Chapter Twenty Four
It is but a matter of days since our outing to the theatre and the memory of that occasion haunts me still.
We are arrived at the Upper Rooms for a ball, the prospect of which I’ve been dreading since the mortifying evening at the theatre.
Whatever Jane says to the contrary I have no hopes of dancing with Mr Fowle this evening, and I’ve never wished for an occasion to be over quicker than this one.
I think I’ve been fooling myself that he has any regard for me, and when I look back on his kindnesses to me, I now see that is all they are and were.
I have been imagining partiality where there is none, and believing in admiration where toleration might be a better word to use.
I am not going to look for him, at him, or even acknowledge his existence.
I might even refuse to dance with him if I can find the strength.
The last thing I want is for him to pity me for lack of partners, though I doubt he shall even request to dance with me.
The rooms seem particularly full, stuffy and airless.
The heat is unbearable - all the young women look like wilting hothouse flowers with damp curls like limp silk tassels swinging over one shoulder.
Kid gloves are smoothed of any wrinkles when the desire to relieve oneself of their warmth altogether is strong.
Fans are fluttering like the nervous girls as their partners approach to escort them.
There is a crush in every room, and everyone seems to have left their manners at home.
I never saw such pushing and rough behaviour, ladies positively racing to get the best seats in the ballroom.
I’d be thankful if there was nowhere left to sit.
My mother might even take me home again if we cannot find a chair, I think, but tonight she is in her most accommodating mood.
‘I daresay we’ll find somewhere in just a moment, and this evening I feel so well, I’m almost inclined to dance.
Your aunt promised to introduce us to some friends who have just arrived in town.
Now, what was their name, Mr Austen? I cannot see my brother anywhere in this crowd, and if we do not hurry your aunt will not be able to assist us. ’
No doubt, they are the parents of a suitable young man, held in reserve by my mother in case cousin Lucius decides against being my marriage partner.
I can see the Motley-Austens on the other side of the room, and I am aware that they know of our presence by the nods and very slight bows of the gentlemen.
They have been increasingly keeping their own company, and though polite when we meet, conversation is limited to the weather and the latest activity.
I am thankful there is no sign of Mr Fowle or the Brooke family, and I am determined not to keep looking round the room for a glimpse of him.
I wish I were at home with Jane instead of being here.
There do not seem to be many people here we know, and certainly no young gentlemen to ask me to dance.
It is rather mortifying to have to sit the first and second dances out, and I cannot help thinking what a very faded wallflower I must make.
I watch Lucius leading a young woman to the floor.
She is expensively dressed in the latest fashion, and I know I must retain her picture in my mind for Jane will want to know how naked she looks and how much rouge she is wearing.
True to form, Lucius’s attentions are very marked, and I’m grateful I’m not under such ungentlemanly scrutiny.
Before the dance ends, my mother marches me over the room to greet our cousins, and so obvious are her intentions that I feel my cheeks burning with shame.
When Lucius comes off the floor he is polite, but makes no attempt to take my hand or ask me to dance, for which I am grateful.
We pass stilted comments on the weather and the usual small talk, and I try not to eavesdrop on my mother’s conversation, but her voice is so loud, it cannot be helped.
‘Oh, we are so delighted to be better acquainted with Lucius,’ I hear Mama say to his mother, ‘and so happy he and Cassy are spending time together once more.’
At least they are behind me, though I wish I could walk away instead of standing still to hear such mortifying discussion.
‘I think you must agree how charming they look together,’ Mama goes on, ‘Lucius is such a handsome young man.’
‘I am very proud of my son,’ his mother replies. ‘My father-in-law has great expectations for Lucius, both in his career and in his marriage. I am sure you understand me, Mrs Austen, having sons of your own, when I say these matters must be handled with great delicacy.’
‘Yes, indeed, there are a good many factors to be considered. Money is something, of course, but a good alliance formed between ancient families of noble breeding is as desirable as any financial settlement. I am pleased to consider the fact that my daughters are descended from the aristocracy through connections in my own family, a fact I am certain makes their marriage prospects exceedingly attractive.’
‘We will be bound by my father-in-law’s wishes, I know, though just lately he has made it clear that he entirely comprehends my husband’s current point of view, that he would not look favourably on any young woman who could not guarantee a considerable dowry, or make certain Lucius’s right to further his fortune. ’
Nothing could be more blatant or shocking, even if under the guise of polite discourse. Though my mother stands behind me and does not answer immediately, I can picture her expression.
‘Of course I understand that some families might share a preference for such considerations as the acquisition of wealth and fortune over what others might judge to be the superior advantages of good breeding and lineage. I completely understand you and can only wish you well in your endeavour. Cassandra,’ I hear her say, ‘I think I see your Uncle Leigh-Perrot just arrived. Please excuse us, cousin, I must see how my brother and sister do this evening.’
She leads me away, but does not say a word on the matter, yet I know she is agitated, and when she complains of poor nerves and a headache to my uncle, I know it has been brought on by her recent conversation.
‘May I present Mr Barlow,’ interrupts Aunt Leigh-Perrot, suddenly appearing with a very tall, long-faced gentleman, who peers at me over the top of his spectacles.
He’s probably twenty years older than me, his hair already receding, and I know Jane would liken him to a rook with his hooked nose and thin black-breeched legs.
