“A romantic notion,” said Henry affectionately. “Make it into a story. But I have written to Eliza. I do not expect my sisters to make my excuses.”
William Heathcote was not there. The card players, the girl with the harp, and the array of carefully arranged dishes were all present, but once all the guests were assembled, and no black-clad clergyman had made an appearance, Jenny’s nerves ceased to be jangled with every opening of the front door.
“Eliza must be the only woman in London who can make mourning look so glorious,” she whispered to her sister.
“When she leaves off her mourning clothes,” said Cassandra, “I predict her first gown will be gold. Look at all these ladies in gold. It must be this season’s colour.”
“Do you think she has remembered her promise to take us to a ball?”
“I am confident she has,” said Cassandra. “But Tom and Charles are supposed to accompany us, if you recall. Eliza is determined to procure that double wedding.”
“Determined she may be,” said Jenny, “but once and for all, Cass, I do not intend to marry your future brother-in-law.”
Supper was over. The music was about to begin. Eliza gathered her guests in the most beautiful room in the house. Jenny, who had made only one previous visit to Orchard Street, several years ago when Hastings was a baby, remembered this room well. It was not as large as the drawing-room, but it was classically proportioned, with French windows giving onto a balcony. Its faultless decoration and highly polished floor reflected the efforts of a large staff dedicated to the comfort of their mistress.
As she sat down on an upholstered chair of the highest quality, Jenny pictured the drawing-room at Steventon: its casement windows and the inglenook Papa refused to dismantle despite its old-fashioned appearance. I am lucky to sit amid luxury, here and at Godmersham, she said to herself as the harpist prepared to begin, but how many girls can go home and sit cosily in an inglenook as well?
During the applause which followed the first song, Eliza sat down on the empty chair next to Jenny. “I have not had a moment to speak to you, my dear,” she said. “Are you well? You look different. Older, I suppose. And wiser, do I detect?”
Jenny could only reply to this with a lowered gaze.
“But equally beautiful,” concluded Eliza.
“Cassandra is the beautiful one. But, yes, I am well.”
“Cassandra looks more careworn than I remember.”
“She wishes she could be married, I suspect.”
Eliza sighed. “If I were in her shoes I would have eloped long ago.”
“She and Tom would never elope!” Jenny was shocked. “Imagine what it would do to Papa!”
“I speak in jest, my dear,” Eliza assured her. “Though people do elope. Sometimes it is their only choice.”
“But does it ever result in happiness?”
“That depends on the participants and the circumstances. If a couple truly love each other, and there is no objection other than social, or financial, on the parents’ part, why should love not triumph over prudence?”
“You sound like Henry,” laughed Jenny, flipping open her fan. It was becoming hot as more guests, attracted by the sound of music, strolled in and took seats.
“Henry?” repeated Eliza blankly.
“Why, yes. He told me once that in his view, counsel never defeats love. Is that not exactly the same sentiment as you have just expressed?”
The harpist began; Eliza was not obliged to reply. Jenny listened to the song. The playing was brilliant, and the programme impressive in both taste and execution. Jenny’s own efforts to sing were dismal by comparison. When it was over, she turned to ask Eliza the young lady’s name, but the chair next to her was once more empty.
She did not see her cousin again until the company was dispersing. Eliza, a well-practised hostess, lingered in the hall with her guests. Jenny leaned over the banisters outside the drawing-room, watching her. The light from the chandelier fell on her jewels, subdued though they were, and her dark, brilliant eyes. Yes, Cassandra was right. Jenny could see Eliza dressed all in gold.
“There you are!” Cassandra came out of the drawing-room followed by an elderly couple. “Lord and Lady Portsmouth wish to take their leave of you.”
Jenny and Cass accompanied these old friends down the steps and spoke to them while their cloaks were being brought. Each sister received a compliment on her looks from Lady Portsmouth, who had not seen either of them for over a year. Lord Portsmouth, flushed from Eliza’s plentiful wine, told Cass that he thought Mr Fowle was a lucky man, and that Miss Jane would also “catch a good ’un”. Amused, Jenny saw them to their waiting carriage, kissed Lady Portsmouth and promised to visit soon, then waved to them as the carriage pulled away.
