* * *
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT Mrs. Austen declared herself quite well enough for a trip to the assembly. The illness had departed as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving no trace or effect, other than an urgent fancy for a few hands of Commerce. The whole family set off to indulge it at once.
It was six o’clock, and the red sun was dropping through a violet sky toward the line of the ocean. All of Sidmouth was out enjoying the cool. Jane and her father walked briskly together, and were soon quite ahead of the others. Cassy watched their backs, saw them laughing and stopping to exchange pleasantries with their new neighbors, while she listened to her mother with only one ear.
“My bowels feel much steadier now, thanks be to the Lord, after what was, as you of all people know, Cass, the most frightful evacuation. I think I shall like this apothecary. He has a good feel for my system.”
Cassy ran her eye over the promenaders coming toward them, with what she persuaded herself to be the most casual sort of interest. She was certainly not expecting to see anyone of any particular merit: Oh, no. No one at all.
“I think I may visit him tomorrow, to discuss them further. After all, I say they are steadier, but never steady enough for my liking. If I could just be rid of this turbulent wind—”
And out of nowhere, there he was—suddenly upon them: taller than she remembered, more amiable than she had previously noticed. This time he smiled, revealing teeth that were good, white, and even. And again in his green eyes she saw that warm recognition, as if remembering a connection in some other life. His hat was lifted, her knee was folded, agreement was met on the beauty of the evening. And just as suddenly, there he was: gone.
“And who was that fine gentleman?” Mrs. Austen stopped and stared behind her, though Cassy would rather she had not.
“I am sure I do not know.” She took her mother’s arm again and drew her back to their walking.
“Yet he seemed to have some knowledge of you.” She felt a beady eye upon her. “And an interest, too, if I am not mistaken. You know not much gets past me and my good sprack wit. Well, well. Well, well, well.” A new friskiness came into her step. “This is the most welcome development. It is nearly four years, now, my dear. God would not want you in mourning forever.” Cassy loathed this tired topic of conversation, though that loathing never got in its way. “Nor would Tom, for that matter.” Still, she thought she preferred even this to bowels and their behavior. “It is our dearest wish to see you girls both settled before the Lord comes to call us. And with my poor old stomach, that could happen any day.” This was a new hell: a fusion of spinsterhood with the troubles of digestion: “The next time I suffer an evacuation of that magnitude…”
Cassy bore it courageously until they arrived at the door of the London Inn.
14
Sidmouth, July 1801
“ARE WE NEARLY THERE YET?”
Beneath the warm blanket of familial kindness, little Anna was improving in confidence. She now felt able to ask for outings and entertainments—each increasingly lavish and demanding upon adults—like any other happy, loved child. She had taken ice creams, patted the horses, watched the watermill wheel turn, become almost bored by the beach. Sadly, their great Shell Project had come to nothing, but Cassy contained her disappointment and went along with the rest.
“The pebbles are not easy to walk on.”
The cliffs were that morning’s preferred destination. At breakfast Anna announced that she would like to explore them: She wanted to find some of those earlier-talked-of “strange, ancient animals.” Mr. Austen perked up at once. He offered to take the child there himself, and began a short, preparatory lecture on the mystery of fossils. Cassy did not listen closely: The subject seemed of no particular interest; she started to think about the things she might do with this sudden free time. They were expecting new muslin in at Potbury’s; she and Jane could go together … Then her father spoke the words “Elements” and “Conchology.” And suddenly it occurred that she was interested after all. Perhaps she would join them. Fossils might hold some sort of fascination. It was certainly worth taking a look …
* * *
“Not long now, child. See, the cliffs are just there.” Her father’s academic enthusiasm propelled him at a speed that defied the length of his years. His long white hair shone in the sun beneath his sensible hat. “There is no need to climb them, I am told. We have every chance of finding some treasure in the rocks lying down here on the beach.”
Cassy and Anna were struggling to keep up with him, so he arrived first at the chosen spot. Their view was blocked, but they heard him give a cheery: “And good morning to you, sir!”
Ah: So they would not then be hunting alone. They came round the rock and emerged into the clearing.
And there he was. “Ladies.” He bowed, tipped his hat, and addressed only Anna: “And if it is not the proud owner of that excellent shell…”
“So you are already acquainted?” her father began.
“Not exactly.” He smiled. “We have yet to introduce ourselves. I am Mr. Hobday. Mr. Henry Hobday.” He nodded again.
“Mr. Austen. And I have brought my daughter and granddaughter, the Misses Austen, here this morning. We are in search of fossils.”
“The Misses Austen. Then you are in the right place.” He waved a small hammer. “I have found some interesting specimens. Come with me, Miss Austen. I shall show you.”
But his words were—again—directed to Anna. The three of them clambered over the stones, leaving Cassy alone. She chose not to follow them—it would be unseemly to clamber—and instead leaned on the big rock and studied the party. Mr. Hobday—Mr. Henry Hobday, the name itself had a smile in it—and Mr. George Austen were at once the firmest of friends. Her father was a highly intelligent man who was no respecter of fools. So, if she read their demeanor correctly, Mr. Hobday, too, was intelligent.
The time passed and, to her surprise, Anna was still deeply engrossed. Mr. Hobday took care to include the young scientist in all aspects of their exploration, and her capacity for concentration, which only yesterday was pathetically limited, had expanded dramatically. Cassy leaned into the rock, sighed, looked out to sea, and began to feel a trifle disgruntled by her own predicament. The sun was hot, the gulls were noisome and fractious. She had been right in the first place: Fossils were dull. Or they certainly caused dullness in others. Everyone had forgotten she was standing there, waiting. She failed now to remember why had she come.
It had not been—could not be—due to a desire to see Mr. Hobday. Mr. Henry Hobday. It was a very good name. Anyway, it was not for him: Of that she was certain. He might be attractive—he was definitely attractive—he might have about him some winning ways. What of it? She was Miss Austen, forever Miss Austen. Attractive, winning men were no longer of use to her. The idea occurred: Perhaps he might do for Jane?
Now there was a scheme. Her sister’s firm repulsion of each hapless suitor had long ago ceased to be a subject of parental amusement and was now one of general irritation. Cassy was in the uncomfortable position of seeing both sides: On the one hand, no man had been anywhere good enough; on the other, Jane could not go on in this fashion much longer. Their parents were determined to travel as much as possible during the years that remained, but must have someone to look after them. Cassy was, if not happy, exactly, then at least accepting that she would be that someone, and after that Kent would claim her. But Jane? She was not one of life’s carers and, what was more, needed stability. This peripatetic lifestyle would soon start to affect her: The mood would descend; there would be trouble ahead. But if this Mr. Hobday, Mr. Henry Hobday, was really as clever and amusing as the morning suggested, then …