I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend

by Cora Harrison

  ‘Ah, mothers don’t very often tell their daughters the truth.’ Jane’s voice sounded sort of hollow. I twisted round again and saw that she was laughing now and I laughed too, with relief. I brushed her hair and then there was the sound of the kitchen door opening.

  ‘Jane, Jenny, come and do your drawing lesson!’ Mrs Austen sounded impatient, so we rushed down. She was standing tapping her foot in the parlour. She had promised my brother and sister-in-law that we would do some lessons every day, but really the poor woman had hardly any time for us. She had to look after the pupils’ meals and clothing, see to the dairy and the butter making, the vegetables and the baking, and supervise the servants and the monthly washwoman. In reality, she did not have the time to tutor us also. She tried to get Cassandra to take over our education, but Jane argued so much that Cassandra had refused to have anything to do with teaching us. Now Mrs Austen just told us to draw a farm and then she left the room.

  I did my best, but Jane did her worst, on purpose. Mrs Austen was not pleased when she came flying in half an hour later. We hadn’t done much as we had been discussing Tom and William Chute.

  ‘Jane, your cow looks like a pig and your ducks look like hens,’ she scolded. ‘You can just sit there and rub it out and do it again and again until you show some improvement. I declare, I’m quite ashamed of you! Now what is that Betty Dawkins doing with those sheets? I declare to the Lord, she is trailing them on the yard. She must be the worst washerwoman I’ve ever had.’

  And then she went running out of the door, and when we looked out of the window we saw her flying across the yard with her pattens clicking on the muddy cobbles.

  I went on with my cow, shading it very carefully. Jane’s mama scared me a little. My own mother never used to scold like that all the time. Still, I liked Mrs Austen much better than I liked Augusta, and she was a very busy woman, so it was not surprising that she found Jane a bit of a trial. My mother only had me to look after — not a whole household of about twenty people.

  I tried to keep my mind on my drawing and keep the thoughts of my mother out of my head. It worked best like that, I found.

  ‘Look, Jenny!’ Jane had been rubbing out, but she had made her cow look worse — now it looked like a real pig with a curly tail and a lot of little piglets in a long line behind it. There was a balloon coming out of one piglet’s mouth and it said, ‘Mother’s cross.’

  ‘You’d better rub that out,’ I said, but Jane is stubborn.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she said. ‘I think that piglet looks like a little cherub. I’ll give him wings.’

  And then Mrs Austen came in, red-faced and very cross, and when she saw the drawing she got crosser than ever.

  ‘Jenny, you go up to your room and read a book until I call you. Jane, come with me. I am going to speak to your father about you.’

  Jane came in just as I was drawing a picture of Tom Chute. She looked quite normal and she hadn’t been crying, so I didn’t think that her father was too annoyed with her.

  ‘That’s pretty good,’ she said, examining the picture. ‘Give me your pencil.’

  I handed over the pencil and she put whiskers on Tom’s face. ‘Imagine kissing a man with whiskers,’ she said, and we both giggled. I was glad that I hadn’t drawn the picture of William yet. I wouldn’t have liked that to be spoiled.

  ‘Anyway, the rain has stopped now and I have to go and draw a picture of our house,’ said Jane. ‘That’s the punishment that my father gave me. I suppose even Jane can draw a house.’ She imitated her mother’s high, scolding voice exactly.

  I said that I would help her as I didn’t want her to get into any more trouble; when Jane is in that sort of mood she gets more and more sarcastic and I get worried about what she might do or say next.

  There was no sign of Mrs Austen when we went out and stood in the carriage sweep, so I took the drawing pad from Jane. It would be easier to do the picture myself.

  ‘Four diamond-paned windows downstairs and a door with a porch in front of it in the middle, and five windows upstairs and then three garret windows in the roof,’ said Jane, peering over my shoulder. ‘Don’t forget the two sets of chimneys on each side of the roof. Hurry up; don’t fuss. I want to go and do something more interesting.’

