The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen

by Syrie James

  “It is early yet.”

  Eliza’s maid entered. “A visitor has come to see you, made-moiselles. A Mrs. Jenkins.”

  “Please shew her in,” said I. It had been nearly a se’en night since we had seen Mrs. Jenkins, shortly after Isabella had made her astonishing announcement to her father about her broken engagement, and received his blessing to marry Mr. Wellington. Mrs. Jenkins had been quite distressed by the news, almost beside herself, in fact. What on earth, she had cried at the time, could have induced that ungrateful creature to go behind her back to see that gentleman, when she was promised to another? And how could she shew such poor judgment, as to give up such a man as Mr. Ashford? Even if he was, as Isabella had so often pointed out, twice her age? The girl, she felt certain, must have lost her mind.

  Cassandra and I had calmed her down at the time; we convinced her that the ways of the heart could not be explained, and that a match based on love was certainly of higher merit and destined to enjoy a greater success than one that had been arranged years earlier, without the parties’ consent.

  I wondered what could have brought Mrs. Jenkins to our door now. Had Mr. Ashford’s news of our secret engagement somehow reached her, before he had had a chance to return and share in the joy of the announcement with me?

  Before I could ponder the question more, Mrs. Jenkins burst in.

  “Thank goodness you are home,” cried the great lady, in an even more agitated state than I had ever seen her. “I have just had the most appalling news, I cannot sit, I am all in a frenzy.”

  “What is wrong, Mrs. Jenkins?” asked Cassandra.

  “My darling Isabella, you know that she has fallen in love with that Mr. Wellington, of whom we have spoken so often, and that her father, against my advice, deemed to approve the marriage. Well! If I said it once, I said it a thousand times, I said: George, that Mr. Wellington is no gentleman, and he is no good for Isabella! But would he listen? No, he would not! And now I have been proven right!’

  “What has happened?” I asked in alarm, with a growing sense of dread.

  “It seems that Isabella’s father, wanting to know more about his daughter’s prospective husband, conducted some investigation into his background. What he learned came as a great shock. Mr. Wellington, it seems, has been living in high style for some years, well beyond his means, and has incurred a great many debts, both gambling and otherwise. His uncle, on whom he was financially dependent, and from whom he was to inherit, has long since written him off completely, a fact which the scoundrel never disclosed. Mr. Wellington, it turns out, is a ruined man, in desperate circumstances, and was only after Isabella’s fifty thousand pounds!”

  “So he did not love her?” said I, stunned.

  “Not enough to stand by her,” rejoined Mrs. Jenkins. “When Isabella’s father told Mr. Wellington he could have her, but she would be cut off without a cent, the rascal retracted his proposal and scampered off into the night, without so much as a backwards glance!”

  “Poor Isabella!” said Cassandra.

  “Lucky Isabella, if you ask me!” cried Mrs. Jenkins. “Saved by the bell! Can you imagine the disastrous consequences that would have ensued, had she gone ahead with her foolish inclination to marry that villain? But thank the good Lord, all is not lost. Her prior engagement has been reinstated.”

  “Reinstated?” I gasped, my heart in my throat.

  “Yes! And thank goodness. Her father insisted, if some one was going to marry Isabella for her money, it might as well be Mr. Ashford.”

  My mind was in such a state of agitation and confusion, I thought I must have heard incorrectly. “What do you mean, Mrs. Jenkins? Surely Mr. Ashford would never marry Isabella for her money. He is extremely wealthy himself.”

  “So we all thought.” Mrs. Jenkins shook her head sadly. “And so the family always has been, for generations. I am certain Mr. Ashford had no idea of the extent of their troubles, not until his father broke the terrible news last night. Sir Thomas, it seems, has greatly mismanaged his finances over the years. He spent so much money on that estate of his, and made so many poor investments, that he was dependent on a spectacular investment of some kind to recover. As such, he poured what remained of his fortune into a shipping fleet. He has only just learned that the fleet, on a return voyage from Spain without protection of a naval convoy, was attacked and sunk by the French. Much of the crew was saved, but not all, and the vessels themselves and all their cargo was lost. It is a very great tragedy, not only in human lives, but for the investors as well. Sir Thomas is ruined, and his family nearly bankrupt.”

