After a short meeting to discuss my affairs with a top-hatted lawyer, I was once again at leisure. My mind returned, involuntarily, to Sarah. I could count the nights that I had spent in her arms, but did not wish to. I imagined them like a carpet rolling out in front of me and never ceasing. A sense of contentment, until then unfamiliar, washed over me. I could not regret it. It was weeks since that first time and I knew her body like a map I had studied for a grand expedition. I had not seen her every night as her duties at the theatre and socially were exacting. She called me her “one true friend” and so I endeavoured to be. It occurred to me that there was no reason she should not share the comforts of my bed, as well as I hers. This was, after all, my house. It was my domain and I could have whom I wished for whatever purpose I determined. The comforts of a better sort of home, a well-appointed chamber, servants; these were no more than she deserved. The idea that I had them within my power to give surged through me and I walked with new purpose.
With that in mind, I made for Jermyn Street and entered a shop known for quality and style. A young woman looked up from behind a desk, and well-dressed ladies, clustered in corners, glanced at me then looked away. I came here once with my wife, in the early days of our engagement, spending money I did not have on things she did not need. It was not a sour memory, but there was no joy in it. I made for the tray of gloves, which I recall were particularly fine. Laid out were a number in beautiful fabrics and delicate leathers. Thinking of her fingers in the winter months, I selected a pair of kid leather gloves and paid for them as they were wrapped by a girl. The wrist was so narrow but I had no doubt they would fit Sarah. I had held her wrists in my hands night after night and these gloves were for her. The price was immaterial.
The weather in the street had changed and light rain fell insidiously as I made my way home. From my carriage, I saw men that I knew and places I frequented for many years. I find they did not interest me, for I could not turn my mind from her. It occurred to me that I could do better for her than the world had done. For was I not a single gentleman in possession of a large fortune? I need not scramble for funds as I once did. Matrimony, experienced once, was not a state I hankered after, nor one I pursued, or not then at any rate. My future at Kellynch was all but assured. For whom should I shift but for myself and the one woman who had changed me? I knew a dozen married men of means who had set their lovers up with homes and incomes; everybody did. I had money to spend as I wished and I had an ardent wish to protect her. Why should it not be that I provide for her in that way? Sarah would have a comfortable residence. She would be spared the indignities of the theatre and the cloying attentions of unknown eyes. She would sit in the audience beside a man who loved her, rather than stand upon the stage to be examined by the masses. The whole solution revealed itself to me like a set piece. I saw her finely dressed, in her own drawing room. I saw her eyes at ease and her goblet full of wine at her own table. I realised with a start that I wished to give her those advantages. I wished to improve her lot. A new sort of zeal inhabited me like an animal.
We had already agreed that I would not attend the theatre that evening. Carruthers had been campaigning for an evening at the club and in truth, it was Sarah who said I should neglect him no longer. “Your friends shall think themselves deserted,” she had said. And so, it was that I found myself drinking and gaming in that familiar old place until it was late enough that even Carruthers was willing to retire. I walked home, longing for air and exercise and although I considered asking my driver to take me to Islington, I refrained. It was enough that I should see her on the morrow and Sarah needed her rest more than most. By the candlelight of my chamber, my valet undressed me and I sank into fitful sleep. My dreams, I cannot vouch for.
The next morning, which I commenced tardily, I was plagued by a pain in my head. The breakfast table brought a letter from Mrs. Smith, the widow of a late friend who hounded me with correspondence. Her latest missive lamented at length her position and sought assistance from me. I put it to one side. It was not that I wished to do her harm—but she did not persuade me to assist her. She was a rambling woman, of whom I knew little on the other side of the country, and I cannot say that she interested me. A second letter appeared from my friend regarding my relations, newly of Bath. He thanked me for my swift response and confirmed that he had, in fact, seen Sir Walter and his daughter on the Royal Crescent in the company of an unknown woman. My mind flickered at this, and I read on. He described her as attractive, well dressed, and in her middle years. She and Elizabeth were arm in arm, but Sir Walter was observed to address her attentively, and she smiled in response. I looked up from the letter and pondered it. It may be of consequence and should be borne in mind. I had no intention to losing my baronetcy to the offspring of any new acquaintance. The situation should be monitored and I resolved to write thus to my friend. Of course, it did not do to panic and I would not do so. My cousin’s personality ought to count against any person contemplating marriage to the man.
