by Jane Lark
“Of course,” Cassandra answered.
It would be the two of them and Mr Butler then. Jane could not think of a better combination. She would be able to ask as many questions as she wished, without feeling awkward, restrained or judged.
A sense of strangeness, of idiocy, grasped her, as the word trust whispered through not only her head, but her soul. Why did she think she might say all she liked before Mr Butler? She would not speak so before others she had just met…
It was enchantment. It was his beguiling smile and those fine eyes.
She smiled at herself once more before taking a sip from her chocolate. Had she been alone she would have laughed out loud, not at Lady S & S, but at herself and her queer fanciful notions.
She was living in luxury here, living a dream within a paradise, among a wealth of characters. Yet human nature was human nature. The personalities within the room would be the same and act the same whether they were in Trim Street or Stoneleigh Abbey, simply with a different history.
In Trim Street, the quiet subdued Mrs Leigh who never spoke for herself, nor stood up to anyone, would have been the woman who fought to make a living on the street outside Jane’s window, and Mr Leigh would have been one of the men arguing in the street, with his forceful nature.
And Mr Hill…
Well he was a working man already, and she could not see him as anything else but a solicitor.
And Lady S & S…
Jane could not place her with any comparison in a lower station.
Though… perhaps… a madam—with her skill at telling others what to do and how to do it. Jane bit her lip to hold in another laugh. She would share all the things she wished to laugh about with her mother or Cassandra later, and let her laughter flow.
~
“Miss Austen.” Mr Butler bowed to Cassandra first, as was Cassandra’s right. “Miss Jane,” he then bowed to Jane. “Are you ready for our tour?”
“We are,” Jane answered with eagerness. “May we start with the walk that leads past the gate we could not pass through yesterday?” They were not even outside yet… But her desire for this tour had filled her with an impatient energy. She had been battling all morning with a desire to fidget and now they had met Mr Butler in the hall, she simply wished to begin.
“The gate you chose not to climb through rather than offend Reverend Leigh…”
“Yes that gate,” Jane answered, with a laugh that, with him, she felt quite comfortable letting free.
Mr Butler smiled widely, in a way of approval. His smile said, I like you, in a friendly manner. Perhaps that was why he was so charming, because his manner told everyone he spoke to that he judged against no one, but liked them all. Jane had certainly never seen him look anything but pleased to speak with others.
“Take us there then, first,” Cassandra endorsed.
“Certainly. The woodland-walk along the river to the left it is then, for that is where the gate leads to. But shall we begin it from the front of the house so you do not miss a step?”
“You say that as though you are mocking me and you do not think it the best choice,” Jane said as he turned towards the door. A footman opened it.
Mr Butler turned back immediately and leant towards her slightly. “To the right is the prettiest walk.”
Jane ignored his conspiratorial teasing tone, refusing to be swayed. She had seen the path to the left through the wrought-iron gate, and she wished to follow that. She had been looking forward to it all morning. The path to the right could be followed another day.
They descended the steps leading from the door of the West Wing, as a group of three, she on one side of Mr Butler and Cassandra on the other. Eagerness gripped in Jane’s chest, and she sensed the same excitement in her sister.
When they stepped onto the gravel Mr Butler lifted his hand and indicated to the left, then the right. “Either way, the walk follows the river Avon to some degree.”
“Then what is the difference, why do you claim one is prettier?” Cassandra asked.
“If we walk to the right there is a wilderness full of wildflowers. But to the left, it is only a woodland path. We need not make our choice, though, until we reach the river.”
He held an arm out to Cassandra, and then the other to Jane. “Shall we begin ladies?”
They walked along the path. The fine gravel crunched beneath the soles of Jane’s short boots. To the right, in the farmyard, they heard a cockerel crow and the geese.
“When were the gardens established?” Cassandra asked.
“In the time of Lord Edward Leigh’s father.”
“I am surprised it does not comprise of thick yew hedges, and numerous lakes with pretty fountains.”
