Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend

by Cora Harrison

  ‘He’s going . . .’ began Jane and then stopped. Newton was waving violently at us, holding up a piece of paper. It looked like a letter.

  ‘What are you up to, Jane?’ he called when we came within speaking distance. ‘Is this from one of your novels?’

  Now I could see the paper. It was, indeed, a letter. The address:

  THE HONOURABLE NEWTON WALLOP

  YORK HOUSE INN

  BATH

  was written in large, straggling capital letters. Jane and I stared at it.

  ‘And I had to pay postage on it,’ continued Newton. ‘Come on, Jane; don’t pretend to be an innocent. Only you write letters like this.’

  Jane took the letter and I peered over her shoulder. This is what we read – I’ve stuck it into my journal here.

  ‘An anonymous letter about me!’ Jane breathed the words as though it was something she had looked for all her life. ‘Pray, pray, Newton, let me keep it. Jenny can stick it into her journal and it will divert us during the long winter evenings.’

  ‘Didn’t you write it, then?’ Newton sounded puzzled. ‘I thought you were the only one who wrote in that sort of style. Are you sure that you didn’t write it? I can remember you writing a play a little like this when I was at your father’s place.’

  ‘No, I didn’t write this,’ said Jane regretfully. ‘But I wish I had. What fun to write letters about oneself! Though I would be sorry to make you pay postage, Newton. I would have trudged down to York House at dead of night and slipped the letter under the door.’

  ‘You swear that you didn’t write it, then?’ Newton still sounded puzzled.

  ‘Alas!’ said Jane sadly, looking lovingly at the letter.

  ‘It’s all very well to think it funny, Jane,’ I said hotly, ‘but who is writing letters about you? It’s a terrible thing to say. Whoever wrote it is implying that you are just a flirt.’ I had a strong suspicion that it might be Lavinia, and yet it did not seem like her. I wouldn’t have thought that she would use words like ‘abjectly’ and ‘follies and vices’. They seemed to be rather old-fashioned expressions.

  ‘Well, have it if you like,’ said Newton in an offhand way. ‘Perhaps it is someone having a joke. I say, Jane, is Frank at home? I’m off back to Hampshire today and I wondered if we could get in some hunting.’

  ‘I think he is still at Southampton,’ said Jane absently. She gave her hand to Newton and we both wished him a goodbye and a good journey, but I could see that her mind was still on that stupid letter as we walked on towards Eliza’s place. From time to time Jane gave a little giggle to herself and had another peep at the anonymous letter.

  Harry was standing outside the door of number 13, Queen’s Square. He often did that if he wanted to meet us, but this time there was something strange about his manner. He did not walk towards us, but waited until we had turned into the doorway and were under the arches before he moved.

  And then I saw that he had a letter in his hand.

  ‘Harry!’ exclaimed Jane. And then suddenly she stopped. I saw a change come over her face. She took a step back. His face was white with fury.

  ‘What does this mean?’ he exploded. He didn’t sound at all like the usual shy, slightly hesitant Harry.

  ‘Let me see.’ Jane held out a hand. Her voice shook and for a moment she looked as though she might cry. ‘Harry, please give me that letter . . .’ she said.

  For a moment I thought he was going to refuse, but then he held it out, and when she took it he turned and walked away.

  ‘Let me look,’ I said. Jane wasn’t looking at the letter but gazing after Harry; she looked quite upset. So I read through the letter myself. It was nastier than Newton’s one and had things about Jane making a fool out of Harry and regarding him as the village idiot, but it was the same handwriting and also signed ‘A FRIEND AND WELL-WISHER’.

  ‘I didn’t write it, Harry.’ There was a funny quaver in Jane’s voice when she said that, and Harry instantly turned on his heel and came back. He stood very still for a moment, looking down at Jane, and then snatched the letter out of my hand.

  ‘Of course you didn’t write it,’ he said, and then I saw him looking closely into her face. I looked also. There were definitely tears in Jane’s eyes. Harry put a hand on her arm and squeezed it and then he smiled. ‘Of course you didn’t write it,’ he repeated, and now his tone lightened. ‘Whoever wrote that could spell the word “friend”, so it definitely wasn’t you!’