  I found it difficult to breathe. “Bankrupt?”

  “Such a terrible thing! Sir Thomas is close to apoplexy, I hear. I tell you, my heart goes out to him and that whole family. The man has never been the same since his poor wife died, spending like a young man gone wild, hiding his investments from his only son and heir, who is the far smarter man, if you ask me. Now, they are in danger of losing Pembroke Hall and all their holdings. Of course with the property tied up in entail, 44 he cannot sell or mortgage any part of it. His only chance to save the estate is for Mr. Ashford to marry our Isabella, as planned, but they will not wait for Christmas, now. The wedding is to take place in a fortnight. Jane, is any thing the matter?”

  “No—” I attempted to reply, but no sound actually escaped my lips.

  “She is distressed,” said Cassandra quickly, leaping up from her chair and standing behind me, her hands upon my shoulders. “For Isabella’s sake.”

  “I have just spent the last half-hour with that poor girl,” said Mrs. Jenkins, tears starting in her eyes. “She is beside herself with grief. But she is young, she will recover. Mr. Ashford is a good man and an excellent catch, even with all of this, and there is the title to consider. Isabella will one day be Lady Ashford, and mistress of Pembroke Hall, a very, very fine place. If her money can save it from the creditors, then I say it is all for the best; they each bring something to the marriage, and the rest will work itself out. It always does.”

  “I am sure you are right,” said my sister, without conviction; then, apparently realising that Mrs. Jenkins had never once sat down since entering the room, Cassandra invited her to take a seat and offered her some refreshment. To my relief, Mrs. Jenkins declined, insisting that she must be on her way, she had only stopped to share the news.

  As I stood and curtsied, Mrs. Jenkins cried, “No, no, do not trouble yourself. You really do look as if you should lie down, Miss Jane. I shall see myself out.”

  No sooner had the lady left, than my legs buckled under me, and I sank back into my chair. Cassandra knelt beside me; as tears sprang into her eyes, she took me in her arms. “Jane. Oh, Jane. I wish there were words.”

  There were no words. I was too stunned to cry.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A note arrived from Mr. Ashford the next morning.

  Park Lane, Mayfair—3 October, 1810

  My dearest Jane,

  I am so very sorry that I have been unable to come to you to-day. I have just been apprised of news of the most distressing nature, concerning my family’s affairs; my father and sister are in such a state that I fear to leave them. Worse yet, I fear that you may learn of our circumstances before I have the opportunity to speak with you myself. Please, please, my darling Jane, do not be distressed or leap to conclusions, based on any thing you might hear from others. I love you, and I always will. I shall come as soon I can.

  Yours most affectionately,

  Frederick

  I knew not what to make of such a missive. Was there yet hope? Had he some solution to this catastrophic situation, of which I could not guess?

  My heart was filled with pain at the many difficulties that Mr. Ashford was facing, of a sudden: the potential loss of his ancestral home; the displacement of his family; a distraught, and possibly ill, father and sister; and yet, here he was writing to me, begging me to not be distressed.

  I could not go to him, nor
could I sit at home and wait, not knowing when I might hear from him again. Restless, I begged Henry to lend me his barouche, and one look at my agitated face apparently convinced him to comply. I instructed the driver to take me into town, where we rode aimlessly for the better part of an hour, until I knew, at last, precisely where I wished to go.

  I soon found myself sitting on that familiar bench in Kensington Gardens, which Mr. Ashford and I had so often frequented. Most of the flowers were dead and gone, and there was an early-autumn chill in the air. I pulled my shawl closer about me, barely cognizant of the few people strolling by. Tears stung my eyes. Despite the optimistic tone at the end of Mr. Ashford’s letter, I held out no hope. How, I wondered, could I have ever been so foolish as to imagine that things could work out between us?

