The Jane Austen Society (ARC)

by Natalie Jenner

  Benjamin Gray watched the other man carefully as they approached the back walled garden, his favourite spot on the entire estate. Andrew seemed to have a deep and unresolved interest in Frances Knight, which confused Dr. Gray. His two childhood friends practically managed the Knight estate together, both still single and unmarried, and he knew Andrew had been besotted with Frances when they were young. Dr. Gray could not imagine the man still caring for the woman and not ever having done anything about it, for all his fastidiousness.

  “All the same, I’m afraid I would be conflicted out of most decisions, as solicitor for the estate,” Andrew was saying, the intricacy of his situation continuing to dawn on him. He could never tell any of them what he knew about the contents of the will. He wondered though if, by being involved at all, even just as a fly on the wall, he could at least observe their decisions as a group and subtly steer them in a way that helped protect Frances’s interests, while not violating the duty he owed Mr. Knight as his solicitor. In his lengthy career, Andrew had never before allowed himself to even contemplate such a morally grey area, and it was making him feel more than a little queasy.

  “Perhaps, when it comes to voting,” Dr. Gray responded. “But your general legal knowledge—not to mention your peerless knowledge of Chawton itself and its history—would be invaluable to the other members.”

  Andrew took a seat on a carved-oak bench just outside the entrance to the walled garden, and Benjamin joined him.

  “Have you contemplated yet a legal structure to carry out the charitable goals of this society? To protect yourself from liability, raise money, and minimize taxes and the like?”

  Dr. Gray was gratified to see the wheels already turning in Andrew’s lawyer brain. “We were thinking of a separate charitable trust to administer the actual property and any assets we acquire.”

  “Very good, very good. Whose idea was all this to begin with, anyway?”

  “Adam Berwick, believe it or not. Seems he has been reading and rereading Jane Austen every winter for many years now.”

  “I would never have guessed that in a thousand years.” The lawyer shook his head in amused disbelief.

  “They say that certain books can really help patients with trauma, and for some reason Jane Austen is one of the ones they recommend. I know she has helped me.”

  “Is this medicine then for poor Adeline Grover as well?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Andrew stared pensively at the Great House and the grounds stretching out before him. “I still feel uncomfortable about my position as the Knight solicitor of record. My duty is to protect the interests of my clients, financial and legal and otherwise. Inevitably things will come up—conversations will happen—in which I will need to abstain or absent myself altogether.”

  “Andy, of course—I took a professional oath, too, you know. Look, it’s a charity—we’re certainly none of us going to be making any money for all our efforts. I would like to think we can manage any conflicts that arise without too much fuss.”

  “Okay,” Andrew finally agreed with a sigh. “I will help out, too. But I think we should meet soon, before the holidays occupy us.”

  “Andrew, honestly, are we any of us four so busy right now?”

  The two men sat on the bench and looked about at the scene of so many earlier festivities from their shared youth. Maybe, just maybe, they were both silently thinking, the society could help them recapture even a small degree of that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chawton, Hampshire

  December 22, 1945

  The First Meeting of the Jane Austen Society

  In which the Jane Austen Memorial Trust is established, with the charitable objects of the advancement of education and in particular the study of English Literature, especially the works of Jane Austen.

  The first order of business was to establish a trust as a legal means to carry out any dealings supported by the society, and to nominate three trustees, including the chairman, treasurer, and secretary.

  Adeline Grover agreed to act as secretary for the meeting, given her speed at note taking, and by the end of the meeting was permanently acclaimed in that role. Dr. Gray agreed to be the first chairman of the trust for a term of two years, given his prior experience on the local school board. Andrew agreed to be the first treasurer, given his solicitor’s training and knowledge of trust accounts and separate banking practices. This was all to the palpable relief of Adam Berwick, whose financial situation was understood to require his full commitment to his regular employment.

