The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen

by Syrie James

  Rebecca struggled to suppress a smile. Mrs. Harcourt shook her head, and said with a frown, “Well! This is an unhappy circumstance indeed. I cannot cancel the ball at this late hour.”

  “Aunt, I would never wish for you to cancel the ball on my account. Think how disappointed every one would be!”

  “The ball was to be for you, Amelia.”

  “It was a most thoughtful gesture on your part,” replied Miss Davenport softly, “and I sincerely appreciate it. I cannot tell you how distressed I am, to know that I shall miss out on all the fun.”

  “You and Mr. Mountague were to be partners for at least two of the dances. He will be very disappointed.”

  “When Mr. Mountague returns from his ride and learns what has happened, I have no doubt that he will receive the news with equanimity. He will find plenty of other partners. I am certain the evening will be a great success.”

  Miss Davenport spoke with sincerity, as if she truly meant all that she said. Even so, the injury seemed so specific and convenient, that Rebecca could not help but wonder if her friend was affecting it, to get out of dancing with Mr. Mountague. “I am very sorry,” said Rebecca, “that you will have to sit out to-night.”

  “Do not worry about me,” replied her friend. “I shall be content to sit in a corner and watch. It is you I am concerned about. We must find you a gown.”

  Dr. Watkins, after giving instructions for Miss Davenport’s care, took his leave, agreeing to check back on the patient later in the day. The invalid was carried upstairs and placed upon her bed, and from that vantage point, directed her maid in the process of bringing out a great quantity of gowns and accessories, and helping Rebecca to try them on. Although there were no white gowns in evidence, there were so many colourful frocks to choose from, and they all fit so well, that it was difficult for Rebecca to make a choice; but in the end she decided on one in a becoming shade of blue, which was manufactured with such a profusion of delicate pleats, ribbons, lace, and embroidery, as to be truly splendid.

  Only the most minor of alterations was required; and while the maid took away the garment to attend to her task, Rebecca passed a pleasant hour talking with her friend. As they chatted, Rebecca tidied up the chamber, putting away all the unnecessary combs, feathers, shawls, and gloves which she had tried on. In opening a particular drawer, she noticed a small locket which contained a lock of hair, and commented,

  “I have never seen you wear this locket. It is very pretty.”

  “What locket is that?”

  Rebecca held it up for her view. “Whose hair is it?”

  Her friend made a face. “Oh, that—it is my cousin Brook’s.”

  “The hair seems too light to be Mr. Mountague’s.”

  “Well, he gave it to me a long time ago, when we were children—when it was first mentioned that we should marry one day. His hair has grown darker since then. I do not like to look at it. Please, bury it beneath my shawls.”

  This reference to matrimony, a subject which was very much on Rebecca’s mind, gave her the courage to ask if her friend could keep a secret, to which Miss Davenport replied that of course she could. Rebecca admitted that there was a gentleman in the neighbourhood whom she liked—a good, respectable, amiable sort of man, who she thought liked her in return.

  “I know just the gentleman to whom you refer!” cried Miss Davenport. “I am certain you are right!”

  “Are you?” answered Rebecca with rising excitement.

  “Yes! Any one could see that he was smitten with you the night you all dined here. And he made his feelings quite clear at the party at Finchhead Downs, when he so particularly sought you out. I would not be at all surprised if he made his intentions known to you at the ball.”

  Rebecca felt she could not breathe. “Sarah said the very same.”

  “She is very observant, as am I. Why do you think I am going to such effort to ensure that you look ravishing to-night? Why else would I loan you my favourite gown? I want to give you every possible advantage, to encourage his suit, and to help bring about the most favourable conclusion.”

  Rebecca smiled in surprise. “I appreciate your efforts, and the gown. So, you like him, then? You think he is a suitable match?”

  “Oh, yes! Most suitable, indeed. He is not the sort of gentleman of whom my aunt would approve; but for a woman in your position, you could not hope to do better.”

