How I should love to know what Jane makes of this—there is no mention of her and I doubt any of the brothers have given her a thought. In my opinion they are not as generous as their mother seems to think. Edward has wealth beyond the understanding of most of us—look how they all boast about his property constantly—only £100 a year from him is derisory. He could not even shift himself to attend his father’s funeral—the excuse of his wife being confined is no excuse, it is hardly the first time! Mrs JA will have been involved in limiting James’ contribution—she is a wise housekeeper by all accounts—but considering he has inherited not only his father’s home but his stipend he could certainly give more. Frank’s offer seems generous to be sure but I have heard that he has just taken command of a splendid new ship—the Canopus. Well, not new as she was a French-built ship captured at the Battle of the Nile but has been refitted and will bring him in at least £500 a year. But as for Henry—why is his situation precarious? What pray, has happened to his wife’s fortune? There is certainly enough of it to keep a French cook, two housekeepers, endless underservants and enough carriages and coachmen to keep him and Eliza in comfort as they cavort about the country. They are to be at Godmersham soon.
July 1805
So my aunt’s summer progress is begun. Does she think herself Queen Elizabeth? She is certainly travelling with a big enough entourage. Jane and Cassandra are with her, of course, and now Martha accompanies them everywhere. As they left Bath they stopped at Steventon to collect little Anna. Mary is just brought to bed of another daughter—called Caroline—so I suppose they thought it would be good to remove Anna from her stepmother, who is bad-tempered with her at the best of times and no doubt will be even more impatient with her now. She is much preoccupied, as she does not put her children out to nurse as many mothers do. They all arrived at Godmersham at the same time as Eliza and Henry, so it was a large party. I have received a letter from Eliza describing it all to me:
It would be especially agreeable, dear cousin, if you were present at this time and I wish you might be prevailed upon to accept the invitation I know Elizabeth has bestowed.
No one realises that I am simply unable to accept even an invitation to dine with Mr Whitaker as Mama cannot be left even for a few hours. She goes on:
Though the household is large I want congenial female company. Elizabeth is much preoccupied with her new baby, while Aunt Cassandra and Cassy amuse the little ones. Anna and Fanny, the eldest girl, have a fine time together reading romances and taking picnics into the fine woods hereabouts. I do not begrudge them that—indeed it is heartwarming to see Anna so content, as we all know life at home with Mrs JA is not always easy. Fanny, too, deserves the leisure. In my view she is called upon too often to be ‘little mother’ to her brothers and sisters. I would be content to walk and ride with Jane, who is such a good companion to me and revels in my company usually. But here at present she seems to spend every spare moment with Miss Sharpe, the children’s governess. She has been intimate with her before when staying here I think, but this time they are inseparable. I have warned Jane before, and Henry has too, about the indelicacy of making too intimate a friend of a servant, but she hotly denies that Miss Sharpe is anything of the kind. I cannot quite see why Jane admires her so much and feels she has more in common with her than with me, who has been her close friend for so many years and who is now truly her sister.
This aside, we have much merriment here and are to have some theatricals, which as you know will please me greatly. We are to put on The Spoiled Child when we return next month for the shooting. Before that though, Henry and I are to take Edward and Fanny to stay with us in London. It is high time a girl of her age was introduced to London society. We shall take them to the theatre and Lord Charles Spencer will come to dine—I know Fanny will enjoy the company of so charming a man.
Do not fear, dear cousin, if you hear further rumours of an invasion. In this part of Kent the only worry the gentlemen have is that the Emperor’s army might disturb their game birds by trying to land. I think Bonaparte is turning his attention to Spain and may leave us in peace.
Eliza cannot see it—she never sees anything which does not affect her directly—but it is clear to me why Jane spends time with Miss Sharpe. She is thinking that she may have to become a governess and wishes to find out all she can about such a life. ’Tis likened often enough to slavery but if one were placed within a good family it might be tolerable. Better for a woman like Jane perhaps than being endlessly at the beck and call of her mother and forced to rely on the generosity or otherwise of her brothers. I know what the former is like but at least I do not have to ask for money to pay my laundress or to have to make a case for a new muslin. I have never liked Jane, but I do not envy her that.
THIRTY
Jane Austen at Bath
November 1805
I am glad that Eliza is to come to Bath again. Now that we are moved into Trim Street and Martha lives with us permanently there is no room for her in our lodgings but she has friends enough in the city and Henry does not stay—he only escorted her before journeying back to Steventon to visit James and Mary on his way to Godmersham. I have never known my brother to be such a devoted gun. I think the attraction is not so much the covers and the pheasants as the luxury and the ability to live grandly at someone else’s expense. Dear Henry, I love him so, but we have to own he is not sensible with money. Nor do his duties as a banker seem particularly onerous. He talks airily of ‘seeking new business,’ but I cannot see how he does that with a gun in his hand at Godmersham. I do not think Eliza likes Godmersham as Henry does—she often describes it ‘delightfully rural,’ which is not entirely a compliment. Of course, she would not accompany him to Steventon either. Between Mrs HA and Mrs JA the atmosphere remains decidedly frosty. I suspect this can be laid almost entirely at Mary’s door. She is the one who bears grudges—Eliza would simply shrug off the past. It is hardly as though she covets James, or ever did come to that—that is all in Mary’s mind. Eliza will not mind the chance to stay with her French friends here—I have no doubt they enjoy planning for a return to France that will never come. Some of them are so poor now they make even my family seem comfortable, but Eliza will as ever be generous to them and ensure that for a while at least their tables are plentifully supplied.