  The trust deed, as drawn up in advance by Andrew Forrester, provided for funds raised through both subscription and donation, and thirty pounds was quickly pledged by the three trustees to create an account from which any incidental expenses could be withdrawn going forward.

  Each of the three trustees also pledged to uphold various duties, primary of which was the duty to carry out the charitable purposes of the trust and to avoid any conflicts or perceptions thereof. With Andrew Forrester’s role as executor of the Knight estate, the situation felt ripe for conflict, and he agreed to abstain from any voting on the use of funds to purchase the property.

  “It’s all still a little dodgy—don’t write that down, Adeline—but it is a charity after all, and we’re none of us doing this for profit, so I am comfortable with the provision for abstention as it stands. We’ll just have to stay very mindful of these issues going forward.”

  “What are the rules for voting, with such a small group?” Dr. Gray asked.

  “Historically one abides by the rules of parliamentary procedure, which require a majority of the full board, including any who abstain. So, right now, if I abstain from a vote, you and Adeline must both agree for anything to move forward.”

  “Ha!” Adeline laughed outright, causing all three men to turn to her.

  “Right, well,” Andrew quickly replied, “that in and of itself is reason to invite at least two more members to join us. Five trustees in total should do it.”

  “And money?” Adam asked. “To buy the cottage?”

  “According to local sales of late,” Andrew replied, “we’re looking at several thousand pounds to buy the cottage no matter what. I move that we try to raise sufficient funds through public subscription as soon as possible. Then we can go to Miss Frances with a pure business proposition and hope that she can prevail upon her father to agree in time.”

  Dr. Gray caught these last two words and gave Andrew a curious look.

  “You think we should hurry then? Before he passes?”

  Andrew shuffled the papers before him on his lap. “It is my understanding from Adam here that there is outside interest in the Knight estate. Similar to the recent sale of the contents of the Godmersham estate, that also once belonged to Austen’s brother. I brought the catalogue with me—it’s of public record, so I don’t feel it improper to share it with you.”

  The other three members of the society passed the catalogue around.

  “A reserve price of five thousand pounds for a writing desk?” Dr. Gray exclaimed.

  “Apparently it went for almost three times that amount. Adam, tell them what else you know.”

  “Apparently someone from Sotheby’s keeps calling Miss Frances.”

  Adeline looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “Evie. She told me as much.”

  “Evie Stone?” asked Dr. Gray. “Whatever is the child up to?”

  “Whatever it is,” replied Adeline, “I bet it’s more than sweeping out the hearths. She was far too young to have to leave school when she did. She’s whip-smart—smarter than any of us.”

  “I am sure that’s an exaggeration.” Dr. Gray smiled.

  “Speak for yourself,” Adeline replied in all seriousness.

  “Alright, back to my motion,” Andrew interjected. “I move that early in the New Year we post a small advertisement in The Times and the local Hampshire papers, notifying the public of the inc
orporation of a trust to accept monies supporting the initiatives of the society.”

  “Should we mention trying to acquire the cottage?” asked Adam.

  “I think it best,” Dr. Gray answered. “We need to give the public a tangible goal of some kind. Something more impressive than acquiring writing desks and topaz crosses.”

  “Again, speak for yourself,” Adeline said pointedly to him. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on Austen’s jewellery.”

  Dr. Gray felt strangely gratified—the old Adeline, so sharp-tongued and direct, was slowly, but surely, starting to come back.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Chawton, Hampshire

  Christmas Week 1945

  “Do you think we’ll get the old girl to church this Christmas Eve?” asked Tom. He and Evie Stone were picking ivy and holly in the woods to drape about the main entrance hall and drawing room of the Great House, in preparation for the upcoming annual village reception following Christmas Eve service at St. Nicholas.

  “It’s always a toss-up,” replied Evie. She was only sixteen to Tom’s twenty, and as she foraged in the snow for the trimmings, her cheeks had that pure ruddy blush that one only ever saw on the very young and unblemished. “Did you read that book yet, that I found you from the library?”

