Secrets in the Snow

by Michaela MacColl

  “My son, Daniel,” Marie said proudly.

  Jane was taken aback. How singular of Eliza to keep a maid who had a child. A lady’s maid was supposed to be unmarried and certainly not a mother. “Where is he now?” she asked curiously.

  “In London, at Madame’s house. She is very kind. She helped me bring him here from France, and she allows the boy to stay in the house.”

  “He must be of an age with Hastings.”

  “Daniel is younger, mais . . .” Marie gave Jane a knowing look. Hastings might be the son of the Comte, but he would never be healthy enough or strong enough to be the head of the household, assuming the French Republic ever returned the Comte’s estate to his heir. “Poor Madame.”

  “It is tragic,” Jane agreed. She knew exactly how Eliza felt. She had an older brother who the family never mentioned. George was subject to fits and was unable to speak or hear. Long ago Mrs. Austen had sent the boy to live with a local family in nearby Deane. Tomorrow, if the weather remained fine, Jane would visit him.

  “He looks like you,” Jane said.

  “No,” Marie said flatly. “He resembles his father.”

  Jane recalled Eliza telling her that Marie’s husband had been killed in France. “You must miss him,” Jane said with sympathy, not sure whether she meant Daniel or René.

  “Naturellement.” The finality in her tone warned Jane not to say anything else.

  Prudence came to the door. “Miss Austen! The carriage is here.” She made a face at Marie’s back, and Jane had to duck her head to hide her amusement. Eliza might have endeared herself to the servants, but her maid was not as popular. Of course, Prudence was a country girl who distrusted “Frenchies” on principle. It was beyond her to make a distinction between the French revolutionaries who threatened to invade England and the émigrés who had fled the Reign of Terror to find sanctuary.

  “Attendez, mademoiselle, you cannot go without gloves,” Marie said, pulling out a long pair of white gloves made of kid leather.

  Jane looked at her own cloth gloves. “What is wrong with mine?” she asked, although she realized as she spoke that it was evident where they had been darned more than once.

  “Madame would insist,” Marie said firmly.

  Finally, dressed and feeling like royalty herself, Jane made her way downstairs. Her mother, in a quilted dressing gown and mobcap, was waiting to see them off. “I am sorry indeed that I cannot come tonight,” she said. “But my nerves won’t stand for a noisy party.”

  “Mrs. Austen, you must rest,” Eliza said kindly. “I shall look after Jane.”

  Jane lifted her eyebrows, knowing the opposite was more likely.

  “See that you do!” Mrs. Austen said. “She is wont to choose cleverness over propriety.”

  “Mother, I’m nineteen and can look after myself,” Jane replied. “Besides, it’s a Basingstoke Assembly Ball. I already know every gentleman who will be there; no one will require an introduction to dance with me.”

  “Nevertheless,” Mrs. Austen said, “behave yourself.”

  “She will,” Henry promised, resplendent in white breeches and bright red coat. “I’ll make sure of it. Especially when she looks so well tonight.” He smiled appreciatively at Jane, and then bowed to Eliza, showing he knew perfectly well who was responsible for Jane’s good looks this evening.

  James, practical and dull in dark coat and black breeches, glanced at his sister and said, “You look different. Did you change your hair?”

  “Cousin James,” Eliza said, hitting him gently on the arm with her fan. “You are impossible. I don’t know what to do with you!”

  James seemed to gather his nerve. “Eliza, I insist you reserve the first two dances for myself.”

  Jane and her mother exchanged anxious looks. Eliza, even as a widowed countess, was likely to be the highest ranked at the ball, so it would fall to her and her partner to open the first dance, and all eyes would be watching. James couldn’t possibly dance well enough to withstand such scrutiny.

  “Cousin James,” Eliza said after the briefest pause. “If only you had asked me earlier. Henry has already claimed the first two dances.”

  Henry’s startled expression was swiftly replaced by a complacent one. “Too bad, brother!” he said cheerfully.

  James’s face was thunderous but Eliza appeased him by patting him on the arm and promising him the supper dance, which gave him the honor of taking her into supper and sitting with her there.

  Before the silence could become more awkward, Jacques appeared at the front door. A blast of wind made Jane wish she had a warmer shawl.

