Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend

by Cora Harrison

  Jane shook her head wisely. ‘Jenny, you and I know that is not the way things are. Do you know what Harry was muttering when you were talking to Miss Taylor? Well, he was saying no honourable man would take advantage of a young girl like that. Wasn’t that splendid?’

  I agreed that it was splendid, but it troubled me. There was something very wrong about the situation between Elinor and Sir Walter Montmorency.

  Oh, Thomas, I will do my best for your sister. Jane’s probably right; there is something wrong.

  Tuesday evening, 26 April

  This afternoon we had some luck, because as we went down towards Sydney Gardens we met Elinor and her governess.

  We asked permission to accompany them and Jane suggested going into the gardens. Miss Taylor agreed enthusiastically, but just as she was in the middle of her sentence Elinor interrupted her and said that she didn’t want to go – that she hated the place. She sounded quite rude and I was surprised.

  Miss Taylor said nothing for a moment and then just said, ‘Very well, dear, as you please. Where would you like to walk?’

  ‘I don’t mind, Miss Taylor,’ said Elinor. Now she spoke in her usual dull tones and we didn’t get much out of her. Even when Miss Taylor stopped to talk to an acquaintance, telling us to walk on, Elinor said nothing. Jane and I grew tired of trying to get her to talk and started to chat to each other. Jane was making jokes about a man in such black clothes that she reckoned that he must be going to his own funeral. I was trying hard not to giggle when I caught sight of Elinor’s face under her bonnet. She didn’t look shy, she didn’t look bored, she didn’t have that same dull expression that she wore customarily; she looked jealous!

  I had guessed already that she was jealous of me because of Thomas. But perhaps she was jealous that I was Jane’s friend, or even that Jane was my friend. Or that we were having fun and she wasn’t; perhaps that was it. Certainly she was a strange girl, perhaps a bit spoiled and at the same time neglected.

  ‘Jane!’ I said suddenly on an impulse. I stopped and rubbed my ankle and then continued, ‘You’ve forgotten that you promised to call on Cousin Eliza this morning to give her a message. Miss Taylor, would you accompany her? I know that my aunt and uncle do not wish her to be alone in Bath, and unfortunately I seem to have twisted my ankle. Perhaps Elinor won’t mind keeping me company and we will sit on this bench and wait for your return.’

  I calculated that it would be at least twenty minutes before Jane and Miss Taylor arrived back from Queen’s Square so perhaps I should be able to get Elinor to talk in that time. As soon as they disappeared I seized the opportunity and asked her whether she loved Sir Walter Montmorency.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ said Elinor in furious tones. ‘And none of your friend’s business either, coming along like that and interrupting a private conversation.’

  ‘We were only trying to help,’ I said. ‘If anyone saw you, it would have been bad for your reputation.’

  ‘I told you . . .’ Her voice rose so high that a man passing looked at her in a startled way. ‘I told you that it is my business, not yours,’ she repeated in a lower voice. ‘I don’t interfere in your affairs; why should you interfere in mine?’

  ‘I think of you like a sister,’ I said quietly. ‘When—’

  ‘Well, don’t!’ she burst out. ‘And as for your getting married to Thomas, you can think again. The admiral has plans for him and what the admiral wants, he gets. Thomas won’t dare stand up to him. You’ll see; Thomas will marry the daughter of the Earl of Portsmouth.’

  Perhaps she was right, I thought. I sat on the bench miserably looking across at the square.

  ‘That’s my uncle’s plan anyway,’ she muttered. She seemed a little uncomfortable now. After a minute she said in quite a gentle way, ‘Does your ankle hurt?’

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ I said, giving it a rub. I felt rather deceitful, but she was looking at me in a much friendlier way now. I didn’t think it was true that Thomas was frightened of the admiral or that he would be willing to be dictated to by him. He was just not that kind of man.

  ‘Was your uncle very strict with you both?’ I asked that question with interest. Thomas and Elinor seemed so different that it was hard to believe that they had been brought up by the same man. I felt that I wanted to know more about the admiral.

