by Ken Methold
Sarah offered her hand, and as he bent to kiss it, she said, ‘We are greatly obliged to you for your time and most useful information.’
James stood. The men bowed to one another and Tilson hurried away.
‘Well!’ Sarah exclaimed as Tilson left the coffee house, ‘all that needs a lot of taking in and sorting out. One thing is immediately obvious.’
‘And that is?’
‘Next stop, Godmersham. But first, I’ll see John Murray, the publisher, and then make my way to Kent.’
Chapter-14
When Sarah gave her card to the clerk in the front office of Murray’s premises and he had taken it into his employer, barely half a minute passed before Murray himself welcomed her and ushered her into his comfortable, book-lined room at the rear of the building.
John Murray, publisher, quickly reminded Sarah that he was well-acquainted with her father, Matthew Kedron. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Kedron. I trust your father is in excellent health.’
‘He is, thank you.’
Murray indicated that she should sit in one of the two high-backed arm chairs, one each side of a small table, and said, ‘May I offer you refreshment?’
‘Thank you, but no. I have just left the Chapter Coffee House.’
Murray smiled. ‘I am hoping,’ he said, ‘that the purpose of your visit is to offer me the honour of publishing your plays. Let me say immediately that I shall be delighted to become your publisher.’
Sarah laughed. ‘Well, Mr Murray, I had no such intention until a few seconds ago, but that is certainly something we can discuss while I’m here, but for the present, I have another matter in mind.’ She explained her interest in his author, Jane Austen, concluding, ‘I am wondering, among other things, why she left Thomas Egerton and came to you.’
‘Oh, I think there were two reasons. Jane Austen was a most ambitious lady. She was determined to do what was best for her writing. I publish Lord Byron and I co-publish Sir Walter Scott. I am sure Miss Austen desired to be included in that company. My books are also more attractively produced than Egerton’s, a good publisher though he is. He does his best for his authors.’
‘Perhaps you also offered her better terms,’ Sarah said.
‘Negotiations were, shall we say, protracted? Mr Henry Austen came to me at first, but he was taken ill and Miss Austen herself took over. Finally, after the poor woman’s tragically early death, her sister, Miss Cassandra Austen completed the negotiations.’
‘A somewhat fraught situation.’
‘Initially I offered Jane Austen an outright sum for three of her copyrights. Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park and the unpublished novel, Emma—possibly her masterpiece. But it became clear that she was not interested in selling her copyrights for anything like a reasonable sum. She had learnt from bitter experience that if your work has commercial potential, the best arrangement for an author is for her books to be published on a commission basis.’
‘So she still owned the copyright in three books, but not in all. That means that she had sold the copyright on Pride and Prejudice.’
‘Yes. Unless Egerton is prepared to sell it, he can publish as many editions of it as he wishes, without further payment to Miss Austen’s estate, until his interest in the copyright expires. I think that is in about ten years’ time.’
‘You have not only published Emma but also two more titles, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. All on commission?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t really want Northanger Abbey. It is by far her weakest book. But I wanted Mansfield Park, and Persuasion. Miss Cassandra Austen, who inherited her sister’s estate and became her executor, was determined that all three of her sister’s last books should be published. Apparently, the family had bought back the copyright for Northanger Abbey from Messrs Cadell who had been sitting on the unpublished manuscript for years.’
Sarah made a quick calculation in her head. ‘So, in fact, you have access to the whole of Jane Austen’s output, except for Pride and Prejudice. But only on a commission basis.’
‘All of it that is known—or that Cassandra Austen thinks is fit to print.’
Sarah thought this an interesting comment. It implied that Cassandra had given John Murray the impression that she was prepared to act as a kind of censor of her sister’s work. ‘Are you aware of any unfinished manuscripts?’ she asked.
‘I know only that Jane Austen continued writing almost until the day of her death. And that she had started two further novels but managed only a few chapters for each. She was totally committed to her work. I cannot help thinking that she spent her last days in a writing frenzy, desperately trying to get down on paper ideas that were racing around in her head.’