  Inclining his head to Eliza, he said, “Madame, the coach is ready.”

  James, his face still sulky, went first to hold the door. Next to his younger brother, Jane couldn’t help comparing them to a drab wren and a flamboyant peacock. Both were excellent birds with many worthy qualities, but the latter would always attract more notice.

  Henry proffered his arm to Eliza, and with a flirtatious smile, she tucked her hand in his elbow. Jane gave James her hand, murmuring, “Darling brother, Eliza’s like a magpie, attracted to the bright and shiny. Do you really think she is the wife for a solemn clergyman?”

  His eyes met hers, and she was saddened to see the hurt there. “I’d have a chance if it weren’t for Henry.”

  “And every other officer at the ball,” Jane pointed out. “Eliza’s preference will always be for the lighthearted over the respectable.” James shook his head, and Jane knew she was wasting her breath.

  Jacques had placed foot warmers on the floor of the carriage and draped two fur rugs over the seat. Eliza and Jane huddled under the rugs. Eliza seemed distracted, and Jane wondered if she were worried about meeting the mysterious J.

  To distract her, Jane asked, “What will you choose for the first dance?”

  Eliza’s full attention was engaged now. “Are you certain I will be the one to call it?”

  “Almost definitely. I can’t think of anyone who might come who could compete with your rank.”

  “Perhaps the minuet?” Eliza suggested with a smile.

  Henry groaned. “Not that old dance—it’s devilishly complicated.”

  “And French!” James said. “I mean no offense, Eliza, but it would be in poor taste while we’re at war.”

  “We’re to give up a dance because of the war?” Eliza pouted. “Does that mean we should renounce French wines? Or cheeses? Or silk stockings?”

  Since all those things were indeed banned, Jane didn’t respond.

  “With whom shall you dance tonight?” Eliza asked Jane.

  Jane shrugged. “The usual gentlemen, I suppose. There is remarkably little variety at a Basingstoke Assembly.”

  “What about Mr. Lefroy?”

  “If he deigns to come, I am certain he will be too discourteous to dance, no matter how many women require partners.”

  “Lefroy seemed like a decent chap to me,” Henry said.

  “Then you must not have spoken with him for any length of time,” Jane retorted. Eliza and Henry exchanged amused glances.

  The eight-mile drive to Basingstoke passed remarkably quickly. Henry commented that the frozen road made for a fast trip. Jane stared out the window at the farms and fields, brightly illuminated by the full moon. She loved driving at night but since the Austens couldn’t afford to keep their own carriage, she rarely had the opportunity.

  They pulled into the Market Place, a large square filled with small shops and dominated at one end by the Angel Inn. The inn was built above a courtyard, allowing carriages to enter beneath it. The road and courtyard were lined with torches, and at the back of the courtyard Jane glimpsed the windows of the ballroom glowing from the candlelit chandeliers inside. This was always her favorite moment of coming to a ball. It was a scene from fantasia: the excited voices, the women in their finery, the flickering firelight and smoke. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if anything might happen.

  Finally, it was their tu
rn to disembark. Henry took Eliza’s hand and helped her down. Before James remembered to do the same for her, Jane hopped out, following Eliza through the inn door and then up the flight of stairs leading to the Assembly Rooms.

  At the top, she noticed a fine figure of a man outlined in the golden candlelight coming from the ballroom. He waited at the landing, as if he were waiting for her. Who could it be? Her heart beat a little faster. She touched her borrowed earrings and smoothed a curl on her neck.

  The man turned to see her coming up the stairs. “Miss Austen.” He bowed. “How delightful to see you again. I’ve been looking forward to continuing our conversation.”

  She sighed. It was only Tom Lefroy.

  CHAPTER 10

  To be fond of dancing was a certain

  step towards falling in love.

  PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  “Mister Lefroy,” Jane said, with the barest suggestion of a curtsy. Naturally he would be the first person she saw at the ball.

  “May I help you with your coat?” he asked, intercepting a servant who was waiting to collect her wrap. A few feet away, Henry helped Eliza off with her fur-lined pelisse; Eliza’s blush told Jane that his attentions were not unwelcome. James tossed his greatcoat to a servant and strode toward the ballroom without a word.