  And then he tore the piece of paper into forty or so pieces and thrust them into his pocket. ‘There are a lot of very stupid people around,’ he said.

  And after that there was a minute’s silence. They just stood there looking at each other. I remembered my thoughts the night after the ball at the Crescent when Jane said that the polished gentlemen were not quite real and that she could not imagine going for a walk in the woods with them, and I wondered again about her feelings for Harry. Was it just because he was a friend of her youth (as she put it) or did she have stronger feelings for him?

  ‘We’ve an invitation for you, Harry,’ said Jane eventually, taking the card from her reticule. ‘It’s a party tomorrow at the Leigh-Perrots’. Will you come?’

  Harry took the card gently from her and smiled. He does have a nice smile!

  ‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘I’ll go straight back to my lodgings and write a polite acceptance.’

  ‘Let’s show the letter to Eliza,’ I said after he had left.

  ‘Let’s not,’ said Jane.’ I know who wrote it, and it will only upset Eliza. Phylly wrote it. I knew I recognized the writing when Newton was showing it to me, but it was only when I saw the second one that I remembered.’

  I felt annoyed about this and said that I thought we should tell Eliza. However, Jane insisted that she didn’t want to. She seemed in a very good mood and was humming a little song to herself as we climbed the stairs.

  Eliza was full of questions about Augusta, but she was not disappointed to hear that nothing had yet been said.

  ‘Give her a day or two,’ she advised. ‘She’s the sort of woman that tries to hold on to her spite. If nothing happens soon, then we might have to apply a little more pressure.’ Her eyes met Jane’s and they smiled at each other.

  Augusta did not come down to supper this evening, and it seems nothing has yet been said to the Austens.

  ‘Perhaps Mr Jerome Wilkins has abandoned her,’ suggested Jane. ‘She threw herself into his arms and spluttered, “Damme, Jerome, I shall be married to you.” And then he said, in a manner truly heroic, “Damme, Augusta, you are too old for me.” I’ve taken that from a story that I wrote when I was a twelve-year-old,’ added Jane. She gave a melancholy sigh and said, ‘I was so immature then; I could do better now.’

  Jane always manages to make me laugh.

  Thursday, 12 May 1791

  And of course Eliza and Mrs Austen were right. Everyone did come to the party. The Leigh-Perrots’ house was a large one, but it was thronged! There were even people sitting on the stairs to eat their supper since the crowds in the dining room were so enormous. In fact, that became the fashionable place to be for the younger crowd. When eventually Jane, Eliza, Harry and I squeezed our way downstairs and went in for supper the dining room had begun to clear.

  The supper was delicious. Franklin, beaming from ear to ear, was serving every kind of exotic food. I filled my plate and went over to talk to Mr Austen, who was looking a little out of place among the smooth-talking Bath gentlemen.

  ‘It’s a wonderful party, sir, isn’t it?’ I began. ‘I wish Thomas was here.’ And then when he didn’t reply, in desperation I asked the important question: ‘Have Edward-John and Augusta said anything to you about me, sir?’

  Mr Austen, however, was still not listening to me but gazing, with a puzzled frown, across the room, at Jane and Harry Digweed. They were standing with full plates, right in the centre of the room, and Jane was pointing directly across the room to where Augusta was demurely
talking to Phylly while Edward-John hastened towards them with a couple of glasses of wine in his hands.

  Her? I could see Jane’s lips mime the word, while her face was filled with horror at some scandalous revelation about a cousin. Harry was looking embarrassed, his face very red, but that was all right. That almost helped the piece of play-acting that was going on. Now Eliza took part, stopping in the middle of the floor, staring at Jane – just as if she could hardly believe her ears – and then turning around to look with horror at Augusta. Augusta coloured up, made some excuse to Phylly, then moved away, only to be accosted by Eliza who, with the exaggerated gestures that would have looked good on the stage in Covent Garden Theatre in London, drew her into a corner and began to whisper in her ear, with many backward glances at Jane. Jane played her part well, rising on tiptoe to whisper into Harry’s ear – her lip movements were so exaggerated that I, and probably the rest of the room, could almost make out the words Are you sure it was really her?

