The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen

by Syrie James

  The proposal, coming as it had at a ball, made Rebecca think of Mr. Spangle, and with more generosity and regret, of Dr. Jack Watkins. She wondered how Dr. Watkins was faring in London, and fondly replayed their conversations in her mind. It saddened her to think that their friendship—and what might, at least in her mind, have amounted to more than a friendship—was over entirely; that she would, most likely, never see or hear from him again.

  With longing, she thought of Elm Grove—of the house which was so dear to her—and she wondered how Martha, Eliza, Mr. Gower, and Mrs. Wilson were faring. She missed her sister a great deal, and was grateful for the regular letters which Sarah sent, relating all the events in her life. Every detail was of interest to Rebecca: Sarah’s garden had stopped blooming; George had scraped his knee; Charles had acquired a new book from the circulating library; they had experienced an early frost; Mrs. Harcourt had been ill again, but it did not appear to be any thing serious. To Rebecca’s disappointment, she did not receive a single letter from Amelia, despite writing to her twice.

  As time went on, however, Rebecca found herself thinking less and less of home and Medford, and more of the many delights of Bath. The same held true for Mr. Stanhope; for one morning he told Rebecca,

  “Our life at Elm Grove was very satisfying, and I knew myself to be useful there; but it is as I thought and hoped—leaving has opened the world to our view, and allowed us both to experience a great many pleasures which would otherwise have been denied us.”

  Rebecca’s favourite entertainment—the evenings she looked forward to with particular eagerness—were the concerts, held every Wednesday in the Upper Rooms, under the direction of Mr. Rauzzini, a refined gentleman of great musical taste who was highly regarded in the city. A diversity of musical programs were offered, from a small orchestra to individual singers or a choral group; and while listening to these presentations, Rebecca closed her eyes, and felt as if she were carried away on a blissful cloud. The music continued to ring in her mind for days afterwards; she often found herself humming the tunes. One evening, after a woman sang a lovely Italian song, Mr. Stanhope insisted that Rebecca’s abilities were superior, which she immediately discredited; the next week, a masterful performance on the pianoforte both thrilled her and gave her a little pang, for she greatly missed playing that instrument.

  Her friendship with Miss Clifton was particularly agreeable. Although Rebecca could not like Miss Russell, she endured her company because it afforded her the opportunity to spend time with her friend. Rebecca continued to hear good reports from both of them with regard to Mr. Clifton. Indeed, Miss Russell seemed quite enamoured of the gentleman, and often spoke as if he were her particular beau.

  The only diversions Rebecca did not like were the private parties she was obliged to attend with her hosts—evenings of elegant stupidity, peopled by the snobbish and the dull. They did indeed drink tea, as prophesied, with the honourable Lady Carnarvon, whom the Newgates regarded with the highest degree of esteem. Rebecca, on the other hand, considered the viscountess a disagreeable woman of great self-importance, who judged others entirely on outward appearances, without seeing or valuing any thing which might lie within. Mr. Stanhope enjoyed these soirees more than Rebecca did, for he had a gregarious and forgiving nature, and could fit in any place. For her, the games of cards were an obligation rather than an amusement; for him, they were a temptation. Once or twice, she felt certain she observed him glance longingly at the Speculation, Loo, and Vingt-et-Un tables; but since they arrived at Bath, Mr. Stanhope had made a solemn pact with his daughter to play only those games which did not involve betting, and he kept his word.

  The precarious state of their finances was never far from Rebecca’s mind. Although the Newgates continued to be accommodating, she and her father could not stay with them for ever. When she brought up the subject, however, Mr. Stanhope admitted that he hoped to remain another two months—until Christmas, at least.

  “What will we do then, papa?” inquired she, worried. “Will we be obliged to find yet another friend or relation who is willing to take us in?”

  Mr. Stanhope sighed and nodded. “Unless some one produces a freehold for our benefit, Rebecca dearest—or you were to marry—we will likely remain itinerant for life.”

