‘Well,’ said Mr Austen as we walked home together, ‘I think you two girls have done a marvellous piece of work. I wouldn’t have believed it was possible. Where did you get the idea of teaching him sign language?’
‘I read it in a book from your library,’ explained Jane. She was glowing with excitement, her round cheeks as rosy as apples.
‘I know the one,’ said Mr Austen. ‘I think I’ll write to the man who wrote that book and consult him about George. It may be that he can recommend a teacher for him.’
He hesitated a bit, looking at Jane, and then he said, ‘Jane, I want to tell you about Thomas.’
I gave a start when he said that, but it was another Thomas that he was talking about.
‘Who’s Thomas? I haven’t got another brother hidden away, have I?’ asked Jane in that ugly, harsh voice she used to her mother.
‘No, no.’ Mr Austen was patient where Mrs Austen would have started to scold. ‘Thomas is your mother’s brother and he, like George, was born disabled. He is being cared for by a very good and devoted family in the village of Monk Sheraton. It was of him that I spoke the other day. We think that it might be a good idea to take George there and lodge him with his uncle. They would be companions for each other and he would be well looked after. There is a big family there at Monk Sheraton. I’ve been to see Thomas there and I think that they are good to him. He helps on the farm a bit, and they are all very kind there. He was feeding the hens when I came and he looked very happy. We want to do the best thing for George. You do believe that, don’t you? And we will try to get someone to continue the tuition that you have started.’
‘What does Mother think about this?’ Jane was slightly unsure of what to say; I could hear that in her voice.
Mr Austen sighed and then he said very simply, ‘Don’t judge your mother too harshly, Jane. The trouble is that your mother and I have been short of money all our married lives. Running the school was the only way that we could manage and do the best for you all. And of course I could not have run the school without your mother’s help. She has had all the hard work: looking after the pupils, their laundry, their food, their happiness even. She could not have cared for George at the same time.’
I could see that Jane was not impressed by this, but she said nothing. She was too fond of her father and she was keen to give advice on how George could be taught sign language and lay out a programme of study for him.
‘The thing is that if he could learn to spell easy words like cat and dog and gun and other words, then he could go on to talking on his fingers. I remember Charles learning his alphabet, and when he learned his letters Cassandra and I used to put the letters together to make little words for him. It would be wonderful if George could read, wouldn’t it, Papa? Even very simple books. And I’d love to be able to talk to him. If he goes over to Monk Sheraton, you will take me to see him, won’t you?’
Mr Austen promised, and Jane beamed happily at him.
And for a lot of this evening Jane and I chatted about George and how wonderful it would be if he could talk to us.
Neither of us mentioned Jane’s mother. I don’t know what Jane felt, but I worried in case Mrs Austen would think a teacher for George a complete waste of money, with the other four boys still to be launched into the world.
And for the rest of the evening we talked about Thomas and about the ball … and about Tom Chute and Tom Lefroy …
Wednesday, 6 April 1791
Something terrible has happened today.
And to begin with it was just an ordinary, quiet, happy day.
It all started off when Frank asked me to ride up to Deane Gate Inn to collect the post. I always enjoyed that and I am very confident with my donkey now.
When we arrived at the inn, the ostler came out as soon as he saw us and said that there were five letters for the parsonage. Frank took them and scrutinized their outsides.
‘One from James for my father … one for Jane from Cousin Eliza … two for Henry, probably creditors … this one is from Bristol.’
I immediately guessed that it would be from Augusta and then, thankfully, I noticed that it was for my Aunt Austen. ‘Good,’ I said to Frank. ‘It’s for your mother.’ I remember thinking what a relief that was, and being pleased that I wouldn’t have to write back. If only I had known what was in that letter I could have dropped it in the ditch and at least enjoyed a couple more happy days.
And we went back and went into breakfast.
They were all sitting around the table, the family and the pupils. I gave out the letters.
Henry pushed his two into his pocket rapidly and avoided his father’s worried look.