Unexpectedly, the door opened and Potter entered with another note which he presented to me without comment. I lost no time in opening it and was astonished to discover it was from Sarah. Its contents were simple, starkly simple, and alarming: “Please do not come to the theatre door tonight. Thank you, William. Your affectionate friend, Sarah Light.” I read and re-read again those words, and still I did not understand them. Whatever could she mean by writing in those terms? Never before had she prohibited me from attending her. The pain in my head throbbed and a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. The day, from thereon, was a bleak one given to ruminating and ponderously repeating the same joyless thoughts. Was Sarah unwell? Was there some trouble at the theatre? Was she in distress? Whatever it was, I could not credit that she should wish to keep me away. I began to pace the house, deaf to all around me. The hours passed in blackness and my meals were taken alone, in silence. Carnaby called, but I had given orders that I was not at home. My mind did not have space for talk of small nothings and gaming jokes. The night moaned on in eerie darkness and the hours slouched by. In my chamber, I turned in my bed, hopeless of sleep. After what felt like a lifetime, a creeping light broke through a gap in the curtains and I could stand it no longer. I had been commanded not to attend the theatre but not to stay away from her. I bolted out of bed and dressed myself hastily. Taking Sarah’s gloves in my hand, I fairly stormed down the stairs and surprised the servants by demanding that my carriage be fetched around immediately.
Shortly thereafter, I was moving through the deserted streets at an hour I have never previously been awake to witness. The journey was over quickly and the carriage turned onto the familiar road. The unremarkable doors stood row on row and not a soul stirred as we advanced. I blinked as I leaned out of the window and saw it. One hundred thoughts crowded my mind as my eyes focussed on a fine carriage, stationary, where mine would usually be. The gathering light of the morning made it appear stark but there was no question that it was a fine conveyance, well built, impressive. The polished crest of Lord Brackbury gleamed back at me. It appeared like a smirk on the face of an adversary, an insult of the cruellest kind. Anger moved up inside me like a wave and I was suddenly sweating, hot with fury. From somewhere, the old, controlled William Elliot returned and I sunk back on the bench of the carriage, having asked the driver to travel further up the road. From a safe distance, I waited and watched. With a start, I realised that I was still holding her gloves, gripping them for all I was worth. We lingered there in the street and I was determined not to leave before the Brackbury carriage. After an interlude of sorts, during which the number of people milling around increased, the scene changed. The door to Sarah’s home opened and without preamble, the man appeared. He did not look back and no person waited at the door, which closed quickly. Into his carriage he stepped and it pulled away and clicked down the road, quite as if nothing untoward had occurred.
I considered rushing in and announcing myself, hammering on the door like a
broken hearted, young swain. But it was not for me. I thought suddenly of her withdrawn mood on the evening I first spoke with her in that man’s own home, of her gentle teasing words. Was she a person who, like me, knew just what to say—or not say—to obtain what was most expedient to her? If I were a woman, I would have cried at such a moment, and indeed, my body longed to do so. But I would not. The notion that I have been played for a fool taunted me, and I yearned to escape this tawdry situation with the upmost speed. I wished to be back in an arena that I controlled, where I might direct events. Resolving thus I ordered the carriage to move on. Just as we passed Sarah’s door, it opened and she emerged, wearing a new dress and laughing with another woman. A smile died on her face as she saw my carriage and I shrunk back from the window. I did not look back, for that would have been fatal. I would not be seen with her; I would not bargain words with her. That sojourn of mine, into madness, was at its end.
* * *
Some days later, I was playing cards with Carruthers.
“I say old man, that was a bit swift?”
“It is a game, Carruthers. You cannot expect me to let you have the advantage when it presents itself to me.” I raised my eyebrows at him and he exhaled loudly. The truth was that his helplessness was too much even for me and I had already resolved to let him win the next round. A man like Carruthers should only ever play with those who have affection for him.
“I heard a tale the other day, you might be interested in. Had it from old Weatherby. Saw him dining at the club. Tells me that Brackbury has taken up with an actress and half the ton are speaking of it. It is said that he has set her up with a house and all the trappings, gone the whole nine yards. It is odd, because I always had him down as the sort of fellow to have women in every corner of the city. But apparently not.”
I said nothing, but focussed on my hand. I felt rather than saw Carruthers scrutinising me.
“I understand that the girl in question is that young slip of a player we saw all those weeks ago—you know—the one with the dark hair. You were rather taken with her yourself, were you not Elliot?”
I glanced up at him, my face as blank as I could school it.
“No idea what you are talking about man. Actresses? One sees so many of them. It is hard to recall one from the other.”
He let out an indeterminate sound and looked at me for a moment longer than necessary before returning to his hand and laying a card. I knew perfectly well that he intended to say no more and neither would I. That was a mark of a true friend.
“I say, Elliot, would you object to leaving this damned city for a short visit to the country by any chance? As it happens, an aunt of mine has asked me to visit. She was terribly close to my mother and wrote wishing to see me. I cannot imagine that I shall stay long, but I should prefer not to go alone. If you get hopelessly bored, you can always leave.”
“Of course, man. Where does this aunt live?”
“Lyme. Down in Dorset. Frightful rain last time I was there but it is pleasant enough country. A good distance away and my aunt’s house is jolly comfortable.”
The idea opened up in front of me and had immediate appeal.
“Thank you, Carruthers. I shall be pleased to,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation.