  Despite her continued and extensive reading, Evie’s favourite book remained Pride and Prejudice. Almost as a type of test, she had pressed it on her limited social circle at the Great House—Josephine the cook, Charlotte the other house girl, and Tom the stable hand and gardener—with as much enthusiasm as she ever did anything. If they failed to enjoy or—even worse—finish the book, she wrote them off just as dismissively.

  “Um, no, not quite.” Tom coughed. He had meant to start the book, mostly because he was in a race against time and two other young men in the village when it came to romancing Evie Stone. But even that potential reward could not overcome a notable fidgetiness and lack of discipline on his part.

  “Well, you should, Tom, you really should. It’s so good. It’s so funny.” Evie stood up straight with her hands full of greenery and smiled at him. “I can’t carry any more, can you?”

  He looked through the lime grove and out onto the west-facing fields, separated from the woods and the house by a little ha-ha—the deceptive fencing sunk down into a ditch so as not to impinge on the sightline of the view, while keeping the sheep out of the gardens.

  “Sun’s setting fast enough, must be close to tea. Say, listen, can I hold on to that book a little longer?”

  “Miss Knight says she’s thrilled if we’re any of us reading, so I’m sure she won’t miss it yet.”

  Evie headed down the lime grove back towards the house, letting Tom straggle along behind her. She suspected that he had not even bothered to pick up the book and wondered whether this reflected either a limit to his interest in her, or just an antipathy to sitting still. Either way, she was not overly impressed—nor did she think Jane Austen would have been.

  Evie entered the Great House and placed her pile of greenery on a side table to the inside left of the huge wooden front door. Tom did the same, then headed off down the centre hallway to the kitchen to grab tea from Josephine. Evie took the longer, more circuitous way, through the drawing room that the family called the Great Hall, which opened up onto the main-floor library, and then along a small gallery until reaching Evie’s other favourite room, the dining room.

  In the centre of that room sat the immensely long mahogany table at which Jane and Cassandra and their brother, his eleven children, and an evolving assortment of other guests, would all have dined. Part of a three-story extension that protruded from the western face of the house, the dining room contained two huge window seats with thick brocaded curtain covers, which one could pull closed along a high brass rod for total privacy. Sitting in the southern window, you could also watch, unobserved, the approach up the long drive of any of the infrequent visitors to the house.

  There, as Evie had suspected, sat Miss Knight.

  “Excuse me, miss,” she started, and Miss Knight turned to look at her.

  Evie was concerned about her employer. Miss Knight had a pervasive greyness about her, a lack of life in her face and posture, that made it seem as if she had one foot in this world and one foot somewhere else. She was a woman essentially alone and increasingly without friends, as she began to spend all her time indoors. Although still young, Evie already understood that true friendship was not earned without hard work and vigilance. Having left school and the easy camaraderie of classmates, Evie could see how working inside a big, empty house with minimal staff was keeping her from more typical social pursuits. Going to the movies in Alton with girlfriends was her only outside form of recreation—reading and cataloguing the books late into the night took up the rest of her leisure time.

  “Tom and I were wondering, miss, if you’ll be attending the service this Christmas Eve. Many of the villagers have been asking on my rounds.”

  Frances shook her head. She was already not up to seeing too many people, and now half the village was about to descend on her very home.

  “No, but you and Charlotte and Tom should all go. Josephine is going to stay back to get things ready and keep me company. And, of course, I should spend some time visiting with my father.”

  Evie walked farther into the room. Above the fireplace was a beautiful, almost life-size portrait of Edward Austen Knight, Jane’s brother, shortly after his grand tour of Europe as a young man. He had inherited several well-known estates from the Knights, and two of Jane’s other brothers had been successful naval commanders, sailing to places as far away as the Caribbean and the China seas. Evie thought about the Austen women being circumscribed by the four corners of England instead, venturing perhaps as far north as the Peak District and as far south as Southampton, but in the main staying in villages such as Chawton. Evie wondered if she, too, would be stuck here forever. Wondered what on earth would ever be her ticket out.