‘Miss Austen would be delighted to dance with you, is that not so, Cassandra?’ my aunt says, and I rise, to smile and curtsey, accepting my fate without a whimper of protest, even though I should like to run from the room.
‘Your aunt tells me you’re an excellent dancer,’ he begins falteringly, and I thank him for his kindness. Just for an instant, I cannot help feeling sorry for us both. I am sure he would, like me, rather be anywhere else in the world.
The music is starting and I take his arm.
He is hesitant in his movements, though more than once he stops and bows, before we’ve even reached the dance floor.
For once, I am glad Jane is not with me.
I know she would be doing her best to make faces, inducing me to laugh at the ridiculous situation, and I put her out of my mind.
The dance begins well, and we move down the set, but when we meet once again, Mr Barlow has the air of a lost man, and in his confusion he steps completely the wrong way, thrusting out his arm, and kicking up his leg.
It is at a particularly swift moving section of the dance, and he manages to collide with a pair of dancers coming in the other direction, dislodging his spectacles and knocking them to the floor.
I manage to rescue the spectacles from being stepped on and broken, and find our place again, but before the dance is over Mr Barlow mis-steps again, and this time I cannot hide my blushes.
As we dance to the top of the set I try to keep my eyes fixed ahead, determined not to focus on the people staring and pointing, some brazenly laughing behind their hands.
Immediately in front, I see the very person I have dreaded seeing all evening.
It is only for a second, but Mr Fowle is looking on in astonishment.
I know what he must be thinking, and imagine he’s pleased that he’s not having to dance with the girl who is making such an exhibition of herself.
At last it is over, but far from moving away to ask someone else to dance Mr Barlow remains by my side.
‘I was very disappointed to hear that you have so little time left in Bath, Miss Austen.’
‘We are to leave at the end of the week, but I think I shall be pleased to be home again, I must admit.’
‘Do you not like Bath, Miss Austen?’
‘I like it well enough, but I particularly enjoy being at home.’
‘That is excellent news … so many young ladies are such gadabouts these days. It is pleasant to know there are still domestic creatures left in the world. I daresay you’ll enjoy having a home of your own in the not too distant future.’
I can see where the conversation is leading and I feel anxious to steer him from its course.
‘Mr Barlow, may I ask you to fetch me some refreshment. I find I am feeling thirsty after our dancing.’
I watch him run off eagerly, and try hard not to sigh so visibly that my mother might see. She takes his place in a moment, her voice low and conspiratorial, as if she might be overheard.
‘All he needs are a few dancing lessons … his family are very well connected, I am told, and though he has yet to make his mark in the world, my brother tells me that he is to inherit a good-sized house and five thousand a year, at least.’
I am glazing over as she speaks of his relations in the North Country, and the list of lords to whom he is related.
I watch Mr Fowle walking on to the dance floor with Miss Brooke on his arm.
Time is suspended; even the music seems to slow down.
All candles seem to light their way and illuminate their perfect dancing.
He moves so well, his feet keeping perfect time to the music, and I envy her as I watch him lead her through the dance.
I try not to look, but it’s like scratching at a wound, I cannot help myself.
He gazes at her in the same way I imagine that he used to look at me, and I recall the touch of his hand in mine.
I know I have only seconds left to declare my headache and find an excuse for sitting out the next dance.
It is not my wish to attract attention or have anyone feel sorry for me, but I find my usual stoicism deserting me, and the thought of having to spend the evening with Mr Barlow is not giving any comfort.
Besides, the pounding in my temples feels very real.
Fortunately, my dear papa seems to notice I am not quite myself.
‘Cassy, are you not well?’
‘I am not feeling my best, Papa, I will admit. It is just a headache, but …’
‘It is hardly surprising; the heat is insufferable. Let us not stay here a minute longer or endure any more dancing. I will escort you home, and we’ll find you a powder.’
‘But, Papa, I do not wish to spoil your evening,’ I say, knowing how much he enjoys playing cards with my uncles.
He takes my arm and whispers in my ear. ‘I shall be very happy to see you home safely, for I cannot guarantee you won’t be bruised in several places if you stay. Forgive me, for not stepping in sooner. Make haste, my dear … we’ll find your cloak.’
My father takes charge, ignoring the cries of protest from my mother at leaving, and before much longer we are out in the cool of the night air. My mother is grumbling, as she slowly trails behind us, and I know she is vexed with me.
‘I am sorry, Papa, to put you to so much trouble,’ I say, as we wander, arm in arm down the hill towards Milsom Street.
‘Not at all, Cassy,’ he whispers, patting my hand.
‘I could not bear to see you having to put up with that gentleman a moment longer. Do you suppose his legs were tied together when no one was looking? I’ve never seen such an exhibition, and how I managed to keep my countenance I cannot say, except out of feeling for you, my poor child. ’
‘Oh, Papa, it was truly dreadful.’
‘Worse than the horror of a gothic novel, I’ve no doubt. Next time, you must refuse him.’
I cannot help but laugh, and then we’re both laughing.
I grip my father’s arm tightly, and think how lucky I am to have such a wonderful man in my life.
There is nothing like holding onto his strong arm for making me feel safe, and all seems right with the world once more.
I know the worst is not yet over, and that my aunt’s evening party looms, but if I can suffer that, I will manage anything.
I know Jane will be able to make me see things differently, and that when I tell her about this evening I shall make her laugh.
It won’t be long before I’ll see my beloved home again, and can forget all about Bath, and a certain young man I cannot mention by name.