  “I am perfectly capable of taking off my own coat, Mr. Lefroy,” Jane answered.

  “Jane!” Eliza whispered. “What would your mother say?”

  “Very well, Miss Austen,” Mr. Lefroy said, stepping back.

  Jane fumbled with the hooks at her neck, her hands suddenly clumsy. Her face felt warm, and Eliza’s amusement made it worse.

  “Perhaps I may be of assistance after all?” he asked.

  “Very well,” Jane said, embarrassed. As Mr. Lefroy unhooked the pelisse and lifted it from her shoulders, his fingers grazed her neck. Unexpectedly his touch made her shiver. She took a breath to compose herself as Mr. Lefroy handed her coat to a servant. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Shall we go inside?” Henry said, offering Eliza his arm.

  “Yes, shall we?” Mr. Lefroy extended his elbow to Jane. Careful to let her hand rest only lightly on his arm, she accepted.

  As they walked down the long corridor lit with ensconced candles, Mr. Lefroy looked about. Jane was preoccupied trying to reconcile her impressions of him. In her parlor he had been insufferable. But tonight he was rather different. Clearly he was making an effort to be pleasant. In fact, she was the one being churlish. She resolved to do better.

  “Are we above the coach house then?” he asked. He couldn’t quite hide his disdain for a country-dance.

  “Yes,” Jane answered. Roguishly she added, “And the ballroom is over the stable.”

  “I see. Horse manure and ladies’ perfume,” he said with a dismal expression. “How singular. I did not plan to dance anyway.”

  Jane lifted her eyebrows; perhaps her first impression had been correct after all. Manners might be different in Ireland, but in Hampshire, a single gentleman who did not dance was considered terribly rude. “I am surprised that you honored us with your presence at all.”

  “My aunt insisted,” he said dismissively.

  In front of them, Eliza glanced back at Jane; Jane couldn’t tell whether Eliza was reevaluating Mr. Lefroy’s charms on Jane’s behalf or scheming to escape Jane’s watchful eye. Oblivious to all the undercurrents around him, Henry knocked on the double doors to the ballroom. A large man with a florid complexion opened the doors.

  “Mr. Austen,” he bellowed. “And Miss Austen. Welcome to the Assembly Ball.”

  “Mr. Bigg-Wither,” Jane said, wincing at the looks his loud voice attracted. “How do you do?” She curtsyed.

  “Very well, very well indeed,” he answered. “I am the master of ceremonies tonight, you know.” Mr. Bigg-Wither was the largest landowner in the area, and his sense of importance was commensurate with the extent of his property.

  “Yes, it is the talk of the county,” Jane said. “Congratulations.”

  Henry interjected, “May we introduce you to our cousin, Madame La Comtesse de Feuillide?”

  Mr. Bigg-Wither bowed so low Jane was afraid he would tip over. “Comtesse,” he said. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I had heard you were favoring the district with your presence.”

  Beside her, Mr. Lefroy whispered in Jane’s ear, “She’s a minor countess, not the queen!”

  Jane pressed her lips together to keep a giggle from escaping. She tapped his arm sharply with her fan and stepped away from him. Eliza ignored them; no flattery was too unctuous for her so long as she was the subject of it. “Charmed, I am sure,” she said.

  “We are particularly counting on you to open the ball,” Mr. Bigg-Wither said.

  “I would be delighted, Mr. Withers-Bigg,” she said.

  Keeping his face composed, Henry murmured, “Cousin, it is Mr. Biggs-Withers.”

  “Oh,” Eliza said, putting her gloved fingers to her lips. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Biggs-Withers. Mr. Austen shall be my partner for the evening. And Jane must take the second position,” Eliza insisted. She looked expectantly at Mr. Lefroy, ignoring the slightest shake of Jane’s head.

  Mr. Bigg-Wither looked uncomfortable, and not just because of Eliza’s inability to say his name. No doubt she had upset his carefully planned arrangements of dancers, but he rose to the occasion. “I have the perfect partner for you, Miss Austen.” He beckoned to someone just inside the ballroom out of Jane’s line of sight. “I believe you know my eldest son, Harris.”