  ‘Very,’ said Elinor. Suddenly she seemed more willing to talk. Perhaps that outburst had got rid of her feelings of resentment and that had done her good. ‘He used to beat Thomas – but not me,’ she added hastily as she saw the horror in my eyes. ‘But I was always terrified that he might. I think I annoyed him. He liked Thomas much better than he liked me. I never remember him being kind to me or praising me for anything.’

  ‘But you had Thomas, didn’t you?’ I felt very sorry for her. She had spoken so bleakly.

  Elinor shrugged. ‘Not often. He went off to naval college when he was twelve and then into the navy as a midshipman. Sometimes I didn’t even see him in the holidays because he would go to stay with a friend. He was always very kind to me though, and he took me away from that awful boarding school. He had a big fight with the admiral, my uncle, about it, and my uncle was furious. Thomas engaged Miss Taylor, but my uncle then insisted on paying her wage, so she just thinks about pleasing him.’

  She stopped for a moment and then added, ‘And now Thomas wants to get married, so my uncle would like me to be married also.’

  I told her that she didn’t have to get married and that if Thomas and I ever managed to get married then she could live with us, but I don’t think she believed me. And then Miss Taylor, followed by Jane, came trotting down the hill and rushed Elinor away.

  I’ve just asked Jane what she thinks about Elinor and she looked interested but didn’t reply – instead she started scribbling on a piece of paper. When she had finished she handed it to me.

  ‘Stick that in your journal,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll write a story about someone like her some day. I’ll call her Fanny. I always think that is a silly sort of name and she will be a silly sort of girl – creeping around like a little mouse and saying yes to her uncle no matter what he says. This is what someone says about her.’

  ‘Who’s the “I” in that?’ I asked as I glued it into my journal.

  ‘The baronet, perhaps,’ said Jane doubtfully. ‘Or perhaps it’s a man who really loves her. Or perhaps it is another girl. A sort of fun-loving girl . . . I haven’t made up my mind yet how the story is going to go. I know what Fanny/Elinor is going to be like though – very annoying to someone like me! I can’t stand people who are too good. Pictures of perfection make me feel sick and wicked.’

  I told Jane that I didn’t know why she found Elinor annoying – ‘After all, you never stop talking, so I would have thought you would like someone silent.’

  Jane made a face and said that Elinor didn’t even laugh at a joke. I knew what she meant, though I teased. It’s very hard to make conversation with someone who just says yes or no – and even the best jokes fall flat if someone doesn’t laugh at them.

  ‘Do you think that she is in love with Sir Walter?’ I really wanted to have Jane’s opinion on this as I found it very hard to make up my mind.

  Jane shook her head firmly. ‘She doesn’t look like you when you are with Thomas, all dreamy and adoring; she just looks scared.’

  I suggested that we could, perhaps, get her to fall in love with someone else. And then I got a sudden inspiration. Perhaps, I thought, Elinor’s jealous look at Jane was inspired by a love of Harry.

  ‘What about Harry Digweed?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Jane sharply. ‘What a union! Harry Digweed and Elinor!’

  ‘It would be a good match for him. Think of it. She has a dowry of fifty thousand pounds. He seemed fond of her and concerned about her that night at Sydney Gardens. He was even prepared to fight a duel on her behalf.’

  ‘A girl like Elinor is unworthy of being peculiarly, exclusively, passionatel
y loved by Harry Digweed!’ said Jane dramatically. After a minute she said pensively, ‘I wish Harry would go back to Steventon. What is he doing hanging around Bath for so long?’

  Before I could answer she said abruptly that she was going downstairs and she slammed the door quickly after her so that I could say no more.

  I wonder . . .

  Wednesday, 27 April 1791

  This morning we went for our second fitting. The gowns were looking beautiful but I won’t write about that now because something very strange happened afterwards.

  Jane and I had noticed that Mrs Leigh-Perrot was not as generous and open-handed as her husband; in fact, she was quite careful about money. Instead of buying herself a new gown for the ball on Saturday – she had worn all of hers at least twice to the Assembly Rooms during the season – she had decided to get an old gown remade in a more modern style.

