Chapter Seventeen #3
‘Yes, I’m certain she did. Mrs Ashton-Dennis said she’s always in hopes of finding something that belonged to her, though I think it’s a bit of a vain hope.
It’s a funny thing, but she’s had the attic turned over so many times as if she’s looking for something particular, convinced that she’ll find a special treasure. ’
I felt more than a little guilty when I thought about the diary, and was glad when Mrs Partridge picked up a pile of dishes from the sideboard, and went back to the kitchen. I still didn’t know what I was going to do about my discovery.
‘How are you?’ Piers said, when breakfast was over and we were left on our own so it was safe to talk.
‘About as you’d expect,’ I answered, ‘I wish I wasn’t going home, Piers, but I’ve got to face some hard facts.
I don’t live here, I’ve got my degree to finish, and I’m sure someone as gorgeous as Harry isn’t going to mope about waiting for me.
I’m trying really hard not to think about him too much because tears are close by - I’ve just got to get my head straight about it all, and in a way I can’t wait to get back home. ’
‘Well, long distance relationships can survive across the miles. I think if two people really love one another, neither time nor distance will make permanent barriers.’
‘You are kind to say so, but I can’t think like that. I’m sure there are many more that break down than carry on.’
Piers took my hand and kissed it. ‘You’ve always got me, whatever happens in the future,’ he said.
‘Promise me we’ll stay in touch when you get back to London.
Come and see me in Bayswater, and we’ll go to the West End for a show and a slap-up dinner.
Simon can get us tickets, and I know a great Indian restaurant we can go to afterwards. ’
‘I’d love to, that sounds wonderful. I’ve missed London in many ways, and as soon as I get back to art school I’ll call you. There’s a phone box on the corner where I live … I’ll save up my coins.’
And then Roger was calling us, there was no time left for sitting at the table any longer, and we got up from our chairs to go. At the last minute I remembered my ball dress, and rushed upstairs to fetch it.
But, before I got as far as my room, another thought wouldn’t let me go, and I was so curious to have a look at the object that popped into my head, that I headed off to the book room before I could stop myself.
There was no fire lit today, and the musty smell of old books was stronger than ever, a fragrance so inviting I wished I could sit down in the chair with a pile of books.
I hadn’t come to read books, however, and I knew what I wanted would be found on top of the japanned cabinet.
I picked up the blackened umbrella whose silk lining revealed its original emerald hue, and as I held the wooden handle, a sharp picture returned.
I could see Thomas, as clearly as I had when I read Jane’s journal, strutting round the garden making her laugh whilst twirling the parasol over his shoulder.
I held the silk to my face and saw Jane again, her image reflected in a long looking glass, dressed for her portrait with her uncle’s pendant round her neck, and the parasol in her hand.
And I knew this was no coincidence - I was sure this was the very parasol Jane had loved all those years ago.
I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the portraits - I’d only ever seen one of Jane painted by her sister, at a later time in her life when it was quite clear she wasn’t too happy about sitting for her portrait.
I was just putting it back, placing it carefully next to the watercolour box when another series of thoughts came hurtling from the back of my mind.
So much had happened, I’d not thought of it straight away, but looking at the box of paints I was even clearer in my mind that the painting I’d seen in the house on the Royal Crescent was a portrait of Cassandra, painted by Ozias Humphry.
Although I’d not seen Cassy sitting for her portrait, I knew she’d been painted with her watercolour box, and felt the likeness of the portrait was too close to be mistaken.
It made such sense to me that the attribution of Zoffany had been in error.
I was determined to see what I could find about how the artists’ work could have been confused.
‘Caroline, are you ready? I think we should be off now if we’re not to get stuck in traffic.’
Roger’s voice calling from downstairs brought me back to the present in a moment, so I smoothed the silk on the parasol one last time, and stroked the top of the watercolour box, before I closed the door on the precious treasures, to dash along the corridor and up the next flight of stairs.
In my haste, I almost fell into the room, I was so anxious not to keep them all waiting, but, as the door swung back, and I stepped inside, I was struck by a force stronger than anything I’d ever felt before.
Feeling the pressure of an unseen hand that seemed to pin me against the wall, the light in the room was so bright I had to close my eyes.
How long I was held I don’t know, but when I finally thought it was safe to open my eyes once more, I could see across the veil of time, and I knew it had happened once again.