Chapter Thirty Four
Caroline
Bath, Somerset
When I opened my eyes, I felt completely disorientated.
I was lying on my bed, with all the hopes and dreams that Cassy was holding in her heart, and the feelings were so fresh and alive that for a moment I felt as if my own life were back on track.
That she’d not only escaped having to marry Lucius, but was to be engaged to the man she loved was more than I could have hoped for her.
It seemed obvious now that the paintings of the sisters had been drawn up with a view to the alliances, which Great-Uncle Frank had hinted at, but it was also clear that no one else in the wider family had really known about the portraits or why they’d been painted.
I was sure the paintings had never hung on the Red House walls.
More likely they’d been hidden away or passed on to family members looking for pictures to hang in their houses, who had no knowledge of all that had happened.
I couldn’t help wondering what had become of Cassy’s painting, and if I’d been right about it being the very one I saw in the house on the Royal Crescent, but I supposed if one of them had disappeared, lost in time itself, it would be that one.
The family would, no doubt, have wanted the story of a failed alliance to be kept a secret.
I couldn’t help thinking of that wonderful evening at the Royal Crescent or of Harry who’d made it so special, and tears sprang to my eyes as I remembered what a mess I’d made of everything.
It took me a few minutes to focus my mind, but I was filled with happiness for Cassy who knew her young clergyman loved her with all his heart, and that made me feel sadder than ever knowing Harry was gone from my life forever.
A quick glance at the clock told me it was four o’clock, and I knew I should get a move on if I was to post my carefully written letter.
I got up, spending a long time making sure I looked just right, not that I was about to bump into Harry or anything like that.
In fact, I’d already considered the fact that it would be mortifying if I were to see him before I’d delivered the letter.
I didn’t know what I’d say if I saw him face to face.
Feeling very nervous I picked up the envelope to put it in my bag, thought about re-reading it one more time or even ripping it up before chickening out, but an image of a stern-looking Piers telling me off popped into my head.
I took a deep breath before I ran downstairs and let myself out, shutting the wide, heavy front door with a bang that sounded very final.
The sunshine made me feel braver, bringing back happy memories of being with Harry, and I couldn’t help remembering the wonderful day we’d spent at Prior Park as I walked past the steps leading down to the river.
There were crowds of tourists enjoying the prolonged summer heat that was making everyone feel in a holiday mood.
Combined with the classical architecture of the city I felt I could be in Italy, and all the laughing faces around me boosted my spirits.
I started to believe that everything would work out, and perhaps Harry might forgive me after all.
It wasn’t long before I was walking into the quieter roads off Milsom Street, but when I came to the corner of Queen Square I didn’t feel so confident.
The house wasn’t far, but before I reached it I could see there was something going on outside.
There was a van parked, half on the pavement, and a couple of men were loading boxes and the odd piece of furniture into the back of it.
The front door of the house was wide open, and as I watched, not quite sure what to do, I spotted Harry’s friend Ollie coming down the stairs with a huge beanbag in his arms. It was too late to turn tail as he grinned in recognition, dropping the unwieldy object and rushing up to me, his arms open wide, ready to hug me.
‘Caroline, what a lovely surprise! What are you doing in Bath?’
I was grateful for the fact I wasn’t holding Harry’s letter in my hand. ‘I’m here for a day or two taking a short break,’ I said, which was somewhere near the truth.
‘What a shame, you’ve missed Harry. He moved out a couple of days ago … we couldn’t stay any longer, sadly, now our lease is up. We’ve all been a bit reluctant to move out … it’s the end of an era.’
‘Of course, now you’ve finished … I’d quite forgotten … I suppose you’re all moving on to new things.’
‘Yes, I’m going back home for a while. I’m not sure where Harry is right this minute …
I think he said he was going back to Cheltenham first, though he did say he was going to Wales for part of the summer.
I don’t know, now his uncle’s died, perhaps he’ll decide to stay on …
he has a lot to sort out. Anyway, what can I do for you, Caroline? ’
‘Oh, nothing at all, Ollie, I was just passing … I’m on my way up to the Costume Museum,’ I lied, quickly thinking of the best excuse I could. ‘I’ll let you get on … I’m sure you’ve got so much to do.’
Ollie nodded. ‘I’d love to take you for a drink, but I’ve got the van on hire, and I have to get it back in a couple of hours.’
‘I understand, please don’t worry … it’s lovely to see you, anyway.’
Ollie enveloped me in a bear hug. ‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you two … I don’t know what happened, but … I wish it had.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’s for the best,’ I said, ‘we’ve all got the next stage of our lives and our careers to think about.’