  It had been a rich gown in its day. It was made from brocaded silk – coloured green with red flowers. Originally it probably was a wide, full-skirted gown, such as Mrs Austen wore, the sort of gown that, ten years ago, would have had panniers under it to hold it out at the sides, but now the dressmaker had cut away most of the fullness, just leaving a loose back falling in straight folds. It had an under-gown made from muslin, which showed at the bosom and wrists. Jane and I signalled with our eyebrows that we did not think much of it, but Mrs Leigh-Perrot seemed very satisfied and asked the dressmaker to wrap it up.

  So then we set off, Mrs Leigh-Perrot, an upright stately figure in her well-fitting green pelisse, carrying her gown in her basket, and Jane and I trying hard not to dance down the pavement. It was so exciting to be in Bath. I was feeling cheerful and full of energy. This morning Mrs Austen had whispered to me that Edward-John and Augusta (of course) were coming on Friday and going to stay for the weekend. She patted me on the shoulder with a smile on her face, and I knew she thought that my troubles might be over. It was one thing a poor clergyman like Mr Austen, with his nine children to provide for, asking Edward-John to consent to my marriage with Thomas, but another thing completely for the wealthy and childless Leigh-Perrots to ask the same favour.

  And then Mrs Leigh-Perrot stopped in front of a shop in Bath Street. It wasn’t as nice a shop as most of the ones on Milsom Street. It had a faded, run-down look. The windows were dirty and the paint peeling. I remembered the place – it was Miss Gregory’s shop, where Phylly eventually consented to choose a bonnet, after we had tried every other shop from top to bottom of the city of Bath.

  ‘Let’s go in here, girls,’ said our aunt. ‘I want to get some black lace to trim the gown. My maid will be able to do it for me.’

  ‘Why is she going into that horrid shop?’ whispered Jane as we followed the stately figure in.

  I frowned at Jane and shook my head. Iwasn’tgoing to risk offending Mrs Leigh-Perrot now, just two days before Edward-John arrived. In any case, it was her own business where she chose to buy lace. Probably it was a few pence cheaper there than elsewhere!

  She spent a long time choosing her black lace, doled out the one pound, nineteen shillings that it cost and then insisted that it should be wrapped up in the same parcel as her gown.

  So the man assistant took away the brown paper package to his own counter, undid the string and wrapped up the card of black lace and did up the parcel again while Aunt Leigh-Perrot inspected all the other cards of lace – black, white, pink, green and blue – to be certain that she had got the best bargain that the shop could offer.

  Jane got bored with all of this and told Mrs Leigh-Perrot that we would wait for her outside on the pavement.

  When we got out we saw Eliza chatting to Monsieur Baddy just outside the lending library. He had taken a small flat package from his pocket, which he presented to her. Eliza did a quick little dance of joy on the pavement and he kissed her hand with a very grand air and went on down the street smiling happily to himself.

  Then Eliza waved to us and we crossed the street.

  ‘Madame.’ Eliza curtsied respectfully to my aunt, who had just joined us, and then hugged and kissed the two of us.

  ‘How pretty you look,’ she said. ‘Oh, to be young again!’ She sighed and looked melancholy for a moment, but then her eyes sparkled again.

  ‘I have news,’ she said. ‘The Princesse de Lambelle is in town!’ She said it with such a dramatic air that passers-by turned their heads to look at her.

  ‘Who’s the Princesse de Lambelle?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Ma chérie!‘ exclaimed Eliza. ‘Do you not know?! The Princesse de Lambelle is one of Queen Marie Antoinette’s very best and most intimate friends. She is come straight from my beloved Paris.’

  My aunt was interested in this news and wanted to know immediately where this Princesse de Lambelle was staying. Upon hearing that the Princesse de Lambelle and her household had rented number 1, the Crescent, she nodded her head sagely. I remembered how we had watched a huge travelling coach unloading enormous quantities of goods, and how the smartly dressed footmen were rushing in and out on the day when we had walked up there.

  ‘And that is not all,’ said Eliza, her eyes going from my face to Jane’s. ‘There will be a ball there and mon petit ami Monsieur Baddy, has procured four tickets of invitation. What do you say to that, mes petites?’

  ‘Oh, Eliza!’ gasped Jane. ‘Do you mean us? Go to a ball given by a princess! Oh, Jenny!’

  We hugged each other right in the middle of the street, taking no notice of Mrs Leigh-Perrot.