  I wished that she would leave me alone because she was making me nervous, but I didn’t want to suggest that she should go and feed the hens and leave me in peace to finish drawing the house. If Mrs Austen came out now I could hand the drawing quickly to Jane, but if she was not there then I would be in trouble too, and I hate being scolded.

  As I shaded the eight-paned windows I asked Jane if she minded being scolded.

  ‘No, why should I? They’re all so stupid. I just make up jokes when my mother is scolding me, and then I mimic her to the boys. It’s lucky that the boys are here. They are such fun. I like Tom Fowle the best. Last year he pulled me down the three flights of stairs on a tablecloth.’

  ‘I thought you liked Tom Chute.’ I determined that no one would pull me down the stairs on a tablecloth. I could understand my mother pitying Mrs Austen. The boys are quite noisy and they do make a lot of work in the house, running in and out in muddy boots. This is a very different school to Mrs Cawley’s Seminary for Young Ladies. I suppose the Austens and my brother thought they were sending us to a place that would be like another home for us, because they imagined it would be like Steventon.

  ‘Oh, I’m going to marry Tom Chute and I’ll leave Tom Fowle for Cassandra,’ said Jane carelessly. ‘Why don’t you draw one of the casement windows open and Mama shouting out of it at someone? That’s the way our house is usually. Give me the pencil and I’ll draw her.’

  ‘No, don’t, you’ll spoil it.’ I turned away from her and began to mark in the roof tiles. I hated to rush a drawing, but Jane was in a wild mood and I thought I’d better get it finished quickly. I needn’t make it too good; Jane was much cleverer than me, but I was better at drawing.

  ‘You do the front door,’ I said, handing the board to her when I had finished the roof. The drawing looked quite nice and I hated to have it spoiled, but I thought it was better that she should be doing something. Any minute now she would get bored and would be off climbing a tree or something. And then her mother would look out of the window and be furious. Jane was funny. One minute she was talking about love and marriage, and the next she was behaving like some sort of boy.

  I told Jane not to forget to put nine windows in the top half of the door, trying to sound bossy.

  Jane had finished the door in one minute and then went flying into her father’s study to give the drawing to him. The sun was coming out so I went to fetch my bonnet. My mother always told me that I should keep the sun off my face or my complexion would get brown.

  ‘Let’s go down to the village,’ said Jane as soon as she came out. ‘We won’t need to wear pattens because the ground is hard with all the frost. I hate wet, dull springs, don’t you? And I really hate wearing pattens.’

  I agreed with her. I certainly dislike wearing pattens too. I hate the way your foot is up so high and your ankle twists.

  The road to the village was still nice and dry. Our feet stayed clean and I didn’t get any mud on my petticoat. It was a lovely afternoon, with the hedges ornamented with tiny snow-white buds of blackthorn and curling strands of bright green woodbine and the ditches lined with white and yellow daffodils. I’ve drawn them here in my journal. They would make a lovely picture in watercolours.

  Steventon village is a poor sort of place. I suppose there are about thirty cottages there and they all look a bit dirty and wretched. Jane seemed to know most people and even teased a girl called Bet about seeing her with Mr Austen’s bailiff.

  And then a boy came up to us. I didn’t know how old he was, but he was strange-looking. He was very small, as small as an eleven-year-old perhaps, but his face was older. He looked very odd as he came shambling up to us making a strange noise in the back of his throat, just like a
cock crowing, with his left hand jerking around as if he had no control over it. I got a terrible fright and jumped back, but he kept coming. He was making for Jane. I was very scared. It looked as if he was going to attack her. And then he sort of threw himself at her. I looked all around, seeking help, but no one seemed to be taking any notice. Two women were drawing water from a well, another was herding her ducks to the pond and Bet, the girl that Jane had joked with, was picking up a little boy who had fallen over.

  But Jane didn’t seem worried. She was laughing. And then she put her arms round him. She kissed him. ‘George,’ she kept saying. ‘What’s the matter, George? Look, here’s Jenny come to see you.’