  By now half the room was staring at Augusta. Mrs Leigh-Perrot looked puzzled and then decided to distract everyone. She moved to the centre of the room, called her husband to join her, and made a brief and quite moving speech thanking everyone for believing in her innocence and ‘fortifying her’ (that’s what she said) with their constant messages, letters, cards and gifts of food. Then she spoke of how her husband had stood by her and of how she could never have lived through the experience without his steadfast support and belief in her. She smiled across at him then, and he smiled back, his eyes brimming with tears.

  As for the horrors she had endured in prison – ‘Well,’ she said, ‘one of these days, I shall write a book about my experiences and I shall expect all of you to put your names down for a copy. I shall ask for two guineas from each of you.’ There was a great laugh at that. Someone began to clap, others joined in, and the Leigh-Perrots beamed at everyone.

  Edward-John had now joined Augusta. Eliza moved away the moment he approached and gave me the suspicion of a quick wink as she approached Mr Austen and gaily greeted him.

  ‘Whom will you dance with next?’ he said with the indulgent smile that he keeps for his daughters and nieces.

  ‘With you, if you will ask me, mon oncle,’ she said in her most flirtatious way, and peeped at him over her fan.

  I left Mr Austen in Eliza’s capable hands – she would manage him much better than I could ever do. It was obvious that Augusta had still said nothing to him, but after Jane’s performance she could be in no doubt that her reputation would be ruined unless she placated her husband’s young cousin. Eliza would persuade Mr Austen to open the matter of my marriage once again.

  I went across the room to greet the admiral and Elinor. Although Mrs Leigh-Perrot had politely invited them both with ‘& partner’ after each name, the baronet, Sir Walter Montmorency, was not there. I tried to make conversation with Elinor, but although she gave me a very sweet smile she said very little, and once more she looked at the admiral before answering the simplest question and then mostly echoed what he had said. He seemed irritable with her and criticized her hair.

  On the other hand, he was very friendly to me, chatting as if Thomas and I were properly engaged. I wondered whether Elinor had said something nice to him about me, but came to the conclusion that the rich surroundings and the motherly pat on the arm that Mrs Leigh-Perrot gave me a moment ago had impressed him. He asked me whether I had heard from Thomas yet, and told me that if I cared to write, a fellow officer was going to Southampton in two days’ time and would be able to carry a letter to the ship that was scheduled to make contact with Thomas’s at Madeira Island.

  I thanked him fervently – thinking that by tomorrow morning, thanks to Jane and Eliza, my troubles with Augusta should be over. He smiled down at me, asked permission to admire my beautiful blue eyes and proposed himself as my partner for the next dance. I could see him looking around at all the evidence of wealth and splendour in the Leigh-Perrot household and I think it made a difference to him. After all, I might be a suitable bride for his nephew if my childless aunt and uncle were as affluent as this. I half smiled to myself, thinking of James and Edward-John eyeing each other like rival stags. Money was a terrible thing, I thought. It seemed almost as if it was the most important thing in the world for some people.

  Suddenly I resolved not to worry any more. There were times when it felt as if everything was knotted up in my mind like a ball of wool, but now, bit by bit, the problems were unravelling. Eliza had given us a weapon against Augusta; Admiral Williams was cordial and welcoming and seemed to have accepted that I am engaged to marry his nephew; Thomas’s sister Elinor was now quite friendly.

  ‘Would you like to see my room?’ I asked Elinor. ‘I shall have to tidy myself before I can dance with a distinguished gentleman like your uncle.’ I made him a curtsy and managed not to laugh at the surprised expression on his face. It was easy enough to do this sort of thing, I thought, if I imagined myself to be Eliza.

  Elinor followed me upstairs without a word and I sat her in front of our looking glass and tried to tie up her rather limp blonde hair in the same style as my own. If I had seriously wanted to improve her appearance I would have asked Eliza to come with me, but I wanted the chance to talk to her. So I dampened some strands of hair and coiled them around my finger and then wound a warmed handkerchief over the hair and held it for a moment, chatting about Thomas until she relaxed.

