Jane Austen’s First Love

by Syrie James

  Cassandra and I sat down next to my brother, to whom I said quietly: “Might I have a word with you, Edward?”

  “Certainly; but can it wait until later?” For at that very moment the bonfire was being lit.

  A torch was brought to the bed of dry leaves at the base of the immense bonfire pile, the lower sticks and branches caught fire, and within minutes it began to spread. I joined in with the crowd as we cheered our approval. Before long an immense bonfire was raging, the orange and red flames leaping up towards the inky sky, emitting a heat that warmed my face and lit the smiling countenances gathered around its circumference. We all sat admiring the conflagration, talking amongst ourselves and listening to the music.

  During this interval, I could not prevent myself from glancing at Edward Taylor from time to time; once or twice, his dark eyes caught mine, and he smiled—a look which, as always, caused a thrill to run through me. I could not help but think about the rose petals; if I scattered them at midnight and made a wish, would he come to me the next day? If so, what might he say? My imagination rapidly went to work on this idea, but my musings were interrupted by my mother, who, having returned to the house to fetch her cloak, paused en route to her chair and said to me and Cassandra:

  “The night air here is much cooler than we are accustomed to at home. You girls ought to have brought more than just those thin shawls; here are warmer ones.” She handed us two woollen shawls.

  “Thank you, Mamma,” replied I, “that was very thoughtful of you; but sitting by the fire, I am quite warm.”

  “I do not care how warm you think you feel; the damp grass will surely seep through that blanket and you could catch your death of cold. Do wrap yourself up without delay.”

  “Yes, Mamma,” responded Cassandra. Although, from the look on my sister’s face, and the perspiration on her brow, I knew that she was equally as warm as me, we both obeyed my mother’s command.

  “What do you think, girls? Ought we to have a bonfire at Steventon next year on Midsummer’s Eve?” remarked my mother, looking round with a contented smile. “It is very pleasant.”

  “That would be a fine idea,” responded Cassandra.

  “We shall have to ask your father what he thinks. Oh! How I miss him! We have been gone far too long, it feels like a year at least! We have had a delightful visit here, and I am happy we came, but how glad I am that we return to Godmersham two days hence, and soon after leave for home!” So saying, my mother moved on, resuming her seat beside Mrs. Payler by the fire.

  Her words struck me, reminding me that my remaining time in Kent was very short indeed. In two days, I should be gone, with no idea when, or if, I should ever return. The thought of leaving my new friends saddened me—but more particularly, the melancholy realisation that I might never see Edward Taylor again caused moisture to gather in my eyes. I wiped away a tear; moments later, to my surprise, the young gentleman himself dropped onto the blanket beside me.

  “Hello,” said he, his voice low and deep. “You have been very scarce this evening, and now you look unaccountably sad. What is the matter?”

  His nearness caused my heart, as always, to beat more rapidly. Having no wish to tell him what was really on my mind, I replied: “I am sad about—what transpired earlier this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” He thought, then added: “Oh! You mean the romantic problems of Fanny and Mr. Cage?”

  “Yes; and also of Sophia and Mr. Deedes.”

  “What happened is very distressing of course; but why should you take it so to heart, Miss Jane? They are grown people who can take care of themselves, and it was not your doing.”

  “Oh! But it was,” replied I in some anguish. Since I had already told all to Fanny and Sophia, I knew that word would get out sooner or later—and so very quietly, in as succinct a manner as possible, I explained what I had done and why. To my relief, he did not appear to judge me, and when I was finished, said (quoting the Bard) with great seriousness:

  “The course of true love never did run smooth. I had no idea all this was going on. I thought we were just doing a play! But I must point out: not everything that happened was your fault.”

  I shook my head. “It was.”

  “I beg to differ. You may have set the stage, so to speak, and made a few subtle suggestions here and there, but it was up to the players themselves to enact their parts, and they did so of their own free will. It was Fanny’s choice to flirt with Mr. Deedes; the manner in which Mr. Cage responded was his choice as well. Furthermore, not everything you did was detrimental. I believe our play had one very beneficial effect where Fanny is concerned.”

