Chapter Nineteen
I am out of sorts today, and cannot put a finger on why that should be so.
We have been to the Pump Rooms again this morning, but there was hardly anyone there, owing to an early shower of rain.
I do not feel like going to the concert after all, I’ve decided, especially if we are to be drowned in water, and I’ve half a mind to say I have a headache and cannot go.
My sister Jane is all excitement as we go upstairs to dress, and says she cares not if tempests storm over our heads and the roof of the concert building is blown off.
‘Though, for myself,’ she says, ‘I do not always care for the music; I am looking forward to the fireworks and the ferry. Thomas says Spring Gardens is just like a smaller Vauxhall lit up by lanterns and lights, with dark avenues where lovers stroll. I cannot wait to see it … there should be much to observe about the people attending.’
‘I daresay we’ll get wet through, and it feels very cold this evening,’ I answer too quickly. ‘I’d far rather stay at home by a good fire.’
Jane turns to examine my face, with a look of concern. ‘What is wrong, Cassy? Please tell me; you’ve not been yourself since yesterday morning.’
I know I can confide in Jane. ‘The only person I wished to see this evening is staying behind at their lodgings, to entertain the Brooke family of Donnington Hall.’
‘And who are they?’
‘A family with their coffers full of money, and a beautiful daughter in tow.’
‘I see, but I am certain you will meet with Mr Fowle before long. He is so fond of you and could not stay away. You know he would always do his duty to his family first. You are sure to see him at the next ball.’
‘Where he will probably spend all his attention on the Brooke family, and in particular on Miss Brooke who is not yet rich, but will one day inherit a fortune.’
‘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.
‘Please let me go, my family will be wondering where I am,’ I say, trying very hard not to sound as I feel.
‘They’re probably waiting for you back at the entrance, if they think you’ve got yourself lost,’ says the first villain. ‘We’ll take you. Come along with us, my dear, you’ll be quite safe.’
I try to pull myself free, but a crowd of rough young boys are gathering round, jeering and laughing as if they’ve found a young fox cub to bait and torment.
‘Methinks she doth protest too much,’ one shouts, as I demand to be let go.
The crowd laughs and another shouts, ‘She’s just teasing you … kiss her now … it’s plain she wants you to take her in your arms.’
And just as I think I shall be spirited away to a fate I dare not contemplate, I hear an authoritative voice, like an angel’s command, to desist and unhand me.
‘And I will have the watchmen apprehend you, believe me when I say it.’
The mob scatters like marbles on a polished floor and there is my saviour standing before me.
I cannot believe it is he, but Mr Fowle is here, like a veritable knight in shining armour, he takes my arm gently and he’s drying the tears on my face with a fine lawn kerchief that smells comfortingly of the cologne he always wears.
‘Miss Austen, are you well? You are unharmed, I hope?’
‘I am quite well, now you are here, Mr Fowle. I cannot thank you enough for stepping in to rescue me. I was separated from my family for a few minutes, and I could not find them. Oh, such treachery - such bad behaviour. I have never encountered the like before.’
‘Sadly, the gardens are not what they used to be, Miss Austen, and attract all kinds of ill fellows. Those ruffians will be apprehended; I shall make certain of it. But first, we must return you to your family.’
I glance at Mr Fowle’s kind face, and see his firm jaw, his mouth set in a hard line.
I want to ask him how he is here instead of being with his family and the Brookes of Newbury, but he does not look in the mood for conversation.
I have never seen his dear countenance in such dispiriting looks.
Every time I look up at him, and expect to see him smile reassuringly back at me, he does not flinch from his purpose.
His eyes look steadily ahead, and he makes no effort to speak.
We turn back down the path, and the fireworks begin.
Blazing coloured lights explode above our heads lighting up the gardens and the vast numbers of people crowding the space.
Ghoulish faces stare back in hideous shades, their mouths gaping with laughter, and I cannot help thinking they are jeering at me.
But, here we are at last, and I’m reunited with those I love. We are told cousin Edward has been despatched to find me, and Mr Fowle says he will look for him.
‘I will say goodnight, Miss Austen.’
He bows in a brusque fashion, and I watch his tall figure walk stately away, as serious and grave as ever I saw him.
I am tormented by the fact that he thinks, in some small measure, that I was enjoying the attentions of the rabble, and I imagine he is thinking how lucky he is to be returning home to more refined company within its walls.
I am glad he did not mention the incident to my mother and father who would only fuss or never let me out of their sight again, but when Jane quizzes me, I am relieved to tell her of my misfortunes.
She listens sympathetically, as expected, but when I tell her of my misgivings about Mr Fowle she protests.
‘Cassy, what can you be thinking? Mr Fowle is a gentleman, and would never think such a thing of you. What you should be asking yourself is why he was here tonight.’
‘I have no idea,’ I say. ‘He offered no explanation.’
‘It is very obvious he must have decided he could not spend an entire evening away from you.’
‘But, he may be here with his family … and Miss Brooke.’
‘He may be, but I do not think so. Mr Fowle must have thought there may be a chance for a glimpse of you to find an excuse to leave the evening party.’
‘I cannot think your conjecture is correct, Jane. Why would he have disappeared so quickly if he wanted to spend time with me? You will see … we’ll bump into them shortly, I am certain.’
Everywhere we walk I expect to see him at each turn, but it appears Jane is quite right, and I begin to wonder if he was ever there at all.
Like an avenging phantom, he came just when I needed him, and vanished again into the night.
When it is time to go home I feel more disordered than ever, but my darling sister does her best to cheer me with impersonations of all the people and characters we have seen tonight.
As she mimics our Aunt Leigh-Perrot’s snobbish asides, or re-enacts the tightrope walker’s giddy progress along the cracks in the paving stones, my mind is distracted for a while.
Though, by the time I’m in my room and Jane has left me to go to bed, all my fears return, and I know I face a restless night.
All I can hope is that he doesn’t regale his own people with tales of Miss Austen carousing the night away with a handful of young men, but then I scold myself.
Even if it turns out he is partial to another’s company, and prefers the society of Miss Brooke, I know the Mr Fowle I admire would never behave in an ungentlemanly fashion.
He is the epitome of all that is good, and will forever be the man to whom all others shall be compared.