by Ken Methold
‘And, I, sir, am most obliged to you for your frankness,’ Sarah said. ‘You have helped me towards a greater understanding of Jane. And you are a most magnanimous gentleman.’
Bigg-Wither had little more to say and Sarah nothing more she wished to ask. The purpose of the meeting had been fulfilled. She stood and brought it to an end. The outcome was different from what she had expected, but it all made good sense.
Chapter-21
Two days after their arrival at Basingstoke, a letter arrived from Mary Austen. The speed and positive contents of the letter made it clear to Sarah that the woman was not only willing to talk about her late sister-in-law, she was almost desperate to do so. Sarah began to feel optimistic about the revelations that the meeting might provide. Thinking over all the conversations she had had so far with members of the family, she realised that, although they believed they were presenting a united front with their attitudes to and feelings for the writer, in reality this was far from the case. Everything they revealed about Jane was coloured by their own experience of her, and this differed from one person to another as much as did their individual characters. It occurred to Sarah that Henry’s downright lies had little to do with Jane. As a failed banker with nowhere else to go, he had in later life decided to take holy orders. He had not, Sarah thought, had an epiphany on the road to Damascus. His decision had not been that of a man who has had a profound religious experience. It was the decision of a man who, with little chance of obtaining suitable employment for a man of his class, age and education, needed a job. A curacy was the best he could get. Accordingly, he needed to present himself as a man to whom being a good Christian of the Anglican persuasion was important. By stressing his sister’s saintly behaviour, which was probably as much a fiction as her novels, he was drawing attention to his own.
The Austen Knights had a different view of Jane. They had not mentioned her piety. Fanny Knight, who had apparently been close to her aunt, had been sufficiently concerned to make clear that Jane was a poor relation and not of the same social level as she and the Austen Knights were.
Captain Frank Austen had nothing in particular that he wanted to present and had, Sarah thought, been totally honest. Bigg-Wither wanted to present himself as a decent man, rich in sensibility in his understanding of Jane’s plight, and determined that he should not be thought resentful or even slightly annoyed at being jilted by her.
Sarah felt strangely excited as she rode a hired horse towards the Steventon rectory. She had no idea what Mary Austen’s confidences would be, but she was sure they would be a major contribution to her understanding of her late sister-in-law’s character.
Mary Austen met her at the front door and made her feel welcome. A maid immediately served tea in the library. And after the usual conversation about the weather and such neutral topics, Mary came to the point.
‘It is impossible to understand anything about Jane without taking into account her relationship with Cassandra. I grew up with the family, as did my sister, Martha, and she lives with them now at Chawton. Cassie is three years older than Jane and was as much a mother to her as a sister. Mrs Austen was often ill, and although for several years she entered into the spirit of many of the activities we enjoyed, she became increasingly religious and, I am sorry to say this, neglected Jane badly. Cassandra became her sister’s emotional rock. Jane worshipped her. And this fierce love was returned. They became inseparable.’
‘You mention the activities you enjoyed with the Austen family as a child,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you tell me more about them?’
‘The most enjoyable were the play readings and the plays we put on in the barn. The family loved the theatre, and Jane even wrote for it, as did my husband. He wrote prologues and epilogues for the plays.’
‘How old was Jane when she started writing?’ Sarah asked.
‘About fourteen, perhaps a little older.’
‘And you were close friends.’
‘Very. That is, until her cousin, Eliza—the so-called Comtesse de Feuillide—came on to the scene.’ The expression on Mary Austen’s face darkened. The conversation had reached a turning point. Mary Austen continued, ‘Eliza, Mr Austen’s sister’s child, was married to the French count when she first visited Steventon, that would have been in about 1793. She came for Christmas and to take part in the theatricals. The world was that woman’s stage, and she dominated any room she entered.’
‘Was her husband with her?’