‘But according to her brother, she had no interest in fame or fortune. So what drove her?’
John Murray shrugged. ‘I cannot explain that statement of Mr Austen’s in his memorial piece. It does not conform in any way to my opinion of the Jane Austen I met.’
‘Even though she required that Emma be published anonymously?’
‘I assumed that this was at the insistence of one of her family; Miss Cassandra Austen, or the mother, perhaps.’
‘Forgive me for pressing the point, Mr Murray, but Jane Austen was barely dead in her grave before her sister allowed you to publish those two remaining books without the condition that they should be published anonymously.’
‘That is true. Perhaps that was because I explained the opportunity of benefiting from better sales of her new titles if we revealed the identity of the author.’ He smiled. ‘I think Miss Cassandra Austen took into consideration the possibility of greater commercial success.’
‘The failure of Mr Austen’s bank has presumably affected the Austen family’s fortunes,’ Sarah said.
But if the decision to publish Emma anonymously had been Jane’s alone, she thought, it still needed explanation. By the date she offered Emma for publication, Henry’s bank had already failed. He would no longer be a source of financial help. Sarah could not understand why an author who was in every other way a committed professional and determined to earn as much money from her writing as possible, refused to be identified as the author of the first four novels while she was still alive. She wondered if the dedication in Emma to the Prince Regent had something to do with it.
‘How did Jane Austen feel about being asked to dedicate a book to the Prince Regent?’ she asked.
John Murray lapsed into his native dialect in his response. ‘Ach, she dinna wanna do it. The wee lassie loathed the man. And who could blame her?’
‘What persuaded her?’
‘I explained that royal approval, even from such a creature as the Prince Regent could be worth its weight in gold. He might head up a subscription list to a future book ensuring a good profit.’
‘And did it?’
‘We heard nothing from him. I sent an expensive, specially bound copy to Carlton House but did not receive even an acknowledgement of its receipt. I fear the brevity of the dedication and total absence of flattery caused offence.’
Sarah nodded to indicate her understanding. Bringing the discussion to an end, she observed, ‘This has been most interesting, Mr Murray. It will be a great pity if the family finds it difficult to keep all six titles in print.’
‘The sales are fortunately likely to generate more income than the costs of production. And I believe will continue to do so for many years to come.’ He smiled. ‘Jane Austen knew what she was doing.’
‘One last question. A personal one. Did you like her?’
John Murray stroked his chin thoughtfully. Had this question been asked by anyone except Sarah, he would have avoided an answer. As it was, he decided to be frank with her. ‘I tried to, but she had a very abrupt manner, almost rude. She pestered me continually to get her books out faster. I know now, of course, that she was dying and determined to get her books finished and, if possible, published before she died. I understand that she continued writ
ing almost until the day of her death. Authors are like fond parents, Miss Kedron. They often look upon their books as if they are their children. I know Jane Austen did.’
Sarah smiled. ‘Mr Murray, you have been most helpful. I am deeply obliged to you.’
‘It has been my pleasure, Miss Kedron. Perhaps now we may discuss the publication of your plays?’
And this they did. John Murray Ltd was not even given an opportunity to make an offer for the copyrights. Sarah had learnt that the best arrangement for an author was for the publisher to publish the work on commission.
Chapter-15
Sarah took a hackney to her father’s office to collect any letters that had arrived for her before planning her next move in the Jane Austen investigation. She had several options, and all involved journeys out of London. However, she had to wait until she received a reply from the Lord Chamberlain’s office before leaving the city for any length of time. If changes were required to her play, they had to be made immediately.
