He insisted on escorting her back upstairs again, leaving Jane and myself in the kitchen, eating up some of the leftover pastries. When he came back he had a worried look on his face and just shook his head when Jane wondered aloud how long Elinor had been outside.
Jane and I have just spent a long time talking about Elinor. What was she doing? Why did she leave the party?
Had she slipped out to meet Sir Walter?
Friday, 13 May 1791
I woke late this morning and told Jane to go down to breakfast without me. The house seemed very quiet, and I guessed that my aunt and uncle would sleep in after the excitement of the party.
When I came out of our bedroom my brother was sitting on the window seat at the bottom of the flight of stairs, staring out at the rain. He looked miserable.
I asked him whether he had had breakfast, but he just shook his head without speaking. I felt sorry for him and slipped my hand into his. The thought crossed my mind that he is my nearest relation in the world and yet we never seemed to talk. Jane chatters continually to all of her brothers; it would never even occur to her to stop and consider her words as I was doing now. What would Jane say, I wondered, if she were me?
‘Edward-John, I want you to give permission for my marriage to Thomas.’ The words popped out of my mouth almost as if it were Jane speaking.
He looked at me then with some surprise. It wasn’t what I had said, I think, but the way that I said it, which had brought that look of astonishment to his face. I had not pleaded; my voice had not trembled; I didn’t feel like crying; I said the words as if I were asking him to pass the salt.
‘Are you sure?’ He asked the question very slowly. His voice was leaden.
I nodded very firmly. ‘Yes, I am quite sure,’ I said.
And then their bedroom door opened and Augusta came out. She gave me a stately nod and a muttered answer to my polite ‘Good morning, Augusta’ and then took Edward-John’s arm. Neither husband nor wife looked at the other on their way down the stairs to the breakfast parlour.
However, once in the room, Augusta exerted herself to be very charming, spilling out compliments about the wonderful party and so on, and under the cover of her enthusiasm I slipped into my place beside Jane.
Mr Austen, I noticed, was looking uncomfortable, but Mrs Austen wore her determined air, the one that she assumes when she has decided that something unpleasant has to be done and that it will be done that very morning. I had seen her look like that when the dairy needed to be scrubbed and lime-washed, when the creaking weathervane had to be mended, and when she wanted Mr Austen to speak to his bailiff about flirting with a village girl.
Mrs Leigh-Perrot seemed to be in on the secret also. She exchanged several glances with Mrs Austen and there was a faint air of a conspiracy between them. Both were being coldly polite to Augusta and warmly motherly towards me. Mr Leigh-Perrot was the only one who did not appear to be in the secret; he was wrapped in a cloud of happiness, making silly jokes to Franklin and laughing uproariously at his replies.
Augusta ate little and rose to her feet at the first opportunity. Edward-John got up obediently, but Mrs Leigh-Perrot intervened.
‘Just a minute, Edward-John. Jenny and Jane, perhaps you would like to go for a little walk? We just want a talk with Mr and Mrs Cooper.’
‘If it’s about Jenny, shouldn’t she stay?’ I had already obediently got to my feet but Jane’s words made me sit down again.
‘Jane!’ exclaimed Mrs Austen, but Mrs Leigh-Perrot nodded. ‘The child is right,’ she said. ‘Jenny should stay.’
No one suggested that Jane should be present, but she tiptoed very gently after me as Mrs Leigh-Perrot led the way to the front parlour.
Although it was May, the fire had already been lit, and Mr Austen went straight to it and pretended to rub his hands in front of the flames, keeping his back turned to the rest of the room. Mr Leigh-Perrot immediately joined him; they both seemed to want to keep out of the discussion and allow their wives to speak for them.
Edward-John and Augusta sat down side by side on the sofa, facing their two aunts, who were sitting bolt upright on upholstered chairs. Jane crossed the room and perched on the window seat. I almost joined her, but thought that would be cowardly. In the end I went and sat beside my brother on the sofa.
Mrs Leigh-Perrot was the first to speak, and I was glad of that as Mrs Austen was a bit blunt and had already quarrelled with Augusta and Edward-John.
