When I came down to the breakfast parlour, however, there was no one there. Then I heard Jane’s laugh floating up the stairs from the kitchen. For a minute I hesitated. I wasn’t sure that my uncle and aunt would like me going down there, but then I thought there would be no harm in it.
Jane was sitting on the kitchen windowsill chatting happily to Franklin, the black servant of the Leigh-Perrots. He looked a bit embarrassed when he saw me and said that he had to go and see about the breakfast. So Jane and I walked back up to the hallway and Jane opened the front door and we looked down at the busy street where every kind of vehicle – gigs, barouches, landaus, even a mail coach – seemed either to be going up the hill towards the London road or else down the hill towards the centre of Bath.
‘Let’s go for a walk and see if we can find Queen’s Square,’ said Jane. ‘We’ll give Eliza a surprise. I bet she is still in bed.’
‘Better not – it will be breakfast in a few minutes,’ I said with a backwards glance to where maids and a footman and Franklin, of course, were tripping to and fro with dishes and trays.
‘Come on, girls,’ called our uncle from the stairs. ‘Look at them, Franklin! They can’t wait to get out to see Bath. They don’t even want their breakfast.’
‘Bath is a fine city for two beautiful young ladies,’ said Franklin. ‘They will be the belles of the ball, Mr Leigh-Perrot, won’t they?’
‘And you’ve been invited to a party tonight,’ said Uncle Leigh-Perrot. ‘Friends of ours, the Forsters, are giving a party for their granddaughter who has just left school.’
Mrs Austen and Mrs Leigh-Perrot were whispering together on the window seat when we came into the breakfast parlour. They stopped as soon as they saw us. Mrs Austen looked out of the window in a careless way, but Mrs Leigh-Perrot narrowed her eyes and surveyed me from the tip of my shoes to the knot of curls on the top of my head. And then she smiled broadly like a crocodile that has seen something tasty, remarked Jane afterwards when we went upstairs after breakfast to fetch our parasols before walking to the Pump Room with our uncle.
Bath is so beautiful, I thought, as Jane and I, with our uncle between us, walked down through the fine streets, which were lined with buildings made of honey-coloured stone. Our uncle was very kind to us, leading us down Gay Street and pointing out Queen’s Square, with its fine houses surrounding a lawn and trees in the centre. The blinds were still firmly drawn in the upper windows of number 13, and we guessed that Eliza was still sleeping.
Then we went down Milsom Street, where we were shown all the fine shops, with windows full of gowns and charming bonnets behind bow-fronted glass. Our uncle expected us to spend a long time looking at these, but Jane seemed anxious to press on and kept asking how far the Pump Room was and trying to get him to walk a little faster.
The Pump Room was down near the splendid abbey. The heavy wooden doors were set wide open and we passed between the two sets of stone columns and went into a huge room, full of people even at this early time of the day. There were some benches at the side of the room, but apart from these the Pump Room was empty of furniture. This was just as well as there seemed to be hundreds of people there. There were men and women in almost equal numbers; the women were mostly walking about in twos and threes, glancing at each other’s bonnets, and the men were exchanging newspapers. There were two fireplaces, one at the top and the other at the bottom of the room, but on this fine morning very few people were bothering about them.
‘Let’s have a drink of the water,’ said our uncle, and he guided us over to where there was a giant urn with another more elegant urn on top of it. Water flowed continuously from the four taps on the top of the urn and he handed me a mugful. It tasted disgusting, I thought – warm and with a strange flavour and a smell of old eggs. I drank it down politely and listened to his lecture on how good it was, but Jane barely tasted hers and told him that anyway she was never ill.
She seemed more interested in the large clock at the side of the room which Uncle told her had been standing in that very place for over eighty years. It showed ten o’clock and the hour struck just as he finished speaking. Jane’s eyes went to the door. For a moment I was puzzled. Surely she did not expect Eliza to be up as early as this, but then I saw a tall figure block the sunlight for a moment and realized who she was waiting for.
