Mrs Austen immediately chipped in. ‘Of course, you have already won so many rich prizes in the last war, haven’t you? My son Frank told me all about it. And I understand that you have a good property in the Isle of Wight, which has been handsomely furnished.’
I looked around the room. Edward-John was standing there, his mouth slightly open and a frown knitting his black eyebrows. I knew the expression on his face: it was envy. He didn’t like to hear of another man being richer than he was. Augusta had pursed her lips and was doing her best to look like a concerned mother. Mr Austen looked uncomfortable, but Mrs Austen just sat there beaming, a broad smile of approval lighting up her weather-beaten face.
Thomas noticed this as soon as I did and he immediately addressed himself to her. ‘What do you think, ma’am?’ he enquired. ‘Do you think that your late sister, Jenny’s mother, would have approved of this match for her daughter?’
‘I’m certain that she would.’ Mrs Austen’s voice rose to its highest pitch to drown out something that Augusta was saying. ‘My sister Jane would always want the best thing for her daughter’s happiness.’
‘My dear,’ said Mr Austen tentatively, ‘I don’t feel that we can interfere. Edward-John––’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ Mrs Austen interrupted, the light of battle in her faded blue eyes. ‘As if I should not have the liberty of giving my opinion on this important matter for my only niece! Edward-John, I’m sure, will be guided by the experience of his aunt – as indeed his poor mother would have wished.’
‘After all, there can be no reason for him to want to retain Jenny since she no longer lives with them . . .’ put in Jane with an innocent air.
‘Jane!’ exclaimed Mrs Austen automatically, but not being a woman to disdain any weapon, she hastily added, ‘Not that there isn’t sense in what she says. You were happy to leave Jenny with us for the next few years, so why do you now wish to prevent her making this very advantageous marriage, Edward-John? It wouldn’t be anything to do with retaining her legacy for your own use for another four years, would it?’
Edward-John flushed an unpleasant blotchy shade of red, but Augusta was made of sterner stuff. She rose to her feet, her flounced gown sweeping around her.
‘After that insult, I fear that we must leave this house immediately,’ she said in her loud, bullying tone of voice. ‘Pray, sir,’ she addressed herself to Mr Austen, ‘send a boy to summon a post-chaise; we will take the midday stagecoach back to Bristol.’
‘Not so fast!’ Thomas leaned across the desk, his face coming close to Edward-John who flinched, drew back and gave a sideways look at his wife. ‘You haven’t given me any sensible reason for turning down my suit. You haven’t made any enquiry into my character or my prospects. You didn’t even want to bother asking Jenny whether she would be happy with me. I cannot take this rejection. What if we waited another six months before announcing any engagement? Would that change your opinion?’
‘Captain Williams,’ said Augusta sweetly, ‘I’m sure that you naval gentlemen are used to having your own way, but I must assure you that my husband and I are quite certain about this matter and nothing you can say will make any difference to us. Jenny is far too young to get engaged and certainly too young to get married. I don’t feel that any girl of less than twenty-one should be married, and I will not countenance a long engagement which would spoil her prospects for a better match. The answer is no, Captain Williams.’
She sounded quite certain as she said that final ‘no’. My heart sank. Of course, Augusta herself was in her middle twenties when she married Edward-John, and since everything Augusta does is always perfect, then of course no other girls should be married earlier than that. A feeling of panic rose inside me and I turned back to Thomas, who had made an impatient movement.
‘I wasn’t speaking to you, ma’am.’ Thomas dropped my hand and strode across the room to stand behind the desk, deliberately interposing his broad back between Augusta and her husband. Bending down a little, he gazed intently into Edward-John’s eyes. His own, I could see, were black with anger, and I wasn’t surprised when Edward-John, never the bravest of men, looked away. Thomas persisted though.
