Jane Austen’s First Love

by Syrie James

  “Your gown has caught fire!” It was Edward Taylor.

  To my horror, from my prone position, I glimpsed sparks and flames in the region of my hem. There was some bustle as Edward Taylor continued to strike at my skirts until the flames went out; then he turned and loomed above me, his hands on either side of my waist, his face inches from my own.

  “Are you injured, Miss Jane?” said he with concern.

  My heart was racing so speedily, I thought it might jump from my chest. For a brief, thrilling interval, I found myself staring into his beautiful dark eyes, unable to utter a word. At last I responded: “I am fine—I think.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Jane!” It was my mother’s voice. The moment was over as she, my sister, and a dozen others rushed up to stare at me with worry.

  Edward Taylor helped me to rise, and he gave my hands a slight squeeze before letting go. As my right foot touched down, I again felt a sharp pain stab through it, but was determined not to shew any sign that I was injured. People were all around us now, and when they ascertained that I was upright and apparently undamaged, they broke into applause and a round of cheers and compliments in celebration of my achievement. Sophia embraced me with relief; my brother Edward shook my hand. But not all were as pleased with me.

  “Well!” cried my mother, frowning furiously. “I hope you are proud of yourself, Jane! What a ridiculous display! Jumping over the fire, indeed! You are fortunate you did not break your arm or your leg! Look what you have done to your gown—the hem is all in tatters! I dare say it is forever ruined!”

  “I am relieved to see you alive and standing,” whispered Cassandra, eyeing me with a stern look of censure.

  I was spared from responding to either of my relations, for at that precise moment, Elizabeth announced:

  “Good heaven! It is three minutes before midnight!”

  “Oh!” cried Sophia, Fanny, and Charlotte at the same instant. They, and a bevy of other young ladies, with cries of excitement, ran to fetch their baskets of rose petals. Cassandra held out her hand to me. “Come, Jane. Let us go make our wishes.”

  I darted a glance at Edward Taylor, but he was engaged in conversation with others now; and I allowed my sister to lead me away.

  “Are you limping, Jane?” said Cassandra with concern, after we had retrieved our baskets and shawls.

  “No,” lied I; but I could not hide my injury from my perceptive sister, any more than I could help favouring my left foot.

  “You are limping! Well, I am sorry that you hurt yourself, but glad that it is no worse.”

  Further reproach, I suspected, would come later; but I could not regret my leap, for it had landed me in Edward Taylor’s arms.

  As Cassandra and I moved slowly across the grass, my ankle smarted with every step. Although it was dark, the night sky was bright with stars, and the waning moon cast a glow luminous enough to light the entire area, and to see each other’s features. We stopped at a point some ways off from the bonfire, apart from the other young ladies, who had dispersed across the lawn. I saw them flinging petals into the air, and heard their cheerful murmurs as they recited the old Midsummer’s Eve saying, calling their loves to them.

  “Shall we?” said Cassandra eagerly.

  I nodded, scooping a handful of rose petals from my basket. We were about to begin when, behind us, I heard male laughter, and turning, became aware of an assemblage of young gentlemen standing around the edge of the bonfire, gazing in our direction and chattering with great mirth. Was Edward Taylor among them? I could not tell; but I felt my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

  “Do you feel silly doing this?” I asked my sister.

  “A bit,” admitted she, “but you promoted it with such enthusiasm to Fanny and Sophia, that I fear it would be rude were we not to participate. And—as we both have young men we should like to call to us—if it is true that magic is strongest at this very hour on Midsummer’s Eve, then we would be foolish not to try it.”

  “You are right. Let us not delay another moment!” In unison, we pronounced the ancient words as we scattered handfuls of rose petals into the night air:

  Rose leaves, rose leaves, rose leaves I strew;

  He that will love me, come after me now!

  We repeated the saying until no petals remained in our baskets. When the rite had been completed, the joy, exhilaration, and absurdity of the moment caught up to us, and we both burst out laughing. The other young ladies were returning to the bonfire; Cassandra, shivering, proposed that we do the same. Not wanting to admit how much my ankle hurt, and hoping I might escape notice if I walked back on my own, I said:

  “It is such a beautiful night, I think I shall stand here a few minutes longer, to contemplate the moon.”

  My sister warned me not to stay away from the fire too long, and she left me to my reflections.

  It had been a long and eventful day; when I looked back on it, I could scarcely believe that we had performed a Shakespearean play that very afternoon, and that the ensuing, dire consequences (Mr. Cage’s and Mr. Deedes’s departure, Fanny’s and Sophia’s broken hearts, and my first overtures to remedy the evils) had also occurred during the same period. I had yet to organise the final step of my plan with regard to those events—I needed desperately to speak to my brother Edward—and I was mentally preparing the speech I intended to make to him, when I heard a sudden foot-fall, and a deep male voice:

  “It is a lovely night.” Edward Taylor stopped not two feet from my side, eyeing the sky with a smile.