Harry Digweed seemed to be very ill at ease as he pushed his way through the crowd, trying not to tread on the various wildly yapping small dogs that fashionable ladies had attached to very long leads. I thought of him in the woods and fields of Steventon with his well-trained black pointer and felt sorry for him. He seemed like a fish out of water in this perfumed world of fine gentlefolk. He had seen us though, and he was coming towards us.
‘Let’s go and write your mother’s name in the list of new arrivals,’ proposed Uncle.
‘You go, dear Uncle,’ said Jane demurely. ‘I would like just to rest here on the bench for a moment and gaze on this great clock.’
‘I’ll go with you, Uncle,’ I volunteered. After all, there could be nothing wrong in Jane greeting an acquaintance in this crowded room. Even if there were private talk between them, no one could overhear with the music from the orchestra playing in the gallery above and the buzz of hundreds of voices.
By the time Uncle had finished putting our details in the huge visitors’ book that lay, ready opened, on an ornate stand, Jane was making her way towards us, followed by Harry. I noticed a finely dressed young gentleman lift his quizzing glass and eye Harry’s breeches with a sneering smile on his lips. I suddenly felt very sorry for Harry and experienced a great rush of loyalty towards him.
Uncle,’ I said excitedly, ‘that young man is the son of one of Mr Austen’s greatest friends, Mr Digweed of Steventon Manor.’ I did not add that the Digweeds only rented the manor from the Austens’ cousin in Kent, but perhaps even if I had it would have made no difference to one of Mr Leigh-Perrot’s generous, hospitable nature.
Jane did everything beautifully, introducing Harry and explaining that he was staying for a couple of nights in Bath and had come here to drink the waters and, to his surprise, saw us. It seemed a little unlikely that a young and extremely healthy-looking man like Harry would have bothered to come to drink the waters in Bath, but our uncle was not suspicious. He greeted Harry with great cordiality, inviting him to join us in a turn around Sydney Gardens and then to come back to the house and have some lunch with us.
Harry agreed to the walk in Sydney Gardens, but declined the lunch – rightly so, I thought, as Mrs Austen would have been a little suspicious about his turning up.
‘I am going to the ball at the Assembly Rooms tomorrow night,’ he said in stilted tones, which showed that Jane had carefully coached him. ‘I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you all there.’
‘Isn’t that wonderful?’ said nice Uncle James. ‘Well, girls, at least you will know one young man there. You will have to share him between you though.’
And I smiled at him sweetly and hugged my secret to me. Wait until Uncle sees my Thomas, I thought exultantly, and when we went into Sydney Gardens I engaged him in conversation in order to give Jane and Harry some time together. My uncle was very unsuspecting and was only too pleased to tell me all about his fine property in Berkshire. And he told me the whole story of how a rich great-uncle, Thomas Perrot, had left him the estate when he was only fourteen years old and how lucky he had been to marry such a wonderful woman as his wife.
‘I had just to add Perrot to the name of Leigh, and there I was in clover for the rest of my life,’ he said.
I smiled back at him and took a quick peep over my shoulder. Jane and Harry were now quite a long way behind us. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I thought, if Harry had a rich great-uncle somewhere who would leave him an estate? I kept remembering what Eliza had said about the Digweeds – good family, birth and breeding, but no money.
‘Oh, a brass band! Let’s go and listen to it.’ I dragged my uncle across the grass
. Harry and Jane would find plenty of quiet benches and little nooks where they could sit and talk together while my uncle’s attention was on the splendid noise that the huge instruments were making.
After lunch, Jane and I went to visit Eliza. My two aunts were planning a visit to the shops at Milsom Street, so we all walked together down George Street, then down Gay Street, Aunt Leigh-Perrot pointing out various Bath notables. Then we were in lovely Queen’s Square, with its stately buildings shining in the afternoon sun and the pretty poplar trees casting long shadows.
‘You fixed that up with Harry, didn’t you, Jane?’ I asked when we parted from my aunts at the corner of Wood Street and crossed over to the bottom quarter of Queen’s Square. A couple of young men, racing their gigs, passed us and Jane, making no reply to my question, said that she was sure they were both young lords and that she could see by the eyes of the second one that he had fallen madly in love with her. This made us both giggle and we quickened our pace almost to a run.