‘Obviously you want the best for Jenny,’ she began, speaking quite mildly and looking enquiringly at them when no answer seemed to be coming.
‘Obviously,’ said Edward-John after a glance at Augusta.
‘Your uncles and aunts all feel that this match with Captain Thomas Williams is a good one,’ went on Mrs Leigh-Perrot. ‘He is a fine young man, with a good career, a house of his own, a certain fortune and well connected. Who knows what the admiral will do for him! I have made enquiries, and he and his sister are the admiral’s only near relations.’
‘That’s all very well . . .’ began Augusta and then stopped. Jane had got up from her window seat sauntered over to the fireplace and picked up a two-handled pitcher in exquisite ruby-coloured glass. She held it up admiringly to the window, thoughtfully running her finger over the two large, ear-like handles, just as her mother did when checking that Sukey had done the dusting. I was glad that Eliza was not there as I would not have been able to stop myself giggling if I had met her glance and seen her lips form the words: ‘Little pitchers have big ears.‘
‘You were saying, Mrs Cooper . . . ?’ Mrs Leigh-Perrot seemed a little bewildered, though Mrs Austen’s glance had sharpened. Jane put the glass pitcher back on the mantelpiece and went to sit beside her father on the chaise longue.
‘Oh, nothing, nothing; nobody wants to listen to me! I’m sure that I don’t wish to interfere. Mr Cooper can make up his own mind about his sister’s future.’
And then Augusta rose from the sofa, shook her elaborately trimmed gown, adjusted the lace at her neck and flounced out of the room.
There was a dead silence when the door closed behind her. I moved a little closer to my brother. I felt sorry for him with five pairs of eyes pointing in his direction.
In the end he handled it with dignity. He turned towards me, took my hand in his and said awkwardly, ‘What do you feel about it, Jenny? We only want the best for you.’
‘I am very much in love with Thomas and my happiness lies in marrying him.’ I spoke just to him and did not once look at anyone else in the room. When I had finished he said nothing for half a minute, but then nodded and said quietly, ‘In that case, I give my permission.’
And then everyone was hugging and kissing me.
And Mrs Leigh-Perrot started to discuss wedding presents . . .
And Mrs Austen declared that I had to be married at Steventon and began to plan a great whitewashing of all the rooms in the house before Christmas . . .
And Mr Austen told me that even if the Archbishop of Canterbury himself wanted to marry us he would insist on performing the service himself . . .
And Jane started to plan how she would decorate the church for the occasion . . .
When eventually we came out of the parlour, Augusta had just emerged from her room, with her bandbox in her hand. Behind her in the bedroom, I could see Rosalie busily packing gowns into the large trunk that they had brought with them.
‘Dear Aunt and Uncle, we must, alas, leave you. We have recollected an urgent appointment, but did not like to spoil your pleasure last night by telling of our departure,’ said Augusta. She did not look at me, but kept a false smile carefully pinned to her face as everyone bustled around, Mr Leigh-Perrot sending Franklin for a chaise to take them to the post-inn, Mrs Leigh-Perrot offering her lavender drops for the journey, Mr Austen falling over himself to assure Edward-John how much he valued his present of some sermons. Mrs Austen did not take much part in this, but rolled up her sleeves and set to work to assist
Rosalie. Jane and I were called into the bedroom to help and I was glad to go, because I hated to see the look on my brother’s face as he tried to pretend that he had known all about this sudden departure.
And now I have written to Thomas.
This is my first effort – full of crossings-outs and blots . . . I’m just so excited that I can’t concentrate . . . can’t think straight . . . I keep laughing and crying . . . Jane has already put on her bonnet and is telling me to stop writing and to hurry up – I think she can’t wait to tell Eliza the whole story.
(She says that she has been like ‘Patience on a monument’ (Shakespeare) – she told me to be sure to write ‘Shakespeare’ in my journal.)
And now the house is quiet. Mr and Mrs Leigh-Perrot have taken the Austens sightseeing to visit a cathedral. Jane and I escaped by Jane’s quick wits in recollecting an appointment with Eliza. When I have delivered my letter to the admiral so that it can be sent to Thomas’s ship, we will walk to Queen’s Square, get Eliza out of bed and tell her the whole story.
