“If he did, he would be completely justified,” Eliza said bitterly.
The chill in the church was working its way under Jane’s gloves, and she could see that Eliza’s teeth were chattering. She added another log to the fire. The small grate gave off hardly any heat, but Jane held her hands out to the flames anyway. The Comte leaned against a stone column without speaking.
“Where did you go?” Jane asked to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Yes, tell us, Jean, where did you cower for all this time?” Eliza asked contemptuously.
The Comte’s face clouded in anger, but with a visible effort, he checked his temper. “I went east. To Italy. Greece. Turkey. Wherever I could be out of France’s reach.”
“So while I was mourning your death, you were frivoling in exotic ports?” Eliza asked.
“Not at all, Eliza. I had very little money. I had to live by my wits. Luckily, I had some valuables to sell to finance my . . . journey.”
“Valuables?’ Eliza’s tone sharpened. “Do you mean my jewels?”
Jane held up a hand before their bickering made intelligent conversation impossible. “Why have you returned?” she asked.
“I have arranged a refuge in America for us,” he said, straightening up.
“Us?” Eliza asked, her perfect eyebrows lifting in disdain. “Now you care about me and Hastings?”
“America?” Jane asked, dismayed. The former colony was so far away.
“Yes, I had some business interests there. I have returned to collect my family for the trip to Boston. The French government cannot touch us there.”
“But my life is here,” Eliza protested. “My family, my friends.”
“We will make new friends.” The Comte kneeled in front of Eliza; his voice became husky. “With your charm and beauty, you will conquer America in no time at all.”
Eliza touched the short curls at her neck, a sure sign that she was feeling flattered.
Jane’s thoughts were in a state of confusion. “There must be another option than America. It is so far away.”
“Cousin Jane,” the Comte scolded. “This is not your choice to make. Eliza’s place is with her husband. Our son needs his father.”
Eliza’s lovely eyes clouded with indecision. “I must think of Hastings,” she murmured. “Could we bring our servants? He is used to his nanny. And what about Marie?”
The Comte’s face contorted for a moment. It was so quick that Jane thought it might be a trick of the flickering light from the fireplace. “We can discuss it, certainly,” he said. “But would Marie want to come? She may blame me for her husband’s death.”
“And rightly so,” Jane cried. “It is cruel to ask Eliza or Marie to go anywhere with you.”
“Jane, please mind your own business,” Eliza said sharply. “I need to think of my family.”
The Comte rubbed his hands together. “Excellent,” he said. “If we are to emigrate, my dear, first you must sell the house and convert all your holdings into cash.”
“Cash?” Eliza whispered. “So that’s why you’ve returned.”
Jane felt a wave of pity for her cousin.
To Jane’s satisfaction, Eliza faced her husband. Her last illusions about him shattered like glass on the stone floor. “You want money. Not me. Not your son.”
“I want what belongs to me,” he said.
“And if I refuse?” Eliza asked.
“Then I’ll take Hastings!” he shouted.
Eliza took a step toward him, her fists clenched. Jane thought she looked like an avenging angel. “Leave my son out of this,” she ordered. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”
The Comte involuntarily took a step back. “Don’t be melodramatic. I want all three of us to be together,” he said. “We can live like royalty in America.” Suddenly impatient, he barked, “You are my wife and you will do as I say!”
“No, I am your widow,” Eliza said with finality. “Go to America by yourself.” She turned to Jane. “Will you accompany me home, please?”
Jane grabbed Eliza’s arm.
“Eliza!” he cried. “Come back! What will I do without you?” The desperation in his voice made Jane pause, but Eliza pulled her forward.
“Eliza! Cousin Jane!” he cried. “You can’t abandon me! You are killing me!”
Eliza turned around briefly. “You forget, you are already dead, my dear,” she said. Then she closed the door on his pleas and hurried with Jane out into the darkening afternoon.
CHAPTER 15
“But now she is of age, and may choose for
herself; and a pretty choice she has made!”
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
The brilliant white of the snowy landscape had turned ominously gray. The snow had stopped, but the thick clouds in the sky augured more to come. The walk home was quiet. Eliza drew her hood over her hair so Jane couldn’t see her face. Several times Jane began to speak, but stopped herself.
What could she possibly say? On the one hand, she loved Eliza and could hardly bear to think that she would never see her again. But she had been thinking on the long trek home. Eliza was bound to the Comte, for better or worse. To leave him would be to embroil Eliza in a scandal from which the Austens might never recover. Jane had to consider the futures of her brothers and sister. And her own. Eliza had a fortune; the Austens did not.
They were at the gate to the parsonage before Eliza broke the silence. She spoke in a low voice without looking at Jane.
“Do you think I should go to America?” She sniffed and shook her head a bit, as though she were trying to clear her mind. Jane saw the tears on her cheeks. “What do I owe Jean?”
Jane’s hand on the gate latch dropped. “He is still your husband,” she said, appealing to Eliza’s sense of duty.
Eliza turned to Jane and clasped Jane’s hands in hers tightly. Her fingers were ice cold. “But he has behaved despicably. I don’t want to go. He is wrong to ask me to.”