“I believe his investment was focused mostly on the house.”
“But you said there is much that can be done to improve the gardens…” Cassandra encouraged him to continue talking.
Jane doubted that Mr Butler needed encouragement and yet listening to that soft note of pride in his pitch, Jane was glad Cassandra had prompted him.
“A good gardener, who has the skill to manipulate the landscape, could do much to improve the estate, and I have advised your cousin so.”
“How would you change the woodland-walk to the left, as you class it less pretty?” Jane asked, as much interested in his expressions when he answered as in his reply.
“I would not change it. It is not as pretty, but it has the positions for dramatic views, if the dramatic views are made.” His head turned and he looked Jane in the eyes. “It is the wilderness walk to the right I would change.”
“How?”
“I would have it weave through the woodland further on and plant bluebells there, then come closer to the river and follow it, to then progress over to the far bank via a bridge, so the walk lasts a lot longer.”
Lasts longer… That was all Jane wished for from her trip to Stoneleigh Abbey. Her stay here would never be long enough. She would cling to every moment and every memory for the rest of her life.
Chapter 8
At eleven in the morning—a day later than planned, due to inclement weather—the carriages were brought around to the front of the West Wing of Stoneleigh Abbey while Jane watched from the drawing room window.
Moments later she joined the small party in the hall as they prepared to depart to see the medieval castle of Kenilworth.
Jane’s heartbeat skipped along as she walked down the steps and across the gravel to ascend into the waiting carriage.
She accepted Mr Hill’s hand for assistance and climbed up into the barouche. They had chosen to ride in open carriages as the weather was so pleasant after yesterday’s rain. It was slightly cloudy, but the clouds were very pale. They did not threaten another downpour, merely provided a cover from the sun.
Mrs Leigh and Lady S & S were seated in a carriage before the one Jane took her seat in. They were to travel with Reverend Leigh, Mr Hill and Mr Leigh. Jane’s carriage was occupied by Mrs Hill and Jane’s mother and Cassandra waited behind Jane, to join them.
Jane had likened the arrangement—to her mother—as Lady Saye and Sele being corralled for the protection of the weaker cattle.
Lady S & S was a constant source of amusement. Jane’s bottom lip had become sore, she had bitten it so often. Yet her mother was finding Lady S & S a strain on her more delicate nerves. She had taken to frequently seeking out Mrs Giaaf and spending hours below stairs. It did not stop her jubilation at staying within Stoneleigh Abbey, though. Nothing could dent the pleasure to be found in Stoneleigh Abbey.
Jane and Cassandra had gone in search of her yesterday and made her laugh with tales of Lady S & S’s sayings, and then Jane had spun stories about the crypts underground in the east wing and the gloomy wood-panelled rooms in the West Wing. They had laughed a lot, when for months in Bath, they had not laughed at all.
With her reticule resting in her lap, and her fingers clasped firmly together to hold onto the very immature excitement that bu
bbled within her, Jane smiled broadly at her sister when Cassandra climbed into the carriage. Cassandra was the last to sit down. Mr Hill closed the door of the barouche, then walked to the carriage before theirs to take his seat.
The grooms let go of the horses’ heads and stepped back, and the driver flicked the reins to set their horses into a trot as the other carriage pulled away ahead of them.
“I feel very grand,” Jane’s mother said.
Jane smiled. They were living the life of their ancestors today, in a beautiful barouche instead of a small trap with a donkey to pull it as they had had for their use at Steventon.
A light cooling breeze swept beneath the rim of Jane’s bonnet as they travelled.
The scent of freshly cut sheaves of wheat in the fields beside the track filled the air. That smell brought back more memories of summers at Steventon.
Jane was sitting in a forward-facing seat and ahead of them she saw Lady S & S lift her chin higher as she waved her fan back and forth beneath her nose, as if the smell of the countryside disgusted her.