  “Miss Knight, I hope you know how much everyone looks forward to this to-do. It’s awful kind of you and your father to welcome everyone into your home like this.”

  “Thank you, Evie. It’s a family tradition after all—and family tradition is important. Will your own parents be able to come?”

  “Dad is still having trouble walking with the canes, but Adam Berwick is going to pick him up at the house and pull his wagon right up to the church to let him off.”

  “Oh, Evie, how wonderful for you. Two years is a very long time to be confined to bed.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Frances realized that she had, in her own way, been voluntarily doing much the same thing. In that moment something dawned on her, the sense of spiting the little good fortune she’d been left with, and she was religious—and superstitious—enough to pay attention.

  “Evie”—Frances stood up from the window seat—“I think I will go to the service this year after all. I should like to add my prayers to your father’s. He is a very strong man. But I’m sure you know that.”

  At rare moments such as this, when Miss Knight seemed up for conversation, Evie was dying to say something to her about the late-night cataloguing. She truly cared about Miss Knight and wanted her to be less depressed and fretful, and part of Evie’s hope with the secret project was to uncover enough indisputable treasures to help keep the Knight family legacy alive and thriving. But her instincts told her that the longer she could go unimpeded by anybody else’s concerns or priorities, the greater the chance she might trip over something of import. The idea that she could ask her own questions and decide where to look for answers was intoxicating to her.

  Evie was a born academic; she just didn’t know it yet.

  So instead the girl nodded and headed off to the kitchen for her tea, and Frances looked up at the oversized oil painting of her ancestor above the mantel. She accepted, for the first time, that she was doing, in her own small way, the best that she could. She wasn’t sure that Jane a
nd Cassandra Austen would have expected anything more than that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chawton, Hampshire

  Christmas Eve 1945

  The villagers streamed into the parish church, full of the excitement of the season. Parents let their smallest children run about the gravestones in the twilight, and the men and women were all wearing their finest outdoor hats and coats against the frosty air.

  The Stones descended from the Berwicks’ wagon, the four children having walked alongside during the trip from the farming fields at the perimeter of town. Adam helped his mother and Mrs. Stone get down from the wagon, then attended to Mr. Stone, who was unable to bend his legs due to his injuries but could finally shuffle a bit with a cane in each hand.

  Dr. Gray was already inside the church, looking about, wondering if this year Miss Knight would make an appearance. His nurse, Harriet, was in the same row as him, along with her older unmarried sister, but he was avoiding too much social interaction. He was still smarting from the completely inappropriate and insinuating phone call that Harriet had made to the Grover cottage in advance of his recent visit.

  The Berwick and Stone families entered slowly together to take their seats in the back rows, and then there was quite a bit of commotion as Miss Knight herself entered, accompanied by Evie Stone and the stable boy Tom. As her physician and longtime friend, Dr. Gray knew how much effort this must be for Frances, and he gave her an encouraging smile as she walked down the aisle to take her traditional place in the front row to the right of the altar.

  Everyone settled down again and Reverend Powell approached from the back of the chancery to commence the service. As he asked everyone to rise for the opening hymn, the door to the church opened to let in Adeline Grover and her mother along with one final blast of winter wind. They snuck in as quietly as possible, then walked down the centre aisle until they, too, had reached their regular seats.

  Dr. Gray did not look over at the two women as they entered the row directly across the aisle from his. He could feel Harriet’s and her sister’s eyes upon him, but right now his mind was focused on composing the letter of termination that he would be delivering to Miss Peckham in the New Year, no matter how hard it was to find a nurse willing to come out to Chawton every day. Being the subject of gossip and speculation by one’s own staff was ludicrous enough—being such when there was absolutely nothing amiss going on was altogether unacceptable.