“But the disgrace . . .” Jane started to say.
“Is mine to bear.” Eliza pushed open the gate.
“And your son’s,” Jane reminded her.
“Hastings . . .” Eliza’s voice caught. “We both know that his life is likely to be short.”
Jane was silent; Eliza did know how to confront unpleasant truths after all.
Eliza continued, “I won’t take him away from everything he knows and loves to please Jean. My husband forfeited his rights when he faked his death.”
“But he still has his rights,” Jane argued, “under the law and in the church.”
“Enough, Jane!” Eliza cried.
The sound of thudding hooves in the gloom was a welcome distraction. “Who would venture out on such a day?” Eliza asked.
A rider, heavily laden, came trotting down the road from Ashe. Before they could make out his features, his cheerful greeting informed them of his identity.
“Hello, ladies of Steventon!” It was Tom Lefroy.
“Tom, what are you doing here in such weather?” Jane asked.
“Tom?” Eliza murmured. “First names already?”
Jane felt her face redden.
Tom reined in his horse. Looking down at them, he grinned. “I’ve come bearing gifts! My dear aunt took pity on me. After an entire day with only the library and my dreary uncle for company, she knew I was going slowly mad. One of Uncle’s parishioners gifted him half a dozen pheasants, and the Austens shall receive their share.” He handed down a sack with the bird carcasses.
Eliza laughed. “Madame Lefroy made you carry this on horseback? I don’t think pity is what she took on you! More like you must pay for your pleasure.”
Tom swung down from the horse. “The road was terrible. Blast this snow. Oh, I beg your pardon.”
“I have heard much worse,” Eliza said with a flirtatious smile. “Let us go inside—you must be cold.”
“And I must inform Cook that we are changing the dinner menu,” Jane added.
The eve
ning was a great success. Mrs. Austen presided over a dinner table filled with young people laughing and joking. Jane had not seen her mother so animated since the Austen sons had left home; she was in her element with a large group to manage.
Only once did the atmosphere around the table grow tense. It was James who precipitated an awkward conversation. He sat at the head of the table while their father was away at Oxford. Turning to Henry, he said, “So, brother, I see there’s to be an execution in Newhaven next week.”
Jane and Mrs. Austen exchanged worried looks. James was referring to a mutiny of officers that had taken place in December. Henry’s regiment was involved.
Henry scowled. “As you know, James, I wasn’t there. Luckily I was in Oxford.”
“In my opinion,” Tom said, “the officers received their just deserts. They disobeyed their superior officers and they incited a riot.”
“To think only of the result and not the reason is to overlook crucial facts,” Jane argued. Her mother winced, but Jane continued. “Those soldiers were billeted in Newhaven for the winter without enough food or shelter or fuel. They have put their lives on the line to protect our country. The very least we can do is feed them.”
“Well said, Jane!” Henry said.
Even Mrs. Austen couldn’t completely disapprove; she had wept for the poor hungry soldiers, seeing her sons’ faces on each one of theirs.
“But that’s no excuse for what they did,” Tom insisted. “If they were tried in a civilian court, the mitigating circumstances could be considered. But these officers were tried by a military tribunal.”
“A merciless tribunal,” Jane corrected. “I don’t think they should be shot for demanding proper food and shelter.”
Tom smiled indulgently, and Jane wanted to slap him. “Such a feminine perspective. Compassion has no place in the courtroom.”
“The law is a harsh mistress, then,” Jane said. “One whom I don’t particularly care for.”
“Mother,” James said hurriedly, “if you would like to take the ladies into the parlor . . .”
“James, don’t be so dull!” Mrs. Austen replied. “The men can join us now. Bring your port and we’ll play cards.”
James looked put out, but Henry and Tom said they were delighted. Mrs. Austen led the way into the parlor. “Jane, dear, the fire has gone down. Can you send for more wood?”
“Of course, Mother.” Jane went into the kitchen and found the servants were just setting the table for their own dinner. Jacques and Marie were standing to one side, holding themselves aloof from the English servants. Jane wondered what they would say if they knew their former master was still alive and so near.
“Jacques, would you please bring in some of that wood I saw you splitting this morning?”
“Of course, mademoiselle.”
Marie’s face was peaked, and Jane wondered if she were ill. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I have a mal de tête,” Marie admitted, touching her forehead. “But I am sure that I will feel better after le dîner.”
Jane nodded. “I will let the Comtesse know. I’m sure she can change for dinner without you.”
“Merci, mademoiselle.”
Jane rejoined the others in the parlor. Jacques built up the fire so its merry warmth made nonsense of the falling snow outside. Every so often a gust of wind buffeted the windows.
“Lefroy, you’ll have to stay the night,” Henry said. “You can’t make it home in this weather.”
“If I must,” Tom said with a resigned smile. He turned to catch Jane staring at him. He winked, and she turned away, hoping the heat of the fire explained the blush on her face.
Soon a whist table was set up. Mrs. Austen, Henry, Eliza, and James completed the quartet. James became more cheerful as he won hand after hand. Jane smiled to herself; her brother’s sermons might be dull, but his mathematical skills were sharp.