  “I am pleased that you think so. Your approval means a great deal to me.” With a sigh, Rebecca sat down on the bed and added, “If he does mean to ask me, I hope it is to-night, or it might be too late.”

  “Too late? Why?”

  Rebecca shared her concerns with regard to her father’s growing discomfort with their accommodations at the vicarage, and his intentions to leave the neighbourhood as soon as another situation could be found. Miss Davenport exclaimed in distress and regret,

  “Oh! Tell me it is not so. I will quite die if you move away! What shall I do without you? I have never had a friend like you before, Miss Stanhope. I feel I could tell you any thing. I think of you as quite the sister I never had.”

  “You are becoming as dear to me as a sister, as well.”

  “If that is the case, Miss Stanhope, do not you think we ought to call each other by our Christian names?”

  “Yes, if you are amenable to it.”

  “I am.” Miss Davenport took Rebecca’s hands in hers. “My own particular friend, from now on I shall address you as nothing but—Rebecca.”

  “And I shall call you Amelia.” The young ladies smiled as they squeezed hands.

  “As I have shared a confidence with you, my dear Amelia, will you satisfy my curiosity about something—in complete confidence of course?”

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Your ankle: is it really sprained?”

  With a flutter of eyelashes and a little half smile, Miss Davenport replied, “I am shocked, quite shocked by your inquiry. What motive on earth could induce me to invent such an injury, on the very morning of a ball?”

  Her statement rang with such amusing disingenuousness, that, although Rebecca was appalled, she could not help laughing. “Oh! You are too horrid for words! I cannot, in good conscience, condone such bad behaviour.”

  “My dear Rebecca, I do not comprehend your meaning,” insisted Miss Davenport, still smiling.

  “Do you intend to sustain an injury every time there is a dance, once you are married?”

  “Perhaps I shall not marry my cousin Brook. Some good-looking stranger might take notice of me this very night—a man of such fortune and rank, that my aunt will prefer me to marry him.”

  “Amelia! You are impossible.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when the hairdresser arrived, and immediately set to work arranging the tresses of both young ladies—a luxury which Rebecca, who had only ever had her housemaid’s help, enjoyed for the first time. Soon, they were dressed and ready for the evening’s entertainment. When Rebecca glanced in the looking-glass, she felt in remarkably good looks; and Miss Davenport, resplendent in the gown her aunt had selected for her, hopped on one foot as her servant helped her from the chamber and down the stairs.

  CHAPTER V

  A great deal of bustle was in progress below, as the servants engaged in final preparations for the evening’s entertainment. Mrs. Harcourt, who was waiting in the drawing-room when Rebecca and Miss Davenport arrived, immediately sent the servant off to fetch more flowers for Amelia’s hair.

  When they sat down to table, Mr. Mountague and Mr. Clifton joined them. Although Rebecca felt the prick of awkwardness at their presence, she could not deny a flutter of pleasure at the look in the young men’s eyes, which assured her that both she and Miss Davenport were approved.

  “Cousin!” cried Mr. Mountague, taking his seat. “Imagine my astonishment and distress when we returned from our ride, and heard the terrible news. An ankle, sprained? Is it true?”

  “I am afraid so, Brook. Forgive me, bu
t I cannot dance; both the pain, and the doctor, forbid it.”

  “Alas! What a tragedy. And you looking so pretty, too.”

  “What is the prognosis?” asked Mr. Clifton with concern.

  “I am promised that rest will produce a full recovery in time.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” said Mr. Mountague. “But as for to-night—Aunt Harcourt said we were to lead the way and open the ball.” Turning to Rebecca, he said, “Miss Stanhope, will you do me the honour of promising me the first two dances, in my cousin’s stead?”

  Rebecca was startled. When considering her friend’s feigned injury (and the purpose behind it), it had never occurred to her that she might be obliged to dance with Mr. Mountague, and even worse, to begin as his partner! But there was nothing she could do, other than to nod and reply with a grateful affirmative. Miss Davenport gave her a private, apologetic look. Rebecca saw the humour in the situation, and could not feel resentful that she should be its object.

