Secrets in the Snow

by Michaela MacColl

  “My petticoats are often the despair of any woman with a sense of style,” Jane agreed with a rueful smile.

  “Happily you have many other excellent qualities,” Eliza said generously. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Lefroy?” she called to Mr. Lefroy standing a few feet away.

  Mr. Lefroy was absorbed in his book. Jane strained to read the title. She blushed when she saw it was Tom Jones, a novel that, despite its age, still scandalized the gentry.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “I said that my cousin, Miss Austen, is very accomplished. Her stories are very amusing, and she plays the pianoforte very well. She is the finest embroiderer in the family, and her penmanship is so precise as to be the equal of any printer’s type.”

  “Eliza, stop!” Jane hissed.

  “Madame Lefroy has acquainted me with her plan regarding Mr. Lefroy,” Eliza whispered behind her hand. “I cannot resist helping a little.”

  “Perhaps you should administer the lesson yourself?” Jane suggested.

  “He’s too young for me,” Eliza said. She raised her voice for Mr. Lefroy’s benefit. “And tomorrow you will have the pleasure of seeing Miss Austen dance. There are few things prettier to watch.”

  “A woman’s figure does appear to the greatest advantage when she is moving,” Mr. Lefroy agreed, placing a piece of ribbon to mark his page. He approached the two ladies. “For instance, Miss Austen was quite graceful when she suddenly left to climb the hill behind this house to meet someone in the woods.”

  “Jane! How unaccountable,” Eliza said. “You must tell me everything!”

  “I agree; please tell us everything,” Mr. Lefroy said, watching Jane closely.

  “Mr. Lefroy, you are making a trivial matter seem quite mysterious,” Jane answered. The last thing she needed was Mr. Lefroy prying into her and Eliza’s private affairs. “I briefly excused myself because I thought I saw a tramp in the woods. I’ve heard about a man trespassing in our firs.”

  “All the more reason to stay indoors,” Eliza exclaimed.

  “Miss Austen, what exactly would you have done if you had found him? Weren’t you afraid?” Mr. Lefroy asked. She noticed that his habitual pose of leaning away had been abandoned. He was interested now in spite of himself.

  “Steventon is perfectly safe, Mr. Lefroy. As you yourself have noted, nothing ever happens here,” Jane said. “And as it happened, I was mistaken. There was no one there. But if there had been, I would have offered him a hot meal and a spot in our barn. It’s too cold for anyone to sleep out of doors.”

  Eliza beamed. “That’s very kind, Jane.”

  “I daresay I must add charity to your list of accomplishments,” Mr. Lefroy said.

  Jane’s color rose at his mocking tone. She resented his assumption that he, as an eligible gentleman, had the right to judge her accomplishments—or lack of them.

  “For shame, Mr. Lefroy,” Eliza said indignantly. “I assure you that Jane, nay, her entire family, is always charitable. Quite remarkably so when you consider their modest fortune. I, on the other hand, do not possess a generous bone in my body.”

  Henry took this opportunity to hurry to Eliza’s side and contradict her. “Nonsense, Eliza, you are generosity itself.”

  “When it suits me,” Eliza admitted, looking up at Henry through her long eyelashes. “But I believe that Jane gets real pleasure in helping people, even when it is inconvenient.”

  The conversation moved on to other topics and became general. Jane spoke little. How much had Mr. Lefroy seen from the window? When her attention returned to the group, they were discussing the Assembly Ball. Madame Lefroy was content to sit to one side, watching with a resigned smile.

  Eliza held court in the center of the room. “It’s been many years since I went to a ball that required a paid subscription,” she said. “The last time I went to one was before my marriage,” she added in a reminiscing tone.

  Mr. Lefroy looked puzzled. “Oh, will your husband be joining us, Madame?”

  There was an awkward silence, broken by the always tactful Madame Lefroy. “The Comtesse is a widow, Tom. She is only just out of mourning.”

  “I . . . beg your pardon,” he stammered. “I wasn’t aware.”

  Jane found herself mildly satisfied at his embarrassment and then scolded herself for such ill nature.

  “Nonsense,” Eliza assured him. “How were you to know?”