Even the scent of a rose might disgust Lady S & S if it were not first checked to have been cut from a garden worth her notice.
“Queen Elizabeth visited Kenilworth in the day of Sir Thomas Leigh, Miss Austen,” Mrs Hill said to Cassandra. “And it was once the home of one of the Plantagenet princes’ concubines, in medieval times. Katherine Beaufort. Her prince married her in the end. It was quite a love story…”
Jane listened.
She was like Susan again today. Bubbling with longing and expectation, ready to explore. Only for Jane it was not at the prospect of discovering thrilling mysteries or ghosts, as told in gothic tales, but it was at the prospect of discovering the true-life events that might inspire fiction. Even the journey filled her with emotions she hoped to reclaim in characters.
When the carriages reached the village of Kenilworth they travelled along a narrow street lined with rows of crooked white-washed cottages, with black bands of wooden bone-like structures and bow-windowed shops. Jane’s head turned from one side to another. But then she stopped looking at the houses and looked ahead.
Kenilworth Castle…
At the end of the street, facing her, stood a high gatehouse, in an Elizabethan style far grander than Stoneleigh Abbey’s medieval entrance. It was so tall. And it was in the same red stone as the gatehouse at Stoneleigh Abbey, and Stoneleigh’s almshouses.
As the carriage drew nearer, the detail about the carved openings of the empty window embrasures became clearer.
Air swept into Jane’s lungs, before she closed her lips on the expression of awe.
Her mother had turned to look over her shoulder, as had Mrs Hill. Yet ahead of them Lady Saye and Sele and Mrs Leigh remained facing the rear, leaving the beautiful, partially-ruined gatehouse unseen, behind their backs.
When the carriage neared the end of the High Street, the boundary walls either side of the gatehouse came into view. Then the houses either side of the street came to an end and the carriage drove on into the middle of an open area of grass, another area like the village green at Steventon, where geese, goats and sheep grazed.
Jane sat forward, her fingers gripping the seat beside her knees. She was Susan.
Behind the gatehouse were higher walls—grander walls. A giant castle, scarred by time and tumbled down in places but still so large it was breathtaking.
“Good heavens,” Jane’s mother whispered, in a breathless voice.
Good heavens indeed. It was an eerily wonderful and inspiring scene. So many lives must have been lived within these walls. The stones must have ten thousand tales to tell if they could speak.
There must surely be no larger or more beautiful a ruin in England.
“The red stone makes it appear so dramatic,” Jane’s mother stated.
“And unusual,” Jane added.
“And fascinating,” Cassandra finished.
The colour was even more striking because it was set against a white and pale grey sky.
It had an astonishing quality.
In Jane’s head she had become Queen Elizabeth riding towards the castle’s gates, which would have been the height of six men, and the windows would have been full of glittering glass set in diamonds of lead.
Her heartbeat pulsed through every artery. She was as entranced as Susan would have been; she really was. “Look at it,” she whispered, mostly to Cassandra.
“I know,” the answer came back. Jane glanced at her sister. A silent communication passed between them. Cassandra could not wait to be inside the castle either.
The carriages rolled on and took them through the high arch of the gatehouse. Jane tipped her head back so she could see past the brim of her bonnet and look at the detail of the ceiling. She was absorbed into another world as they continued into the old area that had once been a courtyard. All around them were high red-stone castle walls, with carvings and great openings, where once doors and windows had been.
The carriages drew to a halt.
Reverend Leigh climbed out of the carriage ahead of them and held out his hand to Lady Saye and Sele. Then Mr Leigh alighted and held out his hand to Mrs Leigh. Then lastly Mr Hill stepped down. He walked across to the carriage Jane, her mother, Cassandra and Mrs Hill remained seated within.
He opened the door and held his hand out to help Jane’s mother first. “Mrs Austen.”
Then Mr Hill offered is hand to Cassandra. “Miss Austen.”
Jane’s mother walked away from the carriage, towards the others, looking all about her.