  And then she turned around. I was still scared, but I tried not to show it.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, George,’ I said primly.

  ‘Jenny is your cousin, George,’ said Jane, and the boy made his strange crowing noises.

  I didn’t know what to think. How could this boy be my cousin? My mother had only one sister — Jane’s mother — and only one brother who had no children, and my father came from a different part of the country.

  Jane had her arm around the boy. She was looking into his face lovingly and then she turned and looked at me. She wore an odd, defiant expression.

  ‘George is my brother, Jenny,’ she said quietly.

  I’m not sure what I said or how I looked. I remember stammering something stupid like, ‘Pleased to meet you, George,’ again, but my mind was in a whirl. How could this boy be Jane’s brother? I had never heard of him, and he didn’t live at Jane’s house.

  And then I began to feel a bit ashamed of myself, standing there so stiffly and awkwardly. I saw George look at me and I hoped that he could not read my thoughts. Jane was talking to him as though he were a small child, so, on the impulse of a moment, I bent down and picked three tiny wild daffodils and handed them to him.

  I think he was a bit puzzled by them, turning them round and round in his hand.

  I was glad that I had done it though, because Jane smiled with that lovely smile she has when she is pleased, and then George smiled and then he handed the flowers to Jane and she smelt them and then he smelt them and sneezed, and Jane laughed at the expression on his face and then he laughed and I laughed too.

  And the three of us just stood there in the evening sunshine until the girl Bet came up and took George by the hand and led him away, telling him it was time for his supper, and Jane and I were left together.

  What could I say?

  Even now I am not sure what would have been the right thing to say.

  You see, dear journal, I didn’t want to hurt Jane’s feelings. A thousand questions jumped into my mind, but I didn’t want to say anything like, ‘How on earth could George be your brother?’ or, ‘Why is he not living in your house?’ or, ‘Why has his name never been mentioned?’

  Jane said nothing, just stood there looking at me with an odd expression on her face. In the end I just said — and I said it as carelessly as I could, just as though I were talking about Charles or Frank — ‘Isn’t it funny the way that boys never appreciate flowers?’

  And then we both laughed again and Jane said, ‘Race you back to the gates.’ And we both ran in the frosty air until we were breathless.

  When we stopped, Jane slipped her hand inside my arm. I didn’t say anything for a moment, but then I asked her whether she wanted to talk about George, but she just shook her head so I didn’t say any more.

  When we came back from seeing George, Tom Chute was here, chatting with Frank about shooting the crows that were robbing the seed corn from his father’s farm. He called out a cheerful greeting to Jane and she teased him about his coat; I gathered it was a new one, but Jane was pretending that he had robbed a scarecrow for it. I went on ahead of her into the house — I was still a bit shy of all the joking and teasing that went on between Jane and the neighbouring boys.

  Mrs Austen was in the hall and she had an invitation card in her hand and a smile on her face, but she waited until Jane came in before showing us the card.

  ‘The Chutes are having a supper dance at the Vyne on Saturday.’ She looked quite excited. Mrs Austen loved a dance. When we rolled up the carpet in the evening and the boys danced with Cassandra, Jane and myself, she played the piano, but sometimes Cassandra took over and her mother partnered with someone like Gilbert East or Tom Fowle, looking as if she was really enjoying herself. I must say that for her age she danced in a very sprightly fashion.

  ‘A supper dance!’ I could hardly breathe with excitement. Mrs Austen smiled at the look on my face and Jane took hold of both my hands and whirled me round the hall until we were both dizzy.

  Friday, 11 March 1791

  Something very exciting happened today. Just before supper Jane was looking out of the window and she gave a shriek.

  ‘A donkey! Oh, a lovely donkey! Frank’s got a donkey!’

  ‘What?!’ Mr Austen got out of his chair. ‘He hasn’t broken the knees of his new pony!’

  ‘No, he’s riding the pony. He’s just leading the donkey.’ Jane rushed out and I went with her and the rest of the family followed.