  Prudence’s arrival with tea further relieved the embarrassment in the room. Unlike in London, an afternoon visit in the country was likely to last for several hours. Jane had whiled away many a day at Madame Lefroy’s home, reading in her extensive library. However, Tom Lefroy seemed unaware of his social obligations and, as soon as his empty teacup was replaced loudly in its saucer, he began to pace about the room, glancing frequently at the clock. Finally, Mrs. Austen suggested that they play a hand of whist. Henry immediately claimed Eliza as his partner, but she refused, saying laughingly, “I do not have a head for cards.”

  Jane saw her opportunity to speak quietly with Eliza. She said, “Henry, you partner Madame Lefroy and Mr. Lefroy shall partner Mother.”

  Mr. Lefroy’s face fell. Madame Lefroy hid a smile behind her fan.

  Soon the others were playing cards at a table near the window, leaving Eliza and Jane by the fire. Making sure she was not overheard, Jane told Eliza about her encounter in the woods.

  “I knew something had happened,” Eliza exclaimed. “But I think you were terribly reckless.”

  Jane shrugged. “He has no interest in hurting me. He wants to see you.”

  “Then why doesn’t he just come to the door and knock?” Eliza asked peevishly.

  “I don’t know,” Jane said. “He wants to talk to you at the ball. He gave me a note with the particulars.”

  “He will be at the ball?” Eliza clapped her hands with delight, drawing Henry’s attention from the card table. Mrs. Austen rapped him on the arm with her fan, calling him back to the game.

  “Lower your voice,” Jane cautioned.

  “Now I shall have something to look forward to tomorrow night,” Eliza went on. “What else does the note say?”

  “I didn’t read it,” Jane said virtuously.

  “Why not? I would have,” Eliza said. She held out her hand. “Give it to me, s’il te plaît.”

  Eliza broke the seal, dropping bits of red wax onto the carpet. She unfolded the note. Jane could see it was written in a bold hand on heavy, expensive paper. She thought she could spot a few words of French.

  Eliza gasped, and the blood drained from her face.

  “Eliza, what is it?” Jane whispered.

  The note fell from Eliza’s trembling hand.

  “What does it say to affect you so?” Jane asked, leaning down to retrieve the letter.

  “Don’t read that! Give it to me!” Eliza said loudly. The card players looked over. Mr. Lefroy was as alert as a foxhound that has caught the scent.

  Jane handed the letter to Eliza, but before she could say a word, Eliza had ripped the note into two pieces and tossed the paper in the fire. She stood up and left the room.

  Jane watched the paper catch fire and burn to ash. For an instant, the ink outlasted the paper and the signatory line was legible—a bold initial J.

  CHAPTER 9

  It was moonlight, and every body

  was full of engagements.

  SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

  Jane sat down at her writing desk. Taking up her pen, she wrote:

  Dear Cassandra,

  The moon is full and the local gentry are dreadfully bored so I expect everyone, with the distressing exception of you, will be at the Basingstoke Assembly Ball tonight. Even Mr. Tom Lefroy may deign to come. Did I tell you about him when I wrote yesterday? I hold him of so little account that I might have neglected to mention him in my last letter. After all, what is a young law student in comparison to a pistol-wielding highwayman?

  Mr. Lefroy is Madame’s nephew and about
one and twenty years of age. His countenance is handsome; or, rather, it would be if he weren’t always sneering at his unlucky companions. Madame has intimated that she would be delighted if I put him in his place, and if my mind is not too occupied with Eliza’s intrigues, I may just do it. He is a young man whose manners need humbling.

  Eliza, as you know, is always elegant, but this afternoon she has prepared her toilette with surprising special care. You will be glad to know that Eliza’s new short hair has not prevented her from curling what is left most becomingly and adorning it with a bandeau of pearls. Her dress is a pale yellow silk, with a bodice cut daringly low—such is the latest fashion. I laughed and reminded her that it is only a country ball. But she waved away my remonstrations.

  We still have an hour before her carriage is to take us to the ball. In the meantime, Eliza is trying to teach poor James to dance. She teases him that he must find a new wife. Our earnest brother flushes crimson and stammers but cannot bring himself to express his admiration for her.

