I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend

by Cora Harrison

  What does Henry think about me? I was wondering about that all the way home in the coach. I thought that he liked me, but I knew that his mother would not approve of his paying attention to me. I was afraid that she might think I was fast if I encouraged him. Earlier in the evening when William Chute brought me back to her after our dance, she had patted me on the arm approvingly and told me that I was looking very well. But all the time as the coach bumped and jolted its way down the road towards Overton and then turned down the narrow laneway from Deane to Steventon, she hardly said a word to me.

  All through the journey I kept wishing that I weren’t always worrying and being anxious about things. I wish I were more like Jane and just looking for fun all the time. She never seems to care when her mother’s in a bad mood — she just laughs and jokes and takes no notice.

  And then …

  When the coach arrived back at Steventon parsonage, Frank and Charles jumped out from the seat at the back. Henry handed out his mother and Tom Fowle handed out Cassandra. They went up the steps side by side while Jane jumped out, taking no notice of Henry, and ran up after Cassandra.

  And then, after the others had gone into the house, Henry put out his two arms and lifted me down.

  And he held me close for a moment and then he kissed me very quickly.

  Not on the hand.

  On the cheek.

  I don’t think that I have ever been so close to a man before. Men smell so different.

  I wished that I could stay outside in the starlit garden, just stand quietly by myself and think about everything that happened this evening — think about dancing with Henry — think about Henry kissing me — think about what William Chute said about my being the prettiest girl in the room, even prettier than the fashionably dressed Bigg girls — think about dancing with …

  Think about Henry …

  I couldn’t though. I had to walk ahead of Henry and go through the porch and into the best parlour.

  As soon as we came into the room I thought Mrs Austen looked at me rather critically. I quickly moved away from Henry and went over beside Jane, who was telling her father all about the evening.

  ‘Did you have a good time, Jenny dear?’ Mr Austen was so kind to me always.

  I told him that I had.

  ‘Not too tired?’

  I exclaimed that I could have danced twenty dances more without getting tired, and I think I must have said it very loudly, because everyone looked over at me.

  ‘She was looking very well tonight.’ Mrs Austen came across and joined us. ‘William Chute paid her a lot of attention. He told his mother that she was the prettiest girl he had seen for a long time.’

  ‘He was only being polite.’ I had a quick look at Henry to see if he was jealous of William Chute, but he didn’t seem to be interested. And then I felt embarrassed that I had looked at him. I hoped that he hadn’t noticed, and I felt my cheeks burn. I knew it was stupid to be always blushing like this, but Mrs Austen didn’t seem to be annoyed. She was looking at me in a pleased sort of way. Actually she made me feel quite uncomfortable as her eyes moved up and down. I wished that I were a bit taller.

  ‘This child needs a new gown,’ she said eventually. ‘What do you say, Mr Austen? Perhaps all of the girls need new gowns. Jane’s is too short and Cassandra’s has faded and Jenny’s—’

  ‘Of course, my dear. Whatever you think best.’

  Jane was beside me now, squeezing my hand. I squeezed back. I knew what she was going to say.

  ‘Mama, could we all go to the Basingstoke Assembly Rooms? There’s a ball in two weeks’ time. The Bigg girls are going and the Chutes. Oh, please say that we may — please, please, please, please!’

  ‘What do you think, Mr Austen?’ I knew that Jane had won when Mrs Austen made a pretence of consulting her husband. She is always the one who makes the decisions. She wouldn’t have asked him unless she had made up her mind.

  ‘Well, my dear, I would certainly enjoy a game of cards with some of my old friends. The Harwoods should be there and Hugh Digweed and the Portals — we’ll make a whist table or two, I dare say.’ Mr Austen beamed his gentle smile at Jane’s excited face.

  ‘Well, in that case, Mr Austen, perhaps we will hire the coach and go to Basingstoke for the ball.’ Mrs Austen did her best to sound like an obedient wife.

  Jane and I threw our arms around each other. We were both laughing with excitement. It was a great feeling. I’d never felt so happy in all my life.