  The doorway was all at once filled with the bulk of Harris Bigg-Wither. Jane knew him to be a clumsy oaf. In addition, he was several years Jane’s junior. Her heart sank. To dance in the first group for the first dance should be a triumph, but to dance it with Harris would be humiliating.

  “M-m-miss Austen,” Harris said. “It’s a p-p-pleasure to see you.”

  “Ask her for the first two dances,” his father whispered, all too audibly.

  With a flash of inspiration, Jane said with a curtsy, “Mr. Bigg-Wither, I’m sorry, but I am engaged for the first two dances. Mr. Lefroy has already asked me.”

  As smoothly as if she had warned him of her stratagem, Mr. Lefroy gave his arm with a decided flourish to Jane. “My apologies, Mr. Bigg-Wither, but you must be quicker if you want to claim such a prize.”

  Harris mumbled his excuses and fled back to the ballroom. His father looked irritated. “Comtesse,” he said, “the dance will begin momentarily.” With a sour look at Mr. Lefroy, he scurried inside with a speed surprising in someone his size.

  Henry led Eliza into the ballroom, leaving Jane alone with Mr. Lefroy. She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “While I appreciate your help, I do not care for your wording. I’m no man’s prize,” she said.

  Mr. Lefroy regarded her solemnly. “Would you rather dance with the gallant Harris?” he asked.

  Jane was conflicted, a condition she found to be unsettling. Finally she admitted, “I’d sooner dance with an ox. My pride may be injured but my toes will stay intact.” Then, knowing that common courtesy demanded a least a little effort from her, she added, “Thank you for allowing yourself to be of use in my moment of need.”

  “What would you have done if I had already been engaged?” he asked mockingly.

  “I must say I hadn’t considered the possibility,” Jane said with a raised brow. She let the words float on the air before softening them. “You said you were not planning to dance. And after all, you know very few young ladies in Hampshire.” It may have been her imagination, but color seemed to creep up his neck.

  He cleared his throat. “Fortunately for you, I have only just arrived. And perhaps I was too hasty when I said I wouldn’t dance. I did not know then that I could aspire to have the indomitable Miss Jane Austen as my partner.”

  Jane watched him warily, weighing his words for sincerity or sarcasm. Indomitable could be interpreted in several ways.

  He continue
d, “Even if the conclusion is foregone . . . may I have the honor of this dance?”

  Jane decided to give in to the situation. She extended her hand, glad for Eliza’s elegant kid gloves. “You may indeed, Mr. Lefroy.”

  He led her into the ballroom and she took a certain satisfaction at the surprise on his face. The room was large and elegant. Fireplaces at either end blazed merrily. There were windows along one side and mirrors on the other, so the room looked even bigger than it was. An enormous chandelier, resplendent with candles, illuminated every corner and was reflected in the polished floor. The forgiving light flattered the complexions of the ladies, young and old.

  There was an air of expectancy, heightened by the humming and scraping of the fiddlers as they tuned their instruments. The band consisted of a violin, a three-stringed double bass, flute, English horn, and a piano. Refreshments were prepared in the corner opposite the musicians. The chaperones, mostly mothers and aunts who no longer danced, were already gathered by the fires and happily gossiping. An open door led to the card room. The ballroom was already almost full; it seemed that all the local gentry was in attendance.

  “Which dance will your cousin choose?” Mr. Lefroy asked Jane but her answer was lost to the great pounding of Mr. Bigg-Wither’s staff as he announced the first dance. The center of the room cleared of everyone except the dancers. Mr. Bigg-Wither quickly arranged a dozen couples, with Henry and Eliza first in the line, facing each other. Mr. Lefroy and Jane were next.

  Henry and Eliza made a decidedly handsome couple—she in her fashionable pale yellow gown and he with his red coat, its gold trim glittering in the candlelight.

  “The first dance of this Assembly shall be called by our honored guest, the Comtesse de Feuillide!” Mr. Bigg-Wither trumpeted. With a bow in Eliza’s direction, he asked, “Madame, what dance shall it be?”

  “I believe the Assembly would be best served by a dance to honor our fine men in uniform!” Eliza batted her eyes at Henry. “Let us start with ‘The Glorious First of June,’ and let it be done in the liveliest manner!”