She enlivens us too, as we are not a merry party most evenings. Yesterday was an exception though. Eliza was walking through the yard of the White Horse Inn on her way to dine with us at our usual hour of 4 p.m.
‘I could not believe it my dear,’ she said as she arrived breathless on our doorstep. ‘I was actually in the yard when the London coach came in. It was so thrilling to see—the whole coach was dressed in laurels, greenery hanging from every part and the passengers leaning out and waving their hats. “What is it?” I asked an ostler?
‘“Why Madame, have ye not heard? Lord Nelson has won a great victory at sea—sent the Frenchies packing he has and them Spaniards, too.” Oh Jane, it was so thrilling—everyone in the street running and cheering. Do put on your bonnet and come out.’
I could not wait to do so and shouting to Mama that I would return soon, I joined Eliza in the street. Everyone was running towards the Abbey and as we reached the square the bells in the tower began to ring high above the rooftops. Such a sight it was and such a crowd to be part of. But suddenly even as we laughed and shook hands with strangers, the bells stopped and a single deep passing bell began to toll. The crowd fell silent. ‘What is amiss?’ they began to ask. A messenger galloped up, an express in his hand.
‘We have lost the admiral. Lord Nelson is dead—a great victory but sad news.’
Eliza clutched my hand, tears in her eyes. ‘Oh Jane, it cannot be—to lose the admiral, it is too cruel.’
But suddenly I had no thought for his lordship—only for my brother.
‘Frank serves under Lord Nelson—pray God he is safe, for I warrant we shall have lost many ships and many men.’
&nbs
p; ‘Mon Dieu!’ she exclaimed. ‘What shall we tell my aunt of this?’
‘As little as possible—do not alarm her unnecessarily until we know more.’
She did as I bid her and was charming all the evening in her distraction of Mama—playing bezique for hours on end and though we have no instrument, of course, she sang in her sweet voice and the evening passed very pleasantly. I realised that neither Mama, Cassy, nor Martha had thought about the possible danger to Frank, and when I mentioned it to Cassy as we retired to our room she agreed with me that we should keep silent on the matter until firm news was to hand.
December 1805
It did not take long. We looked again and again for the name of the Canopus to be mentioned in the newspaper accounts of the battle but saw nothing. But a letter is now arrived telling us of Frank’s huge distress that he entirely missed the battle! They had actually been on their way to join the fleet but a huge gale kept them so long beating past the Rock that they did not sight Cape Trafalgar until the day after the engagement. Oh he is so frustrated! He writes:
It is heartbreaking after so many months in a state of constant and unremitting fag to be cut out by a parcel of folks just come from their homes where some of them were staying at their ease the greater part of the last war and the whole of this.
He has hopes of coming home soon to his new bride and warns us not the mention the Trafalgar action!
I shall write to him to send Christmas wishes and to tell him Eliza and I had the great pleasure of seeing Mr Pitt, the prime minister, in Bath this week. He has a gouty foot and hopes the waters will cure it. In the Pump Room the crowd fell back and made way for him, but he looked very pale and was clearly in pain. He lodges in Laura Place, which, Eliza reminds me, is a much more fashionable address than Trim Street!
She is to return to London to spend Christmas there with Henry. To my great surprise she tells me that they find the house at Brompton ‘somewhat on the small side’ and are seeking a dwelling both larger and nearer the city. They do not seem to mind the constant moving about, while for my part I find it both distressing and debilitating.
I noticed that Eliza did not once ask me during this visit how my writing was progressing. She, like the rest of my family, does not like The Watsons and cares not if it is ever finished. I am beginning to feel the same. My mind is quite dry, nothing grows in it. How I wish I could leave Bath forever.
THIRTY-ONE
Henry Austen at Brompton, London
Spring 1806
Frank’s comments disturbed me, I must own—nay, caused me much distress. We were sitting in our drawing room after Eliza had retired. It had been, I thought, a splendid evening. Eliza and Frank had scarcely met since he went away to sea at the age of twelve and it had been a joy to me to see how they revelled in each other’s company. My dear wife is, of course, a clever and subtle flirt, and Frank was vastly flattered by her interest in life at sea and in his exploits on the Canopus. She had been warned not to mention the Trafalgar action but he brought it up himself when she admired his captain’s uniform with his new decoration for bravery in battle.
‘I am proud to wear it, but shall not leave off the black arm band for the dear Lord Nelson. The victory was ashes for many of his sailors when we heard of his death.’
‘What think you of his successor?’ I asked.
‘Collingwood?’ He is a fair sailor but not fit to wipe the boots of the admiral we lost and most of the navy think so.’