  “What is that?”

  “It seems to have awakened romantic feeling in her at last; for—from what you tell me—it was only when Fanny observed Mr. Cage making love to her sister on the stage, that she came to realise the strength of her own affections for him. For that, you should be congratulated.”

  I laughed. “Thank you for your kind vote of support on my behalf, but that result was entirely unanticipated—indeed, it was the reverse of what I intended—and I can take no credit for it. I still feel responsible, for I indulged in machinations which were very wrong—but I have a plan to fix everything.”

  “What is your plan?”

  “First, we shall try a little magic at midnight.” I sifted through the petals in my basket, then glanced meaningfully at Fanny and Sophia, whose hands were idly engaged in the same activity.

  His eyebrow lifted. “The old legend? Well, it is said that magic is at the height of its power on Midsummer’s Eve, and a good time to look into the future, particularly for young maidens seeking suitors.” He looked at me intently, and the expression in his dark eyes seemed to hint at something as yet unspoken.

  I blushed and groped for words. “It is a whimsical notion; but I do not rely on magic alone.” I then revealed to him the rest of my plan: “I intend to ask my brother Edward to ride to Canterbury the first thing tomorrow morning, to speak to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes. If Edward tells them the truth of the young ladies’ affections, I believe—I hope—it will persuade both gentlemen to return to Goodnestone at once, to declare their feelings.”

  “An excellent strategy. I wish I could assist with this mission of yours, or take it on myself, but tomorrow my aunt Payler is holding a birthday party for me at Ileden, so I really cannot leave—I hope you are coming?”

  “Of course! I would not miss it for the world.”

  He seemed pleased. His gaze was now drawn to my own basket, and he added, smiling, “Are you going to strew rose petals yourself?”

  A blush took over my face; I grew so warm that I was obliged to remove my shawl from my shoulders. “If everyone else is doing so, I would not wish to be the only one left out.”

  “Oh! Certainly not. It is as good a ritual as any, I am sure. Did you know that in some countries—in the kingdoms of Scandinavia in particular—Midsummer’s Eve is the most celebrated holiday apart from Christmas?”

  “Is it really?”

  “There, it is said that if an unmarried woman collects seven different flowers and places them under her pillow, she will dream of her future husband.”

  “I had not heard of that.”

  Our private interview was interrupted as Sophia leaned over, and inquired: “What did you say, Edward, about flowers under a pillow?”

  He repeated his remark, which caught the attention of several others. Sophia laughed and said to Fanny, “Perhaps we ought to try that as well.”

  “All this fuss about petals and flowers!” cried Elizabeth. “It is amusing but very silly. Why do we even celebrate Midsummer’s Eve? Does anyone know?”

  “I do,” responded Edward Taylor. “Because Midsummer’s Day is my birthday, I have read up on it. From ancient times, it has been a festival of the summer solstice—the longest day of the year. The exact dates vary bet
ween different cultures, but because St. John the Baptist was born on 24 June, the Christian Church designated that as his feast-day, with the observance beginning the evening before. Some people believe that golden-flowered midsummer plants, such as St. John’s-wort and calendula, have miraculous healing powers if picked on this night. Just about every European country celebrates with the lighting of bonfires to protect against evil spirits, which were believed to roam freely when the sun was turning southward again.”

  The conversation had reached the ears of our elders now. Lady Bridges, with a pinched look on her countenance, said:

  “I am sure we do not care what they do in other countries, Mr. Taylor. English traditions are the only thing of concern here.”

  “I disagree,” remarked Admiral Fielding. “I find this all quite fascinating. What other rituals have you heard about, son—other than this rose petal thing?”

  Lady Bridges frowned and lapsed into silence, as Edward Taylor continued:

  “Well, witches were thought to meet with other powerful beings on Midsummer’s Eve. The bigger the fire, it is said, the farther the mischievous spirits stay away.”