Mrs Austen poured the tea, broke the seal on the back of her letter and then put it down without reading it as she took a bite of her usual dry toast.
Mr Austen was the first to open his letter.
‘Henry, James wants to know if we will come to Oxford on Saturday to hear him speak at a debate. I think that would be quite a treat, wouldn’t it? What do you think, my dear? James says that he can put us up at his lodgings on Saturday night. If we get the early mail coach on Sunday morning, we’ll be back in time for morning service.’
‘Mama,’ said Jane, ‘Cousin Eliza has some news about the king and queen of France, King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Apparently they have been imprisoned in Paris by the angry mob. Eliza is worried about her husband. Mama, are you listening?’
But Mrs Austen wasn’t listening to anyone. She was reading Augusta’s letter. I could see the big, bold handwriting — just one page and not even crossed. It should not have taken long to read it. But Mrs Austen was now going back over it again. She frowned and then looked at me. I felt puzzled. There was an odd look in her eye. For the first time since I have known her, Mrs Austen looked as though she was unsure of what to do.
After breakfast, I rose to help Cassandra and Jane with our task of clearing the breakfast plates. Mrs Austen stopped me, however.
She put a hand on my arm and stood there looking indecisive. Mr Austen gave her a puzzled look, but she said nothing to him and so he shuffled off to the schoolroom with his pupils. Henry and Frank followed at a slow pace. Both were studying with their father at the moment, but neither was enthusiastic. Frank had told me that he knew more of mathematics than his father did, and that Latin was useless to him; and Henry was obviously wishing himself back at Oxford with all the fun and parties and ‘wild living’, as Jane expressed it.
‘Come with me, Jenny.’ That was all that Mrs Austen said as she took my hand, but there was something in her tone that alerted Jane.
‘Shall I come too?’ she asked.
‘No, I just need Jenny for a few minutes.’ Mrs Austen sounded sure of that, at least. The brisk tone was back in her voice and she moved quickly to the door, still with my hand in hers as if she thought I might run away.
‘Come upstairs into my bedroom, my dear; we’ll get some privacy there,’ she said as we passed the parlour where the housemaid was lighting the fire.
What could Augusta have to say to Mrs Austen that was so important? I wondered. Mrs Austen’s routine normally never varied. By now she should have been out in the dairy, checking on the amount of milk brought in, inspecting the cleanliness of the churn and directing the dairymaid in loud, penetrating tones. Perhaps something had happened to Edward-John, I suddenly thought, and although he was never very friendly to me, my heart almost stopped for a moment. My brother was the only family I had left.
‘Sit here next to me, Jenny dear.’ Mrs Austen plumped herself down on the window seat and I squeezed in beside her. She still held Augusta’s letter in her hand. For a moment she seemed unsure as to what to do, but then she suddenly held it out to me.
‘What’s all this nonsense about?’ I could hear her voice, but it seemed to come from a long way away. The letter was not very long; I read it in a few seconds, but suddenly my life was in ruins.
How could he?
How coul
d Thomas have betrayed me like this?
It had to be him.
How could he, before he left Hurstbourne Park, have taken his pen and sent this letter to Edward-John and Augusta? And I had been imagining him, coming down to breakfast in Lord and Lady Portsmouth’s magnificent dining room, thinking of me as he ate his buttered eggs, deciding to go to see his uncle and sister …
Well, I was probably right. He had thought of me, but it was not with love and understanding. He had thought of me and he had found my conduct so shocking that he had written to Edward-John as my guardian. Or else he wanted to force me to stand up to Augusta — either way, I could never forgive him.
And he had promised never to tell anyone.
Perhaps when I had refused to promise never to do it again he was so annoyed that he took revenge by telling my brother and sister-in-law.
I blinked the tears from my eyes and read Augusta’s letter through again.