  ‘And the new gowns?’ enquired Jane. ‘Could they be made by a dressmaker?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Mrs Austen, and she gave a broad smile.

  ‘Oh, Mama!’ For a moment I thought Jane was going to kiss her mother — she never seems to do this — but she just gave her a lovely wide smile and Mrs Austen smiled back and tugged at one of Jane’s dark curls just as Mr Austen did sometimes.

  ‘My mother thinks that William Chute has fallen in love with you,’ said Jane as soon as we were safely in our bedroom.

  I told her not to be silly, but she put on a very wise, elderly look and told me that he would be a very good match for me.

  ‘Think of the property,’ she said solemnly. ‘A fine house, a great estate — do you think that you could fall in love with him?’

  I giggled, but then I stopped and thought about it. William Chute was very nice but …

  ‘Well, what would you say if he proposed to you?’ enquired Jane. Her head was on one side and she was looking at me the way you look at someone when you want to capture their likeness to draw a picture of them.

  I told her I wasn’t sure, and she nodded briskly. ‘My dear Jenny, that answers the question. If a lady doubts whether she should accept a man, then she certainly should not do so.’

  I was glad that she hadn’t asked me whether I would accept Henry if he asked me. I’m not sure that I would have told her the truth. My feelings for Henry are very private. And I’m not yet sure what they are, exactly!

  There is one more thing that I must write.

  When I saw Jane and her mother looking at each other in such a friendly way, I felt a terrible sort of pain. I suppose it was jealousy. I miss my mother so much. My feelings and my sorrow got hidden while I was with Edward-John and Augusta. They were so critical of my mother that I never wanted to talk about her. I even stopped myself thinking of her, but now, suddenly, I miss her terribly. For a moment I almost hated Jane for having a mother and father while I have neither.

  There was something else that I thought also.

  I realized that I had always been feeling guilty when I was staying with Edward-John and Augusta — guilty that I didn’t do or say the right thing, guilty that I was a nuisance to them.

  But now I have stopped feeling guilty.

  They should have been nicer to me, I decided. I did my best not to be a nuisance. I tried hard to please them both. Despite what Augusta whispered to her friends, I probably wasn’t an expense to them, since Edward-John had charge of my income from Mama’s estate.

  I know a bit more about money and what things cost these days as Mrs Austen is always adding up her accounts in a loud voice and calling Frank to help her. The sum of fifty pounds a year should have more than covered my food and laundry and no one ever thought to buy me new clothes. If Mrs Austen can run a large house and feed her big family on not much more than four hundred pounds a year (Jane told me that is what Mr Austen gets from his position as rector and his farm and the school), then Augusta and Edward-John could not have been out of pocket on my account.

  Now I shall lock up my journal and go to bed and dream of the ball at Basingstoke.

  And Henry will be there …

  Monday, 14 March 1791

  The Austens’ cousin, Cousin Eliza, arrived from Basingstoke this morning just after we finished breakfast. She is going to stay a week, she said.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come; I have a hundred things to do, but I couldn’t resist a play,’ she declared, leaping out of
the post-chaise and waving her hands around. She has a strong French accent, though she was born in India and has lived half her life in England. Her hat, with its feather, looked quite French, I thought, and she kissed everyone on two cheeks — she even kissed Jane on two cheeks and then a third time. ‘Jane,’ she cried in a very foreign way, ‘mon chou chou, how you have grown! And Henry, my cherub, la, I declare you are a man now, Henry.’ And then she was off on another round of kissing. Even I got kissed and my curls patted. Apparently she is a countess; Henry, for fun, keeps calling her Madame la Comtesse. Her husband is a French nobleman. She shed tears when she spoke of him, because he is over in France and as she said herself in her French accent: ‘These are revolutionary times.’ And she rolled the letter r so that it sounded as though there were six rs at the beginning of revolutionary. Even the king and queen of France are in danger, apparently. Eliza shed a tear for them too, dabbing at her eyes with a beautiful, lace-trimmed handkerchief.