Henry and Eliza were too busy flirting to even notice their mounting losses. Eliza laughed so gaily at one of Henry’s jokes that she needed to dab tears from her eyes with one of her lacy handkerchiefs. Henry surreptitiously palmed the handkerchief and tucked it inside his waistcoat. Jane watched their growing intimacy with dismay.
Tom seated himself beside her. She smiled, welcoming the distraction. “After their card game, perhaps you will read your work for us?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s unfair to impose my scribbles on a group marooned here. No one can escape.”
“I’ve read one of your stories,” he confided. “And I assure you, no one would willingly miss the ending.”
Stiffening, Jane stared straight ahead. “Which story?” she managed to ask casually.
“A novel of letters between two sisters. Elinor and Marianne,” he said. “My aunt said you had given her a draft.”
“That was too bad of her,” Jane said, hiding how much she wanted to know his opinion. “She knew that I did not intend for anyone else to read it.”
“I was persistent; don’t blame her,” Tom said earnestly. “I enjoyed it very much.”
She relaxed, and they talked of her story until a burst of laughter from the card table drew their attention. Eliza was glowing. And Henry was hanging on her every word.
“Theirs is a courtship that is proceeding well,” Tom said.
Jane was silent. Eliza should know better than to make Henry fall in love with her so easily. Nothing but pain would come from her behavior.
“What is wrong, Jane?” Tom asked. “Do you not think them a good match?”
“I think they are a disastrous pair.”
Tom’s face was puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said. “There’s no impediment to the match, is there?” He leaned forward. “Her husband is dead. She has a fortune. Your brother is clearly infatuated.”
“There is indeed an impediment,” Jane muttered.
Just then, Eliza and Henry excused themselves from the card table.
“I need some air!” Eliza exclaimed. Henry followed at her heels. Like a lapdog, Jane thought bitterly. Henry was so eager to be with Eliza he didn’t even put his coat on.
Jane tried to remain composed, but fidgeted in her seat, unresponsive to any conversational overtures from Tom. What were Henry and Eliza doing outside for so long? Whatever it was, it was not likely to reflect well on either of them.
“Excuse me, please,” Jane said, standing up abruptly and following her brother and cousin out into the garden. At first she didn’t see them, but then heard a low laughing from the ramshackle gazebo. Peering into the snow, she made out Eliza and Henry in a passionate embrace.
CHAPTER 16
The event was so shocking, that there were
moments even when her heart revolted from it as
impossible—when she thought it could not be.
MANSFIELD PARK
Tap, tap. Jane’s discreet knock at Eliza’s door was the only sound in the still house.
Jane glanced at the clock in the hall; it was not yet half past seven. So early in the morning, the house was perfectly still. Since everyone in the Austen house had stayed up late last night, she had small hope that Eliza would be lucid this early in the morning.
No response. Not wanting to wake anyone, Jane gingerly turned the knob and opened the door. “Eliza?” she hissed.
“Jane, go away,” Eliza muttered.
Ignoring Eliza’s entreaty, Jane slipped inside, closing the door behind her. To her astonishment, Eliza was lying on the bed fully dressed just as Jane had left her the night before. With Marie indisposed, apparently Eliza had decided it was too much trouble to get ready for bed by herself.
“Eliza, wake up!” Jane said, slightly louder this time.
Eliza rolled over and groaned. Slowly she opened an eye, then shaded it from the bright sunlight streaming through the window. “Jane, what are you doing here?” Eliza asked, sitting up. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head. She glanced down at her dress and plucke
d at the lace at her neck. “Why am I still dressed?”
“Marie never came to you last night?” Jane asked.
Eliza frowned. “Oh, I recall now. I knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer. Which is odd; usually she is very reliable.”
“It was very late,” Jane pointed out. “And she had a terrible headache.”
“What time is it now?”
“Early enough that we are the only ones awake. We have to talk seriously, you and I.”
“I could never discuss anything in earnest at this hour. My head is fit to break apart,” she said, pressing her palms to her skull. Jane couldn’t help but notice that even unbrushed and uncurled, Eliza’s short hair was flattering.
“Eliza!” Jane cried. Eliza winced, and Jane lowered her voice. “We need to decide what to do about your husband.”
Eliza grimaced. “Jean is dead to me.”
“Look at me, cousin.” Jane waited until she had Eliza’s full attention. “The point is that he is not dead. You are a married woman. But judging from your behavior last night, you are enamored of my brother.”
Eliza looked away. “Perhaps,” she muttered.
“There’s no uncertainty about it. You were flirting with him all night long. I saw you in the gazebo with him.”
Eliza glared at Jane. “Really, cousin, you should find employment with the War Office; you’re becoming quite the little spy. Is no one’s privacy safe from you?”
Jane flushed; Eliza’s rebuke was fair. “You are not a widow anymore. You have to let Henry go.”
“I don’t want to.” Eliza looked at Jane with eyes that were suddenly clear and tragic. “I think I love him.”
“All the more reason for you to behave with more decorum. Henry is an officer, with his living to make in the world. No breath of scandal can touch him. And what about Cassandra and myself? Don’t we already have enough marks against us in the matrimonial market that you should also tar us with an adulterous brush?”
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