As I reached the top of the slope lined with trees rustling in the gale, a pack of about forty dogs suddenly came into view. I froze. While I tried to make sense of what I saw, there appeared a man riding a big shiny black horse. He was wearing a red jacket, cream trousers and black riding boots. His short blond hair ruffled gently in the wind and his handsome face assumed a reassuring look that said he was no threat. He sternly told the dogs to stop and stay close. The dogs obeyed.
My friend who was following behind me stopped short next to me. We stood still and stared at the man. At least I was staring at him. Not sure if my friend was.
Without warning the ground shook violently and I was transported back to 1815 …
Jane Austen was hiding in the bush furiously trying to come up with a name for this man. She came up with Captain Frederick Wentworth. Very intelligent, clever, kind, captivating and of course very wealthy. He had to be if he were to be the hero in Jane Austen’s world. And unlike other rich and handsome men in his time, he didn’t go for obviously beautiful young ladies. He was only impressed with women of substance. The ideal woman for him would be graceful, calm, kind, wise but not necessarily stunning. And she wouldn’t be rich. Her true beauty would only come to life when he got to know her better.
Jane Austen was now shivering in the bush because she forgot to borrow a thick coat to put on top of her frock. She frantically looked around for such a woman in the vicinity for this dazzling man on horseback.
She saw two ladies standing at the top of the hill. The younger one wasn’t beautiful. But she would certainly appear so to this smart Captain Wentworth who valued character over beauty. Since Miss Austen couldn’t see any other young lady nearby to be matched up with this aristocratic gentleman, she decided to give her the name of the heroine, Anne Elliot.
Anne Elliot was level headed, graceful and could deal with urgent situations calmly and confidently like a proper lady.
But this young lady standing on the path was gawking at this man rather than looking gracefully at him. And she had pitch black hair, slightly dark skin and was wearing oversized jeans splashed with mud and thick ugly boots covered in the stuff. She was also wearing a rather scruffy jacket with generous padding that gave her upper body the appearance of the Michelin Man.
She also had a mind that behaved like a cat in this sort of situation. When the handsome man smiled at her, she ordered her mind to behave and give him back an equally charming smile. Under normal circumstances, her mind usually obeyed her like a well-trained dog. But this time, her mind turned into a cat and said, ‘in a minute, I’ve got to lick my bum first.’
So, she ended up giving him an awkward half frozen smile and watched him disappear down the slope along with his pack of hounds.
Miss Austen shook her head in disappointment. She would have to put off writing her story until she could find a calm and confident lady to fit the role of Anne Elliot. Besides, this one was wearing the wrong clothes, had the wrong coloured skin and her features weren’t really English for some reason. And worst of all, she couldn’t even give the young gentleman a nice smile. All she could muster was stare at him.
Jane Austen decided not to suffer anymore hiding in the bush in the cold and went back home. She would order her maid to put on the coal fire, bring her a nice cup of tea and continue plotting to find a suitable young lady for Captain Wentworth.
*
I came back to 2019 rejected by Miss Austen for the role of Anne Elliot. She did offer to give me the role of Anne’s silly sister, Mary, whom Captain Wentworth wasn’t impressed with. Angrily, I refused. I told her ‘Anne or nothing’. So, she gave me nothing. Ah well, I wasn’t wearing the right clothes and it was too sudden really. I wasn’t expecting to meet him in the middle of nowhere on the muddy footpath in the wood.
Maybe Jane Austen might accept me next time. I won’t ever let her put me in a supporting role though. I’ll take the offer only as the heroine of her story. No, I won’t accept anything less, even in my muddy boots, mud-splattered jeans, puffy jacket and a mind that turns into a cat from time to time!