For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel

by Shannon Winslow

  I had to admit the logic of his argument. “Why did you not tell me all this before?”

  “Would you have listened if I had? Your outrage was so powerfully engaged in Agnes’s defense that I thought you would only hate me the more for attempting to defend myself, especially at her expense. You would not have thought any better of me for accusing her of willfully misconstruing my intentions, or so I believed at the time. I rather hoped Agnes would clear things up herself when she recovered her objectivity, that she would tell you the truth about what had happened or show you my letter.”

  “Your letter?”

  “Because she would not see me again, I had no other recourse. I wrote down in a letter everything I have been telling you – everything I tried to explain to Agnes that first day. I sent it to her from Oxford a few weeks later, when I hoped she would be calm enough to study and understand it.”

  “Oh!” My hands fly to my face. “She never read it; she threw it straight into the fire.”

  “She told you this?”

  “I was there when she did it! How I wish now I had attempted to stop her. Her suffering might have been over much sooner if I had. To this day, I believe she still regards herself as grossly ill-used, and you a villain.”

  “Well, she is happy now, and I am glad for it. It no longer signifies what she thinks of me. Have I redeemed myself in your eyes, Jo? That is what I wish to know.”

  I hesitate. Tom’s theory of Arthur’s ulterior motive still haunts me; it must be settled before I can be at peace.

  “A point of clarification first, if you please. According to your telling of the story, your desire to ‘free’ Agnes from her obligation to you was driven solely by benevolent intentions. Was there no self-interest involved at all? No thought for making a more advantageous match yourself?” Although Arthur says nothing, a wave of scarlet floods up from his neck to overspread his face. With that evidence and his guilty look, I have my answer. “Yes, I suspected as much. Perhaps Agnes was not so very far off the mark in saying that you would not take her because she had no dowry. Thank you, Mr. Evensong. I believe I now have the full picture, and I must beg to return to the house. Good day, sir.”

  As I turn away, he restrains me with a firm hand on my shoulder.

  “Wait, Jo,” he says in a commanding tone. “Remember your promise to hear me out. You do have the full picture before you, yes, but you refuse to see it! I admit, I did hope for a more advantageous match, but in the way of affection. It was never about money. As I have already told you, I attempted to release Agnes in Bath, before she lost her dowry.” He pauses to compose himself, then continues more calmly, “She did not love me anymore than I did her; I am still convinced of that. The feelings that bound us together were ones of habit… duty… and the expectation of others. I wanted a better fate for myself and for her. I rejoice that she has found her happiness with Mr. Cox.”

  “As do I.” I take a moment to consider all that he has said. Much to my surprise, Arthur has answered my every objection and, in doing so, acquitted himself of any serious dishonor in the case.

  He continues, saying gently, “Likewise, I hope one day to be so fortunate as to marry the woman that I love… if she will have me.”

  His vivid, blue eyes seek some sign of encouragement in mine. This time I am the one to blush. I take his meaning without resentment, being now at liberty to accept the compliment with no question of disloyalty to Agnes.

  “I see that you understand me, Jo,” he says. “That is enough for now; I will not press you further.”

  With considerable difficulty, I force myself to speak. “You have given me a great deal to think about, sir.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” he says with a diffident grin. “A fine mind like yours should not be left idle.” He turns to go, calling back behind him, “Until tomorrow then?”

  “Yes, Arthur, until tomorrow.”

  41

  Food for Thought

  So I go to the Evensongs’ next morning as promised, feeling very conscious of everything Arthur said yesterday and my thoughts derivative to all the waking hours since. Robert is not immediately present, but both his brothers are there to receive me. From the way John is brooding, however, curled up in his favorite chair by the window at the far side of the room, I surmise he has not taken the news of Arthur’s departure well.

  “Miss Jo is come to visit you, John,” Arthur says. “You must exert yourself and be a bit more cheerful, so she will know how glad you are to see her.” His words having little effect on his brother, he then turns to me. “I’m afraid John is quite put out by my going. It seems I leave you with a challenging charge.”

  From the earnestness of his gaze, I suspect Arthur has more than his brother’s welfare on his mind. I try to lighten the mood. “Not at all. I daresay John and I will get on splendidly once you are out of the way. Do not flatter yourself, sir, that you will be so very much missed by either one of us.”

  He smiles. “I shall flatter myself a little further still by presuming you are only teasing. I should be sorry indeed to think my absence shan’t be at all regretted.”

  “Of what duration is your absence expected to be this time, Mr. Evensong? You will not stay long away from your friends, I trust, not unless you wish us to forget you entirely.”

  “Oh, your tongue is sharp today, Jo. Still, I intend to bear it with philosophy. It is worth everything to hear you include yourself amongst my friends again.” A passage of silence rests comfortably between us. Through it we can only stare into each other’s faces, as if for the first time. Then Arthur continues solemnly, “Yesterday you said I had given you much to think about. With your permission, I would now give you one more question to consider.”

  “I scarcely know if you should,” I say with trepidation. “I’m not sure I am prepared for any questions of a serious nature.”