Then we knocked on the door of number 13 and were immediately shown up to Eliza’s lodging by a fat woman in mourning clothes, who had a little black kitten running behind her. On the way up I teased Jane about arranging to meet Harry at the Pump Room, but she just smiled mysteriously. I wondered whether that had been a secret meeting – and if so, did Jane carry out her plan of kissing him???????
Eliza was only just getting dressed, but she looked quite at home. Gowns peeped from closets and presses, frilly petticoats spilled from half-open drawers and the surface of her dressing table was almost completely covered with her possessions. While Jane was relating an account of our morning, including the appearance of Harry Digweed, I sat on the bed and made a list in my mind of everything that Eliza had there.
This is the list:
A small box of pomade
A glass bottle full of little holes for sprinkling powder
A powder puff on a delicate pale blue saucer
Four scent bottles
A small glass of wine
A hand mirror
Four candles in silver candlesticks.
A tray of breath-scenting lozenges
A miniature of her little son, Hastings (but none of her husband, Monsieur le Comte)
A glass dish with a pearl necklace coiled in it
Strips of lip-reddening crimson-coloured leather
A set of ivory manicure sticks
A lace handkerchief
A fan (of course)
That’s all that I can remember I think there could have been a dozen more items, but my attention was distracted by a soft knock on the door and a strange-looking woman sidled in.
‘Ah, Phylly,’ said Eliza. She jumped up and made a big fuss of her, introducing her and making sure that Phylly had a comfortable chair to sit on.
Philadelphia Walters is about the same age as Eliza (though no one would have guessed as she looks ten years older). She is only about thirty, I think. She is also Mr Austen’s niece, but this time through his stepbrother, William-Hampson Walters. She is an unmarried lady who lives with her elderly parents in a small village in Kent, a strange little person, who was dressed in a very dowdy, old-fashioned gown. She has an odd habit of putting her head on one side and looking at you with very bright beady eyes, which makes her look rather mouse-like or perhaps more like a little sparrow.
‘You know dearest Jane, don’t you, Phylly?’
Head on one side, Cousin Philadelphia surveyed Jane, from the toes of her neat flat-heeled shoes, right up her spotted yellow muslin morning dress with its tightly buttoned yellow spencer to the tip of her straw bonnet, and then nodded vigorously.
‘Yes, of course . . . I remember you when you were about twelve – dear, dear, dear, what a strange little girl you were then! I remember thinking that it was a shame that your elder sister had all the good looks.’ This was Philadelphia’s amiable reply, which she followed by saying, ‘So this is Jenny? Not a bit like her mother, is she?’ and peering at me in a disapproving fashion.
Jane made a face at me and turned to look out of the window.
‘Are you going out, Eliza?’ she enquired, ignoring Phylly. ‘We were hoping to go for a walk with you up the hill through the park. We have lots to tell you.’ She cast a quick frowning glance at Philadelphia, who had now wandered over to Eliza’s dressing table and was sniffing distastefully at a jar of hair powder.
Eliza looked a little worried as she said, ‘Phylly, darling, why don’t you have a little siesta – after all, you were out at all sorts of early hours this morning when I was still endormie. I’ll look after the two girls.’
‘No, Cousin Eliza, I came to Bath to bear you company and I won’t desert you now.’ Phylly was grimly resolute. ‘Not that I enjoy Bath,’ she went on. ‘I can’t stand the shiny newness of the place and the glare and the chatter, and of course it is so noisy that it’s no wonder that your poor nerves are shattered by it, Eliza. Don’t you worry – you just take your ease and I will entertain the girls. Perhaps they would like to visit St Swithin’s church?’
‘No, we wouldn’t,’ said Jane abruptly. ‘Let’s go out then, Eliza, if you’re ready.’
Eliza gave a last pat of the powder puff to her face, squirted on some scent, arranged her hat, with its elaborate bunches of cherries, to frame her small heart-shaped face and then picked up her parasol and announced herself ready.
