by Syrie James
“Do you think Edward Taylor likes me?”
She did not immediately answer. “Well: he sought you out particularly, Jane, for our walk in the garden.”
“He and Mr. Payler sought out us both.”
“They did; but Mr. Taylor gave all his attention to you.”
“That does not mean he likes me. He is heir to a great house and fortune—do you think it is too much to hope for, that he might be interested in a girl like me?” Before she could reply, a sudden thought occurred to me. “Oh! How thoughtless I have been. All this time, I have been thinking only of myself! How was your walk with Thomas Payler? I am sure he likes you, Cassandra! From the moment we first met on the road, he has had eyes only for you. Did you find him amiable?”
Even in the dim light, I could discern her blush. Carefully, she said, “He is rather quiet, but he is an affable young man.”
“Well then! The next few weeks are going to be very interesting! When do you think we shall see them again?”
“As Sophia claims they will be invited to all the same festivities that we are, I should think it will be very soon.”
I rolled over, smiling into my pillow in anticipation.
The next morning after church, the house was all in a flutter with a visit from two dress-makers. Bolts of cloth in a multitude of colours were laid out on the tables and sofas in the drawing-room, where the Bridges ladies were to choose their frocks to be constructed for the Midsummer’s Eve bonfire. At the same time, the dress-makers took final fittings upstairs for the new gowns which were to be worn at the engagement ball on Wednesday. Lady Bridges and Fanny had gone up first, and while the rest of us perused the silks and satins on display, I made the following worried observation to Sophia:
“It is only three days until Wednesday. That is not much time to finish new gowns for all the ladies in your family.”
“I know. I try to get Mamma to think ahead, but it is a lost cause. She always leaves everything to the last minute.”
“Our gowns will be ready in time,” said Elizabeth with a shrug. “They always are.”
“How, I cannot tell you,” added Marianne. “In truth, I feel sorry for our dress-makers.”
“They must have a bevy of elves helping them,” said I impishly, “who work day and night in a workshop in the woods.”
Cassandra laughed.
“What a fanciful idea.” Sophia smiled.
Louisa’s and Harriot’s eyes widened, and they began whispering amongst themselves.
Elizabeth took no notice of my comment. Unrolling a bolt of embellished green silk and holding it up before her, she asked, “Does this colour suit me?”
“It is beautiful,” replied I, struggling to contain a pang of envy, for I had never owned a gown made of anything nearly so fine.
“It goes perfectly with your complexion,” agreed Cassandra, “and I am sure Edward will love you in it.”
Louisa and Harriot now came over to me, their countenances alive with curiosity. “Tell us about the elves’ workshop, Jane,” said Louisa softly.
“We have never heard of one,” added Harriot quietly. “Is there really such a thing?”
I smiled and, leading them to an unoccupied sofa, encouraged them to sit beside me. In a low tone, I said: “There are many such places all across England.”
“Truly?” Louisa’s eyes widened, but she appeared sceptical.
“Have you considered how many ladies there are, ordering new gowns every day, often at the drop of a hat, which frequently require hours and hours of detailed embroidery and trimmings? How do you imagine all the dress-makers complete their work in time?”
“Oh! I never thought of that!” cried Harriot breathlessly.
“If they really exist,” said Louisa dubiously, “why have I never seen one?”
“The elves must remain out of sight—that is rather the point, do not you see? A dress-maker would never wish to admit that she requires so much help; so the elves work in secret, in cottages hidden in the very deepest part of the woods, and it is only the result of their progress that you perceive.”
“Oh!” responded Louisa, nodding in wonder.
“I should love to see one of their workshops,” exclaimed Harriot wistfully.
“So should I,” remarked Sophia, joining us.
“Well, only the dress-makers know where the elves reside, and I doubt very much that they would reveal their whereabouts, lest great ladies like your mother should find out—no, that would be scandalous! But I have heard that one such cottage exists in the woods but a few miles off from Goodnestone Park; by all accounts it is a very charming cottage, with white roses trailing round the door, but so covered over with ivy and other vegetation that it is almost impossible to detect unless you know precisely where to look.”