Elinor
Jane and I are running down the Paragon, along George Street, then hurtling down the steep incline of Gay Street and into Queen’s Square.
We are going so fast that we almost crash into Harry, who is standing quite still in the middle of the pavement, his hat clasped against his broad chest, his blond hair shining in the sunshine and a tender smile on his lips as he watches Jane flying along, clutching at her bonnet.
‘Come with us, Harry,’ gasps Jane. ‘We’re going down to York Street to see whether Elinor Williams will come for a walk with us.’
‘No, you two wait here,’ I say hastily. ‘I’ll just give my letter to the admiral and then ask Elinor if she would like to come with us. She probably won’t, but I’ll ask anyway. I’ll be back in five minutes.’ There is something about the way Harry is looking at Jane and Jane is looking at Harry that makes me feel they would like a few minutes together.
Without giving them any time to voice objections I go on down the street without even looking back. I will probably take longer than five minutes as I am sure that the admiral will want to chat. That will be good. I will ask for him as soon as the manservant opens the door, I decide.
But when I knock at the lodgings in York Street it is the governess who opens the door. She snatches it open the second my hand leaves the knocker – almost as though she has been standing just behind it.
‘Where’s Elinor?’ she gasps.
‘Elinor?’ I’m puzzled. Miss Taylor’s face is white and her eyes large and protruding.
‘I thought she was with you.’ Her voice is low, not much more than a whisper, and she looks over her shoulder in a worried way.
‘Why?’ I’m still puzzled.
‘George said he saw her in the Greyhound Inn yard. She told him she was waiting for you – for Miss Cooper; he’s sure she said that.’ Miss Taylor’s face changes. Her eyes look past me and she snaps, ‘Thank you, George, that will be all,’ at a manservant who had just emerged from a door beyond the staircase. She takes my arm, walks out through the hall door with me and shuts it behind us. We are outside. In the bright sunlight I see that her eyes are full of tears.
‘Miss Taylor, what’s wrong?’
‘I’m afraid that she might be with Sir Walter Montmorency,’ she whispers. ‘She was supposed to be practising her music, but when I didn’t hear the piano for ten minutes I came downstairs and found that she was gone. I started to search the house, to look for her. And then George came back from an errand and told me that he met Miss Williams outside the Greyhound Inn and she told him that she was waiting for you. You didn’t...’ Miss Taylor stops. She can see from my face how surprised I am. She knows now that there was no arrangement between Elinor and me. ‘I don’t know what the admiral will say!’ She sounds despairing and her eyes dart here and there, looking at the crowds of people in York Street.
‘You go back inside. Give this letter to the admiral.’ I’m thinking rapidly. Above all, the admiral must not suspect anything. ‘Tell him that Elinor and I, and my cousin, Miss Jane Austen, escorted by Mr Harry Digweed, have gone for a walk. Don’t worry. We will bring her back.’
Quickly I thrust my letter into Miss Taylor’s hand and start to run as quickly as I can, back uphill, towards Queen’s Square.
Harry and Jane are sitting on a bench laughing. Even in the middle of my worries about Elinor, I think that they look very nice together.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jane sees me first.
I tell them about Elinor and they are both on their feet before I finish explaining.
‘That fellow!’ Harry is walking so fast that Jane and I have to run to keep up with him.
‘They must be inside – I hope they are not in his bedroom,’ Jane whispers when we reach the Greyhound Inn. The yard in front of it is quite empty except for a man grooming one of the horses.
‘Have you seen Sir Walter Montmorency, John?’ asks Harry. He seems to be well known here. The innkeeper’s wife has just given a friendly wave at him from an upstairs window.
‘Sir Walter has just left, Mr Digweed,’ says John.
‘By himself, or with friends?’ Harry is no actor, and John gives him a sharp look.
‘Just the young lady, Mr Digweed,’ he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the horse’s glossy back.
‘Have your fastest horses put to a chaise. I won’t need a post boy. You’ll trust me, won’t you? I’ll bring it back safe to you. Fast as you can, John, please.’