‘Mr Cooper, please listen to me for a moment.’ His voice had a note of heavy formality in it, and despite himself Edward-John looked back at him. ‘I have asked you for the honour of your sister’s hand. I am a man of good character, of a reasonable fortune and with good prospects. You can ask anyone. Ask the Earl of Portsmouth. Ask my uncle, Admiral Williams. I’m not demanding an immediate answer, though I would have hoped to get one this morning. What I am asking now is that you will consider the matter and let me know what you think as soon as possible. I would like to have this matter settled before I embark on my next voyage to the East Indies.’
I’m not sure whether Edward-John really was considering the matter, or whether he was too afraid of Thomas to give a direct refusal, but he definitely looked ill at ease, trying to avoid everyone’s eye and saying nothing.
Augusta, however, was not to be defeated. Now she boldly pushed her way past Mr Austen and took her husband’s arm.
‘Come, Edward-John,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m sure you feel that we have been insulted enough in this house. We will wait outside until the post-chaise is summoned. Pray, Mr Austen, ask a servant to fetch it and to bring down our travelling bags.’
She turned on Thomas.
‘Believe me, Captain Williams, we are acting for the best for all concerned here. Jenny, poor girl, has problems and would not make a suitable wife for you. I speak only for your own good, Jenny, but I must say that you have no grace of manner, no true politeness, no accomplishments worth having – these perhaps could have been compensated for by good looks, if you possessed them, but alas!’
And then she escorted her husband from the room and left everyone staring at each other. Mrs Austen was looking furious and Mr Austen distressed, but Jane burst into a loud infectious laugh and Thomas joined in. I laughed too and a broad grin creased Mrs Austen’s face. Somehow at that moment I left the last vestige of my fear of Augusta behind and saw her for what she was: a concentrated ball of spite and malice.
Once they had gone, the day was not unhappy. Thomas was very certain that they would change their minds. He said immediately that he would get his uncle, the admiral, to write to them. And Lady Portsmouth . . . And Warren Hastings for good measure . . . He was so sure this would succeed that I began to cheer up a little and to forget all that I knew of Augusta’s stubborn character. After church, Mrs Austen suggested that I take Captain Williams for a walk, and she gave Mr Austen a stern look when he tried to say something. I’m sure that my uncle felt that I should be chaperoned since no engagement was going to be allowed, but Mrs Austen, like Thomas, was determined that my story was going to have a happy ending.
‘Hold my hand,’ said Thomas softly as we passed through the gate and into the field beside Steventon parsonage. The sun was out and it lit up the pale yellow of the cowslips among the blades of new grass.
‘If only you didn’t have to go tomorrow,’ I said as I boldly gave him my hand. I shouldn’t have done really – we were not even properly engaged. Still, I didn’t care. I turned a smiling face towards him. I would pretend that all was well and that my brother was pleased to hear of my engagement and that everything was being planned for our marriage next year.
‘Tell me about your ship,’ I said, bending down and touching an early bluebell under the hazel bushes in the hedgerow.
‘Have you ever been in a ship?’ He asked the question with a smile and didn’t seem surprised when I shook my head.
‘One day you’ll come on a voyage with me,’ he promised. ‘I’ll make them fit up a snug little cabin for you just near the front mast and you can sit there and do your sewing.’
‘I’d prefer to be out on deck with you,’ I said boldly. ‘I would love that. I’ve seen the sea at Bristol. That’s just a port, but I can just imagine how wonderful it would
be if there was nothing but sea and sky.’
Thomas looked at me and smiled. ‘Wouldn’t you be frightened of the sea?’ he asked tenderly. ‘Not even in a storm?’
I thought about that. But then I shook my head. ‘No, I wouldn’t, not if you were there.’
‘Jenny,’ he said, looking at me intently, ‘I’ll always be there, I’ll always look after you and I’ll never allow you to be scared again.’
‘Not even of Augusta?’ But I laughed as I said it. Somehow, standing there with him in the clear April sunshine with his arm around my waist and watching the young calves race up and down the field, it seemed as if not even Augusta could be a threat to our happiness.