  “Thank God we have a big fire, then!” cried my brother Edward, his comment meeting with laughter from the crowd, whose attention was all focused on Edward Taylor now. The servants, too, appeared to be riveted by his story-telling.

  “There is usually feasting and merry-making of course,” Edward Taylor went on. “In Bulgaria, it is thought that anyone seeing the sunrise will be healthy throughout the year. They have another curious tradition as well: they dance barefoot on smouldering embers.”

  A chorus of voices cried out in horror at this prospect.

  “I should like to see a demonstration of that,” cried one of the footmen, smiling.

  “So should I,” agreed Christopher Payler. “Cousin Edward: will you dance barefoot on smouldering embers for us?”

  Everyone laughed. Edward Taylor shook his head. “Thank you, Christopher; that is an interesting challenge, but one I think I shall decline.”

  “Sensible boy,” commented Mr. Payler.

  I was just thinking how commendable it was that Edward Taylor had declined such an awful dare (reflecting, I believed, a positive step in his personal growth), when he continued:

  “It is a far more widespread tradition to jump over the flames.”

  “Jump over the flames?” cried my mother. “Dear God! That sounds very dangerous.”

  “You wait until it is safe, of course. The practice occurs in too many countries to count—Germany, Russia, Croatia, Spain, Greece—to jump over the flames on Midsummer’s Eve is seen as a way of guaranteeing prosperity and avoiding bad luck. In Spain, it is done three times while crying ‘meigas fora,’ which means ‘witches off!’”

  “Jump over the flames for us, Cousin Edward!” urged Thomas Payler.

  The group laughed again.

  “We will have no such ridiculous displays here!” cried Lady Bridges. “Jumping over flames! I declare, I have never heard the like of it.”

  Charlotte turned to her brother in dismay. “Why do you persist in challenging each other in this infantile manner, Thomas?”

  Edward Taylor regarded his cousin from where he sat. “Are you daring me to jump over the flames, sir?”

  “I am. A pound note says you cannot clear the fire without scorching yourself or your clothing.”

  A great gasp went up at this.

  Edward Taylor thought for a moment, and said: “I will do it for nothing—I will jump three times—if you will make the jump once yourself.”

  I sighed and shook my head, dismayed. Did Edward Taylor learn nothing when Charles nearly fell from the tree? Did his apology following that debacle mean nothing? Here he was, debating another reckless challenge without a second thought!

  Thomas hesitated. The two young men eyed each other, the gauntlet thrown. A tense silence reigned for a long moment.

  One of the servants, his eyes wide, exclaimed: “This will be interesting.”

  “Do it!” cried Brook Edward. “Do it, the both of you! Jump over the flames!”

  A chant began, of youthful male voices repeating the challenge. I did not like the direction in which this was going. Although the fire had burned much lower now, it was yet hot and wide, the flames reaching perhaps two feet in height; to attempt to jump over it would be dangerous indeed. I agreed with Charlotte; it was childish, the way these two cousins baited each other. I was annoyed with Edward Taylor in particular. Why did he feel obliged to behave in such a manner? What was he trying to prove? Would Thomas rise to the challenge? I hoped not; if he said no, the matter would end there and then.

  Thomas stood, and said quietly: “I will do it, if you go first.”

  “Done!” replied Edward Taylor, rising with a smile.

  I groaned inwardly, also leaping to my feet. “Mr. Taylor, we have spoken of such things before. It is reckless!”

  He paused and shrugged slightly. “This marks one of those instances when reckless behaviour is called for: my reputation is at stake.” To the general assembly he cried, “Give me a moment to make ready.”

  I sighed again, my heart hammering in my chest, as Edward Taylor traversed slowly all the way around the bonfire, studying it, as if taking a measure of its height and circumference in his mind. He then walked some little distance away, where he stretched his arms and legs, presumably in preparation for his exertion.