  ‘It’s for Jenny,’ Frank said when he dismounted. ‘William Chute gave it to me. He said that Jenny could learn to ride on a donkey. He said that …’ Here Frank frowned a bit, but then said gruffly, ‘He said, “She’s a bit shy and nervous, that pretty little cousin of yours. She’ll be better with a donkey until she gets a bit of confidence.” ’

  I blushed, but no one took any notice. They were too busy inspecting the donkey, stroking him, looking at his feet, passing hands down his back and estimating how old he was by looking at his teeth. Mrs Austen gave me a sharp, appraising sort of glance — rather like the way that everyone was appraising the donkey, I thought — but no one else seemed to find it strange that a young man should send a present like that to a girl he hardly knows.

  * * *

  After supper when Jane and I were clearing away the plates Mrs Austen came in, closing the door behind her with a firm bang. Jane raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Uh-oh,’ under her breath.

  ‘Jenny dear, it was very kind of William Chute to send you a donkey, and I suppose you may keep it, but in general it’s not a good idea for a young girl to accept presents from a young man who is not related to her, unless, of course, they are engaged to be married.’ Mrs Austen’s speech came out in her usual rush of words.

  I felt my cheeks turning scarlet with embarrassment.

  ‘A donkey!’ said Jane contemptuously. ‘Who cares about a donkey? It’s not as if he sent her an Arabian mare. Donkeys are two a penny around here.’

  ‘Now, Jane,’ said Mrs Austen crossly, ‘don’t be ridiculous. I’m talking about the propriety of accepting a present from a young man. Young girls like you two have to be immensely careful of your reputation. Nothing scares off a good matrimonial proposal like rumours about a girl being fast.’ She lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. ‘Men talk together in card rooms and drinking places about girls like that.’

  I told her that I didn’t mind giving it back. I could hear my voice shaking. Her words made me wonder what she would say if she knew I had walked alone at night with a strange young man through the streets of Southampton. I could even feel my ears burning as I thought of how he had looked at me so gently with his beautiful brown eyes and how he took my hand and tucked it through his arm. Would Captain Thomas Williams talk about me in card rooms and drinking places?

  Mrs Austen was looking at me so piercingly that I was afraid that she could read my thoughts. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

  ‘You’re upsetting Jenny,’ said Jane. ‘Anyway, if you send the donkey back you make a big fuss of the whole thing.’

  Mrs Austen turned her attention from me to Jane. She took a deep breath and I thought she was furiously angry, but then she surprised me by saying, ‘I suppose that might be true. Well, I’ll get Mr Austen to write a note to William Chute tha
nking him for the donkey and saying that the two girls will enjoy it. In that way it will divert attention from Jenny. Don’t be upset, dear. I have to tell you these things since your poor mother is not here to do it — it’s just for your own good. You know it is important for you, as well as for Jane and Cassandra, to get a good offer of marriage.’

  And then she was gone, whirling from the room, and we could hear her shouting to the kitchen maid about cleaning out the fire in the breakfast parlour.

  ‘Anyway, she’s going to get a bit of a shock about Cassandra,’ said Jane, her lips curling in amusement. ‘Guess what, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Cassandra has a little looking glass in her cabinet that I’ve seen her kissing. What’s the betting that Tom Fowle gave it to her?’

  I dried my eyes and laughed. ‘And I kissed the donkey earlier. Don’t tell your mother that!’

  Tonight Jane told me about George.

  I had been waiting since yesterday for her to tell me, but I didn’t want to push her.

  And this was the way our conversation went. It was like a play. It was beginning to get dark, but I didn’t light my candle. Jane sat on the window seat — one of those windows that I drew yesterday. As she spoke she played with the catch and sometimes opened and closed the window softly, like someone idly swinging a door. I sat on the bed and watched her face. I could see her because there was still some light, but she couldn’t see my face because I was in the shadows.

  ‘You see,’ said Jane, ‘George was born like that. He was born with something wrong with him.’

  I watched the way her mouth tightened and her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Go on, say something,’ she said fiercely.