‘Certainly not of Augusta. She’s just a low-bred piece of nonsense. What possessed your brother to marry her? We will count ourselves as engaged, won’t we? Even if it has to be in secret . . .’
‘A secret engagement,’ I murmured. It seemed very romantic. I remember thinking that if only I could keep the way I felt in that moment within me, then I wouldn’t care whether the engagement was secret or whether the whole world knew of my happiness.
Now it is time for breakfast. Before I dress and go downstairs there is just enough time to write of what happened this morning. I had already put my journal away when I heard a creak of the stairs and then a soft footstep outside the door. I put my wrapper around me and ran to the door. There was no one there, but lying on the ground was a lovely bunch of forget-me-nots and a small box wrapped in gold paper. I picked up the little forget-me-nots and tucked the bunch into the lace of my nightgown so that they would lie against my heart.
And then, without my even knowing what I was going to do, I ran down the stairs. The front door had just closed cautiously. I flew down the hall, my bare feet making no noise, and opened the door. He had started to walk across the gravel when he saw me. In a moment he was back. He snatched me up from the cold, hard stone.
I was in his arms. Held against his broad chest.
And he was saying things . . .
Incoherent statements of love and endearment . . .
‘My darling, my darling, my darling . . .’ He must have said that forty times.
And I was trying to reply as he kissed the tears from my cheek as they fell.
It seemed only a second but yet almost like hours before he finally put me down.
The forget-me-nots fell out from the lace on my nightgown and on to the step. He snatched them up, put them to his lips and then gave them back to me, opened the door and gently put me inside.
And then he was gone and I was left holding the limp bunch of forget-me-nots that had been crushed between us when he kissed me.
And I have never been so happy or so miserable in my life, standing on the stone floor of the hall and remembering his last words, muttered in a hoarse whisper.
‘Keep these, my darling; they will be the symbol of our love.’
Wednesday afternoon, 13 April
Everyone was very nice to me at breakfast time. There was a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ when I came into the parlour wearing the beautiful little gold cross studded with tiny seed pearls that Thomas had left for me in the little box. The delicate forget-me-nots had been pressed. I would keep them forever.
All the family gave me presents. Mr Austen gave me a book of poems from his library, Mrs Austen a lovely little box for keeping letters in, young Charles gave me a drawing of my donkey that he had done himself, Jane gave me a purse she had netted and Cassandra a small needle holder made from neatly embroidered pieces of cloth. Frank had whittled a ring stand for me from a piece of cherry wood (congratulating me on being the same age as him now) and his older brother Henry (who was back from university) a coloured transparency of Tin-tern Abbey to put on my window. There was going to be a cake and perhaps even some whipped syllabub for supper tonight all to be a big surprise, Jane told me in a whisper. I think that everyone had prepared for a celebration of my engagement as well as my birthday.
Jane is doing her level best to amuse me and to take my mind off my troubles. This morning, after we had each brushed the other’s hair for the usual one hundred strokes, she took out her writing desk from the drawer, dipped her quill into the ink pot and immediately began writing. It’s amazing how fast she writes her stories. It’s very different writing down things that have happened – I only have to remember and to write the interesting bits, but she has to invent, and yet she does it so quickly. And this is what she wrote:
‘Stick it into your journal,’ advised Jane. ‘And then draw a picture of Augusta beside it and that should cheer you up every time you look at it. That woman is so madly jealous of you that she would do anything to spoil your happiness. Now let’s go up to Deane Gate Inn and meet Eliza. She’s coming on the stagecoach with James to escort her.’
James, of course, was coming for the grand performance of the play The Rivals (James had written a prologue) that we had all been rehearsing for ages. Eliza was his principal actress bound to be the star of the play. Eliza de Feuillide was Jane’s cousin, Mr Austen’s niece. She had been born in India, spent her early years in England, then as a very young girl had been taken to France and invited to dances in the court of Louis XVI and his queen, Marie Antoinette. She had met a French aristocrat, the Comte of Feuillide, and had married him. She lived in London with her mother and her little boy now as France was so dangerous with talk of revolution, but her husband visited her from time to time.