Mary Austen shook her head. ‘No. He stayed behind in France to attend to his estate. Then he was guillotined during The Terror. No one in the family except Eliza’s mother ever met him. She had a son by the count, a boy called Hastings after his mother’s godfather and benefactor, Warren Hastings. But the boy died young. For a while, Eliza seemed to enjoy being a widow, but then she decided to marry again. Her first choice was my husband. Fortunately, he had the sense to ignore her attempts to seduce him, so she turned to Henry and they married a year or so later and lived in London where Henry later founded a bank. As an only child and William Hasting’s godchild, Eliza was never short of funds, so they lived an interesting social life. Eliza took Jane under her wing, became her muse and mentor, I suppose. She was a disturbing influence in the family. Bold, flirtatious, outspoken with extraordinary views on marriage and morality in general. Mrs Austen, my mother-in-law, disliked her and mistrusted her. Jane seemed to idolise her, but I have come to think that Eliza was using her for her own purposes. We often had literary evenings when we would read aloud from books we liked, and Jane was encouraged at these evenings to read her works in progress to us. The Reverend George Austen had a good library and was interested in literature and encouraged her. He had a copy of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication to the Rights of Women. It almost became Jane’s bible.’
Sarah asked, ‘Was Jane religious?’
‘Dutiful rather than devout.’
‘You say that you believe Eliza Austen was using her for her own purposes. In what way?’
Mary replied, ‘She took it upon herself to advise Jane about her writing. No one speaks of it, but Jane’s first novel, written when she was about twenty was inspired by her. It is a scandalous story about a titled but poor widow who is determined to marry again for more money and a better social position. To achieve her end, she destroys the marriage of her best friend. She has a daughter, whom she mistreats and who she is determined to marry off to a wealthy old man. When she fails in her attempt to trap her friend’s husband, she marries the old man and finds another equally unsuitable man for her daughter.’
Sarah paused to collect her thoughts and then said, ‘Did Jane read aloud from this novel?’
‘Yes. And when she did, you could hear a pin drop. Then Mrs Austen stood up and said, “We do not want to hear any more of that disgraceful rubbish,” and left the room. Jane burst into tears and ran to her bedroom, followed by Cassandra.’
‘The poor girl must have been very upset.’
‘She was devastated. It was days before she would leave her room. Cassandra took up all her meals. I am not exaggerating when I say that evening changed Jane’s life. She became moody and often withdrawn. We rather drifted apart. She only wanted to be with Cassandra.’
‘What do you think was the problem with the novel?’
‘There were two. The unsuitable subject matter for a novel by a clergyman’s daughter especially as the author could be interpreted as being sympathetic to the appalling woman. The novel is epistolary and full of letters written by and to the woman. They are totally convincing. But they are not what you expect a woman novelist of her class to write. It would have been acceptable if written by Henry Fielding or even Samuel Richardson, but a rector’s daughter! Dear me, no. And perhaps even more serious, it was obvious that the character was inspired by Eliza. How dare Jane use family members for fictional purposes!’
Sarah said, ‘I suppose Jane knew from then on that she would have to self-censor her work and write only what the family
would approve.’
Mary nodded. ‘Family yes, but mainly in the person of Cassandra.’
‘Whom Jane would not want to displease.’
‘Yes. And Cassandra is very god-fearing and has strong opinions. She likes going to suitable plays but is disgusted by the personal lives of so many of the players. And there is always Mrs Austen to be considered.’
‘Forgive my impertinence in asking this, but are you friendly with Cassandra and Mrs Austen?’
‘We make an effort. Jane, I’m afraid, became resentful when James inherited this living and we moved into the rectory after his father retired. Emotionally, this was her home.’
‘Your brother, Captain Austen, told me that Jane had difficulty finding time to write because of all the household chores in which she had to share.’
‘I’m sure that’s true. We drifted apart as we grew older, and I regret this, but it happens in families for all kinds of reasons. But I can tell you that I think it is little short of a miracle that Jane has written as much as she has and that most of it is so good.’
‘Do you have a favourite novel?’
Mary smiled. ‘Definitely Emma. It has the most depth to it.’