On her arrival at the office, the chief clerk handed her an official-looking package from Carlton House. With some trepidation she tore open the wrapping. Her play had been returned. This could mean it had been rejected. She flipped through the script looking for a covering letter. Eventually, she found it between the section which contained most of the additional scenes. To her immense relief, it was short and to the point. It informed her that the Lord Chamberlain was pleased to advise her that the script could be performed in appropriately licensed theatres without changes. She sighed with relief. This provided a possibility, perhaps even a probability, that Mr Kean would be willing to perform the title role in the play in the forthcoming season. She decided to take the script to the theatre and then continue to Elizabeth’s studio. They would decide together to whom or to where they should visit next. Delaying only to write and send a ‘Thank you’ letter to Revd Clarke, the Prince Regent’s librarian, she took another hackney to the theatre. There, the manager, Samuel Arnold, expressed his pleasure in having her play available for production. While skimming through the additions, he expressed the opinion that she had nothing about which to worry. He felt confident that the amended script would delight Mr Kean as it now provided opportunities for him to dominate the play. Mr Arnold told Sarah that he would instruct the prompter to organise printing copies of the play as soon as Kean had agreed to perform in it. Sarah was now able to concentrate on the next stage of her investigation into the life of Jane Austen.
Over a light lunch at the Crossed Keys tavern in Cheyne Walk where Elizabeth had her studio apartment, the two friends planned their next journey.
‘We shall probably need to talk to more people,’ Sarah said, ‘but at present, there are three on whom we should concentrate. The most promising is Mary Austen, the Reverend James Austen’s wife at Steventon. Remember, she said she would “put the record straight,” which I find most intriguing. Then we have Cassandra Austen and her mother, who live together at Chawton, which is not all that far from Steventon. I am sure that Cassandra knows more about Jane than anyone else, but I fear she may refuse to even speak to me. It depends on what, if anything, Henry Austen has said to her about us. Though I have a suspicion that even if she agrees to see us, she will not say a word in criticism of her sister.’
‘Wasn’t there a younger brother at the funeral?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Yes. Frances or Frank as the family call him. He’s a naval officer living in Portsmouth, presumably awaiting a ship. I’ve left a note for James Brewster asking him if one of his journalists can find out some information about him.’
‘Wait,’ Elizabeth said. ‘If it is the same Francis Austen, I invited him for a portrait sitting after his name appeared in The Times. Wasn’t he made a Companion of the Bath some five years ago?’
Sarah smiled. ‘In that case, he shouldn’t be too difficult to find. It’ll be just a question of discreetly asking around and consulting the Navy List. Finally, there’s Edward Austen who was adopted by the Knight family and lives in some style, I believe, at Godmersham Hall in Kent. What is important, Lizzy, is the order in which we meet these people. What each of them tells us, or doesn’t tell us, can affect whom we see next and how we approach them.’
Elizabeth remained silent for a few moments, and then she said, ‘We’re assuming, aren’t we, that the family, or at least some members of it, are trying to hide something about Jane. Something she was, or something she did.’
‘Or both. Exactly.’
‘Then it seems that Cassandra is the least likely to be honest with us, even, as you say, to the extent of refusing to talk to us.’
‘I think you could be right.’
‘Then perhaps we should put her towards the end of our list. By then we should know enough to be able to judge whether there is something about her sister that Cassandra doesn’t want to be known.’
‘That makes sense, my dear. So it’s between Edward and Frank.’
Elizabeth furrowed her brow while she considered, and after a moment, she said, ‘Then I would choose Edward. Francis or Frank has probably been at sea for most of Jane’s writing life. He will know only what his family chose to reveal in letters.’
Sarah agreed. ‘Then Godmersham it is. If it’s convenient for you, we’ll leave for Kent tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll find out from which inn the coach to Godmersham departs, and where we should stay when we get there. I’ll dine this evening with my father and James and tell them what we’ve discovered so far. They might have useful suggestions. Now tell me what you have been doing.’