Mr Hill helped Jane next, then Mrs Hill. Jane walked slowly towards the others, looking all about her, too. Cassandra’s arm slid through Jane’s, linking them together, and then they walked side by side.
“It is not as impressive as Warwick…” Lady S & S was saying. “Most of the walls here have crumbled or been robbed away.”
“It is a ruin, ma’am, of course it is not as grand. It has been damaged by the years,” Mr Leigh answered, “but there are many high and very grand walls.”
“Warwick is a castle as large as this, which is not ruined. As I said, it is far more impressive.” Lady S & S retorted.
“There is a castle like this that is not a ruin?” Cassandra asked as she and Jane reached the others.
Mr Hill turned to face them. “There is indeed, and not far from here. Or should I say, a castle similar in size. In charm and drama, perhaps it lacks the romantic air that Kenilworth claims.”
“Might we go there too, another day?” Jane’s mother asked, looking at Reverend Leigh for agreement.
Cassandra looked at Reverend Leigh awaiting his answer.
Jane focused on her mother. “We have not fully appreciated Kenilworth yet, and I love that it is a little fallen, it gives the castle a greater air of mystery.” She spoke with amusement, freeing her arm from Cassandra’s and instead wrapping her other arm though her mother’s. “Come, let us explore this castle before we speak of others.”
Jane’s mother smiled and her fingers pressed over Jane’s as she conceded and began to walk on.
“We shall eat our picnic in an hour! On the grass in the old gardens! Please return for then?” Reverend Leigh called after Jane and her mother.
Jane did not look back, she was far too excited. Her mother did. “Yes, of course!”
“Where shall we go first?” Cassandra walked beside them.
“Let us find a tower to climb,” Jane answered.
Cassandra turned and walked a couple of steps backwards before them. A breeze caught the skirt of her muslin dress and petticoats, and wrapped them about her legs. “Susan,” she teased.
“I have felt like Susan from the moment Edward’s carriage turned onto the drive at Stoneleigh Abbey,” Jane laughed.
“And you are not the only one,” Cassandra responded.
“But there is more than intrigue in this place. I feel it too. There is something quite stirring. I feel it inside me.” Jane’s mother
said. “It grasps you and holds you tight, does it not?”
“You will become an author too, Mother,” Jane answered.
“An author of letters,” Jane’s mother laughed. “Yet I have so much to put in them, so much more than I have ever had to write about, I find I am writing in a very muddled way.”
Cassandra slipped her arm through their mother’s on the other side, and they walked on together, leaving the absurd Lady S & S, the silent Mrs Leigh, and all the men far behind.
At the heart of the castle grounds, there was was a square keep with a turret at each corner. It must be the oldest part; it still had arrow loops in the walls. But the huge ruined walls all about it had the window-settings of the time of the Elizabethans, like the gatehouse.
Cassandra released their mother and ran ahead. “The stairs are still sturdy!” she shouted back when she looked into the tower.
“Go on, my dear.” Jane’s mother patted Jane’s hand as it held her arm. “I know you wish to explore, and I am too old to climb a hundred steps.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Jane’s arm slipped loose from her mother’s and she looked ahead at Cassandra. She longed to climb up and see the view from the top of the ruins. When she reached the steps, Jane gripped her skirt and lifted it as Cassandra did hers. It was not quite a run—not indelicate, nor unfeminine, it was merely haste and excitement. They were too old for childish fancies, or silliness—and yet, eagerness, Jane was not too old for that. She would call it only eagerness.
Her breathing grew heavier as she climbed the winding steps, up and up, following the path of the heels of Cassandra’s short boots on the stairs which tapered to a sliver near the central column and widened to a broad step at the outer edge against the old tower wall.
Jane’s fingers slid over the smooth, cold stone column in the centre of the spiral stairs as she climbed, her mind full of expectations over what might be at the top. A million hands had probably touched the stone her fingers ran across.