Dear Mrs Austen,
The most distressing and alarming communication has come to me today from Hurstbourne Park. It was lucky that my dear husband was still by my side when I opened the letter or else I would have fallen to the ground in a deep faint. I do declare that I am still suffering from such severe palpitations that the quill quivers in my hand as though it were still part of the living bird.
Madam, I hesitate to communicate to you the terrible information that I have received. I wish I could bring myself to make the usual enquiries about your health but I can send no compliments to you, your husband and your charming children. My whole heart and mind is filled with horror at the behaviour of one that I considered as a sister to me as well as to my darling husband, Edward-John.
It has been reported to us, madam, that this miserable girl has been, alone and unchaperoned, walking the streets of Southampton at midnight.
I can assure you, madam, that I have received thus information from a most reliable source. There can be no doubt as to its accuracy.
Edward-John and I can see only one solution to such appalling behaviour and lack of decorum. We can no longer leave her – I cannot bring myself to say her name – we can no longer impose the care of such a wicked and abandoned creature upon your good selves. We have decided to place her in a very strict boarding school here at Bristol. The girls are locked in their bedrooms every single night – so the mistress of the school assures me. And there are no holidays so there will be no opportunities for further bad behaviour.
Edward-John and I will arrive to collect the sinful girl by the overnight stagecoach from Bristol. We should be at Deane Gate Inn by ten o’clock of the morning.
I am, etc.
Augusta Cooper
‘I just came for a handkerchief.’ Mr Austen slid apologetically around the door, but then he exclaimed, ‘Jenny dear, what’s the matter?’
I was crying too hard to say anything. Last night I felt that I was floating on a cloud of perfect happiness and now I was drowning in despair. He came across the floor and bent down and took one of my cold hands in his own. Through the blur of my tears I saw Mrs Austen pass Augusta’s letter to him. He read it quickly and then handed it back.
‘But, Jenny, dearest little Jenny, we don’t believe this!’ Now he had taken out his clean muslin handkerchief and was trying to mop the tears that slid down my face.
‘Don’t cry, Jenny. Neither your aunt nor I could believe such a thing of you.’
‘That’s all very well, Mr Austen,’ said my aunt. ‘But an accusation like this could ruin Jenny forever. Where on earth did that woman get that story?’
‘Mama, what piano piece would you like me to practise today?’ Jane was at the door. I took the handkerchief from Mr Austen and dried my eyes and face.
‘Jane dear, your mother is busy.’ Mr Austen looked anxiously from one to the other of us.
‘What’s the matter with Jenny?’ Jane had closed the door and come across to the window seat.
‘Oh, come in, come in,’ said Mrs Austen wearily. ‘Let’s have the whole of Hampshire in here, why not?’
No one answered her, but I saw Mr Austen hand the letter to Jane. I began to cry again and Mr Austen’s handkerchief was soaked through in the minute it took for Jane to scan the letter. I looked at her and saw my own thoughts mirrored in her eyes.
‘Of course we don’t believe this, Jenny.’ Mr Austen’s voice was so affectionate that it made me cry even harder. ‘This is some malicious person. My dear’ — he addressed his wife — ‘do you think that it could be one of the young Portsmouths? That Coulson! He would do anything for a joke! Shall we send Henry over to Hurstbourne Park to make enquiries?’
‘No, no.’ I felt I could not bear to have everyone at Hurstbourne Park talking about me. It was bad enough to know that Thomas had betrayed me, that I had been mistaken in him. He was not really in love; he just thought of me as a silly child and, when thinking it over, decided to let my brother and my sister-in-law know all about my dreadful secret. He probably thought it would be good for me to stand up to them. He didn’t realize the importance of a young girl’s reputation. I had wondered why he asked me so particularly about where they lived. I wished now that I hadn’t given him the address.
‘Just tell us it is not true, Jenny, and your uncle and I will do everything to sort out this matter and to save you from being sent to boarding school.’ Mrs Austen was herself again, decisive and practical.
‘It is true.’ I said the words boldly and gave my eyes a last mop. I sat up very straight.