  His reference to marriage—a subject which they had only rarely ever discussed—was so unexpected, and so weighted with unspoken hope and meaning, that it took Rebecca by surprise. Teasingly, she offered her apologies for having turned down the young officer’s proposal at the ball the other night; which made them both laugh.

  “I do not mean to imply that you ought to accept the first man who makes you an offer, my dear,” said Mr. Stanhope emphatically, “and you should certainly not take a stranger. A comfortable home and income is only one component of the equation, of which love must be the biggest part. Whoever you marry must be a good man who loves and respects you—a true gentleman, who proves his character and worth not with words, but by his deeds. And you must love and respect him equally in return.”

  Rebecca hugged him, and avowed that she could not agree more.

  During their fourth week at Bath, Rebecca and Mr. Stanhope had made plans to join Miss Clifton and Miss Russell on another country walk. That morning, however, he was laid up with a mild cold, the result of a stroll in a frigid wind on the parades the day before. Rebecca left him wrapped in a warm blanket by the fire, with his tea and his reading, and ventured out to meet her friends at Sydney Place. To her surprise, when she arrived at their appointed spot, she found the two young ladies in the company of Mr. Philip Clifton.

  “Look who is here!” cried Miss Clifton, as Rebecca approached, and Mr. Clifton bowed and doffed his hat. “Is not it the most wonderful surprise? My brother showed up at our house without any warning yesterday evening. After such a tedious journey, he was so desirous of a walk, that when he asked to accompany us to-day, I could not possibly refuse. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Not at all. It is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Clifton,” replied Rebecca. Her friends did not seem to discern any thing unnatural in her expression, which she hoped was gracious; but on Mr. Clifton’s countenance, she read his full understanding of her feelings, and his consciousness of the last, unhappy words which had been spoken between them.

  “Is not your father joining us?” inquired he.

  Rebecca explained why Mr. Stanhope was obliged to miss the outing, and how sorry he was. Mr. Clifton looked disappointed; both he and the young ladies communicated their sincere regrets and well-wishes, and the four turned southwards, out of the city.

  Miss Russell, with a bright smile, asked if she might take Mr. Clifton’s arm, and then immediately took possession of said limb, making any reply unnecessary. The pair took the lead, leaving Rebecca to walk a few steps behind with her friend. They began in the same direction formerly taken to Beechen Cliff, but then diverged onto a foot-path.

  “The valleys of Lyncombe and Widcombe are very beautiful,” promised Miss Clifton. “I think this one of the prettiest walks outside of Bath.”

  They fell into conversation, the better part consisting of the surprise and joy with which Miss Clifton and her parents had received her brother’s unexpected visit, and a recounting of what they had discussed the night before.

  “Philip had a great deal to say about the people of Elm Grove, whom he seems to admire very much. He was in a glow all evening; Laura could not take her eyes off him. She has liked him, you know, ever since she moved into the neighbourhood when we were sixteen, and now declares she will marry nobody else.”

  “Does he return her affections?” asked Rebecca.

  “I feel certain he does. He is kind and attentive to her, and in his letters to me, never fails to send her his best regards. Now that he is settled with a house and a good income, it would not surprise me if they were wed by this time next year.”

  Rebecca had little time to reflect upon this statement; for at that moment, Mr. Clifton paused and sai
d to Miss Russell,

  “I have monopolized your company long enough, Laura. I know my sister would love to talk with you. Shall we exchange walking partners?”

  Miss Russell looked dismayed; but Miss Clifton, smiling, said, “An excellent notion.”

  Mr. Clifton left the former’s side, walked directly to Rebecca, and offered his arm; which, not wishing to embarrass or offend his sister, she took after some hesitation. In an instant, the two new parties moved ahead.

  They were traversing a meadow, on a foot-path only wide enough for two. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, the air was mild, and the landscape serene. For some time, the only sounds which reached Rebecca’s ears were the bleating of sheep, the twitter of birds in the trees, and the tramp of their own feet. She was bewildered as to why Mr. Clifton had sought out her company, if he was not to speak; but she was determined to be polite to him.

  “I understand your visit to Bath was unexpected, Mr. Clifton?”