It was when she had half ascended the flight of steps to Eliza’s front door that Jenny heard the sound of another carriage stopping outside the house. A young man jumped down from the carriage without bothering with the step, as young men will. He was wearing his hat, and it was dark, but Jenny could see it was her brother Henry.
He paid the driver and started up the steps. He was about to take off his hat, but when he saw her he stopped, and left it on. In his eyes she saw an odd, almost feverish glow. She was about to greet him, but to her surprise he grasped her wrist and put his finger to his lips.
“Jenny, I beg you, be silent. Listen to me. Go back into the house now, and do not tell anyone that you have seen me.”
“Why?”
“Do not let Eliza, or Cass, or anyone else, know I was here. Will you promise?”
“Very well.” Jenny did not know what else to say. Though his face was shadowed she could see enough of it to be alarmed by the intensity of his expression, and the tightness of his grip on her arm.
“I am indebted to you,” he said. Then he spun on the ball of his foot as if ordered to do so by his commanding officer, bounded back down the steps and made off into the darkness of the street.
Jenny did not sleep that night. She lay in the dark for a long time, with Cassandra’s regular breathing a background to the scenes which revolved in her wide-awake brain.
Henry had promised to “try and join them later”, and had arrived in time to do so. So why did he change his mind about entering the house when he saw her? If she had not been there, it was clear he would have continued up the steps. She could only conclude that he had expected the party to be over earlier. He had expected his sisters to be in bed, and the house in darkness.
Beside her Cassandra stirred, flailing an arm which struck Jenny’s shoulder. Jenny gently returned the arm to her sister’s side, thinking, thinking…
When Cassandra had settled again Jenny fumbled for the candle-holder by the bed. Feeling her way to the desk, she lit the candle. The flame showed her that Eliza’s housemaid had tidied the desk that morning: the pen holder, the inkstand, the blotter were all in their places, and the pen-wipers had been replaced.
Elinor and Marianne lay in her trunk. Stealthily she took the manuscript out and placed it before her on the desk. She chose a pen and loaded it with ink. A drip fell on the manuscript. She blotted it slowly, watching her fingers turn the page over and back again, frowning and thinking.
Her encounter with Henry had given her another glimpse into the complications of other people’s lives. She was quite sure that he had been in pursuit of something when he alighted from the carriage. It could not be a woman – surely if he had wanted to meet women he would have attended the party. So what was it?
A new idea stabbed her heart, but she made herself consider it. What was the other thing men pursued endlessly, apart from women? Money. Always money, as Eliza had told her over another candle flame, on another sleepless night. Henry had no money, Eliza had a great deal. Could he be borrowing from her? Could her brother be in debt to his cousin?
Jenny tried to think. Men’s motives are many, and often obscure, she told herself. Mama always maintains that Henry would rather say anything than
own the truth, and this is an excellent indication of how fathomless are the depths of his private business.
Somewhere in this evening’s events lay the resolution of Elinor and Marianne, for which she had been searching for weeks and weeks. It was hidden amid Henry’s secretiveness and her own suspicion that his behaviour had its origin in financial concerns. She chewed the end of the pen, thinking, thinking…
Marianne and Elinor must both suffer from someone else’s secrecy. The point of the story was, after all, to show the two sisters’ different ways of braving the world’s disappointments. Marianne’s lover must marry someone else for money, and Elinor’s must be separated from her by a youthful indiscretion. Women and money, money and women, she said to herself. It is the way of the world.
She found a fresh piece of paper and replenished her ink, which had dried by now. Slowly at first, then faster, she filled page, then another. Then she sat back and chewed the pen for a few moments, and began to write again.
“Jenny! What are you doing?”
Cassandra had awoken, alarmed. She began to get out of bed, her braided hair swinging. “Is something amiss?”