My brother was, of course, eager to speak to us of Mary Gibson, his betrothed. He had a miniature of her in his wallet and Eliza, in one of her typical sweet gestures, said she would take it on the morrow to our jewellers to have it properly set.
‘Such an extremely pretty face merits a fine frame. Fear not dear brother, I shall choose the best,’ and kissing him and me on the cheek she left us to our port.
‘I am glad to see you happy with our cousin,’ he began when she had departed. ‘You keep a fine establishment here—the banking business must be profitable.’ He looked around him. ‘In fact, Henry, there is something I wish to raise with you, a little sensitive perhaps…’
I rose and refilled his glass. I found myself rather anxious about what he was going to say and for a moment wondered if he was going to ask me to lend him money to set up his marital home. I was preparing my excuses but realised it could not be that as he received splendid prize money after the Battle of Santo Domingo—no less than three French ships had been taken and he had been telling us of this earlier at dinner. I was astonished when he suddenly burst out: ‘To speak plain, Henry, I am astonished that you and my other brothers, living in luxury as you all do, tolerate the dreadful conditions in which our mother and sisters are living.’
‘Dreadful conditions? What on earth do you mean? Their lodgings are not luxurious, to be sure, but perfectly tolerable surely and they are to leave there anyway shortly to spend the summer travelling and staying with relatives, as I am sure you know.’
‘You admit then that Trim Street is not suitable for permanent occupation?’
I was angry and did not care if he knew it.
‘I admit nothing of the sort—it is perfectly suitable and they seem quite content.’
‘Content? What else can they be but content? It seems it is the best they can afford.’
‘You must remember, Frank, that the arrangements had to be made in a hurry after our father died. The lease on Green Park Buildings was about to expire and their income diminished dramatically upon his death. We did the best we could, you know—you must remember that you and Charles were a long way off and those of us present had to turn to as we could.’
‘I know, I know,’ he said. ’ I do not seek to cast blame, but Henry, I confess I was shocked to see our loved ones sunk so low.’
‘Oh Frank, pray do not exaggerate. Eliza was with them only before Christmas and says they seem content—with the exception of Jane perhaps….’
‘Yes, Jane is the one who worries me most. She looks thin and pale and has settled into the maiden aunt role too soon. You know how she ever had a sense of fun and her quick wit was a delight. What has happened to her?’
Again I felt resentful and hurt. ‘We have done our best. We invite her here as often as she wants to come and we have encouraged her to take up her writing again—but she—’
‘I know. She confessed to me she finds no pleasure in it anymore. I tell you, Henry, I fear for her. I have never seen her spirits so low.’
‘I am as fond of Jane, and indeed as dutiful to my mother as anyone,’ I replied, rather sharply, ‘but tell me, have you any suggestions as to how we may help further?’
‘I do think they would be better in different lodgings—I was shocked to find them in such poor and dark quarters and not even in a respectable part of Bath. They had described it to me in letters, but I suppose I had thought of them as living in, well, a smaller version of the parsonage.’
‘Frank, be reasonable! Smaller versions of Steventon are beyond their means and ours now. We went through all this when Papa died.’
‘Was Edward present at that discussion?’
‘No, he was unable to attend the funeral. Why?’
‘Well, Edward owns a grand estate does he not? I am to visit there next week, as you know. Is there not a cottage or a dower house somewhere that the dear three could take on and that would be more suitable a dwelling?’
‘We have to think of ‘dear four’ now, you know, I said as an aside. ‘Martha Lloyd is to make her home with them permanently.’
‘I have no objection to her—she brings a small income with her, I believe, and does her share of housekeeping. She may also keep the peace between Jane and Mama. But what think you of my plan?’
‘I only wonder no one has thought of it before—’tis a good idea certainly, but surely if Edward had such accommodation he would have offered it? Let us ask Eliza her view in the morning.’
Eliza was not hopeful.
‘You
may suggest it to Edward, but I think you will find it is Elizabeth who makes the decisions in that household.’
‘But, my dear, I have thought further on this since last evening,’ I said, ‘and I remember that Edward has another estate in Hampshire as well as Godmersham—it is scarcely possible that somewhere there is not a suitable dwelling for the four ladies.’
Eliza, with that tolerant, affectionate look she often gives me, said: ‘My dear for Elizabeth, as mistress of Godmersham—’
‘And of Chawton,’ I added.
‘Yes indeed, as mistress of two grand estates and as the mother of a very large family—I hear she may be expecting a tenth!—she sees her husband’s mother and sisters as something of an embarrassment, the poor relations who must be tolerated.’
‘Surely not. She is always generous in her hospitality and glad to welcome Jane and Cassandra there at any time.’
‘No my dear, not at any time—only at times they can be useful, such as her endless confinements. I myself have heard her being somewhat patronising to them—in fact, last time I was there she asked the hairdresser to dress Jane’s hair for half the price he charges the other ladies. She was mortally offended I can tell you, though of course cannot say anything as she is in receipt of Elizabeth’s hospitality.’
Dearest Cousin Jane Page 18