  Mrs. Harcourt dominated the conversation throughout the meal, naming all the people in the surrounding neighbourhoods who were expected at the ball, the latest news about them and their families, advice which she had given them in previous encounters (some events occurring twenty or thirty years in the past), and how in each case they had acted upon that advice with gratitude and advantageous results.

  After dinner, as they waited for the carriages, Mr. Mountague made jokes, and they all laughed. Rebecca felt gay of heart and filled with anticipation for the coming festivities—all the while, keeping her secret hopes to herself.

  Mr. Spangle was the first to arrive. He was extravagant with his compliments, insisting that Miss Stanhope was a shining example of feminine beauty, and that she must promise him a dance. The party from the vicarage came next, followed by a great many people whom Rebecca did not know. Mrs. Harcourt received them all with pleasure. Amelia Davenport, seated regally in a chair with her foot wrapped and raised, was the centre of much attention, as every body stopped to inquire about her injury, and to offer their condolences and advice as to treatment.

  Sarah and Rebecca regarded the door expectantly, waiting for Dr. Watkins to make his appearance; and when he did, his eyes immediately found Rebecca’s across the crowded room, with a look which seemed filled with significance.

  “Surely he does mean to speak to you this evening!” whispered Sarah.

  “If only my first two dances were not promised to Mr. Mountague,” returned Rebecca regretfully.

  In no time at all, the company was moving into the ball-room, and Rebecca lost sight of Dr. Watkins. How, she wondered, would it be possible for a man to perform an act so intimate as to offer his hand in marriage, in a room so filled with people? Would he contrive to get her alone, as he did at the lake? If so, when and how?

  She heard the violins. Suddenly, Mr. Mountague was before her, offering his arm. They moved to the top of the room; the rest of the couples joined them, forming several lines; and the first dance began. To Rebecca’s consternation, Mr. Mountague went left instead of right, causing a disruption. Laughing with apology, he rushed into the proper place, only to step on Rebecca’s foot. He continued to dance with good-natured but incompetent zeal. The second dance was equally painful to endure—but Rebecca smiled patiently throughout, feeling more sorry for him than for herself. The moment of her release, she thanked him and sought out a chair in a quiet corner, to gain respite for her injured toes.

  While sitting out the next two dances, Rebecca was able to look around with ease. On the opposite side of the ball-room, she observed Dr. Watkins bringing a cup of punch to Miss Davenport, who was settled in a chair by the wall. The two fell into an animated discussion; she seemed irritated, and he was doing his best to soothe her. Rebecca perfectly comprehended why Amelia was unhappy; her injury—even if contrived—prevented her not only from dancing with Mr. Mountague, but from participating in any of the evening’s entertainment.

  Of a sudden, Rebecca became aware that Mr. Mountague and Mr. Clifton were conversing nearby; and although they were partially obscured from her view, she overheard the following:

  “I knew it had to be you who sent it to the old man,” asserted Mr. Mountague. “Who else would give such a dull book?”

  “Well, now that you know, I would appreciate it if you would keep it to yourself,” replied Mr. Clifton.

  “Whatever you wish; but from all reports, he is delighted with it. A costly edition, I am told. Why you should wish to keep it a secret—indeed, why you sent it in the first place—is beyond me, unless it was to impress his daughter. She is a lovely creature.”

  “Do not be a fool.”

  “Wait! I know what it is—You think to make recompense for taking over the poor old man’s living, do not you!” Mr. Mountague laughed.

  “Keep your voice down, will you?”

  “You are the fool, cousin. There is no call whatsoever for guilt or remorse, and certainly no need for such an extravagant, conciliatory gesture—particularly if it is anonymous!”

  There was a pause; then Mr. Clifton said, “If it eases the mind, what harm can it do? Except, perhaps, to the pocketbook.”

  Mr. Mountague laughed again.