“Oh! How I should like to find it!” cried Harriot.
Marianne, smiling at me, said to her younger sisters: “We ought to take a long walk in the woods sometime and search for it.”
Elizabeth, who had apparently also overheard our conversation, looked our way and said calmly,
“Do not be ridiculous, all of you. Such ideas as you are giving Louisa and Harriot! There are no such things as elves, nor any secret workshops in the woods. Our dress-makers do all the work themselves.”
This pronouncement served to eradicate the delightful air of fancy which had, for some moments, permeated the room. In the brief silence which followed, the girls looked to me and their other sisters to refute this charge; but as no one could bring themselves to do so, they could only be disappointed.
“I told you Jane was just making it up,” cried Louisa to her little sister.
“Were you?” Harriot demanded of me.
I nodded, feeling guilty now. “I do hope you will forgive me. At times, I let my imagination run away with me.”
Harriot shrugged. “That is quite all right.” She urged me to bend lower, and whispered in my ear: “I liked what you said. It was a nice little story. And I still believe that elves might exist.”
“I entirely agree with you,” whispered I in return, as we exchanged a conspiratorial smile.
A strawberry-picking party had been an annual occurrence at Goodnestone for nearly two decades, always taking place during the second week of June. Thankfully the weather co-operated, and the next day was very fine, with a bright sun and scattered clouds—ideal for a party to be held out of doors.
Anticipation of the affair was very great, and as everyone wanted to reserve his appetite for the cold, al-fresco collation to be served that morning after the fruit was picked, breakfast was a lighter meal and served an hour earlier than usual.
“Goodnestone is famous for its strawberry beds,” said her ladyship at the breakfast-table, while adding cream to her tea. “We have the best fruit in Kent; nay, I dare say the best fruit in the country; would not you agree, Sir Brook?”
Sir Brook, his nose buried in his newspaper, responded with a simple and distracted, “Yes, dear.”
“Our beds are the finest, and we have all the finest sorts,” continued Lady Bridges. “Hautboys which are very scarce elsewhere, we have in abundance; our beds of chilis are good as well, and some space is given to the white wood, which although small, has the finest flavour of all.”
“Such delicious fruit!” agreed Sophia. “Strawberries are everybody’s favourite.”
“The neighbours talk of nothing else all year but our party,” her ladyship went on, “how much they enjoy it, and how much they look forward to it. To receive an invitation is always the highest compliment; but of course we must be very select as to whom we include, for it would not do to have too many people descend on one’s garden at the very same moment.”
It was a day which I had looked forward to as well, but for reasons very different from the neighbours: the foremost being that Edward Taylor
was to join in the festivities. On another note, I knew that it heralded the arrival of Fanny’s fiancé, Mr. Lewis Cage, a man whom I was most curious to meet.
As we later gathered in the drawing-room to await the arrival of the guests (the ladies dressed for a garden outing, wearing our largest bonnets and carrying our parasols), Sophia mentioned to Cassandra and me:
“Mr. Lewis Cage is bringing his particular friend, Mr. William Deedes of Canterbury, with whom he is residing during his stay in the neighbourhood.”
“What do you know of Mr. Deedes?” inquired I.
“I know that he and Mr. Cage attended Cambridge together. Mr. Deedes has also had a long association with your brother Edward and the Knights.”
“Indeed?” said Cassandra. “Have you met Mr. Deedes?”
“I have, at several assemblies in Canterbury.” Sophia flushed a little as she added: “Of course we have seen more of Mr. Cage, ever since he and Fanny became betrothed.”
My anticipation of the expected visitors was shared by Louisa, Charles, and Brook Edward, who kept running to the window to ascertain if they could perceive a hint of an impending arrival.
At a quarter to eleven, Charles cried, “I hear horsemen! I hear horsemen!”
