Free The True Darcy Spirit by Elizabeth Aston

essays andsermons, she felt that here was another reason for slipping out on her own, so that she might borrow the kind of books she wanted to read.
    “Why, you have chosen nothing,” said Miss Quail, clutching a fat volume. From the way her hand hid the title, and she sidled away from Cassandra to have the book written down for her, Cassandra had a strong suspicion that the chosen book was a far cry from being a worthy tome such as had been recommended to her. So Miss Quail was hypocritical as well as tiresome; it didn’t surprise her.
    They walked to the Pump Room, where they joined Mrs. Quail and Mrs. Cathcart, and Cassandra was introduced to their numerous acquaintance, a tribe of women all very much the same as themselves, all holding themselves quite stiff in the presence of a Miss Darcy, for however much Mrs. Cathcart might talk about her brother Partington as though he were the master of Rosings, they knew that he had been a mere clergyman, whereas Cassandra was the granddaughter of a Lady Catherine, and related to an earl and other members of the nobility.
    Altogether, Cassandra reflected, as she stood, head bowed, at the dinner table, while Mrs. Cathcart intoned an interminable grace, an interesting day. Not interesting in itself, but in the information it provided as to the likely course of her stay in Bath. The first, and most important, thing was to find some time to herself. Were she always to find herself in the company of Mrs. Cathcart and the Quails, she would go mad.
    Cassandra, although she had learned to be careful about keeping some of her artistic pursuits out of sight of her stepfather, was not, by nature, a dissembler. Her frank and open manners were one of the characteristics that Mr. Partington disliked, and she was not entirely sure how she might go about achieving any degree of independence for herself. She felt uncomfortable being under scrutiny all the time; there must be a way to be alone.
    The next day was Sunday, and here she saw an opportunity. Although Mrs. Carthcart’s brother was a clergyman of the Established Church, she had married a Methodist, and she herself chose to worship among the small group who gathered at the chapel of theCountess of Huntington, feeling that the aristocratic foundations of the Methodist sect gave it extra lustre. She rather hoped that she could require Cassandra to go with her, but here Cassandra felt on sure ground. She was a member of the Church of England, her mama would be upset to learn that she had not attended divine service at a suitable church.
    “Such as the Abbey,” she suggested. “I shall go to the Abbey.”
    And, she thought, sit at the back, and slip out while no one is looking, and have at least a chance of a walk by myself.
    Mrs. Cathcart had to agree. She could not foist either of the Quails on to Cassandra, for they were also Methodists. “You must take your maid, it will not do for you to be out unaccompanied.”
    Nothing could suit Cassandra’s purposes better, and she sallied forth to attend the service, with Petifer beside her, both of them pleased to be out of the house. “For a more witless set of servants I never saw,” she told Cassandra.
    They duly slipped out of the Abbey, Petifer shaking her head when she realised what Cassandra was about. They walked swiftly away from the Abbey, into one of the smaller, quieter streets on the other side of Union Street. There, after a short tussle, they parted, Petifer agreeing to spend an hour looking around the town, while Cassandra spent some time on her own.
    “Don’t look so put out, Petifer; you have seen for yourself how many young ladies go about alone. There won’t be so very many people about at this time, they will be at home or in church until after twelve.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “Only up Milsom Street and from there up into the Broad Walk, the air will be pleasant up there.” Cassandra went briskly off, very pleased of the opportunity to stretch her legs and