‘We might as well have gone with Mama and Aunt,’ Jane hissed furiously at me as we followed the two ladies, Philadelphia talking continuously about her good works back home in Kent and how she insisted on some unfortunate village child learning to read and told his father to beat him because he had been slow and inattentive at her lesson. I decided that I didn’t like this Phylly very much. I could see why Jane disliked her – everyone else said that I looked like my mother, so I think she meant to imply that I was plain.
‘Let’s visit some shops,’ said Eliza over her shoulder. ‘Come along, Phylly. I insist on buying you a new hat. Do allow me the pleasure.’
‘And then the hat that she has on can be returned to the scarecrow.’ Jane made the observation in a low tone, but definitely not a whisper. Philadelphia swung round sharply, but Jane just smiled sweetly at her.
‘What I admire about you, Cousin Philadelphia,’ she said amiably, ‘is your great sense of humour. My father is always talking about it. No one has a greater sense of fun than my niece Philadelphia, that’s what he says.’
Jane uttered this with the earnest countenance that she always assumes when telling an outrageous lie, and Phylly gave an uncertain smile and continued walking.
‘Bother,’ said Jane in my ear. ‘Why didn’t she take offence and go back to their lodgings? Is there any way of getting rid of her? Could I push her under that omnibus, do you think?’
I looked at the omnibus and its four horses. It looked rather fun to be in, with its passengers of excited girls and gallant young men.
And then I saw Harry, with a smart new hat which he was doffing as he came up to us.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Jenny, Miss J-Jane.’ Harry had a slight stutter from time to time. I thought it added to his attractiveness and I beamed encouragement at him as I curtsied.
Jane held out her hand to him in her impulsive way. ‘Eliza, you know Harry Digweed, don’t you? You met him at the play.’
‘Oh, the play,’ broke in Phylly before Eliza could open her mouth. ‘I’ve heard all about that play. Your mother, Jane, wanted me to come and join in, but my principles wouldn’t allow me. It’s a nuisance to have been brought up with such strong Christian principles, but there you are, we can’t change who we are, can we?’ The last phrase was aimed at Harry, who – dear Harry! – immediately stammered that she was quite right.
Jane gave him an annoyed glance, which disconcerted him, and he turned bright red and tapped the brim of his shiny new hat against a lamp post in his confusion.
‘Let’s walk up towards the Crescent,’ said Eliza soothingly. ‘Will you com
e with us, Mr Digweed?’
He looked unsure for a moment, glancing from Philadelphia’s unwelcoming face to Jane’s annoyed one.
‘Do come, Harry,’ I said and earned myself a suspicious, head-to-one-side, bird-like look from Philadelphia.
‘Tell me about your school, Cousin Philadelphia,’ I said, moving up beside her and allowing Jane to fall behind and walk beside Harry. Eliza felt it her duty to keep Phylly and Jane at a distance from each other. So she walked beside me, gamely putting extra questions to Phylly about her teaching methods (involving mainly, we understood, the use of a small sharp ruler which stung the backs of the children’s fingers when they made a mistake in their reading) and then, once she ran out of stories about the village school, hearing about Phylly’s exciting ball at a nearby town where a gentleman actually asked her to dance for the second time!!!
Eliza, in her generous way, was very merry about Phylly’s beau and her teasing remarks almost relaxed her unpleasant cousin into an odd, bird-like giggle. She even went so far as to tease Phylly about the impression that she had made on Harry, and Phylly graciously conceded that she thought he was a well-behaved young man.
I loved my first view of the Crescent when we eventually got there. It was as if someone had taken one huge mansion, gently bent it into a semicircle and set it on top of the hill to look down over the parkland. I couldn’t count how many houses there are because we stayed just at the edge of it. (But my uncle told me at supper that there are thirty.)
Eliza was very interested in the quality of the luggage being taken into number 1, the Crescent, where a huge travelling coach was unloading an enormous amount of goods and smartly dressed footmen were rushing in and out. Someone in the first rank of fashion must have hired the house, Eliza surmised.
Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend Page 6