Elinor, Marianne and their lovers disappeared into the desk drawer. Jenny picked up the candle. “Do not stir yourself. I could not sleep, that is all.”
“Are you unwell?”
“Not at all.” Jenny got back into her side of the bed and pulled the covers up. “I could not stop thinking about my story. I had to get up and write down my thoughts before I forgot them. Now, let us both go to sleep, or I shall be fit for nothing in the morning.”
“You may sleep late,” said Cassandra, already drowsy again. “There are no chores to do at Eliza’s.”
But neither sister was able to sleep late. The church clock at the corner of the street had barely struck six when Jenny awoke to find Eliza at the bedside. Looking gravely beautiful in a silk house-gown, with her hair still in curling papers, she shook Cassandra awake. Jenny hoisted herself up on her elbows. “Whatever has happened?”
“A letter has come by express post,” explained Eliza. “You are both to return to Godmersham at once. From there Henry will take you back to Steventon.”
“What is it?” whispered Cassandra.
“It is your sister-in-law.”
“Elizabeth?” Cassandra put her hand to her throat.
“No – James’s wife, Anne,” said Eliza. “Yesterday evening…” She caught her breath. Her voice began to shake; she would soon be in tears. “Suddenly she was struck by some sort of seizure, and died.”
Cassandra gave a small shriek and collapsed against her sister. Upon the foot of the bed lay the silk shawl Anne had embroidered for her only a few weeks ago.
“Our poor dear James witnessed it all,” said Eliza. She gripped Jenny’s hand. “I cannot stop thinking of that precious child, Anna. To lose one’s mother at two years old! Oh, my dears, how frivolous and stupid my little party seems now!”
Two Toms
“Here is a piece of news for you, Miss Jenny,” said Mama, looking meaningfully over the top of her spectacles. “His mother writes here that Charles Fowle has gone off to London, to study at the Inns of Court, after which he expects to be called to the Bar.”
It was December, the month in which Jenny’s birthday fell. This year’s, her twentieth, had been spent without Cassandra, who was spending Christmas at her future in-laws’ house in Berkshire and would not be back until Tom had embarked on a new chapter in his life, a journey to the West Indies. The winter was as cold as the previous one, when they had been prevented from attending the Christmas ball at Manydown House. Mama had insisted Jenny quit the upstairs sitting-room and sit with her by the drawing-room fire.
“You are still not quite well from that little fever you had,” she had said briskly, “and if you start coughing, there will be no stopping you all winter. Anyway, with a two-year-old living in the house there is no time for writing. Come along, Aunt Jane.”
So Jenny had unwillingly laid down her pen, wrapped herself in her thickest shawl, and was now sitting in the inglenook, watching the fire.
“Mrs Fowle seems very pleased that Charles is going to be a lawyer,” said Mama. She consulted the letter again, then laid it in her lap. “Now, Jenny, what profession would you have predicted that he would follow? I must confess that when he was a boy I always rather saw him as a soldier.”
“I remember that he used to march around with a stick over his shoulder for a rifle,” said Jenny. “But then, if you recall, my own favourite pastime at that age was playing with model animals, yet now I have no inclination even to own a pet cat.”
Her mother was not listening. She had bent down to attend to Anna’s latest request. “No, you cannot have my scissors, precious one, you are too little. Where is Baby? Did you leave her upstairs?”
Baby, a beloved doll, had been squashed behind a sofa cushion earlier that morning by an excited Anna, entranced by Kitty’s cleaning of the drawing-room. Following the maid about with a hand-brush had amused her greatly, but only for half an hour.
“There is nothing for the child to do,” observed Mama, retrieving the doll. “You and Cass always had each other, and when Charles was a baby he and Frank were inseparable. But a child alone… No, Anna, you cannot have my scissors. Think of something, Jenny!”
“I looked after her all day yesterday and have no more ideas.”
“Is that so?” Mama was exasperated. “What is amiss with you this morning?”
“Nothing, except that I am not quite well, as you have already told me. I would like to rest.”
