In Search of Jane Austen

by Ken Methold

  ‘Readers of your sister’s …’

  ‘The books are all there is for them. If it is not enough, that is too bad. The rest is for the family and God.’ She moved forward, her eyes glaring at Sarah, daring her to interrupt. ‘I have lost a treasure, such a sister, such a friend as never can have been surpassed. She was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow. I had not a thought concealed from her, and it is as though I have lost a part of myself. Now, I beg of you; leave us in peace and go with God.’ And she closed the door in Sarah’s face.

  Too shocked to move, Sarah stood quietly at the door for several moments. Then, unconsciously trembling in shock, dismay and confusion, she turned and walked slowly back to the gig.

  Seeing the expression on Sarah’s face, Elizabeth realised that the meeting had not gone well. Saying nothing, she handed Sarah up into the gig. As soon as she was seated, Sarah took her friend’s hands in hers. ‘It was so wrong of me to call on her,’ she said. ‘My instincts told me at the beginning to have respect for Cassandra’s mourning. We should always obey our instincts, dear heart. Let us go.’

  Elizabeth picked up the reins and, without talking, they began their journey back to Basingstoke.

  When they arrived at the inn, Sarah said, ‘I don’t feel like the journey to London today. Would you mind if we stay here another night? We could have an early supper and retire early.’

  ‘Whatever you wish, dearest. I can understand how you must feel. You go on in. I’ll see to the groom.’

  Sarah got down from the gig and walked into the inn. Elizabeth returned the gig to the stables. Their adventure, she thought, was now over.

  Chapter-25

  Later that evening, when they had been in bed for at least an hour, Elizabeth, aware that Sarah was restless, said quietly, ‘Would you like me to send down for a hot drink, or a brandy, dearest? I know you can’t sleep.’

  ‘Jane’s life is going around and round in my head. I need some kind of completion.’

  ‘Perhaps if you told me what you know.’

  ‘A lot of it is guesswork. Filling in the blanks left by the people to whom we have talked. And everything is so subjective. I have no hard evidence for any of it. So little of it has been in Jane’s words. If only I had access to her journal—if she kept one—or even some of her letters, I would be nearer the truth of her life.’

  ‘You would be nearer her truth, but would it be the real truth? How would you know that her own account of her life was the truth? It would be coloured by her own character, desires and disappointments, wouldn’t it?’

  Sarah conceded, ‘You are right, of course. Very well. Cuddle up, and I’ll begin.’

  They made themselves comfortable and Sarah began her summing up.

  ‘This will be the gist of my article. Jane Austen was one of eight children of the Reverend George Austen and his wife, Cassandra. The six boys and two girls were all born in the rectory at Steventon. The living was not a particularly rich one, but there was a farm attached, and the family were able to live well off the land. This is where we will insert your sketch. To add to the income, Jane’s father, who provided most of her education, had a small boarding school for boys at the rectory. He was an educated man, well read, with a good personal library of his own. His wife, who was also reasonably well educated, took to her bed after her eighth child and left the running of the household to her eldest girl, Cassandra.

  ‘In spite of, or perhaps because of the house being full of boys, Jane tended to be a lonely child who took refuge from all the noise and boisterous behaviour in her father’s library. For emotional support, she relied wholly on Cassandra whom she adored and who reciprocated her love. Mrs Austen had little affection for Jane. She much preferred the always helpful and well-behaved older sister.

  ‘Jane was capable of tantrums and acts of rebellion. She could be sullen and impertinent. She discovered at an early age that one had to fight for what one wanted. A significant example of this occurred when she was about eight years old. Her parents decided to send Cassandra, who was twelve, to a girls’ boarding school. When Jane realised that she was going to be left behind and parted from her adored sister, she threw such a tantrum that her parents gave way and she was allowed to accompany Cassandra. Throughout her life she hated being apart from her, and if they were ever apart, she would write daily to her, sometimes twice or more.