‘Yes … good luck, Caroline,’ Ollie said, letting me go to ruffle my hair like an older brother. ‘I’m sure we’re going to see your designs in all the magazines yet. I hope everything turns out brilliantly for you.’
‘And you … look after yourself,’ I said, and turned to walk up the hill, only looking back once to wave, hoping he couldn’t see the tears that were filling my eyes.
I’d completely blown it, and lost my last chance to put things right.
I was sure Ollie knew where Harry was going to be living or could even have given me his address, but he obviously thought Harry wouldn’t want him to - perhaps he’d even been instructed by Harry not to give it to me if I ever showed up.
I was cross with myself for not asking for a forwarding address, but then I decided if Harry had wanted me to know where he was surely he would have let me know.
I had to face facts - I was never going to see him again, and I knew I must resign myself to the idea that what we had would never be resurrected.
It was nothing more than a set of beautiful memories, fleeting experiences like those I’d witnessed in the past.
***
There wasn’t any point in staying in Bath for much longer, though there was a decision I had to make before I left.
I didn’t know what to do about the journal, but I decided it wasn’t mine to keep, and I really wasn’t sure if I should or wanted to read any more of it.
I knew I couldn’t just leave it behind the shutter where I’d found it.
The diary belonged in the library where hopefully Mrs Ashton-Dennis might find it one day.
I had a feeling that she would realise what a precious treasure she owned if she discovered it.
The journal was a part of the house as much as the parasol, and putting it on the shelf with the other books about Jane seemed the best solution.
The books Mrs Partridge had left with their paintings of Jane intrigued me, and as I selected another, turning the old pages looking for any nugget of interest, I read that her painting had been reproduced as early as 1913 by her Austen-Leigh relatives.
As I read the introduction, I discovered it was an Admiral Ernest Rice who’d given permission for the picture to be printed, and as I became completely absorbed in the book, several paragraphs had me tingling all over at their discovery.
There was some confusion with the attribution of the artist and the date of the painting, but it clearly stated the provenance of the portrait was well authenticated.
Underneath, the text declared Zoffany had painted it, and I couldn’t help thinking again of the other painting I’d seen in the Royal Crescent, the one I was sure was Cassy.
I knew Ozias Humphry had executed both paintings, and in Jane’s I could actually see Mr Humphry’s monogram, as she had described in her journal.
The letter H was inscribed inside the letter O in the bend of the tree’s branch.
And then I realised that with such a device, as amusing as it had been for Mr Humphry to hide his name in his paintings, it had probably made many of them difficult to identify.
Perhaps the Austen family had decided that Zoffany, as a renowned artist, was the most likely contender as the artist of the portrait.
There was one particular paragraph, further on, that made every hair stand on end, where it said that the picture had once been in the possession of Colonel Austen of Kippington, Kent, and that he was the son of Francis Motley-Austen.
I knew it could be no one else, but Thomas, and was thrilled to find he’d achieved his dream of being a soldier, and a distinguished one at that.
I could imagine how delighted Jane would have been for him, certain that he’d always been a special person in her life.
Though I needed no proof that the painting was the one Jane had sat for, I still wanted to examine the parasol for comparison, and to my great delight found it was a perfect match.
I couldn’t help picking it up, even if I wasn’t quite sure what would happen, though I had a feeling all my time travelling adventures had come to an end.
The picture of Jane with her enigmatic smile surfaced in my mind.
I knew who it was that had made her smile that day as she posed with the parasol, and I couldn’t help wanting to know more about their lives, and if they’d ever met many times afterwards.
As I put the parasol back in its place, I noticed the little wooden box Mrs Partridge had left for me, on top of the japanned cabinet.
I picked it up, and even though the painted lid was covered in a film of dirty varnish obscuring the image below, I knew if it were cleaned, it would show a picture of two lovers meeting in a wood exchanging gifts.
I could feel my heart beating faster, and I hardly dared open it, though I felt disappointed when I saw there was nothing but a pad of cotton inside.
But, when I happened to look underneath, just to make sure there were no chains or golden lockets to be found glittering there from another age, I discovered the greatest treasure of all.
There was a piece of paper carefully cut into the shape of an octagon, and the blue-eyed, fair-haired young man that glanced back at me from his portrait was smiling, just as if he was watching a girl with a green parasol.
I just had to try it for size in my locket, and of course it fitted perfectly, and I couldn’t help thinking it had been left for me on purpose.
It was probably my imagination, but I felt I was being watched, and the presence of those past shadows were just visible for a second in the flickering rays of sunshine filtering through the window.
And, as I closed the library door for the last time, I was sure I heard laughter, and the sound of two girls forever happy in a moment of time.