Elizabeth excitedly told Sarah that she had been commissioned to do a family portrait of a successful diamond merchant in Hatton Gardens. The first sitting would take place as soon as the merchant could get his family together: his wife, two sons at boarding school and a married daughter with the babe in arms. They had a house on the river at Putney, and he was hoping for an alfresco setting, though much depended on the weather. She thought the sitting would be at least a couple of weeks away, so nothing prevented her from spending a few days in Kent, and she would take her easel and paints as before.
‘Spending time with you in the country, dearest,’ she said, taking Sarah’s hand, ‘is changing my life, you know. I’ve been working up the sketches I made of the Steventon church and rectory. I’ve discovered that I enjoy painting buildings as much as I enjoy doing portraits. With all these huge country houses being built everywhere by the new wealthy merchant class and factory owners, there’s a lot of work for artists who they think will do justice to their client’s proudest possession.’
Sarah laughed. ‘After their wives, Lizzy.’
‘Oh no. House and garden first, then the male heir if there is one, then the wife. In many cases I think they will exclude the wife if they can. Especially if she is either fat and ugly or so worn out with child-bearing that she destroys the impression of affluence. It’s his mistress he would have in the picture if he could. Men!’
‘Men!’ Sarah repeated, and laughing, the two women parted for the day.
Chapter-16
Sarah discovered that the small village of Godmersham was an equidistance of about six miles between Canterbury and Ashford, both of which were about sixty miles from London. Coaches destined for or passing through both places came frequently, but Canterbury was by far the most interesting architecturally, so she decided they would travel there by coach and stay at one of the many inns or hotels.
Sarah reasoned that even if the visit to Godmersham Hall turned out to be a waste of time, Elizabeth would be able to sketch and even paint scenes of interest in this part of Kent notable for its natural beauty. As they had done in Basingstoke, they would hire horses or a simple gig to take them from the city to Godmersham. They would turn it into another short holiday together.
She considered whether to write in advance to request a meeting but decided against this. A letter could be ignored—which could be in itself a refusal—or replied to with a polite excuse. If,
as at Steventon, they just turned up, conventional middle-class politeness would not allow them to be abruptly turned away. They would stand a good chance of at least some conversation with Edward Austen Knight who might have something of interest to say about his sister.
Accordingly, Sarah sent a messenger to book two inside seats on the next morning’s first coach to Canterbury and then to deliver a note asking Elizabeth to meet her at eight-thirty at The White Horse Inn, Fetter Lane, from where the coach would depart.
They had a fine day for their eight-hour journey, and after resting in their hotel in Canterbury, they strolled around the attractive cathedral city before taking a light supper and retiring early. After breakfast the next morning, Sarah hired a gig to take them to Godmersham Hall. So far, the expedition had been sufficiently pleasant not to turn out to be a waste of time even if Edward Austen had nothing of interest to tell them.
As they approached Godmersham Hall, Sarah reigned in the horse and the gig came to a halt outside the large iron gates through which they could see the house at the end of a long drive.
‘Good Gracious,’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘Just look at the size of it!’
Laughing, Sarah said, ‘It’s certainly not what I expected.’
Godmersham Hall was not in any way an ordinary country house but rather a vast mansion, superbly sited in parkland where deer grazed and swans moved gently about on a large ornamental lake. At a glance, the house consisted of a central two-storey building with what appeared to be eight front bedrooms in the second storey. A two-storey annexe or wing, each of which was the size of a substantial dwelling, was attached to each side of this main building. Doubtless, at the rear of the main building would be many outhouses and even cottages. Godmersham Hall was fit to be the home of a duke.
Sarah knew nothing about the Knight family. Obviously, however, if their residence was anything to go by, they were undeniably wealthy. Perhaps even aristocrats with a distinguished history. The house, which looked fairly recent, perhaps mid-period Georgian, would need at least a score of inside servants, and probably half-a-dozen more employees of one kind and another worked in the park and gardens. Sarah could not help wondering where the money came from to support such luxury, and she suspected that the initial wealth had come from trafficking in slaves, which would be the same as for many other recently built large country houses.