  Rebecca’s cheeks grew warm with disappointment and indignation. To discover that Mr. Clifton apparently did, after all, feel some measure of guilt with regard to her father’s removal from Elm Grove, was satisfying; but to learn that the book Mr. Stanhope received did not come from Dr. Watkins after all—that it was the result of such a low motive—that all the imagined generosity and goodwill which she had attached to the person behind the gift, was entirely false—that was a real blow.

  In this state of heated vexation, Rebecca observed Mr. Mountague walk round the perimeter of the room. When the music stopped and the dancers separated, he had caught up with Dr. Watkins and Amelia on the other side. Dr. Watkins now glanced over, and, whether by accident or design, caught her eye. He smiled. All notion of Mr. Clifton and his transgressions left Rebecca’s mind. Certainly, she thought, Dr. Watkins means to cross to me now; but at that moment, she heard Mr. Clifton’s voice at her elbow.

  “Miss Stanhope: may I be allowed the honour of the next dance?”

  Rebecca was too astonished and piqued to reply; to her consternation, he was accompanied by her father.

  “Come, my dear Rebecca,” said Mr. Stanhope congenially, taking her hand and urging her to her feet, “after having been obliged to dance with the worst possible partner in the room, you cannot refuse to dance with the best. Never were two cousins more unlike, to my mind! Mr. Clifton feared that you might turn him down, but I said you never would.”

  Rebecca had no wish to dance now—and even if she did, of all the gentlemen in the room—Mr. Mountague included—Mr. Clifton was the last person whom she would choose as her partner. But how could she refuse, without offending her father?

  The couples were already assuming their positions. Mr. Stanhope smiled. Mr. Clifton nodded graciously, and without a word, led her to their place in the set. Without knowing quite what she did, Rebecca allowed herself to be led.

  They stood opposite each other in line, in perfect silence. From the calm look on his face, it was clear to her that he had no idea of what she had just overheard. Why he had bothered to ask her to dance was a matter she could not fathom. Too infuriated to initiate any conversation, and afraid she might say something she would regret, she resolved to hold her tongue. As the music began and they performed the customary steps, he took the burden upon himself, and asked if she was enjoying the ball.

  “It is too early to tell,” replied she. “I have only danced one set.”

  “And that with great patience and forbearance, from what I observed. As your father said, my cousin Brook has more enthusiasm for the dance than ability.”

  “Mr. Mountague has great enthusiasm for many things.”

  “Certainly, he enjoys every kind of sport.”

  “And he enjoys making sport of others.”


  Mr. Clifton seemed troubled by this remark, but made no answer.

  Rebecca could not resist the temptation to go on. “Mr. Mountague always speaks his mind; that is one thing I admire about him. Even when the truth might be painful, he keeps no secrets; he is very straightforward.”

  “Perhaps too straightforward at times.”

  “Perhaps; but at least one knows where one stands with him. Whereas you, Mr. Clifton, have always been an enigma to me.”

  “An enigma, Miss Stanhope?”

  “I have known you, or known of you, for much of my life; and yet we have never had a meaningful conversation—unless you count the day we disputed the merits of change, while standing in the rectory garden at Elm Grove.”

  He did not comment.

  “I feel that I know your sisters and brother better than I know you, sir, although I have had far less occasion to see them.”

  In a constrained manner, he said, “It is only natural that you should gravitate to my sisters—they are lovely young women, and you have much in common.”

  They made their way down the rest of the line and back without uttering another word. It was not until they were well into the second dance, that Mr. Clifton asked her if, since coming to Medford, she had been afforded any other opportunities to play the pianoforte and the harp. The question was so unexpected that Rebecca could not hide her surprise.

  “I have, sir. Mrs. Harcourt has allowed me to make use of her instruments on two occasions.”

  “That is generous of her. However, you must be accustomed to practising every day.”

  “I did practise very regularly when I lived at Elm Grove.”

  “You must miss it.”

  “I do.”

  “Your performance at the dinner party here was truly exquisite. You gave pleasure to a great many.”

  His compliment, which seemed very sincere, caught her unawares; but she reminded herself of the source. “Thank you.”