  “Yes. I decided to come on very short notice.”

  “I hope you are here for pleasure and to see your family, and not for any reasons of ill health?”

  He looked surprised. “Thank you; you are very kind. I remain in good health. I am happy to see my sister and my parents, although that was not my motive in travelling hither.”

  “No?”

  “No. I came to see you.”

  “Me?”

  “My sister had mentioned in her correspondence that you were here.”

  They walked on. Rebecca was too astonished to speak further, yet bursting with curiosity—why on earth Mr. Clifton should be compelled to travel to Bath to see her, consuming all her thoughts. At last, he said,

  “Miss Stanhope: I find that I owe you an apology.”

  This pronouncement was equally unexpected. “Indeed, sir?”

  “The last time we spoke, on the night of the ball at Grafton Hall, you accused me of committing an act not out of generosity, but with a selfish purpose: to assuage my own conscience. When I sent that book for which your father had expressed a desire, I thought I was simply doing him a kindness. It did not occur to me to view the act in any other light, until my cousin brought it up that evening. But upon further reflection, I saw that both he—and you—were right. I did have more of my own self-interest at heart in the matter, than his.”

  Rebecca looked at him. This was, in her recollection, the lengthiest speech Mr. Clifton had ever made to her; and the substance of it was very gratifying. “Thank you, Mr. Clifton. It is noble of you to share these thoughts. But surely, you did not come all the way to Bath, just to tell me that?”

  “No; indeed, I have a matter of far greater consequence to impart.” A pause succeeded, as he seemed to collect his thoughts. “I considered writing to your father about this, for it concerns him as well—but it is a personal matter, and I thought—I think—that some things are best said in person. I had hoped to speak to you both to-day—but I trust you will repeat what I say for his benefit.” He paused again. “No doubt you can guess the subject to which I refer?”

  “I confess I cannot, sir. Unless, in some way, it involves the—the circumstances of my father’s resignation?”

  “Exactly so.” With a steadiness of manner and calmness of tone, Mr. Clifton went on. “What I wish to communicate is this: when I took over as rector at Elm Grove, I believed I was doing the community a service. I had no reason to question my uncle’s depiction of Mr. Stanhope. I accepted the position on offer with gratitude—only a fool would have done otherwise—and I considered it as the most natural of progressions. However, when you defended your father so unequivocally that night over cards, and insisted that the church’s money had been stolen, not gambled away—an idea which my uncle had never mentioned—I began to question my uncle’s motives. At the party at Finchhead Downs, when I fell into conversation with Mr. Stanhope, I found that I liked him very much. He seemed to me an honourable and decent gentleman. I came away wondering: could he have been telling the truth about the money’s loss? After you and I spoke at the ball, the subject would not leave my mind. So I decided to delve into it.”

  Rebecca’s heart beat faster; she was all attention. “What did you do?”

  “Upon my return to Elm Grove, I spoke with the servants at the rectory. To a man and woman, they showed only the highest regard for their former master and his daughter.” He gave her a brief smile. “They insisted that Mr. Stanhope was the most scholarly, good-hearted, and charitable man in the world. He may have liked to drop a few farthings at the card-table, they said, but he would never stoop to serious gambling.”

  “How good of them to say so.”

  “I spread my inquiry further amongst the community. Although reticent at first to impart any thing which might make me feel unwelcome, all, at length, came round to sing the praises of their former clergyman. If any one was in trouble and needed a helping hand, Mr. Stanhope was only too glad to lend—or give—the required sum. I found it difficult to believe that a man of such a selfless and giving nature, would so betray his parishioners’ trust. Several admitted that they thought it very hard he had been obliged to resign, just because that money went missing. ‘Missing,’ said Mr. Coulthard, with absolute conviction. ‘Missing, sir, but never gambled away, I promise you: that money was stolen.’ I asked myself: could he be right?”

  Mr. Clifton paused, for they had now reached a narrow, shallow stream, and he insisted, in a most gentlemanlike manner, in assisting all three young ladies over the well-placed stepping-stones which crossed it. Rebecca was all anticipation, awaiting a continuance of their discourse.