Some people, Jane had told me, whispered that Eliza was actually the natural daughter of the great Warren Hastings, the Governor-General of India. Whatever her birth, Eliza is incredibly sophisticated and worldly and Jane and I both love her. She gave us such good advice when we were both going to our first ball and got us ready, using her Indian shampoos something to wash our hair with – and some gorgeous soaps and bath oils.
The two of us were walking up the steep hill between Steventon, where Jane’s home was, and Deane Gate Inn, where the stagecoach stopped, and I was just asking Jane what she thought Eliza would say when she heard of Thomas’s proposal when we heard a shout from behind us and Henry came racing up the hill after us, his long legs covering the ground quickly.
Henry is Jane’s favourite brother – though I think that I like Frank the best. It seems strange to me now that when I met Henry first I fell in love with him and his bright hazel-coloured eyes. I don’t think that he was in love with me though, just flirting. Still, we are good friends now and Thomas likes him.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, pretending to pant. ‘I’ll come with you; knowing Eliza, there will probably be a hatbox or parasol that she needs someone to carry for her.’
‘James will be there,’ said Jane, but she was pleased to have Henry. I was a bit sorry because I was looking forward to talking to Eliza about Thomas and I didn’t think that I could do that while Henry was there.
The Austens, however, are a very close family and Henry seems to have decided to treat me like a sister now that he knows it no good flirting with me.
‘Poor Jenny,’ he said. ‘What a shame! I would have thought that your brother would have found Captain Williams a good match. What’s the problem? I asked Father but he was very tight-lipped with me and forbade me to discuss the matter.’
I wondered how he knew that Thomas had proposed, but Henry just laughed at me and told me that all the signs were pretty obvious.
‘You should have asked Mama; she would probably have told you,’ said Jane.
‘I was going to, but then I thought I would come and ask you instead.’ Henry turned an interested face from one to the other of us, his dark eyebrows slightly raised.
I told Jane to tell him, and she made a great story out of it. Even I had to laugh a little at her description of Augusta’s face when Mrs Austen asked Edward-John whether he was thinking about my legacy.
‘And of course he will have the use of that until you are twenty-one. Sharp old Mama!’ Henry gave a long, low whistle.
&n
bsp; I told him that I thought his father was a bit upset about it all.
‘He gaped like a fish when Mama said that about Edward-John wanting to hold on to you for the sake of your legacy,’ put in Jane with a grin. ‘Dear Papa, he can never bear to think badly of anyone.’
‘You’ll have to marry a lord, Jenny,’ said Henry. ‘That would be the only thing that would compensate Edward-John for the loss of your fortune.’
I told him that Jane was the one to marry a lord; that I would be happy with my captain from the navy. ‘And won’t Lavinia be jealous,’ I said to Jane, and we both giggled so much that Henry heard the noise of the galloping horses before we did.
Eliza and James were the only passengers on the stagecoach when it drew up in Deane Gate Inn yard. James, Jane’s eldest brother, jumped out, and before he greeted us he carefully handed out Eliza, who looked even smaller than usual standing between her two tall young cousins.
‘Jane! Jenny!’ She kissed us both, before standing on her toes and giving Henry a quick peck on the cheek.
‘Oh, but Pug!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve left my darling Pug. James, get Pug out immediately and let him meet his cousins.’
With a slight grimace James dived back into the carriage and emerged, rather red in the face, with the smallest and ugliest dog I have ever seen. James looked so funny holding him that I found it hard to keep a smile from my face and Henry laughed aloud.
‘Suits you, James,’ he said mockingly. ‘The latest accessory for an Oxford fellow – one pug.’
‘Here,’ said James impatiently, thrusting the pug into his sister’s arms.
‘Oh, he’s sweet,’ she crooned, and Eliza beamed with satisfaction.
‘I’ve got James to write some additional lines in the play. Pug will act in it too. I’m sure that Mrs Malaprop would have had a pug.’
Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend Page 2