  “You needn’t be alarmed. I will not distress you by renewing the subject I alluded to before. You may regard this as a totally unrelated matter, which indeed it may prove to be in the end. I only want your advice about my career.”

  “Your career?” I repeat in surprise. “Really, Arthur, I fail to see where I can be of any use to you there. I am not qualified to offer an opinion on that subject.”

  “Nevertheless, I will tell you my difficulty, if I may. You see, I have been offered a fellowship at Oxford, and I must decide whether or not to take it.”

  “A fellowship? Congratulations! That is quite an honor. Then I do not see your problem. I should think you would jump at it.”

  “Yes, it is an excellent opportunity. It would provide me a generous income whilst giving me a chance to teach and build up my professional reputation – all very agreeable. And, as it happens, I have no other viable prospects at present. Alongside all the benefits, however, the fellowship does carry with it certain inherent drawbacks. I would be obliged to continue living at Oxford, away from my home and family. That goes without saying. Also, as is traditionally the case, I would be required to remain a single man as long as I hold the position. I could perhaps resign myself to these conditions for a short time, but I have been asked to make a commitment of five years.”

  “Five years! That seems a bit unreasonable. How can you – indeed, how could anybody – predict the way your circumstances might change over such a lengthy period?”

  “Exactly. So you see my difficulty. Still, I cannot justify turning down such a valuable offer without due cause. Perhaps you would be so good as to turn your mind to the question now and again. When I come back in a few weeks, I shall be most interested to know if you can give me any compelling reason why I should not accept the position.” His look, no doubt intended to be innocuous, is full of latent significance.

  So the question is there after all, suspended in the charged air between us. Yet Arthur has phrased it so gracefully that we can both pretend, for the time being, that it has not been asked. It is much like the elephant in the room that everybody has tacitly agree
d not to talk about; the weighty item must perforce be dealt with eventually, but as long as it is well-behaved, we are free to act as if it is just another comfortably overstuffed chair.

  A moment later, the spell breaks as Arthur says, “Well, I must be off.”

  I collect John to walk outside with us where Arthur’s horse is saddled and ready. Robert Evensong appears in time to shake his brother’s hand and see him ride away, but it is to me that little John looks for comfort. With Arthur gone and the boy clinging round my waist, I say apologetically, “I hope you will not find my presence here an imposition, Robert. Arthur asked me to come. I only wish to help. You must tell me if I begin to make a nuisance of myself.”

  “I hardly expect it will come to that, Miss Walker,” he says in an oddly detached manner. “You are welcome to visit as often as you like. John is sure to be glad of your company since I have neither the time nor the talent for entertaining children.”

  Arthur was right; it is good that I am here. I can see that now.

  ~~*~~

  With my duty clear, I fall into the habit of spending a portion of nearly every day with John, either at his house or mine or somewhere in between. Mama does her part, yet it quickly becomes apparent that it is to me that John has become most attached. I read to him; I help him with his simple lessons; we play games; he accompanies me on my errands of business – anything to divert his attention from the grave misfortune that has befallen him. Alas, none of my contrivances distracts him for long. I am searching for a more substantial diversion when one day inspiration strikes.

  “John, I need your help with something,” I tell him. “I am having a great deal of difficulty with my new story. You being so very fond of stories yourself, I thought you might advise me.”

  “You want my help?” he says with an expression of wonder.

  I can see immediately that he is pleased and intrigued. “I do. You have given me first-rate suggestions before, so I make no doubt that you will know how to help me now. Perhaps we could even work on the story together. Would you like that?”

  “Oh, yes! Is it another animal story? Those are my favorites.”

  “Mine too. But what kind of animal should I write about this time – dog, cat, mouse, or mule? I cannot choose. And what should be the creature’s name, do you think? As for the sort of adventures that might come his way, I haven’t a clue. So you see, I have barely begun and already I am in need of assistance. Come to Fairfield tomorrow, won’t you? Bring all your best ideas and we shall write it together.”

  What starts as an entertainment develops into a highly therapeutic exercise for us both. My young apprentice suggests that our hero should be a bear cub – one who is all alone in the world, both his father and mother having been taken by the circus. Our orphan’s name will be John, we decide. The story develops bit by bit over the course of the next week. In the beginning, the cub hides in a cave, lonely and afraid after losing his parents. Then slowly, he finds the courage to explore the world and make new friends. John’s imagination knows no bounds, and yet he is tractable, allowing me to lead the way for how best to incorporate his ideas into his namesake’s tale.

  “Well, John, I think you and I make rather a good team,” I tell him after a productive session. “In fact, I believe our book is nearly finished. But perhaps John Bear should have one last, grand adventure before we leave him. What do you say?”

  “Yes, Miss Jo. I think he might wish to travel to town to look for his parents.”

  “To the city? Hmm, it would be a long journey for a little bear. Do you really believe he could undertake such a thing all by himself?”

  “He could! He… he could… if he heard the circus was going to be there… and if he thought he might see his Mama and Papa again. I am sure he would do it. He is grown very brave now. Is that not so?”