  As they resumed their walk in their established pairs, Mr. Clifton went on, “When I confronted my uncle with the reports I had received, he admitted, rather shamefaced, that he may have overemphasized the gambling charge a bit—those were his very words—as an excuse to let Mr. Stanhope go, so that he might make good on his promise to give me a living. You can imagine, Miss Stanhope, what agony I felt, upon making these discoveries—and how I blamed myself for all the pain which you and your father have suffered on my account.”

  Mr. Clifton spoke with such animation and sincerity, and was so obviously distressed, that any ill-will towards him which had formerly been lodged in Rebecca’s mind and heart, began immediately to soften and dissolve. She had presumed Mr. Clifton to be selfish, cold, and indifferent; yet it seemed he had only been blinded through his devotion to his uncle, and that he did indeed suffer deep feelings.

  “Mr. Clifton: I thank you,” said she slowly. “Your report relieves my mind on many matters, and I am grateful and honoured for the effort you have gone to on my father’s behalf. But pray, do not take the entire responsibility for our troubles on yourself. Your uncle was the instigator of true evil in this affair.”

  “I am equally at fault, for I should not have accepted my uncle’s offer without questioning his intentions. And if you will permit me, Miss Stanhope, I intend to redress this wrong, by seeking the proof of what occurred on the night in question.”

  “Proof? How do you propose to accomplish that, sir?”

  “By appealing to the innkeeper, where your father passed the night, the last time that money was in his possession. Can you tell me, Miss Stanhope, where your father broke his journey, on his way to London?”

  “He stayed at the King’s Arms, at Leatherhead, Surrey.”

  “I shall write to the innkeeper this very evening, and see what I can learn. If it is at all within my power, I intend to set things right.”

  CHAPTER XII

  After Mr. Clifton’s declaration, so choked was Rebecca with emotion and new-found hope, that she could only utter a quiet, “Thank you, sir,” and it was some minutes before she could speak again. Mr. Clifton, seemingly aware of her distress, maintained a respectful silence as they walked along.

  They soon reached Widcombe. Although it offered a charming view of the manor-house, parsonage, and church, their visit was cut short by Miss Russell, who comp
lained that she was tired, and wished to return to Bath at once, with Mr. Clifton’s arm to lean upon. They exchanged walking partners and immediately turned back.

  Miss Clifton was curious to know of what Rebecca and Mr. Clifton had been speaking. Rebecca discovered, with gratitude, that he had been very discreet regarding the particulars concerning herself and her father, with regard to their removal from Elm Grove. Now believing there to be no reason to conceal any thing, she informed Miss Clifton of the whole of the affair. Her friend expressed shock and regret over all that had transpired to date, and shared in the hopes that with her brother’s intervention, the matter should be soon resolved in a satisfactory manner.

  As they said their good-byes outside the Newgates’ house, Mr. Clifton explained that he must return to Elm Grove in two days’ time. Miss Clifton invited Rebecca and her father to join them all at the theatre the following evening, and she readily agreed.

  No sooner was Rebecca in the door than, finding her father alone in the parlour, she eagerly told him every thing which Mr. Clifton had related that morning. Mr. Stanhope was thrilled beyond expression.

  “I pray, papa, that Mr. Clifton’s efforts will be successful; that somehow, he will find a way to establish your innocence.”

  “It is almost too much to hope for,” replied Mr. Stanhope. But for the first time in months, Rebecca saw a gleam of hope in his eyes.

  As she lay in bed that night, Rebecca’s mind was full of the day’s events, and her feelings were in turmoil. In a single day, her view of Mr. Clifton had altered considerably. He had gone to great effort to learn the truth about her father. She appreciated all his explanations and apologies. Mr. Clifton was, she realised, an intelligent, thoughtful, and sensitive man. She wondered at herself, that she had never been aware of these qualities in the past. She saw him now as a friend and ally. Even more overwhelming was the new-found possibility, that he might be able to learn some information which might clear her father’s name. Oh! If only it could be so! Eagerly, she looked forward to speaking with him again.