  But then Phylly appeared from the library doorway, declaring loudly that there was nothing there that it was possible for someone like herself to read.

  ‘Idle scribblings lead to an idle, dissipated life,’ she declared.

  Suddenly my heart sank. Four tickets. Phylly was Eliza’s guest. She would have to be one of the four. The same thought obviously occurred to Jane, and she stared at Phylly in dismay.

  And then Eliza’s happy face became worried. All three of us looked from Phylly’s disapproving face to one another.

  The terrible thing was that Phylly would probably hate the ball, make Eliza uncomfortable and conscience-stricken during the evening, then spend the following day criticizing everything and everyone.

  However, she was Eliza’s cousin and guest so she had to go. And Jane was Eliza’s cousin. I was no relation. I was the one that had to be left out.

  I was just opening my lips to say this, but Jane was quicker.

  ‘Eliza was just telling us about the Princesse de Lambelle, the best friend of Marie Antoinette,’ she said in solemn, hesitant tones. ‘What do you think of Marie Antoinette, Phylly?’

  Phylly pursed up the lips of her tight little mouth. ‘It’s not for me to criticize a queen,’ she said to my disappointment, but then couldn’t resist adding sharply, ‘however, she is not a good example to young girls like yourself.’

  ‘Oh, why?’ breathed Jane, opening her eyes in wide innocence.

  Phylly hesitated but could not resist it. ‘Debauched,’ she said bluntly. ‘That is the only word that can describe her.’

  ‘Oh!’ Jane looked shocked. ‘And what about her friend, Madame de Lambelle?’

  Phylly shuddered. ‘I should prefer not to talk about her!’ she said. ‘I cannot bear to relate the scandalous stories that I have heard.’

  Eliza now decided to lend her own considerable acting ability to Jane’s performance.

  ‘But, Phylly,’ she said with a gay little laugh. ‘No one cares about these things nowadays. That is very démodé. I’m sure you will want to accompany me to the ball that the Princesse de Lambelle is giving next week.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Phylly piously. ‘You could not ask that of me, Eliza. I will be happy with my Bible and a dish of tea. You go to the ball and I will wait up for you.’

  ‘If you’re sure, Phylly dear,’ said Eliza meekly and allowed herself to be dragged away by Phylly who wished to pray at the abbey. As they went along, Eliza glanced over her shoulder and
gave us both a tiny wink.

  And then I spotted Miss Gregory coming out of her shop. She crossed the road and stopped squarely in front of us.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but did you by mistake take a card of white lace as well as the black?’ she said to Mrs Leigh-Perrot. Her tone was superficially polite but there was an edge of insolence under it.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Leigh-Perrot sternly. ‘I bought, and paid for, a card of black lace and no other.’

  ‘There must have been some mistake. My assistant says that a card of white lace is missing from the pile that you looked at.’ The woman was still polite, but quite insistent. I saw the man who had wrapped the parcel come out of the door of Miss Gregory’s shop.

  ‘Look for yourself,’ snapped Mrs Leigh-Perrot. She handed the basket impatiently to Miss Gregory and stood back, staring at the woman with a frown on her face.

  It only took one minute for the parcel to be unwrapped. The card of black lace bought and paid for by my aunt was on top of the remodelled gown, but underneath it, hidden in the folds, was a card of white lace.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Leigh-Perrot eyeing it stonily, ‘your young man must have put it in there by mistake. It was he who wrapped the parcel.’

  ‘No such thing, no such thing!’ Miss Gregory screamed the words out in a loud and agitated voice, adding, ‘You stole it. You’re guilty of theft.’

  ‘Take it away and mind your tongue,’ snapped Mrs Leigh-Perrot. She snatched the basket from Miss Gregory, thrust the white lace into her hands and set off at a great pace. We hurried after her, exchanging glances, but she did not speak to us until we reached the end of George Street.

  ‘Not a word to your uncle about this,’ she said. ‘I won’t have him worried.’

  ‘Do you think that she did it?’ Jane whispered to me, but I told her not to be silly.

  And then we had a nice discussion about our new gowns. I thought that we should save them for the ball at the Crescent as I thought this would probably be a more grand affair, but Jane wanted to wear her ‘daffodil’ dress at the Assembly Rooms on Saturday.