much better, but I’d quite forgotten that Piers was due to arrive, and I was very tempted to suffer a relapse.
The thought of having to make small talk was bad enough, but the realisation that the visit wasn’t a one off occasion, and that he’d be here for a couple of weeks was enough to make me run for Beechen Cliff, that noble hill Jane wrote about.
I was longing to explore it - except that it was so muddy and cold, the thought wasn’t very tempting.
I considered coming back again in the summer, though the idea of returning to Bath wasn’t filling me with much joy.
I really didn’t feel myself, and the weird things that had happened to me were beginning to make me question my mental state.
I wondered if I could go home early. I was very tempted to write to my mum, but I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t grateful for my little holiday.
It was snowing again, and Ellen was worried that Piers might not be able to travel, or even if he did arrive that we’d be stuck inside with no way to entertain him.
‘Oh dear, Caroline, whatever shall we do if it doesn’t stop?’ Ellen said, as we sat in the drawing room, the snowflakes like feathers, fluttering past the window.
‘It isn’t quite as thick now,’ I said, watching the brave souls outside stomping through the drifts in thick coats and Wellington boots. ‘What time is Piers coming?’
‘He’s due on the three o’clock train, so there’s still a little time.
You’re absolutely right, it’s definitely not falling quite so fast, and at least it doesn’t seem to be settling like before.
Never mind, dear, I’m sure you can keep yourself occupied this morning.
’ Ellen turned with a quick smile, as if she’d just remembered something.
‘Did you know there’s a little library up on the first floor?
I’ve discovered a lot of old books, but you might find something to amuse you, and I know Mrs Partridge lit a fire in there this morning.
I picked out an Edith Wharton that I haven’t read before …
Glimpses of the Moon … have you read it, Caroline? ’
‘No, I haven’t,’ I answered, trying not to sound the way I felt.
I still wasn’t really feeling very well again - perhaps I’d been overdoing it, but it was so frustrating not to feel well and full of energy.
And while I liked the idea of a library, I didn’t think there’d be much to interest me in the one upstairs.
I like a nice murder or a horror story, and I wasn’t sure I’d find anything like that.
Ellen and Roger started talking about their plans for the following week.
I didn’t want to be in the way so I went upstairs to see if I could find the library.
It didn’t take long to find the cosy room, which wasn’t large but lined almost completely with shelves full of books, many leather-bound.
There was a long window interrupting the flow of books, looking out onto houses in the next street, and on the remaining wall were alcoves either side of the chimney breast where a fire blazed in the grate sending blue flames darting upwards like dragon’s tongues.
A Chinese lacquer cabinet, which made me think of Northanger Abbey was displayed on a stand in one of the alcoves, with figures in gold leaf picked out over the doors, and some ancient items carefully arranged along the top.
The tallest point of the cabinet was on a level with my eyes, so it was easy to fetch down the objects to have a closer look.
On one side was a very old watercolour box, much used, with dried paint encrusting the tubes and a few stubby looking brushes, and on the opposite side was a small wooden box with a painted lid, though it was too dirty to make out much of the picture.
Finally, between the boxes lay a blackened umbrella.
At least, I thought it was black, but on closer inspection I could see it was faded badly.
I was very careful because the silk was wearing very thin in places, and the fringing on the edge was starting to fray and unravel, but when I tentatively opened it up with one hand, holding the long wooden handle with the other, I could see that at one point it must have been a beautiful parasol in a stunning shade of emerald green.
I wondered who must have enjoyed such a lovely object, and imagined a young girl twirling it over her shoulder as she walked along on a fine summer’s day.
Disappointingly, there wasn’t very much inside the old cabinet except a yellowing sheaf of mostly blank pieces of paper, though I didn’t search through all the little drawers with trembling fingers.
I felt as if I were prying, and though one or two old letters looked quite interesting on first glance, most of the remaining papers seemed to be boring bills such as Catherine Morland had found.
The bookshelves looked very promising after all, and I soon found a few to interest me.
Several of them were really old, and I recognised their names from Northanger Abbey: Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, and Necromancer of the Black Forest. I put those down on the little table by the fireside chair, and went back to the shelves to see if there was anything else to take my fancy.
There’s an unmistakable smell in a library, the scent of old books is a fragrance that delights me beyond most things, so it wasn’t long before I started to feel excited by the discovery of the exquisite little book room and felt at home.
I found some old editions of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility from the 1920s, and a biography of Jane Austen, and when I opened it up I knew it would be everything it promised.
I sat down in the winged chair in the other alcove next to the fire and opened up the book, losing myself in its pages.
It was full of beautiful illustrations and interesting text, and before I’d read very far, I found an excerpt from a letter included, written by Jane Austen’s father to his sister just before Jane was born in December 1775.
We have now another girl, a present plaything for her sister Cassy, and a future companion.
She is to be Jenny … I paused to smile at all these words, and the last of my doubts about the journal just melted away.
It was true; Jane’s pet name in the family had been Jenny, though it seemed that had changed, as she was growing up.
I didn’t want to read any more, though I was dying with curiosity to know more information about Jane and her sister.
I knew Jane had died young, but I didn’t want to see it in black and white, written there in a book, when the girl I was coming to know seemed so vibrant and full of life.
I felt quite the same about Cassy, wanting only to experience her life when she cared to reveal it to me.
I put the book back on the shelf, resolving not to pick it up again and went in search of the journal I longed to read once more.
Fetching it from my bedroom I returned to the library and settled down in the fireside chair to read it.