  Upstairs I hear Henry shouting for his boot polish. Henry is so dashing in his uniform; I greatly fear that he will thoroughly overshadow our older brother and establish himself as Eliza’s favorite. Who among us can resist a red coat? Not Eliza!

  As I watch her teaching James the steps of a Boulanger, she laughs gaily but I sense she is distracted. As I told you in my letter yesterday, “J” is waiting for her at the ball. Naturally I do not intend to let her meet him alone, but I greatly fear that she will try to do just that. So instead of anticipating a night of lively dancing, I shall be chaperoning my cousin, a lady of greater years and infinitely more experience. I wish, dear Cassandra, that you were here to help.

  I shall finish this letter after the ball.

  Jane blotted her letter and slipped it inside her writing desk. She stood up and went to the mirror to check her hairdressing.

  “Jane!” Eliza called impatiently from the center of the parlor. “Surely you aren’t wearing that to the ball!”

  Glancing down at her simple white muslin, a dress that had already seen several seasons, Jane shrugged. “What am I to do? This quarter’s dress allowance is long spent.”

  “But the waistline is too low,” Eliza cried. “It should come up to here.” She lifted her hands underneath her bosom. Jane couldn’t help but notice the narrow band of fabric between the high waist and Eliza’s low bodice. “An empire waistline is most flattering to a fine figure like yours,” she said. She circled Jane reprovingly. “And there’s no train!”

  “That particular fashion hasn’t reached Hampshire yet,” Jane said, laughing. “But I did read about it in The Lady’s Magazine.”

  “Aha! You pretend to be so literary, but I knew you secretly read the fashion papers! In London, a lady cannot be seen without a long tail,” Eliza insisted. She unhooked her dress and let the train flare on the floor around her feet. Jane caught her breath at the easy elegance of it. What she wouldn’t give for a dress like that! Jane promised herself if she ever wrote a rich heroine in one of her stories, this would be exactly the dress she would wear.

  “So you just hook it back up when you want to move around,” James said in a bid to win back Eliza’s attention. “That’s very ingenious, Eliza. I am always astounded by how clever women are with their clothes.”

  “Dear James, you must never compliment a lady on her dress,” Eliza scolded.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “You may take it for granted that we shall be dressed suitably,” Jane said.

  “Then how am I to express my admiration?” he asked.

  “You may flatter her lively dancing. Or her complexion. Or her fine eyes. That is perfectly acceptable,” Eliza added.

  James was darker than Henry, with bushy eyebrows that he now drew together in a glower. “How is a fellow to know what to say?” he asked plaintively.

  “I shall help you,” Eliza promised. “But first we must take care of Jane. She can’t possibly find a husband wearing that!”

  “Eliza, this is my best dress,” Jane said lightly, although in her heart she longed for a dress that hadn’t been reworked for three seasons running. “Besides, I am not looking for a husband.”

  “Nonsense,” Eliza said. “Why else go to the ball?”

  Jane was silent. Eliza’s words had the ring of truth. Every ball was a matrimonial opportunity. Just because she hated it didn’t make it false.

  “You may borrow a dress of mine,” Eliza insisted. She went to the stairs and called for Marie. “You must look your best if you are to dance with the dashing Mr. Lefroy.”

  “That’s hardly likely,” Jane said, although she suspected he might dance rather well.

  “Jane, he knows no one else. Of course he’ll ask you to dance.”

  “So if only he knew more people I wouldn’t have to suffer his attentions,” Jane said mockingly.

  Marie appeared, flushed from running. She was wearing a cast-off gown of Eliza’s. Jane stifled a pang of envy that Eliza’s maid was more fashionable than Jane herself.

  After Eliza gave her maid instructions, Jane followed Marie out of the room, wondering whether her cousin’s motives were purely altruistic. Perhaps Eliza wanted to ensure that Jane was fully occupied for the entire evening to distract her from a clandestine rendezvous.

  As she reached the second floor landing, she heard James telling Eliza her cheeks were shining with the exertions of her dancing. Jane spared a moment to hope that James’s heart would not be too badly bruised.

