I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend

by Cora Harrison

  ‘I wish I was allowed to go hunting,’ said Charles sadly as they all moved away, shouting and laughing. They were a wonderful sight in the spring sunshine, I thought, and I wasn’t surprised that Charles was upset not to be going too.

  ‘You know that Squirrel is too old for hunting,’ said Jane. ‘She’d drop down dead if you tried to gallop her or jump with her. You’ll have to have a new pony, and you know that Father can’t afford to buy you one.’

  I told him he could ride her back home though, if he liked, because it was downhill all the way to the house and I could easily walk that distance.

  Charles was very grateful — he is such a nice boy. When he is happy, his grin seems to go from ear to ear.

  As Jane and I walked slowly down the hill together I told her how lucky I thought she was to have brothers like Frank and Charles.

  ‘And Henry,’ said Jane. ‘He’ll be back at the weekend. Henry’s my favourite brother. He’s splendid; wait until you see him! Alethea Bigg told me that she is madly in love with him.’

  I asked Jane to describe Henry again as I gazed over the fields in what I hoped was a nonchalant way. I wondered what Henry would think of me. Life was getting very exciting with all these young men around.

  ‘He’s very good-looking — tall and dark-haired,’ Jane told me. ‘Don’t you remember? I told you that when you drew that picture of him.’

  ‘Frank is different to the way I imagined him though. Is Henry as fine-looking as Frank?’ I pretended to be looking at something in the hedge so that she wouldn’t see me blush.

  ‘Much, much better-looking.’ Jane sounded quite scornful. ‘And much, much taller. Frank’s only a boy; Henry is a man. He’s nineteen now. He’s a year older than Cassandra. Why, you haven’t fallen in love with Frank, have you? Why are you blushing?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t fallen in love with Frank,’ I said indignantly, but I knew I was still blushing. I wish I didn’t blush so easily. It’s so silly. I remembered that gentleman at the hunt looking at me and I could feel my cheeks getting even warmer. I wondered whether he admired me. I wished that I was not so short and that I had a better nose.

  I tried to distract Jane by asking her about the boy on the grey pony and it worked.

  ‘Oh, that’s Tom Chute; I’m madly in love with him.’ She didn’t blush though, so I think it was just a joke.

  Wednesday, 9 March 1791

  Today was another good day. The weather was fine and sunny, but very frosty. Mr Austen and his students were working hard to make up for the loss to their studies from the day’s hunting, so Jane and I went for a walk by ourselves.

  It felt odd to be able to put on our bonnets and cloaks and just stroll out of the front door without saying a word to anyone. Back home, in Bristol, my mother never used to allow me out by myself, not even to a shop a few doors away from our house. She always had to accompany me, and as we had no gentleman in the house we could never go out once it became dark. And of course Augusta was so prim and proper that she didn’t walk out without Edward-John or a servant to accompany her once evening came.

  But here at Steventon, in the country, it was different. It was so lovely to be able to pick primroses and watch the birds building their nests. As we went down the laneway towards the church I told Jane how much I admired her house, especially the casement windows. I think they are much nicer than sash windows.

  ‘It’s a terrible old ruin of a place.’ Jane had to make everything very dramatic. The house could have done with a coat of paint, inside as well as out, but it certainly wasn’t a ruin.

  ‘Why are we going to church?’ I was surprised at Jane. On Sunday she had begged her mother to allow her to stay at home with me when the others went to church; when I had thanked her, she just told me that church bored her.

  ‘Aha,’ said Jane mysteriously. ‘I am on the track of something.’

  She didn’t say any more until we reached the churchyard. Just next to the church door there was a huge yew tree. It looked immensely old — half its branches were broken off and its trunk was as big as a small tower.

  ‘It’s hollow inside.’ Jane led me around the back and put her hand in. When she took it out she held a sheet of paper, sealed with a blob of sealing wax. She held it out to me.

  ‘Guess who,’ she said, pushing it under my nose.

  It wasn’t difficult. ‘Tom Fowle,’ I guessed. It was in a large bold hand, written on paper that looked torn from a notebook.

  ‘I suspected this.’ Jane was giggling. ‘Every morning Cassandra writes a letter and then she makes some excuse to go to the church or to the village, but she always goes down here. She and Tom Fowle are using this hollow tree as a letter box.’

  I was a bit puzzled. I asked Jane why they didn’t just hand them to each other — they must meet twenty times every day. Mr Austen’s pupils live as if they are part of the family. We meet them at every meal and they are in the parlour every night, playing chess or cards, singing, dancing, or joking and laughing.

  ‘My mother doesn’t approve,’ said Jane. ‘It would be different if it were Gilbert. He’s the son of a baronet. Tom has three older brothers; he’ll be penniless. He wants to be a clergyman, but it will be years and years before he even has a parish. My father has a parish and a farm but we are still very poor. And Cassandra will have no money. There is no money for any of us. The boys will have to make their own way, but Cassandra and I can’t go in the navy, or become clergymen, so we will have to marry money.’ Jane sounded indifferent, but I could see how she kicked viciously at a clod of earth while she said, in the sort of high, scolding voice that sounded just like Mrs Austen, ‘Affection is desirable; money is essential.’ And then her voice changed again, back to the usual joking tone. ‘Shall we play a trick on them? Write something of our own and put it into the hollow tree instead?’

  ‘Put the letter back.’ I felt uneasy. Cassandra was the least friendly member of the Austen family. I didn’t know whether it was that she thought I was a nuisance, or whether she didn’t like me very much, but she seemed to look at me in a slightly sour way. I didn’t want her to know that I had been spying on her.