“Shall we go without?” exclaimed Louisa.
Lady Bridges insisted that, as there was to be a succession of guests, with no idea of anyone’s precise arrival time, we ought to remain where we were. Very soon the horses could be seen approaching, their hooves making a pleasant clatter in the sweep. Everyone made ready; Fanny looked less animated than I might have expected, for a young woman about to greet the man she was to wed; while unaccountably, Sophia appeared more glowing than usual, and kept her eyes directed at her lap.
The gentlemen were announced; they entered; greetings were exchanged.
Both were well-dressed, mature, and distinguished-looking, as befitted gentlemen of thirty years of age. Mr. Lewis Cage was a quiet, reserved man of medium height and no great beauty, although he possessed a noble mien: his manners were very fine, and his person graceful. He was gracious to Sir Brook and Lady Bridges, and very civil to the rest of the family, reserving his only display of mild emotion for Fanny, who received a deep bow and a look of fondness. To my sister, Charles, and me, when introductions had been made, Mr. Cage said politely:
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to getting better acquainted with you all over the next few weeks.”
“As do we,” replied Cassandra sincerely.
I wanted to reply in kind, but thought better of it and instead curtseyed and smiled demurely, behaviour which I believed my mother would deem more befitting for a young lady of my age upon introduction to a strange gentleman so much my senior.
Mr. Deedes was more lively than his companion. A fine, tall, good-looking man with easy, unaffected manners, Cassandra and I thought him much handsomer than Mr. Cage, and on first meeting, more amiable.
“Mr. Deedes is even more wealthy than his friend,” Marianne told us in confidence. “In addition to a residence in Canterbury, he inherited several other properties from his father, including an ancient house near Bromley-green called Claypits Manor, and the adjoining manor of Bishopswood.”
While Mr. Cage sat down across from Fanny and lapsed into silence, Mr. Deedes made a point of speaking to all the principal people in the room; after shaking hands with Charles, he made overtures to my brother Edward, my sister, and myself, adding:
“I have heard a great deal about you two young ladies from your brother.”
“Have you indeed?” Cassandra smiled. “What is Edward saying about us behind our backs?”
“All good things, I assure you.”
My brother laughed. “Deedes and I have had a long association. We used to get into all manner of scrapes before I went on my Grand Tour. Now at last we are to travel together. He is to join me and the Knights and a few other friends on our tour of Scotland next month.”
“I cannot tell you how delighted I am to be included, and how much I look forward to the excursion,” added Mr. Deedes.
“I am sure it will be very agreeable,” responded Cassandra.
“Oh! I wish I were going,” cried I. “How I should love to see Scotland!”
“Well, perhaps when you are a bit older, Jane,” said my brother kindly.
The sounds of horses and carriages were now heard in the sweep; there was some bustle without; and soon a group of new arrivals entered the drawing-room. The first to appear was Edward Taylor, looking very handsome in a blue coat. He glanced my way; he smiled; and I was all anticipation, my heart beating faster as I imagined the morning ahead.
Chapter the Tenth
I had no opportunity to say hello to Edward Taylor, for at the same moment that he arrived, Thomas Payler made his entrance along with his mother and father and a large parade of children, all of whom were splendidly attired and carried baskets trimmed to match their clothing.
“What a fine-looking family,” whispered Cassandra to me.
“Yes, but they are rather overdressed for the occasion,” whispered I in return. “Their finery more befits a dinner than a morning in the garden.”
“Hush,” warned Cassandra sternly, as Lady Bridges came forth and proceeded to introduce us to all the members of the family. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Watkinson Payler were a handsome, aristocratic-looking, good-humoured, talkative couple in their middle forties, who were very proud of their progeny, and not afraid to say so. They had seven sons (Thomas being the eldest at eighteen) and one daughter, Charlotte, a very pretty, demure young lady who wore an attractive bonnet with pale green ribbons, and who struck me as being the very opposite of her parents, in that she was quiet and reserved.