  Eliza’s room was unrecognizable from the days when Jane’s brothers stayed there. It was filled with trunks, and dresses, scarves, and shawls were scattered across every surface. Jane thought Eliza must be exhausting to dress. Marie’s lovely dark eyes looked tired, and Jane felt guilty for making more work for the maid.

  While Marie looked through the clothes, Jane wandered about the room. Next to Eliza’s bed was a framed double portrait she had never seen before. She picked it up. On the right side was a miniature of Eliza’s dead husband, Jean. He was handsome, though more in a French style than English. His nose was long and aristocratic and his bright eyes seemed to know her deepest desires. Jane didn’t wonder that Eliza’s heart had been ensnared by him. On the opposite side, the painter had depicted Eliza’s son, Hastings.

  “That is an attractive portrait,” Jane said.

  “Yes. Madame does not travel anywhere without it,” Marie said, pulling from a trunk a white muslin trimmed with a delicate lace around the bodice. “Madame suggested this dress.”

  Jane couldn’t take her eyes from the gown, so well cut and fashionable.

  Marie continued, “The queen made this classical style very popular a few years ago.” Jane realized that when Marie said the queen she meant Marie Antoinette, not England’s Queen Charlotte. Naturally, Eliza’s servants would be royalists.

  At Marie’s signal, Jane lifted her arms and Marie expertly removed her dress and slipped on the new one. “As you see, it is very flattering to your height. En fait, it is more suitable for a girl your age than the Comtesse.”

  Jane, admiring the dress in the long mirror, lifted her eyebrows. Marie didn’t meet her gaze but busied herself pulling the bodice’s drawstring tighter. Jane nervously watched her bosom in the mirror, but Marie knew her craft and Jane’s decorum stayed intact.

  Marie’s ministrations had pulled a thread loose, and she drew a pair of long-bladed scissors from a custom pocket tied around her waist and snipped it off. Jane stared down at the sharp blades. “Those are handsome scissors.”

  “Oui,” Marie said. “I always travel with my own tools.”

  “Do you do all of Madame’s sewing?”

  “Bien sûr. Since Madame lost her husband I have had to take in all her gowns; she has lost so much weight.” She eyed Jane critically. “Your topaz necklace is very nice with that neckline, but you need earrings.” She rummaged in Eliza’s jewelry box and found a pair of teardrop earrings in the same stone. “Yes. These
will do nicely.”

  Jane obediently put them on, feeling rather daring. She was not in the habit of wearing jewelry, mostly because she owned so few pieces. “What about my hair?” she ventured to ask.

  Marie stepped back and examined her subject. “You have beautiful hair. We call it marron, the word in English is chestnut, I believe? The latest fashion is to sweep it up and leave it loose—but I am certain you are a lively dancer and we must plan accordingly.” She unpinned Jane’s shoulder-length hair and began to brush it with slow strokes.

  “Not too lively a dancer, I hope?” Jane asked with embarrassment.

  “Of course not, mademoiselle is a perfect lady.” With deft hands, Marie arranged Jane’s hair into a style that looked very natural, but was cleverly pinned to stay in place. Jane’s hair was naturally curly, and Marie left the ringlets to adorn her face.

  “Voilà,” Marie said, stepping back and inviting Jane to examine her reflection.

  Jane thought she looked rather well. “Don’t get any ideas, Miss Jane Austen,” she reminded herself. “At the end of the day you still have no fortune and no prospects.”

  “What did you say, mademoiselle?” Marie asked.

  “Nothing.” She paused. “Merci,” she said gratefully.

  As Jane watched Marie make her final adjustments to the gown she noticed two gold chains swinging from the girl’s neck. From one dangled a cross and from the other an expensive locket of finely worked gold. Jane would have been delighted to own either, and she wondered that a servant had such jewelry.

  “That is a lovely locket,” Jane said.

  Marie straightened up, throwing her shoulders back. “Ah, merci. It was a gift from my employer.”

  Jane nodded. So this was how Eliza won the hearts of her servants—she bribed them with fancy gifts. “May I see it?” she asked.

  Slowly, Marie took off the necklace and handed it to Jane.

  When Jane opened it, she was surprised to see a little boy, about the same age as Hastings. But this boy looked alert and curious. His dark eyes almost shone. “A handsome lad,” Jane said.