‘What?!’ both husband and wife exclaimed on the one note like a well-trained pair of singers.
‘Tell them,’ I said to Jane.
And Jane made a wonderful dramatic story of how I had taken the letter at the risk of my life and liberty — these were her words — and how I had braved the midnight streets of Southampton and delivered the letter to the post-inn. And how I had saved her life by my courage!
When she had finished, Jane put her two arms around me and held me very close in a hug, and Mr Austen stroked my hair with a gentle hand. Then I saw him take Jane in his arms as if he suddenly realized that he might have lost her. I think that we were all crying for a minute — all except Mrs Austen, who still had a worried and slightly annoyed expression on her face.
‘This is a most unfortunate affair,’ she said, and her lips were compressed together in a straight line. ‘If this gets out about Jenny, what on earth are we to do? Her reputation will be ruined.’
‘But, Jenny, who could have told that abominable sister-in-law of yours?’ Mr Austen was obviously quite upset; normally he was very careful not to say anything about Augusta.
‘I met a gentleman that night in Southampton,’ I said hesitantly. I buried my face in my hands. I could not look at either my aunt or my uncle while I spoke the words that had to be said. ‘He was very kind to me. He escorted me to the post-inn and then he took me back to the school. He waited until I was safely inside.’ I swallowed another sob as the picture of Thomas in his deep blue coat, with the gold braid flashing under the glare of the chairmen’s torches, came into my mind. I had to finish my story though.
‘It was Captain Thomas Williams,’ I said desperately. ‘The naval officer who is a guest of the Portsmouths at Hurstbourne Park.’
‘Captain Williams.’ Mr Austen sounded relieved. He had liked Thomas. I think he was reassured to know that he had been looking after me on that terrible night.
‘Captain Williams?’ Mrs Austen sounded puzzled. I knew how she felt. A horrified expression crossed her face. I could follow her thoughts; Captain Williams had shown affection to me, but then he must have thought it over and decided to have no more to do with me.
‘I wonder why he felt he had to talk to your brother.’ Mrs Austen’s voice was still puzzled — puzzled and worried.
‘And he promised that he would never tell a living soul.’ I felt sick and faint and was glad of Jane’s arm around me.
No one said anything for a full minute. I sensed rather t
han saw Mrs Austen exchange glances with her husband and with Jane. Then she got to her feet. She crossed over to her bedside table, poured a small measure of wine and brought it over to me.
‘Drink this, Jenny,’ she said soothingly. ‘Jane, take her back up to your bedroom. You are both excused from lessons this morning. Don’t worry, Jenny. I will sort out Mrs Augusta Cooper, and young Edward-John, when they come on Saturday. That lady will find that your uncle and I have something to say about them trying to ruin your reputation and risk your life by sending you off to boarding school again. After all, I am your poor mother’s elder sister. The main thing is to hush up this terrible business as much as possible. Let us hope that Captain Williams is a man of honour and he doesn’t mention it to anyone else.’
Thursday, 7 April 1791
I did nothing much but cry yesterday, but this morning I got up with a resolve. I would write Thomas a letter, finish this business now and put him out of my head forever. Then I would concentrate on avoiding being sent to boarding school. Jane had great plans about the two of us running away, but I thought I would prefer to rely on Mrs Austen.
‘Here’s some paper.’ Jane arranged the clean sheet and a new quill and the inkhorn in front of me with a very sympathetic face.
I dipped the quill into the ink, but then left it there, stroking the smooth curved shape of the horn with my fingers while I tried to think of what to say. A big tear dropped down on to the clean sheet of paper.
‘Don’t.’ Jane was at my side, blotting the tear with the corner of her handkerchief. ‘You’ll spoil the paper and water down the ink. Let me write. You can dictate it.’
‘Dear Captain Williams,’ I began, getting up obediently and allowing her to sit in my place. ‘Just call him “Sir”,’ advised Jane, carefully selecting a large goose quill and dipping it into the inkstand.
I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend Page 21