“The Austens are sisters to Elizabeth’s intended, Edward,” remarked Lady Bridges when the presentations were complete. “They are from a tiny village in Hampshire, where their father is a clergyman; but of course you know that Edward is heir to a host of properties in that county, as well as Godmersham Park, and when he inherits, he will change his name to Knight.”
“Mr. Watkinson Payler, Esquire, has quite an illustrious history,” added Sir Brook, “for his ancestor was created a baronet during the reign of Charles I, and he would continue to be so today, had not the lack of surviving issue caused the baronetcy to expire at the start of this century. They have a delightful coat of arms—three lions and three mullets of six points each—truly delightful.”
“What do these girls care about coats of arms?” cried Lady Bridges, adding, “You will be interested to know, however, that Mr. and Mrs. Watkinson Payler both had their portraits painted at the time of their marriage, by Joshua Reynolds himself!”
“Oh! You need not mention that,” said Mr. Thomas Watkinson Payler (Esquire), with a dismissive wave of his hand, immediately continuing, in a voice deep with pride, “It was a small indulgence, we paid but seventy guineas for the honour.”
“We were fortunate that he made himself available,” said Mrs. Watkinson Payler, “for Joshua Reynolds had just then been appointed the first president of the Royal Academy. He enjoyed then, even as he does now, a reputation as the foremost portraitist of our age. The portraits are on view at Ileden Manor, and should you wish to see them, we should be only too happy to oblige you. We live only four miles distant.”
“I am sure we should love to see them,” said Cassandra graciously, “should the opportunity arise.”
“Let us try to arrange something while you are in the neighbourhood, Miss Austen and Miss Jane,” said Mrs. Watkinson Payler. “Perhaps a dinner for our three families?” She and Lady Bridges discussed the possibility, and settled on a date for the event the following week.
“Jane,” said Lady Bridges, nodding towards the Paylers’ daughter who stood silently nearby, “it just occurred to me that Charlotte is exactly the same age as you—you are fifteen, is that
not so?”
I nodded.
“Well! You are the only two young ladies present who can make that claim, and I am sure you shall both get along famously.”
I smiled at Miss Payler, who sweetly returned the gesture; but we were unable to investigate this prophecy, as some minutes were immediately given over to a discussion of how the Paylers were related to Edward Taylor, the facts being these: that Edward’s dear departed mother Margaret, whom everyone remembered as the loveliest of women, was the sister of Mr. Thomas Watkinson Payler, present owner of Ileden; and thus Edward Taylor was his nephew, and first cousin to all his children. As the connection was through Edward Taylor’s mother, and not his father, it meant the Paylers were in no way related by blood to the Bridgeses, a fact which was greatly lamented by everybody.
The final guests to round out the party were the family currently leasing Bifrons Park: Admiral and Mrs. Fielding and their son. The admiral was a small, quiet, thoughtful, weathered man, recently retired, who had opted to lease the estate for three years to determine whether or not he wished to settle permanently in the area. He had married late, had spent most of his life at sea, and seemed to have very little in common with his wife. Mrs. Fielding was a fat, red-faced woman whose clothing and accessories reflected a sense of too much money and too little taste. Although civil and well-meaning, she was prosing and pompous, and from the moment of our first acquaintance, I ascertained that she thought or said nothing of consequence, except as it related to her own and her son’s concerns. Indeed, her life seemed entirely devoted to promoting the happiness of their son Frederic, an equally heavy-looking, shy lad of seventeen, who took a full minute to formulate even the simplest sentence before he spoke it.
With everybody assembled (a group of more than thirty people), Lady Bridges directed a servant to hand out baskets to all those who had come without, and issued the following directive: that although we were welcome to eat as many berries as we liked during the picking, we were expected to fill our baskets, and to deliver them to one of the tables in the garden, where cold meats, bread, cheese, cream, and other refreshments were to be served at half-past two. Following this, there would be lawn games.