“So I am the one to run around after Anna today, am I?”
“Mama, I was with her all day—”
“Yesterday. So you said. Well, when you have your own child, you will be its mother every day. I only hope your future husband will have funds enough for a good nursemaid.”
With an effort Jenny retained her patience. “Mama, I did not mean to sound selfish. But with Cass away my reserves of invention are under strain. Much as I love Anna, and however good a child she is, sometimes I need my sister to help me with her.”
Jenny’s mother took Anna on her lap. “Come, you sit up here with grandmama, and we shall nurse Baby. Shall you sing her a lullaby, to help her go to sleep?” Her eyes darted towards her daughter. “Speaking of future husbands, how much do you think a lawyer earns these days?”
“Oh, Mama, please!” pleaded Jenny, though she was relieved to see the mischief on her mother’s face. Sometimes, and this morning seemed to be one of those times, she struggled to avoid losing Mama’s favour, and however momentary the loss, she was always very glad to get it back. “May I speak of future husbands too?” she asked. “What do you suppose Tom is saying to Cassandra at this very minute?”
“That is not for our ears, Jenny.”
“But we know he is wishing her goodbye.”
“Very likely,” agreed Mama. Anna’s head lay against her grandmama’s breast. The child had dropped Baby onto the floor, and her chin had sunk onto her chest. Mama stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “Very likely,” she repeated softly.
Jenny knew that Mama was picturing the scene as vividly as she herself could see it. There was Cass in her bonnet and cloak, smiling bravely in the icy wind as Tom threw his pack onto the roof of the coach. Jenny knew exactly how he would look, holding his hat on with one hand and clutching his pocket-book in the other. He would stoop from his lanky height and kiss Cass’s cheek, and his mother’s. Then he would shake his father’s hand and climb up after his pack. Thrifty to the last, he would sit outside with the driver in all weathers.
“Tom will have left home by now,” observed Jenny. “He is on his way to Falmouth to wait for his ship to sail. Falmouth is in Cornwall, is it not?”
“It was the last time I looked at a map,” said Mama, still caressing her grandchild. The child’s eyes were closing. “Mrs Fowle mentions in her letter that he has a hard few weeks ahead of him; but the Fowle
s are all very proud of him for volunteering like this. And so should we be.”
Cass had confided to Jenny the strongest reason for Tom’s deciding to be an army chaplain and sail to the West Indies with his regiment. The colonel had offered Tom a better living when the expedition was over. A large house and garden, with a stable and dairy, Cassandra had written from the Reverend and Mrs Fowle’s home. It is in Shropshire, a village parish within jaunting distance of Shrewsbury. What could be more perfect? Tom is apprehensive about going to the West Indies, but he is prepared to do it in order to secure our future together. Oh, Jenny, I wish I had your talent for writing, so that I could express on paper how dearly I love him!
But Jenny had not communicated Cassandra’s words to Mama. With no sign of the war abating, she could not cause her mother further anxiety by telling her that the date of Cassandra’s wedding, and indeed her future security, depended upon Tom Fowle’s success with the regiment. But it was a commission he had little inclination for, and it might be dangerous into the bargain.
Instead, she drew the shawl closer around her shoulders and said, “We are proud, Mama. And we shall add him to the list of soldiers and sailors we pray for every night.”
Mama gathered the almost-sleeping Anna into her arms and rose carefully. “Jenny, my dear, you are not aware of this, since I take care to hide it so well. But I live on my nerves, wondering every day if bad news will come. And although Henry is safe at the University for the present, when he has finished his degree he will have to go back to the militia. Our dear Frank is still at sea, and Charles – dear God, Jenny, he is only sixteen! – will soon follow. Yes, we who are left behind can only ‘stand and wait’, as the poet says.” She indicated with her head for Jenny to open the door. “And, by the way,” she added as Jenny did so, “the invitation from the Biggs came today. The Manydown ball is to take place two weeks after Christmas, while Cass is still at the Fowles’. But I take it you wish to go, snow permitting…”
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