‘Why did they go off without us?’ Jane is doing her best and her air is very casual. ‘It was a blonde young lady, about my age, wasn’t it?’ she asks John, and he nods immediately.
‘Yes, miss; Admiral Williams’s niece,’ he says obligingly, making a sign to the stableman.
‘Which way did they go, John?’ Harry’s voice is grim.
‘The Bristol road, sir, through Bristol, changing horses at Falfield, then going on to Gloucester; that’s where the chaise is booked for,’ says John, pocketing the piece of silver that Harry produces from his pocket. ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll harness up Dasher and his brother Dancer. They’re the fastest horses in the stable. Much quicker than that showy Greylord and Greydawn that Sir Walter insisted on having. They’ve had a good fifteen minutes start on you though, and it won’t be easy to make speed on the road to Bristol...’
Jane’s eyes meet mine and she mouths, ‘Gretna Green.’ I fear that she is right. I’m not very good at geography, but I know that London would have been the wrong way for Scotland. Gloucester is probably quite in line with Gretna Green.
‘Be back in one minute,’ says Harry, sprinting towards the door of the inn. We hear his boots clattering up the stairs.
John has everything ready by the time Harry is back. He stops at the sight of both of us sitting in the chaise, Jane looking innocently into the distance as if admiring the view.
‘You’re not going,’ says Harry firmly.
‘Yes, we are,’ says Jane, and as he climbs up she hisses in his ear, ‘We’re chaperones. You can’t bring Elinor back without a chaperone. She would be ruined!’
Harry’s look of firm purpose melts and he looks indecisive. John shouts to a stable boy to open the gates a bit wider, Harry gathers up the reins, and then we shoot off through the gates and up Monmouth Street without another word.
‘He’s probably got a pistol in his pocket,’ whispers Jane, nudging me. She looks blissfully happy and very excited. I don’t reply. I feel so anxious about everything. What happens if we can’t find Elinor and Sir Walter? How far will we have to follow them? Will someone miss us?
‘Don’t worry, Jenny; no one will miss us. They won’t be back from Wells Cathedral until the evening – and Franklin will think that we are with cousin Eliza.’ Jane has read my expression. She speaks in her normal voice. The wheels on the cobbled street are rumbling so loudly that no one but I could hear her.
Harry is a superb driver. The chaise swings around corn
ers without slackening speed. Dasher and his brother Dancer are living up to their names, hardly breaking into a sweat as we thunder along, avoiding all the gigs and carts on the road.
I’m going to take a short cut here,’ says Harry over his shoulder. ‘If I take the Nailsworth road and then cross over by Dursley, we’ll cut out Bristol and be at Falfield before they arrive.’
Jane hugs herself gleefully as Harry swings off the Bristol pike road and sets the horses galloping up a narrow road overhung with beech trees. I guess what she is thinking. This is just like one of Mrs Charlotte Smith’s novels.
But what about Elinor? I think. What is she feeling now? I wish I knew. Is she excited? Frightened? Guilty? Is she really in love? And if so, should we be going after her?
And then I remember her tears and her pale face and I know that we have to talk to her. ‘I hate him,’ she said, and her words stay in my mind.
The Huntsman’s Inn at Falfield on the Bristol-to-Gloucester road is quite busy when we arrive. One of the ostlers takes the horses from Harry and promises to water them and allow them to rest.
‘What do we do now?’ asks Jane when Harry rejoins us.
‘We wait,’ says Harry. ‘When they come we’ll see if you can get her to come out of the chaise. In the meantime I’ll go and order a parlour and some tea for you. I’ll call you when I need you.’ He strides across the yard and Jane looks after him thoughtfully.
‘He’s changed, hasn’t he?’ she says.
I know what she means. There was a time, not so long ago, when Harry would have asked Jane what he should do; now he makes up his own mind. When he returns with the news that the parlour is ready, she nods and follows me in through the door.
However, inside the dark hallway she pauses, puts a hand on my arm and whispers, ‘Let’s just stand here. I want to see what happens.’
We must have waited at least five minutes before anything important changed in the busy scene in the inn yard.
Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend Page 20