  ‘Jane’s childhood was far from being unhappy, however. There were plenty of good times. Jane especially enjoyed the family theatricals. The older boys had turned a barn into a small theatre and the whole family put on plays, especially at Christmas time. It was these that gave Jane her love of the theatre. And it was because of them that she came under the influence of her cousin, Eliza, the Countess de Feuillide.

  ‘Eliza, who was at least ten years older than Jane, was the daughter of her father’s sister, Philadelphia. Born in India, she had been educated in France, and married a French count. She lived in London with her mother while her husband managed his estate in France. Eliza was confident, clever, charming, and often outrageous in her social behaviour and opinions. She loved the theatre and visited Steventon to take part in the theatricals. Realising, perhaps, that Jane needed the companionship of a woman other than her sister, she took her young cousin under her wing and became her mentor.

  ‘It was about then that Jane began to write. Throughout her late childhood, she filled notebooks with plays, sketches, miniature novels. Many of them were parodies of plays and novels she had read. In many of them, she made wicked fun of what she saw as the absurd social behaviour and ridiculous etiquette of the social class of which she was a member. She was especially aware of the obsession of young women with finding a suitable husband—one who had a fortune or a better social position. Precocious and amusing, she was at first encouraged. Only later did her parents, in particular her mother, realise how dangerous her writing could become.

  ‘This situation became obvious when Jane was about twenty. She wrote a novel, epistolary in style, about a society widow who is determined to marry another wealthy, high-born man even if this involves breaking up his existing marriage. At the same time, she is trying to force her daughter into a marriage with a much older man whom she loathes.

  ‘It was customary for Jane to read her writing aloud to the assembled family. When they realised what the new novel was about, her mother and sister were horrified. Not only was the subject matter inappropriate for a rector’s daughter, but there was even the possibility that the character of the adventuress was inspired by Countess Eliza. Jane was told to destroy the work, and never to write such a story again. Their dilemma was that they did not want to stop Jane from writing, especially as it was possible her books could contribute to the family’s income, but she had to be prevented from writing the wrong kind of book and putting in her stories characters drawn from life.

  ‘Apart from exercising a degree of self-censorship, Jane was not permitted to publish under her own name. Her father took it upon himself to try to find a publisher for her next book, which would be “By a Lady”.

  ‘Shortly after this event, her father retired from the Steventon living, which passed to his eldest son, James. The family, now in much reduced circumstances, moved to lodgings in Bath and later Southampton. When Jane was told of this move, she went into shock and fainted. It was as though her secure life had come to an end. She realised that she had nothing to look forward to except a marriage to a man she probably would not even like, let alone love, assuming any man would want a plain woman without a dowry. Or she would have to settle for the lonely life of a governess who would be little more than a slightly superior servant.

  ‘Determined not to marry without love, she became even more reliant on her writing ability. Her first sale—for ten pounds—was not encouraging. Her next, was far more so. It earned her almost two hundred pounds.

  ‘She was aware that although women writers were few, some were successful. Maria Ed
geworth, Fanny Burney, Ann Radcliffe were all earning substantial incomes. Jane’s problem was that she needed to write novels that would not only sell but would not cause her family social embarrassment. Her mother was especially anxious that people would not think that Jane wrote for money.

  ‘The years in Bath and Southampton were fraught for Jane. She found it very difficult to work. Money was tight. They had only one maid, so she had to help with the household chores which interfered with her writing. She was earning very little. Cassandra became engaged to be married but her fiancé died of a fever. Fortunately, he left her a useful legacy. Eliza’s count had been guillotined during the Terror. Anxious to be married for the social benefits and respectability that marriage brought, she soon set her cap at James—Jane’s eldest brother—but he rejected her. She then approached another brother, Henry, who married her. They were not short of money as he became a banker for a time, and she had her own fortune. Jane, Cassandra, her mother and a family friend, Martha Lloyd, struggled on.