  “Indeed. No doubt he would have been afraid before, but no longer. It certainly would be a great adventure and a fine way to end our story. Very well; you have convinced me. We shall write just what you suggest.”

  In the end, the intrepid cub not only travels to the city, he finds the circus and rescues his parents, this last turn in the plot also being John’s idea. After some judicious editing and the addition of a dozen simple illustrations, my co-author and I are well pleased with our completed book. I sew a binding on and add it to John’s collection.

  ~~*~~

  Apart from the time spent with little John, my mind is much engaged with thoughts of his elder brother. Arthur made his sentiments plain before he went away whilst generously asking nothing of me in return, except that I reflect on what he said. He would no doubt be gratified to learn that I think of little else. What I so lately considered unimaginable – a match between us – seems now a perfectly reasonable possibility. The knowledge that Agnes is happy and Arthur innocent changes everything. Whereas before Arthur’s rumored regard for me seemed in the poorest taste, the confirmed admiration of such a man now strikes me as the highest of compliments.

  I am intrigued. I am flattered. And as to compatibility of temperament, there can be no reservation; he is exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit me. But that is not love, I remind myself. After all, such a revolution of sentiments cannot be accomplished overnight. It must be built up by degrees.

  Construction, therefore, commences immediately with the prompt recovery of the profound respect I long felt for Arthur when he was my friend and Agnes’s intended. To that not inconsiderable foundation is soon added the gratitude that he should love me above any other. Then, as I give myself permission to remember them, I count every tender thought and secret longing for such an outcome, every guilty thrill of pleasure as a look or touch passed between us. I am in the middle of the process before I know it has begun.

  Giddy excitement nearly overtakes me as I become more and more convinced that I have, in some fashion or other, been in love with Arthur Evensong all my life. My feelings only wanted the fullness of time and circumstances to flower into romance, a romance of a more complex and mature flavor than I have known before. The affair with Richard seems but a pale shadow, and every comparison to him only serves to increase the favorable light in which Arthur now stands.

  Before I can be completely run away with by my feelings, however, inconvenient voices intrude upon my otherwise pleasant reflections. The first nagging utterance comes from my father. In my mind, I hear him repeating how “no poor parson” will satisfy his marital ambitions for his daughter. The next irritating reminder points out that Arthur is indeed poor. Were we to marry, what could we hope to live on? Finally, I picture Agnes telling me once again that she will never forgive Mr. Evensong.

  All this – Agnes’s friendship, financial security, and my father’s approval – I would be prepared to risk in order to gain an object of such superior worth. Yet how would Arthur profit by the bargain? He would have a wife who loved him, but who could do nothing to promote his interests by either fortune or connection, and even less to enhance his future prospects. In the realm of church politics, where reputation is everything, I could only hinder his chances of advancement, a point further emphasized by information I receive in a letter from Susan:

  “…I know not how it happened, but Mrs. Ramsey has found out about our plans to marry without her permission. Mr. Ramsey and I were prepared to bear her disapproval when the time came, so it is of little consequence to us. What I am most sorry for is that she has placed a heavy portion of the blame for this ‘unmitigated disaster’ upon your shoulders, my sweet friend. By arranging rendezvous for us in Wallerton and London, and by your financial assistance, you have gained our eternal gratitude but also Mrs. Ramsey’s implacable wrath. She and her fast friend, Mr. Randolph Pierce, have sworn to do everything in their power to sink your prospects and thwart your purposes. That your kindness should be thus rewarded, I regret extremely.”

  And so do I. Mrs. Ramsey can do nothing to me personally. But, with her meddling fingers sunk deep into th
e pie of church policy, she might do incalculable damage to Arthur’s career, were he to ally himself with me. I am fully acquainted with his professional ambitions, and likewise convinced of his claim to ultimate success; a man of ability, strong will, and character must rise to the top in the end. It would be selfish to ask Arthur to sacrifice it all – the fellowship at Oxford and the hope of high holy office – for the dubious honor of marrying me. Indeed, it would be unkind to allow him to make such a grave error.

  42

  Coming to Conclusions

  I am not insensible to the irony of my current situation. Although I am relieved to be free of the wealth which made me an object of prey to fortune hunters, I am not so well pleased that my relative poverty renders it impractical for me to marry where I choose. And now that I realize I would choose Arthur, it seems morally wrong that I should accept him.

  I acknowledge the paradox, but I cannot laugh at it. When I consider the last several months of my acquaintance with Arthur Evensong, all I can do is sigh at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance and would formerly have rejoiced in its termination. Perhaps it might have been better for all concerned had I never suffered my sentiments to be so lately transformed.

  It is the middle of September and Arthur’s return is everyday expected. To keep myself busy and my mind from brooding, I once again solicit little John’s company, this time for an outing on horseback. He shares my relish for the sport, and I prefer his society to the hovering presence of a servant, who would otherwise be assigned to escort me on my ride. Fresh air and a gallop through the shades of Fairfield have always served well to clear my head. I hope for the same efficacy today.