And so, it was that I departed the London of Sarah Light and opened the next chapter in my life. I left orders that the gloves should be delivered anonymously to her at Drury Lane, because I felt that for all that she had injured me, they were hers. I believed she might guess that they were from me, but it was not my intention to invite her to contact me, and I did not anticipate she would do so. The details of that escapade, the indignity, the loss of love and companionship was, and evermore shall be, known only to me. Potter packed my trunk, and the door of my London home closed behind me as I boarded my carriage and made for the coast, a harder man and less open to love than ever I had been.
JENETTA JAMES is a mother, lawyer, writer, and taker-on of too much. She grew up in Cambridge and read history at Oxford University where she was a scholar and president of the Oxford University History Society. After graduating, she took to the law and now practises full-time as a barrister. Over the years, she has lived in France, Hungary, and Trinidad as well as her native England. Jenetta currently lives in London with her husband and children where she enjoys reading, laughing, and playing with Lego. She is the author of Suddenly Mrs. Darcy and The Elizabeth Papers, as well as a contributing author to The Darcy Monologues. Click to connect with: Jenetta James
Novella IX
As Much as He Can (none) Sophia Rose
GENERAL TILNEY
An imposing widower, General Tilney’s cold demeanor and manipulative behaviors fostered a formidable barrier for any filial bonds. Proud of his lineage and estate, this austere, retired general interfered in his grown children’s friendships and potential matches as a matter of course—thus, unwittingly became the mysterious Gothic villain in Catherine Morland’s imagination. ...what had been terror and dislike before was now absolute aversion. Yes aversion! His cruelty to such a charming woman made him odious to her. She had often read of such characters; characters, which Mr. Allen had been used to call unnatural and overdrawn; but here was proof positive of the contrary. —Northanger Abbey, Chapter XX.
“He loved her I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for him to—”
—Henry Tilney to Catherine Morland, Northanger Abbey, Chapter XXIV.
AS MUCH AS HE CAN
Sophia Rose
1799, NORTHANGER ABBEY, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, ENGLAND
His boots thudded and floorboards creaked as he walked the passageway of the guest wing in search of his daughter. “Eleanor!”
“I am here!” she called out softly, arresting his forward motion.
General Tilney executed a sharp right face and entered one of the guest rooms where a pair of maids were making up the bed with fresh linen. Eleanor glanced up from a chest where she was placing an extra counterpane. Even in summer, the Abbey could be cool at night. There were sounds of servants working across the corridor in Eleanor’s room. She was moving into her childhood room for the duration of the house party as every bed chamber would be in use. All, but one. The mistress’ chamber would remain untouched “even if guests must share,” he told Eleanor earlier that week.
“Who are you placing in here?” he asked curiously, eying the older furnishings, particularly the antique wardrobe and the bed from the Tudor reign.
“A single gentleman. He does not come with a valet so the lack of dressing chamber will be of no concern.” She had a slight frown that he thought must be concentration.
“And where did you put Lord Goodnestone?”
“The Blue Room. I was made to understand that he was to receive the best chamber. It was the first we readied.” The slight frown was now grown.
She showed signs of wishing to broach a subject with him, but he had no time to wait her out. “Was there something else?”
She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and then shook her head.
“Then I am off to my club. Do not neglect to finalize the menu changes with Mrs. Cummins and be sure Matthews has bowls of my fruit available on the sideboard for our guests.”
“Of course, Father.”
“Have your gowns and falderal from that London modiste arrived?”
“Yes, Father. Jenkins and I went through them and they fit well. I thank you.”
“Good. Mrs. Hughes informed me that all the best families give Madame Boullard their custom. She might wish to dispense with that Bristol accent if she chooses to be taken for a madame rather than plain Mrs. Bullard.”
Eleanor smiled at his observation. Eleanor’s French, and Italian, for that matter, were excellent having been educated at Ponder’s End near the metropolis. Madame Boullard’s command of the language, on the other hand, was execrable.
General Tilney paused to encourage—and then instruct—his most timid child. “You are doing well
for your first time taking the reins as the lady of the establishment. It is good practice for when you are mistress of your own estate house. You will remember to make yourself available to stand beside me and welcome our guests. You will also preside over the foot of my table and lead the ladies out. They taught you these things at seminary, I trust?”
“Yes, Father.”
Eleanor did not look well-pleased. Like her mother, he had no idea what to make of her. He wanted to laugh in the face of his friend Courtenay when he said that women were simple creatures.
Simple! He had never found them so.
“Carry on then.” Having received the intelligence about Lord Goodnestone’s chambers, he left her to it.
* * *
“What is this?” General Tilney muttered to himself the very next afternoon.
He gazed over his younger son’s shoulder at the tête-à-tête beneath the shade of the large old oak. Guests strolled and admired the shrubberies or made use of the drawing rooms, billiard room, or library. The tinkle of laughter and conversation and a temperate afternoon should have pleased him, but the sight of the pair under the oak tree dimmed his pleasure. His lips tightened and he gripped the balustrade as the tall, gangly man in proper, if not the latest mode, leaned in to speak in a friendly manner with his daughter. Then Eleanor smiled and seemed to converse with an easiness that only the younger of her two brothers could coax from her.
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