  I know not how long I had been sitting there, when I became aware of footsteps behind me, and I heard Mr. Ashford’s voice:

  “Jane.”

  I turned. He crossed to me in three great strides. “Your sister told me you had driven into town. I took a chance, hoping I would know where to find you.” He sat down beside me on the bench and took my hand in his, his eyes filled with emotion. “I am so sorry that you heard about all this the way you did, Jane. I am quite ashamed.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” said I.

  “I do. I should have been more informed of my father’s financial activities. Years ago, at the time of my majority, he gave me specific responsibilities dealing with our property and tenants, and these became my complete focus. The rest, he insisted, was his territory. He was very adept at hiding things from me. His many improvements at Pembroke Hall seemed excessive to me. I suspected that something was amiss several years ago, and suggested that we retrench. He refused to take me into his confidence, apprising me of only the narrowest of circumstances, and maintaining that his investments would see us through. If only I had known! I would have strongly advised against putting any money into that shipping fleet, it posed too great a risk. Now, it is too late. All is lost.”

  “All is not lost. Isabella’s fortune can save you.”

  “I do not love Isabella. I will not marry her. My heart belongs to you.”

  “And mine is yours,” said I, my voice breaking, “but there is no room for love in marriage.” With a heavy heart, I understood his intentions now. He had no miraculous solution to his family’s dire situation. His plan was to throw every thing away, and be true to me. “The sad truth is, marriage is business, and nothing more.”

  “I will not believe that! Jane, I will not allow this—this terrible mistake on my father’s part to destroy my life. I have been bound to him, to his whims, and to his promises on my behalf, for too many years. I will no longer have any part of it! I am no longer honour-bound to Isabella; her own actions have put an end to that. You are the woman I love, Jane. I want to spend my life with you.”

  “But how can that be? Will you not lose Pembroke Hall?”

  “I believe we shall. It breaks my heart to lose our family estate; but it is my father’s doing, not mine. We will survive it somehow. I have wasted too much time dreaming of some one like you, and then, upon finding you, wishing for a miracle that would allow us to be together. I am through with dreaming and wishing, Jane. I choose you, over any piece of land or any amount of money. But I must know how you feel, with things as they now stand. Were I only the man you see before you, without a penny in my pocket, would you still love me? Would you still have me?”

  “You know I would,” said I, trembling.

  “Then let me come for you in the morning, my darling. I will obtain a license. We can meet the parson at my church. By this time tomorrow we can be married.”

  My resistance began to crumble. “I cannot help but think that it would be wrong—”

  “No! It would be wrong, it would be a sin against nature to give up a love such as ours!” From his pocket, Mr. Ashford removed a lovely gold-and-ruby ring. “My father once gave this ring to my mother to wear until her wedding band was made. Will you wear it now, Jane, as a symbol of my love and promise?”

  “I could not possibly—” I began, but he gently took my hand in his, removed my glove and slid the ring onto my finger. The bright red stone sparkled in the sun’s light like a perfect beating heart. “I know not what to say,” I whispered.

  “Say yes, Jane. Tell me again, that you will marry me.”

  “Yes,” said I softly, “I will.”

  I told Henry and my sisters every thing that evening, as we sat before the drawing-room fire.

  “I think it the most romantic thing I have ever heard,” cried Eliza, clasping her hands to her bosom with a beatific sigh, after she had admired my ruby ring with great enthusiasm.

  “To know that a man’s love is so deep and so strong that he would give up every thing for you, that is true love,” said Cassandra. “I envy you, Jane. Mr. Ashford is the best of men, and your perfect match. I know you will be very happy.”

  “Would you give up everything for love of me, dearest?” enquired Eliza, patting her husband’s thigh affectionately.

  “I believe I already have, my dear,” replied Henry, to which my sisters laughed.