‘What became of the novel that caused all the trouble?’
‘Probably destroyed. Cassandra has inherited all her papers. Only she knows what is in them. She is very protective not only of the family name, but of Jane’s reputation.’
‘Did Jane keep a journal?’
‘Of that, I have often wondered. However, I would think that she did. Most women of our class do, and most writers do, don’t they?’
Sarah laughed. ‘I do not, but I am still wondering whether I should.’
The meeting, Sarah thought, was being extraordinarily fruitful. Mary Austen was doing her best to be both interesting and honest. Her views on Eliza and her mother-in-law were especially interesting. A noise from the upper floor disturbed Sarah’s thoughts. Aware of the situation in the rectory, she said, ‘I know your husband is ill, Mrs Austen, I expect you would like to attend to him. With your permission, I will take my leave. I cannot emphasise enough how valuable your confidences to me are. I shall be totally discreet in how I deal with them in my article. It is the self-censorship aspect that most interests me. This is at the heart of the problems that women writers have, especially those from respectable middle-class families.’
Mary stood, walked towards Sarah and embraced her, tears in her eyes. ‘Jane would have so loved to have met you. I believe you would have had so much in common.’
Chapter-22
A letter arrived from Anne Sharp the next day. Sarah broke the seal and quickly skimmed the contents. ‘She is on her way,’ she exclaimed, ‘but doesn’t say when she expects to arrive. She will take whatever coach she can get when she reaches London. Her employer is travelling on the continent with her daughters and her services aren’t needed. She says this will be the first holiday she’s had for years.’
‘That’s such good news, dearest,’ Elizabeth said. ‘She must want to talk to you.’
‘I think so, but here,’ Sarah tapped the letter, ‘she says she’d also like to visit Cassandra Austen and her mother. When Jane was alive, Anne came to Chawton with the Austen Knights. They have a large property there. Cassandra and her mother have one of the cottages on the estate. She also met Cassandra and her mother when they visited Godmersham.’
‘Then she may be able to advise you how to approach Cassandra.’
‘Indeed, she may.’
Sarah read the letter again, carefully this time, in case she had missed something in her haste. But the letter was short and to the point. Sarah said, ‘I’ll leave a message with the landlord to give her their best remaining room and whatever she needs in case we are out when she arrives.’
Anne Sharp arrived very late in the evening on one of the night coaches from London to Portsmouth via Basingstoke. Sarah met her guest for the first time the next morning at breakfast in the dining room.
It surprised Sarah to see that Anne Sharp was quite elderly, with iron-grey hair and a rather forbidding expression. When she smiled, however, she revealed the warmth and sensibility of her nature.
She left her table and came forward to greet them. They all shook hands, Sarah introducing Elizabeth as her dearest friend and the artist employed by the magazine to illustrate her articles.
During their breakfast, Anne Sharp revealed a little about her life in Yorkshire, mentioning that she was planning on retiring from her employment. She had been left a small property in Everton, on the outskirts of Liverpool, and hoped to open there a small seminary for girls, perhaps of about twenty of them from fifteen to eighteen years of age. Such an establishment, she hoped, would provide her with an income and a home.
After breakfast, the three women walked to the circulating library where they were lucky to find an unoccupied nook. As soon as coffee had been served, Sarah raised the subject of Jane Austen by asking, ‘When did you first meet Jane?’
‘It must be about fifteen years ago. Mr Edward Austen had recently moved from Rowling to Godmersham and needed a governess for the oldest child, Fanny-Catherine. Mrs Elizabeth Austen—Edward’s wife—was having a child almost every year, so there were seven children when I arrived in 1804 and nine before my ill health forced me to leave nearly three years later, and two more after I left! Mr Edward’s mother brought Jane and Cassandra for a visit not long after I had settled in.’
‘And you became friendly then with Jane?’