  ‘He’s very love in with you,’ she said after a minute. ‘Do you think you will be able to get married when he returns?’

  I told her that I thought we might, and she frowned slightly, and then heaved a sigh. ‘You’re lucky,’ was all that she said.

  And then I asked whether Sir Walter Montmorency had left Bath, and her very pale cheeks flushed red and then became white again. I pretended not to see and turned away to find a ribbon from my box.

  ‘No, I don’t think he has,’ she said after a minute. And then there was another silence. I was hoping that the supper would last a good long time, as otherwise the admiral would be wondering what kept us.

  ‘It’s a pity that he couldn’t come here this evening,’ I said.

  ‘My uncle has forbidden me to see him again. Apparently he has huge gambling debts.’ Her voice was dry and hard when she said these words. I nodded. So the admiral had finally found out what half of Bath knew already.

  ‘Are you sorry?’ I asked her. ‘Were you . . . ?’ I hesitated a little, but then asked, ‘were you fond of him?’

  She did not reply. I found the ribbon and then came over towards her, but before I could thread it through her hair she jumped up and ran for the door.

  ‘No, I hate him,’ she said, but I could tell that she was crying. She slammed the door behind her, and when I went out, there was no sign of her.

  The music had not yet begun again when I went downstairs. Most of the guests, the friends of the Leigh-Perrots, were middle-aged people who found gossiping, laughing and eating the delicious food more fun than dancing, so the supper break was much longer than usual. The admiral was chatting to Mr Leigh-Perrot so I went over to join my cousin, who was whispering to Harry Digweed and still staring at Augusta.

  ‘Jane, how could you!’ I murmured with an eye on Mrs Austen, who was looking suspiciously at her youngest daughter.

  Jane neatly swallowed a tiny ham pie from the plate that she and Harry were sharing and looked at me with innocent eyes.

  ‘Methinks she hath a guilty conscience,’ she said sadly, slightly narrowing her eyes to make sure that Augusta knew she was still being looked at. ‘But the woman is so hardened in sin that she needs more persuasion.’

  I giggled. I couldn’t help it, but I felt slightly sorry for Augusta when I saw her tuck her hand into Edward-John’s arm, almost as though she were in need of protection.

  When the music began she even joined the line, facing her husband, her thin lips compressed and her eyes aloof.

  I had two dances with the admiral. F
unnily enough I enjoyed them very much. I think that the last time I danced with him, at the Assembly Rooms, I was so worried that he might feel I was unworthy of his nephew that I felt on edge and too anxious. Now I just asked him questions about Thomas when he was a boy and he told me lots of stories of how Thomas used to help him sail his yacht. I began to think that perhaps Thomas had misjudged his uncle, until he told me how he had whipped Thomas one day for taking the yacht out without permission in a howling gale.

  ‘Mind you, he handled it well,’ said the admiral with a chuckle, ‘but discipline is discipline.’ He frowned a little and looked around the room. ‘Where’s Elinor?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s probably with my cousin Jane and Mr Harry Digweed,’ I said hastily. I did not want Elinor to get into trouble with him. I didn’t like the idea of his whipping Thomas – was Elinor still scared of her uncle? I wondered. Was that why she was so quiet and timid?

  But the odd thing is that I did not see Elinor for most of the rest of the evening.

  Not until the very end of it.

  Towards midnight Jane and I went into the kitchen to have a quick chat with Franklin about how the party was going. Suddenly Jane exclaimed, ‘A ghost!’

  There was a shadow on the whitewashed wall of the steps outside the kitchen. A minute later the kitchen door opened and then hastily closed again. Franklin immediately dashed to the door and flung it open. We followed him. The shadow on the wall had been that of a young girl just like this sketch here.

  ‘Elinor!’ gasped Jane.

  Elinor’s face was first deadly white and then she flushed a dark red.

  ‘I was hot,’ she said quickly. ‘I just slipped out for some fresh air and the door closed behind me.’

  ‘You should have rung the bell, ma’am,’ said Franklin gravely. ‘I would have let you back in immediately. It’s not fitting for a young lady to be out in the night by herself.’