Chapter Twelve #2
G-U-F nodded, and buttered another slice of toast. ‘Aye, ’tis too true.
A mistress in town and one in the country, and others in Paris besides if I’m not mistaken.
The duke cannot resist a pretty face, and the women all fall over him in a rush to be first at the post. He’s the most eligible gentleman of his generation, if a man of few words, but he equally knows the devastating effect of his handsome looks.
The duke is never happy unless he has several amours and intrigues going on at the same time. ’
I was fascinated, and as my mother realised I was rapt by the conversation she made her usual comment about little pitchers having big ears. It’s always very disappointing and happens so often when a conversation is becoming particularly interesting.
My sister said she would finish some work she had put by, and wait for Mr Humphry, as she was to sit first, and she and my mother took themselves off to the garden.
Lucius disappeared, saying something about finding some sport, thankfully, so we didn’t feel we needed to ask him if he wanted to join us.
Thomas and I set off down the familiar path to the stables where we could hear Allegro whinnying as he recognised our feet crunching on the gravel.
I have no fear of him now and threw my arms round his neck, groomed to silk, like a satin ball gown.
He nuzzled my hand, searching for the sugar lump I always brought him.
Thomas led him out, while I fetched the steps, rehearsed in the events of mounting as if I’d been riding all my life.
‘I’ve got an idea, Jane,’ he said, checking the saddle and securing the reins. ‘Why don’t we ride down as far as Knole today … I promised to take you. I know an old gate that leads into the grounds … my grandfather used it all the time when I was little.’
‘Do you think we ought? Won’t we be trespassing?’ I asked. ‘And, I shouldn’t like to be late for Mr Humphry.’
‘Mr Humphry will be occupied at Knole for most of the day, I’m certain. Look, I’ve got two slabs of cake and a bottle of spruce beer in my bag. I don’t suppose we’ll be missed for one minute. We can sit and enjoy our picnic, watching the deer.’
It was too tempting, and Thomas convinced me that all should be well. No one would mind, he said, he’d been on his own many times and never seen a soul in the woods.
‘But, it will be a long way for you to walk, will it not?’ I said, conscious that Thomas always kept to my side where he could, making sure I did not fall.
‘I thought we might ride together,’ he said, grinning at me, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘I’ll sit behind you … there’s plenty of room; you’re such a little thing.’
The heat of the sun was already making me feel hot, and Thomas complained that he was wearing too many clothes.
He threw off his coat, and knotted the arms round his waist before unbuttoning his waistcoat and shoving the garment into a bag that he slung across his back.
I didn’t stop, for a minute, to think of any impropriety or anything else.
All I could think was what fun we’d have - it was such an adventure!
***
Caroline,
Bath, Somerset
December 1975
I could hear the gong sounding, reverberating through the house, breaking the dream-like trance induced by reading the diary.
It was time to join Ellen and Roger for lunch, though I didn’t want to put the journal down, and was longing to know more.
I couldn’t help thinking about the green parasol that Jane had written about, or wondering if it was anything like the one I’d found on top of the cabinet.
There were so many questions buzzing round my head and no sure way of finding the answers, and I knew with Piers’ imminent arrival there’d be little chance of finding out much more.
When I got downstairs Mrs Partridge was bustling about with dishes of hot stew and freshly baked bread, just the perfect lunch on such a cold day. I said how much I’d enjoyed being in the library, and I told them about the intriguing objects, and the lovely book I’d found about Jane Austen.
‘I believe this house belonged to relatives of the novelist at one time,’ said Mrs Partridge.
‘Mrs Ashton-Dennis, the old lady who owns the house told me about them, and once, I remember, there were some people outside taking photographs. They were a group of Janeites, I think that’s what they call them. ’
‘Really, Mrs Partridge … this house actually has a firm connection to Jane Austen?’
‘Oh yes … dear me, now what was their name? I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. I believe this wasn’t their only home in Bath. They didn’t come to live here until about 1810 or thereabouts, but apparently those Janeites were sure Jane Austen must have visited.’
‘I’ve never heard anything so exciting, Mrs Partridge,’ I said. It confirmed that she’d stayed here, perhaps more often than I’d realised.
‘Well, this house if full of old junk … Mrs Ashton-Dennis is always finding something or other in the attics. She loves putting it out, though it’s a devil to dust, I can tell you, and I’m not sure if all of it is antique, as she likes to call it.
But, it amuses her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if those wealthy people had left half of their possessions behind. ’
That idea excited me even more, though I knew the possibility of exploring the attics was very remote.
‘I’d love to stay and chat,’ Mrs Partridge went on, ‘but I’m going to my sister’s in Larkhall for a cup of tea. I go every week, and if I’m not there on time she’ll just think the worst. The number of times I’ve been run over by a bus, you wouldn’t believe.’