‘Mrs Elizabeth Austen made it obvious from the beginning that she much preferred Cassandra to Jane, almost to the extent of ignoring Jane completely. I can’t say I blame her. Jane was often very direct, even rude. It was just one of those unfortunate clashes of temperament. I can’t remember hearing of a single incident that caused the rift between them. Elizabeth just seemed to take against Jane. She behaved the same way to her husband’s cousin, The Countess Eliza. I was told she refused to have her in the house.’
Elizabeth asked, ‘How did Jane respond to this kind of cold shoulder treatment?’
‘I don’t think she cared much,’ Miss Sharp replied. ‘I gather she had never felt close to Mr Edward or, indeed, any of her brothers. When Jane visited Godmersham, she preferred to spend her time with the children, reading to them, playing games. She was very good with them and became particularly attached to my charge, Miss Fanny.’
Sarah considered this and replied, ‘I suppose, then, it was natural that as she spent time with the children, she became friendly with you.’
‘I don’t know about natural. True, we walked the grounds together, but I was just a governess, and she was a relation of the family.’
Elizabeth observed, ‘But a poor relation.’
Miss Sharp nodded. ‘Yes, there was that. The house had a good library, and I had use of it, so I read whenever I had time. It was inevitable that Jane and I should talk about the books we read.’
Sarah said, ‘Did Jane talk about her own writing, and her ambition to become a writer?’
‘Not at first. But gradually she began to confide in me. We rarely met, you know; it was largely a friendship by correspondence.’
Sarah believed that if Anne Sharp had kept Jane’s letters, they would be an invaluable source of information. She also knew that it would be a gross impertinence if she asked to read them. If Anne thought Sarah should read them, she would have to be the one to raise the subject. Sarah repeated pensively, ‘A friendship by correspondence. Yes, I believe Jane was a dedicated letter writer.’
‘It was the way we kept in touch. It wasn’t until I’d left Godmersham that she confided in me, and then I began to understand her suffering.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘Suffering?’
‘Mental anguish,’ Miss Sharp replied. ‘She appreciated that her only chance for independence in her life was to earn sufficient income from her novels. And she accepted that the demands of her family denied her that opportunity. Li
fe had been difficult enough for her at Steventon where they had several servants to do the work, but when her father retired and the Steventon living and rectory passed to James, they moved to lodgings in Bath with a single maid. She had very little time to herself.’
Sarah said, ‘That explains why she wrote very little until they moved to Chawton. She just revised existing work.’
‘They were difficult times for the family. Desperately short of money. Cassandra had a small income from the bequest her fiancé left her, and Mrs Austen may have had a few pounds a year. Jane, of course, needed money for her writing. Paper is expensive, and most authors pay to have their books published. If they don’t sell well, an author can lose more than two hundred pounds. That would have been almost a year’s expenditure for three women living in cheap lodgings. Jane did not have that kind of money to risk losing it.’
After adding a little cream to her coffee, Anne Sharp continued, ‘After the tragic death of her fiancé, Jane’s sister, Cassandra vowed to remain a spinster. I sometimes think Jane did the same out of love for Cassandra. She thought it would be cruel to marry when they were so close. If either took a husband, it could not but help come between them.’ She paused to sip coffee, then said, ‘I’m sure you’ve read that piece by Henry Austen in which he tries to make out that Jane was a saint.’
Sarah nodded.
With a hint of bitterness, Miss Sharp continued, ‘Well, he’s immortalising the wrong woman. Please, do not take this wrongly, I liked Jane, but Cassandra is the saint. She is a deeply pious woman, rather narrow in her views and perhaps intolerant, but a thoroughly good woman whose life is dedicated to looking after other people. Her religion, her faith as a Christian of the Church of England, is the most important thing in her life. She really ought to be a bishop’s wife. She is, was, hugely protective of Jane and puts up with her mother’s real and imagined illnesses without complaint. She manages the household. When Elizabeth—Edward’s wife—died ten years since, Cassandra immediately travelled to Godmersham to take over the household and stayed for a year. And, of course, when Jane was ill, which she was, you know, for at least two years on and off, it was Cassandra who nursed her.’