  And then a minute later, she was whispering behind her hand with Henry, telling some story which sounded very scandalous — I overheard words like ‘her bedroom’ and ‘he was hiding in the closet!’ I saw Jane move her chair a little nearer — so as to pick up details for her novels, I suppose.

  We had great fun today practising for the play. James’s friend John Portal was the villain, Sir Lucius O’Trigger, an Irish baronet; he had to carry me in his arms when he was abducting me. I was very embarrassed in the beginning, but he made a joke of it, pretending that I was too heavy — although he carried me very easily, as he is very tall and strong. Henry shouted out, ‘Lucky man!’ when Mr Portal said that about my being heavy, and James got annoyed with both of them. No one took any notice though, and Henry winked at me. I do think that Henry likes me. I’m glad that Cousin Eliza is going back to London next week. Henry isn’t paying me nearly as much attention as he did yesterday. I’m not as good at flirting as she is. Cassandra says that it is abominable that a married lady should flirt in the way that Eliza does, but Jane said that she has to keep in practise as her husband is across the sea in France.

  ‘Don’t be silly, child,’ said Cassandra with a superior air. ‘Women don’t flirt with their husbands.’

  ‘And that’s why married women have to have lovers, I suppose,’ said Jane. She sounded thoughtful and her face was very serious, but I could see that she was trying to shock Cassandra, who is very prim and proper.

  I wish I could flirt. I would love to say witty things to Henry and have him laugh the way that he does with Cousin Eliza. I’m just not good enough at making jokes, or else I am too shy.

  Cousin Eliza is a born actress. Even after breakfast this morning, when you would think she would be tired after her long journey from London, she was doing a minuet with Henry around the sitting room, declaring that ‘He is the very pineapple of politeness,’ and slipping slightly on the polished wood, and the sunlight streaming in through the two casement windows behind her made her look as if she were on a stage. It was like a play that I once saw at Bristol. I made up my mind that I would try to be like Eliza — sophisticated, clever and amusing, the sort of person that would attract men. Of course, she was brought up in India and then France so I might not be able to be as stylish and elegant as she is. Jane and I had a talk about it in our bedroom. We tried waving our hands around and introducing a few words of French into English sentences. And then we practised walking the way that Eliza walks, sort of sweeping around. Of course she had a train, even on her walking gown — it looked so elegant with her stylish spencer fitting so tightly around her bosom and her large hat with a feather in it. I have never seen a hat like that before.

  ‘Men fall at her feet all over Europe,’ Jane said with an air that impressed me very much, but then she spoiled it by adding, ‘even my father,’ and that made us both giggle.

  We both pinned our wrappers to the shoulders of our gowns and stuck a couple of new quills in our hair. Then we tried sweeping up and down the bedroom saying, ‘la’ and ‘chérie’ to each other. We both decided that a train certainly made you feel much more elegant — especially as we had to keep our noses in the air in order to prevent the quills falling out of our hair.

  And then Jane whispered to me that she had seen Eliza kissing Henry — on the lips too! And that the kiss lasted for ages!

  I thought of how I would feel if Henry kissed me like that; I felt quite jealous of Eliza but I didn’t want to show it, so when I saw Jane looking at me I said that Eliza had a way of pursing up her lips and perhaps that was what made Henry do it, and Jane nodded wisely. ‘That’s the secret of sophistication,’ she said. ‘You must always look as if you are ready to kiss a man once you are alone.’

  ‘What about a girl’s reputation though?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s better to get married first,’ said Jane thoughtfully. ‘If you were a sophisticated widow with plenty of money left you by your husband, then you could do what you wanted.’

  Monday afternoon, 14 March 1791

  Mrs Austen was in very good humour this afternoon. About twelve o’clock, when I began my usual chore of dusting and polishing the sideboard, rubbing up the brass handles on the many drawers and trying to work around the books and papers and cricket balls and spinning tops and an old doll belonging to either Jane or Cassandra and all the other items that littered the shelves and cubbyholes of that huge piece of wall furniture, she stopped me.