  I was alone, and distant from any other people; he could have come thither with only one purpose in mind: to speak to me. My heart drummed; I was thrilled and flattered. Around us, crickets chirped, and a light breeze rustled the leaves in the distant trees, as he continued to glance upwards. I struggled for something to say, at length returning my gaze to the heavens and uttering:

  “There is Boötes, the bear driver, and Arcturis.”

  “You know the stars and constellations?”

  “I often look at them at home.”

  “I believe that Boötes is the most ancient constellation in the sky. Homer wrote of it in The Odyssey. There is the Little Bear, my favourite.”

  “Mine too. And how bright Polaris is to-night! When I look up at a night sky such as this, I feel as if there can never be any sorrow nor evil in the world—that such a sublime canopy can only shelter harmony and repose.”

  “I quite agree. It leaves all painting and music and prose behind; even poetry cannot hope to accurately describe it.” We shared a smile. Unexpectedly, he added, “That was brave, what you did earlier.”

  “What? Jumping over the fire?” returned I carelessly. “You did it. So did many others.”

  “Yes, but we are men; as it turns out, it is not a recommended activity for a lady.” Observing my indignant expression, he added hastily, “Not by virtue of her sex; I mean only with regard to her attire. Clearly you had the prowess to complete the exercise as well as any man—but leaping over flames, it seems, is injurious to the health of a lady’s gown.”

  I laughed as I glanced down at my ruined hem. “I hope I can repair it with a border of lace or other fabric; otherwise, I fear I shall never hear the end of it from my mother.”

  “I hope she will not judge you too harshly. I admired your spirit.”

  “I admired yours. Although I admit, at the first, I thought it foolhardy.”

  “Sometimes one must let go of fear, and take a leap of faith—as you did to-night.”

  The look in his eyes was so admiring, it made me shiver. My thoughts scattered on the breeze. Again, I searched for something to say. It occurred to me that it was now Midsummer’s Day. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.” Frowning, he added, “Are you really leaving in two days?”

  “We are.”

  “I
will be sorry to see you go.”

  “I will be sorry to leave.”

  “Do you have any idea when you might return to the neighbourhood?”

  “No. Perhaps in a year or two? We will have good reason to visit, as my brother and his wife live here—and I look forward to becoming an aunt.”

  “If you return next year, or soon after—if my father comes home from Italy as planned—then we will all be living at Bifrons again. I look forward to welcoming you there, and to introducing you to my whole family.”

  “I should love to meet them!”

  “Pray, come back again in summer, or I may be away at Oxford.”

  “You do intend to go to Oxford, then?”

  “I doubt I shall have a choice, unless my father has a sudden, miraculous change of heart, and allows me to enter the military—but I do not foresee that happening.”

  “And after Oxford? What will you do?”

  “After Oxford? I shall return to Bifrons under my father’s rule, and—one day, I suppose, I shall marry.”

  It was the first time he had ever mentioned marriage, and my breath caught in my throat. “Who shall you marry, Mr. Taylor?”

  He smiled. “That remains to be seen. But I assure you: on that subject—the most important of all subjects—I will never be swayed by anyone else’s wishes, but must be free to follow my own heart.” As he spoke, he seemed to glance at me with meaning.

  My heart turned over, and my pulse raced. Was it truly possible that he would one day consider me as his bride? Yet I could not prevent myself from saying, my words slow and measured, “Surely, though, a gentleman like yourself will be obliged to marry a young lady of wealth and property.”

  “If being the eldest son affords a man any benefit at all,” countered he, “it is the freedom to marry for love, and not be dependent on an income from his wife.”

  “That is a fine sentiment,” persisted I, “in theory—but what if said eldest son found and wished to marry a respectable gentleman’s daughter, who had no dowry nor any property? Would not his family object?”

  “His family might indeed object, and he might find it difficult to be reconciled to such a match as well; but,” added he, his dark gaze dancing, “if the woman in question were intelligent, lively, spirited, good, and in possession of a pair of very fine eyes—if she made him forget every other woman he had ever met—I think it entirely possible that he would fall in love with her, and highly likely that he would marry her.”

  The affection in his eyes nearly made my heart stop. I drank in his words, feeling all the power and promise of them. I wanted to freeze the moment in time; I wanted to tell him what was in my heart. I wanted to say, I love you, Edward Taylor. If I had the nerve to say the words aloud, would he say them back to me?

  But our conversation went no further, for at that moment Thomas Payler’s voice came to us out of the darkness as he dashed across the lawn: “Edward! We are leaving!”

  The bubble around us burst. I became aware of much bustle at the bonfire site: the musicians were packing up their instruments, and all were gathering up their things. Thomas stopped before us, announcing breathlessly: “Mamma is cold and tired. Father has ordered the coaches to be brought round; we are to return to Ileden immediately. You are to come, now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Thomas ran back to join his family. Disappointment tore through me. “You have to go.”

  “I promised to go home with the Paylers to-night. They want me there in the morning for some kind of birthday surprise—I have no idea what—but I will see you at my party later in the day?”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Our eyes met and held in the moonlight. “I wish we could stay up until sunrise, like the Bulgarians. I feel that I could talk to you all night.”

  “I feel the same.”

  What happened next took me by surprise. He leaned in close—very close—and said softly: “We proved the ancient Midsummer’s Eve legend to-night, did we not, Miss Jane?”