  “But seriously, darling,” persisted Eliza. “Do not you think it the most romantic and wonderful thing in the world? To say adieu to property and fortune, to follow one’s heart, to rest one’s happiness in life solely on l’amour?”

  “I think it depends on the size of the property and the fortune,” answered Henry, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Oh! Men!” cried Eliza, indignant. “You are insufferable.”

  But Henry’s words stayed with me, echoing a worry that had been eating away at my own conviction, even as I had said the words I will.

  I spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, alternately burning up as if with fever, or suffused with an icy chill, just as I had the night following Harris Bigg-Wither’s proposal. On that occasion, I had suffered under the weight of the evils that would befall a marriage based solely on the acquisition of material comforts, without benefit of love. Now, I was tormented by visions of a union founded on precisely the reverse.

  At last I rose, shivering as my bare feet touched the cold wooden floor; drawing a shawl about me, I crossed to the window-seat and drew back the curtain, gazing out at the nearby rooftops and inky sky. I heard Cassandra stir in the next bed; in a moment she joined me at the window-seat, lovingly draping a blanket around both our shoulders.

  “You are having second thoughts?” asked she gently.

  I nodded.

  “But why? You love Mr. Ashford, and he loves you.”

  “If he marries me, Pembroke Hall and all its lands will be lost to creditors.”

  “I understand. But if that is his choice—” began Cassandra.

  “You did not see Pembroke Hall,” I interjected. “It is the most immense, magnificent estate I have ever seen, like something out of a fairy tale, each room more impressive than the last. And the woods and grounds—” My voice broke as I shook my head. “It is not something to be given up lightly.”

  We were packed by morning. I sent a lengthy letter by early post to Mr. Ashford, explaining why I must go without delay. The ink, I admit, was stained by tears in several locations, but the intent, I hoped, was ascertainable.

  As Henry’s coachman readied his carriage for our removal to Chawton, I paced alone in the shrubbery of the small back-garden, dabbing my eyes with my handkerchief; I had been weeping all morning, and the flow of tears refused to cease.

  I heard the back gate open, and knew it must be he. As I heard his footsteps cross the lawn, I took a deep breath to steady myself and attempted to dry my eyes. With great effort, I turned to face him. He stood but a yard away, gripping a letter in his hand, which I took to be the one I had just sent him. His face was ashen, his voice diffused with emotion.

  “You cannot mean what you have written here.”

  “I am sorry,” said I brokenly, willing away th
e tears which threatened.

  “Jane, do not do this. Come away with me, now.”

  “Come away where?”

  “Any where you choose.”

  “And live how?”

  “One day at a time.”

  “How will we support ourselves?”

  “I will find work. I could take orders.”

  “It has never been your ambition to join the clergy.”

  “A man can change his ambition. I might be well suited to such a profession.” There was doubt in his eyes, which he could not hide; he knew I saw it. In frustration, he crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it to the ground. “I could go into a trade.”

  “What trade? What have you trained for, other than to own and manage a great estate?”

  “That training can be of use. I could work as a bailiff. 45

  “And manage another man’s property?”

  “Why not?” said he, but his face coloured at the prospect. I knew that such work could only be humiliating to a man with his upbringing.

  “And where would we live, my dearest?” I asked quietly. “In a rented house, with rented furniture?”

  “I do not need a palace to be happy,” said he.

  “That is true for me. But for you—once born to privilege, it is not easy to go without.”

  “I can learn. If it means that we can be together—”

  “Pembroke Hall has been in your family for nearly two hundred years. It is part of who you are. It is your children’s and your grandchildren’s birthright, and your duty to preserve it for those future generations. You know it to be true. If you gave it up, in time you would grow to regret it, and to resent me.”

  “No. Jane—”

  “You would. And even if you did not, think of your family. Of the disgrace. How could Sir Thomas ever hold up his head in society again? And what of your sister? You have told me how dearly Sophia loves her home. Now she will suffer not only that great loss, but she will have no dowry, no income. What will become of them? Where will they go?”