  ‘Never mind about that now, dear,’ she said. ‘Jane, leave the kettle — it can do without a polish for once. Go upstairs and put on your bonnets and cloaks, the two of you; we’re going shopping at Overton.’

  ‘We’re getting new gowns!’ exclaimed Jane.

  Mrs Austen nodded. ‘Make haste,’ she said. ‘We should go in the next few minutes. Where is Cassandra? We’ll miss the coach. I declare she takes longer over those hens every day.’

  ‘Here I am, Mama.’ Cassandra came in with pink cheeks and the three of us went clattering upstairs to get ready.

  ‘Such excitement!’ exclaimed Eliza, coming out of her room and smiling with amusement. ‘Ah, at your age there is nothing so exciting as a new gown!’

  ‘Are you coming, Eliza?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Chérie, I would love to, but I am only here for a few days and I feel that I owe it to your brother to give all of my energies to the play.’

  ‘She’s a great performer,’ said Jane, grinning as I closed the door of our bedroom behind us. ‘She sounds just like a classical actress wedded to her art. I bet she just wants to flirt with Henry.’

  ‘Or James,’ I said.

  ‘Or both,’ said Jane. And we giggled, but I kept thinking that I hoped Eliza would flirt with James, not Henry.

  Overton is a small town compared with Bristol, but still it holds all the shops necessary to the people who live in the countryside around. There are five grocers, two butchers, four tailors, seven shoemakers, one hairdresser, two breeches makers, a clockmaker and two millinery and haberdashery shops. As soon as we had got down from the coach and Mrs Austen had expressed a hope to the coachman that there would be clean, dry straw for our feet to rest on when we returned, we went straight to Ford’s, the biggest shop in the town.

  ‘You’ve come just at the right moment, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ford when Mrs Austen explained our errand. ‘I’ve just got the prettiest selection of muslins, new in from Bristol.’ She bustled off and was back in a moment with her arms laden with a rainbow of stuff, all lovely pale colours: lavenders, yellows, pinks, blues and delicate greens.

  ‘I was thinking of pink for all three,’ said Mrs Austen bluntly. ‘It would save money.’

  Cassandra made a face, and I took my eyes reluctantly from a sky blue. I love blue, and my mother always told me it suited me best of all.

  ‘Why do Jane and Jenny have to have pink?’ Cassandra sounded quite upset. ‘If we are all dressed the same, it will make me look about fifteen. You know pink suits me best, but I don’t want us to look like triplets.’ She pick
ed up a pink and gazed at it longingly.

  ‘That’s a lovely colour, Miss Austen,’ said Mrs Ford. ‘That’s a true shell pink. It will go very well with your complexion and your grey eyes.’ She took her eyes from Cassandra and glanced from Jane with her dark hair and her dark eyes to me with my blonde curls and blue eyes.

  ‘This would look good on Miss Jane,’ she said, picking up a primrose-yellow muslin and holding it against Jane, turning her around to see her reflection in the large cheval looking glass that stood on the floor next to the counter.

  ‘I like that much better than the pink,’ said Jane with conviction. ‘I’m sick of pink.’

  ‘Well, don’t have a new gown then,’ said Mrs Austen drily. ‘Wear your old one.’

  ‘How can I?’ Jane clasped her hands dramatically. ‘Dearest Mama, you know that I look like a half-grown pullet in that.’

  I could see that Mrs Ford was trying hard to keep a smile off her face, and one of the young assistants in the background was giggling. I kept my lips tightly pressed together and did my best not to smile at the thought of Jane like one of those lanky half-grown chickens that struts around the farmyard with its long legs and small body.

  ‘Well, we’ll take seven yards of that pink,’ said Mrs Austen, ‘but, Jane and Jenny, you’ll have to agree on a colour.’

  I immediately said that I didn’t mind the yellow, though my eyes were still on that lovely blue. It was like the sky on a fine winter’s day.