  His nearness took my breath away; I could barely speak. “What do you mean?”

  “Did not you toss the rose petals and recite the saying?”

  I nodded.

  “Was it me you hoped would come after you?”

  A blush warmed my cheeks, silently admitting to the truth of his observations. He smiled.

  “Well: it is Midsummer’s Day, and here I am, answering your call.” So saying, he gently kissed my cheek. Drawing back slightly, he paused for a long moment, looking at me. Then he turned and strode away across the grass.

  I hardly know how I returned to the fire; I was in too dazed and blissful a state to notice the pain in my ankle, or to be aware of anything except the memory of Edward Taylor’s lips brushing against my skin.

  Cassandra, carrying our folded blanket, came up to me with a concerned look. “Jane? I have been waiting for you. Was that Edward Taylor with whom I saw you conversing?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is that smile about?”

  “Nothing,” replied I; but I thought I might die of happiness.

  As we began walking slowly back to the house along with the crowd, I would have been content to not say a word for hours. I was to be granted no time for private musings, however, for my brother Edward walked up to me deliberately, and noticing my limp, said,

  “Jane: did you hurt yourself when you jumped over the fire?”

  “Slightly. I took a bad step on my landing—as you no doubt saw.”

  “I am sorry. Allow me to assist you.” He offered his arm, and after I took it, continued, “I am sorry I did not have time to speak with you earlier. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  I was instantly reminded of my obligation to the lovers whose lives I had driven askew. I had been so engrossed in other things, that it took me a moment to reorganise my thoughts; I managed however to find the presence of mind to explain what needed to be explained, and to make my request of him. My brother listened with some dismay to my story, shaking his head at intervals, and finally said, with some perturbation:

  “Jane, you little devil; you have truly been up to no good. Let me see if I understand you. You have ruined the hopes and prospects of two couples, discovered the error of your ways, feel very bad about what you did, and now want me to fix everything for you?”

  I blushed with shame. “I am sorry to be obliged to involve you, Edward, but I see no alternative. I must get word to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Edward Taylor’s birthday party at Ileden. We are all expected to attend; yet you wish me to miss it?”

  “I do not wish it; but I thought—I hoped—that if you ride to Canterbury early in the morning, you could ride back to Ileden in the afternoon, and arrive in time for the party.”

  “And return afterwards to Goodnestone? That is a great deal of travelling in one day, Jane.”

  “It is; it is hardly convenient, I know, and again I am sorry. But you are great friends with Mr. Deedes! He told you himself how much he loves Sophia. Do not you want to help reunite them?”

  “I do. But I do not see this as my responsibility, Jane; it is yours.”

  “I agree; but what can I do?”

  “You have already apologised to Fanny and Sophia; that is commendable. Now, you ought to apologise to the other two parties involved. I will borrow a carriage and take you to Canterbury tomorrow, but you must speak to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes yourself.”

  “Myself! Oh! But—I thought it best that they hear such things from you. You are a man, and their friend and colleague; they will listen to you, not me.”

  “I disagree. I already tried to reason with both of them, and failed. No, Jane; you are the one who is privy to Fanny’s and Sophia’s hearts; this information must come from you.”

  “What information has to come from Jane?” cr
ied my mother, falling in with us as we progressed towards the house, and frowning with irritation at the evidence of my injured foot.

  My brother concisely acquainted my mother with the essential details of our conversation. She looked aghast upon hearing of my involvement in the lovers’ woes, and with anger and asperity, began the following harangue:

  “Well; this is beyond anything I could have supposed. You leave me speechless, Jane! I hardly know what to say! Only that I ought to have kept far tighter reins on your activities over the past fortnight! Profligate as I knew you to be, I was not prepared for such a revelation! This is beyond anything you ever did before; beyond anything I ever heard of in my life! And this is my reward for all the cares I have taken in raising you. Oh! Jane, you are an abandoned creature, and I do not know what will become of you. To understand that all this misery is your fault! Well! Your brother is entirely correct; you must put things to rights, and at once! But I will not hear of the two of you driving all the way to Canterbury and back. No; that would be a complete waste of time, for Canterbury is halfway to Godmersham, and our whole family is due to depart for that residence the very next day. No; that will not do. You must either delay going to Canterbury for another day, when we will already be on the road, for we will be passing right through that town on our way to Godmersham, and can easily break our journey there; or—if Mr. and Mrs. Knight are agreeable—we must all leave tomorrow, or should I say, today, for it is already morning. It would mean leaving a day earlier than planned, but I am anxious to get away in any case. Edward, I know you do not like to be parted from Elizabeth, but you would not be opposed to going home to Godmersham a day early, would you?”

  “I should be happy to oblige you, Mother, if that is your wish.”

  “It is not only my wish, but apparently Jane’s—and as depraved as has been her behaviour, we must allow her the opportunity to try to set things to rights. I do hope the Knights will approve, and the Bridgeses will not mind, for God knows, we have tarried at Goodnestone long enough. Godmersham is just that much closer to Steventon and your father; and oh! I do so long to go home!”