  The crowd all stood in anticipation, the young ladies exclaiming alternately with worry and delight, the matrons shaking their heads, the older men made youthful by their excitement, the young gentlemen clapping their hands and shouting:

  “Jump! Jump! Jump!”

  Charlotte looked very worried. Cassandra grasped my hand and held it tightly. All eyes were on Edward Taylor. He leaned forward now, legs bent, his attention fixed on the conflagration before him; then he broke out into a run, made a mighty leap, and flew over the bonfire, easily clearing the flames as he cried gleefully, “meigas fora!” When he landed neatly on the grass on the other side, a cheer erupted; but he was not yet done. He still had two more attempts to make—both of which he completed with equal success. I felt relief course through me as I joined in the general applause.

  It was now Thomas’s turn. He had grown pale, his expression suggesting that he regretted making the bet.

  “Thomas,” cried his mother, “your cousin is lucky but very foolish. You need not follow in his footsteps. We have all been entertained quite enough for one evening.”

  “Indeed we have!” exclaimed Lady Bridges, frowning with disapproval at Edward Taylor.

  “A bet is a bet!” cried Edward Taylor—and all the men began chanting their agreement, followed in short order by most of the young ladies.

  I was alarmed by this foolhardy behaviour, yet at the same time, I could not help but feel a dash of excitement. Nearly all the young people and all the men, a very sizeable group, were clapping and calling out their encouragement, and the mood was infectious.

  Thomas’s mouth set with determination. Without further hesitation, he repeated the steps his cousin had taken, and then boldly ran and made his own leap. His feet seemed to just miss the uppermost edges of the flames, and his landing appeared rough, but he reached the other side with impunity. I again felt relief as another roar went through the applauding crowd. The two young men were clapped on the back by their admirers.

  One of the strapping young footmen now exclaimed, “I want to have a go!”

  Before I knew it, he had made his own jump. Additional voices cried out that they wanted to get in on the fun. The air seemed thick with excitement as, one by one, more young men followed suit, with those who had gone before sharing their counsel as to how to accomplish the hurdle. My brother Edward took a turn, as did Christopher Payler and two more of the male servants. To everyone
’s astonishment, even Frederic insisted on trying it, an endeavour which so terrified his mother that she could not stop shrieking (until I thought she might faint), and whose cries took on an entirely new tone upon his safe landing, reflecting pride and joy at his accomplishment, and the insistence that she had always known he could do it.

  With so many young men successfully jumping over the fire, the aspect of danger rapidly faded. What had seemed to me a reckless enterprise now appeared very differently. I could no longer accuse Edward Taylor of poor judgement, for what a merry time we were all having, with everyone laughing and cheering! How much more cheerful had the evening become, as a result of his bold ideas and daring nature!

  All at once, an unseen force took hold of me, which I could neither explain nor ignore. I felt an absolute need to prove to the group that I was not a quaking, pathetic girl; that I could be as brave as any man. Without a word, I strode to the point from which everyone else had begun their run, and assumed the runner’s stance.

  A small gasp went through the assemblage. I felt all eyes turn to me in unison.

  Edward Taylor let out a cheer. “Good for you, Jane!”

  Cassandra was aghast. “Jane, no!”

  “What do you think you are doing, Jane?” cried my mother. “Stop this nonsense at once!”

  I ignored their protests. I had seen many others make the leap. I felt equal to the task. I was not afraid; pure excitement coursed through me. I drew together the folds of my skirts in one hand and raised them above my ankles.

  I took a deep breath.

  I ran.

  Chapter the Thirty-first

  I flung myself up and over the hot, golden mass, my eyes on the dark stretch of grass on the other side.

  To my relief, I landed a foot beyond the edge of the fire. I was safe! However, I landed very hard, and a sharp pain coursed up through my right foot and ankle, causing me to stumble and pitch forward head first onto the ground, where I lay for an instant, dazed and mortified. To further my confusion, a male body hurtled to the ground immediately beside me, and quickly removing his coat, used it to bat forcefully at my skirts.