  ‘Then their situation changed. Edward, another brother, had been favoured by the wealthy Knight family. He had now inherited their estates, one of which was at Chawton, not far from Steventon. He offered them a cottage on the estate. At this time, Jane also received a proposal of marriage from a childhood friend. At first, still not earning much from her writing, she accepted, but withdrew the next day not wanting to risk losing her independence and betray her principle of marrying only for love. Instead, she threw herself into her writing, and at Chawton, she experienced the most productive period of her life. Tragically she became ill, possibly because of over-work and emotional stress. She wrote steadily until the day of her death at the age of forty-one.

  ‘It was not until after her death that Cassandra, who became her executor, permitted her novels to be published under her name. Her brother, Henry, whose bank had failed and who had taken holy orders, published an obituary in which he maintained that Jane had wanted neither fame nor fortune from her novels and that she had insisted that she not be named the author of the novels until after her death.

  ‘Throughout her life, Jane wrote nothing that could embarrass her family in any way if her authorship became known. She restricted her work to novels about the social class with which she was familiar and the concerns of young women.’

  Elizabeth sighed. ‘Is that it? Not much of a life, really, was it? There doesn’t seem to have been any emotional highs. No great love affairs. No children. No exciting travels. No thunderous applause. Just fear of poverty and the need to write.’

  Sarah Kedron closed her eyes, knowing that she would not even attempt to write a play about Jane Austen. Instead, she would write one about a woman who did not censor herself, who proudly identified herself as the author of her works, who married for love a man who encouraged her radical ideas and her rejection of absurd and pointless social conventions. She would make her mark not only as an author but also as an individual.

  Relieved at having been able to put her thoughts into order, she began to breathe softly and evenly.

  Elizabeth gently extricated herself from her friend’s embrace, and they slept. The search for Jane Austen had been both interesting and enjoyable. She was far from sure that they had found their quarry, or that anyone could. Too much was hidden or lost and would probably remain so.

  Chapter-26

  On their arrival in London the next day, Sarah and Elizabeth parted to go to their own homes, Elizabeth to pursue the new commission to paint a family portrait, and Sarah to write out the summary of her findings and have a messenger deliver it to the Reverend John Stainer Clarke at Carlton House.

  She did not have to wait long for a response. Within the hour, a royal courier delivered a brief note from the Reverend Clarke that invited her to Carlton House where, at two o’clock in the following afternoon, she would take tea with Lady Hertford. Sarah did not hesitate in accepting the invitation. Lady Hertford, who although rumoured to be approaching the end of her tenure as the Prince Regent’s mistress, was sufficiently influential at court and in the Tory faction to be a person whose acquaintance was worth cultivating.

  Accordingly, dressed in her finest silk dress and wearing the most extravagant hat from her small but impressive collection, Sarah took her father’s carriage to Carlton House in time for the appointment.

  The Reverend Clarke welcomed her warmly and led her to an exquisitely decorated and furnished drawing room where Lady Hertford sat at a table, reading. He announced, ‘Miss Sarah Kedron, ma’am.’

  Sarah bowed and dropped a small but awkward curtsey. Lady Hertford smiled and rose serenely from her chair. ‘Come and sit at the table, my dear. Tea will be here shortly.’

  As Sarah walked to the table already laid with a tea service, Lady Hertford said, ‘My spies tell me you have a new play coming at Drury Lane.’

  ‘All being well, Your Ladyship, yes.’

  ‘We are very keen on amateur theatricals at Ragley Hall, our place in Warwickshire. Perhaps you would be able to join us there some time.’

  ‘I should be delighted to.’

  As she resumed her seat, Lady Hertford indicated that Sarah should also sit. Further conversation was delayed until a footman, who seemed to have materialised out of thin air, had poured the tea, and another footman, presumably from the same hiding place, had offered milk, and yet a third presented sugar. It was all rather ridiculous, Sarah thought, but she was happy to play her part in what she knew to be a charade designed to show off wealth and social importance. She also wondered what it would be like to be a house guest at Ragley Hall, the seat of the Hertford family for at least a hundred years.

  Lady Hertford said, ‘I have read your report with great interest, Miss Kedron. I imagine there must have been many questions you would have liked to ask, but you considered them to be impertinent or insensitive.’

  Sarah replied, ‘That is especially true when I was interviewing members of the family.’

  ‘Indeed. I am most obliged to you for going to so much trouble to satisfy my curiosity. The quest must have taken a great deal of your time.’

  ‘It was a fascinating experience for me. I was accompanied by an artist friend who made sketches of the people we met and the places we visited.’ Sarah smiled. ‘It is I who should be obliged to you, Lady Hertford. Without your interest, I would never have undertaken the investigation. I enjoyed it so much that I am considering repeating the experience with a different subject.’

  ‘Really? How interesting. Do you have anyone in mind?’

  ‘Mary Wollstonecraft.’

  ‘Good Gracious! A more different woman from Jane Austen it would be difficult to find. Although she died while still in her early thirties, there are many people still living who will have known her. Mr William Godwin, whom she married, is an acquaintance. I shall be pleased to provide you with a letter of introduction to him. And to his clever daughter, of course. Mary Shelley, although she never knew her mother; tragically, Mrs Mary Wollstonecraft passed away within a few days after her birth.’

  Lady Hertford sipped her tea, and then asked, ‘But tell me. Did your investigation provide an answer to the quest? Can we be assured that Jane Austen penned all the novels that bear her name? Your report carefully ignores this question.’

  ‘That is deliberate for the reason that I was not able to find any conclusive evidence that she did or did not. Although Miss Austen was entitled to claim the authorship of Pride and Prejudice, I believe she may have received enthusiastic encouragement and probably extensive advice from her cousin, the late Eliza Hancock, the former Comtesse de Feuillide, and later, the wife of Jane Austen’s brother, Mr Henry Austen.’

  ‘Ah, the legendary Comtesse de Feuillide. In what way would she have influenced the novelist?’

  Sarah was slightly surprised at the innuendo expressed in Lady Hertford’s tone, so she chose her words carefully. ‘Oh, I believe Eliza or Countess Eliza, as she insisted on being called, became involved in the development of char
acters, plot ideas, and may even have suggested lines of dialogue.’

  ‘From what I have heard about the Countess,’ Lady Hertford replied, ‘I can believe she would have had plenty to say about the story. Is there anything else?’

  ‘Well, Your Ladyship, at the time when Miss Austen was writing the novel, Eliza, who by that time had married Henry Austen, was seeing her frequently and, of course, corresponding. Although I must stress that I personally do not suspect that her involvement would have been more than superficial. I believe Jane Austen to have been a woman of the greatest integrity. I cannot imagine for one minute that she would have applied her name to another person’s work.’

  ‘Is it not possible that the help she received would explain why she insisted on anonymity?’ Lady Hertford said.

  ‘It is possible, Your Ladyship,’ Sarah conceded.

  ‘Well, I suppose we will never know the whole truth. You are aware of course, that the librarian here, the Reverend Clarke corresponded with both Miss Austen and her publisher. It was his account to the Prince Regent that first aroused the doubts about the authorship. The Prince is most concerned as he had specifically requested that the book Emma carry his personal endorsement.’

  Sarah replied, ‘I am sure the truth is concealed among the documents bequeathed by Jane to her sister, Cassandra. These will contain, apart from letters, early drafts of novels, her contracts with publishers and, although I have no proof of this, even Jane’s journal.’

  ‘Really? You do not refer to a journal in your report,’ Lady Hertford said with surprise.

  ‘That is because no one to whom I spoke had ever seen or been told about one. The only person who thought she might have kept one was her niece’s former governess, Miss Anne Sharp, who appears to have been her most intimate confidante.’