  ‘Let’s go into the church then.’ Jane tossed the letter back as if she was bored with the whole matter.

  The church at Steventon was very old, much smaller and older than the churches at Bristol. There was no one there.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jane, seizing me by the hand. ‘I know where Father keeps the forms for calling the banns. I love the idea of banns, don’t you? You see, it might be that some wicked baronet is leading some poor innocent girl astray, pretending to be a young bachelor when really he has a mad wife locked away in the attic of his house. If they call the banns the chances are that one of the neighbours will jump up and say, “I know that Sir John Berkley and he is married to my first cousin.” And then a ghastly pallor will come over Sir John’s evil face and he will dash from the church, jump on his horse and ride away, while the gentle girl, Emma, will faint away into the arms of her cousin, who has secretly loved her for many years.’ Jane, as usual, had to turn it all into a story while she was fishing out some pieces of printed paper from a cupboard in the vestry. I wondered what her father would say if he found her meddling with church property, but then I thought he would probably just laugh. He was very indulgent to Jane. She was, I guessed, his favourite in the family.

  ‘Who do you want to marry?’ she asked.

  I told her that I didn’t know, because I don’t really know any gentlemen.

  ‘I think I’ll marry Tom Chute.’ Already Jane had picked up a quill from a selection lying on the table, dipped it into the inkpot and begun to fill out the form.

  I was going to ask who Tom Chute was, but I remembered that he was the boy on the grey pony who was teasing and joking with her outside the inn before the hunt. Then I asked what Jane knew about him and his family — I felt quite grown-up when I said that. It was true though. You couldn’t just marry a man because
he made good jokes.

  ‘He lives at the big house called the Vyne. It’s not too far from here. It’s on the way to Basingstoke.’

  ‘Have you known him for a long time? My mama always said that you should know a gentleman for at least a year before you allow him to pay addresses to you.’ I said this jokingly. I was beginning to be able to mention my mother without tears coming to my eyes. I seemed to be living in such a different world now, a world of noise and jokes and boys flying around laughing and talking.

  ‘No, I only met him a few months ago. He will soon come into a large estate and the Vyne. We will probably dine there one evening, so you will see for yourself.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘He’s sixteen, just a bit older than me.’

  I wasn’t sure that you could really come into a large estate when you were only sixteen, but Jane always has an answer for everything.

  ‘Yes, of course you can … oh, well, it’s his eldest brother really, but he’s sickly and cross so Tom will inherit when William dies. I can’t stand William. He’s always trying to make mock of me. Luckily he lacks the wit to do it with any sense.’

  ‘What does William look like?’

  ‘You saw him yesterday, at Deane. Do you remember the man on the black stallion, the one holding the horn?’

  I was glad that it was quite dark in the little vestry so that she wouldn’t see me blushing. Then I started to laugh. I told Jane that I didn’t think he looked sickly or cross and that I would marry him and then I’d be the one with the big house and the large estate. I told her she could come and stay with me and I’d find her a young man to marry.

  ‘In possession of a large fortune, I hope,’ said Jane primly, as I seized the quill and began to fill in another banns form — like this:

  ‘What about Captain Williams though? Dear, dear, dear, Jenny, what a sad flirt you are — going from one young man to another.’ Jane made her voice sound just like Mrs Cawley at the school.

  I told her immediately that I didn’t even want to think about Captain Williams because he could ruin my reputation forever. Jane nodded wisely and said, ‘Very true!’ twice.

  I would do my best not to think of Captain Williams — not even when I was in bed at night, I decided as we went home, slipping and sliding on the frozen puddles of the lane.

  After dinner all the boys decided to have a game of cricket. The ground was hard with frost but the sun was still warm and Mrs Austen said that I could go out if I wrapped up warmly.

  ‘You can bowl, Jane.’ To my surprise John Warren handed her the ball. I had thought that we would just be watching, but Frank was sending me up to the top of the field with instructions to throw the ball to Jane if it came anywhere near to me.

  Tom Fowle was first to bat and I saw Cassandra come out and stand where she could see him and smile shyly at him. I felt quite sorry for her, though she wasn’t very friendly to me. I was so interested in watching the two of them that it was only when everyone started shrieking ‘Jenny!’ that I realized that the ball was actually at my feet.

  Frank, the captain of our team, was very nice to me. He said that I probably wasn’t well yet, so he sent Charles up to help me in my part of the field.

  We had almost finished the game and Tom Fowle was fielding when Frank hit the ball a tremendous whack so it went right over towards a row of poplars on the far side of the field. One minute we could see Tom running after the ball, and the next there was no sign of him. It was Cassandra who realized first that something was wrong. She gave a shriek of ‘Tom!’ and then she set off running across the field. Jane and I followed and the others came behind. Tom Fowle was stretched out on the ground, his head pouring blood, and the colour was completely drained from his normally healthy-looking face. His eyes were shut.

  Cassandra gasped and then, without a moment’s hesitation, she tore a strip of muslin from her petticoat and held it against Tom’s dark hair, cradling his head in her lap. She said nothing, but I think I will always remember what she looked like in those few minutes before Mr Austen came running up and Tom opened his eyes.

  ‘Slipped on a piece of ice,’ said Gilbert nonchalantly. ‘You all right, Tom, old son?’

  ‘Cassandra, get up off that wet grass,’ scolded Mrs Austen as she came puffing up the field. By this stage Tom had sat up, but Mrs Austen’s eyes went immediately to Cassandra’s torn petticoat, to the bloodstained strip of muslin around Tom’s head and to her daughter’s stricken face. Cassandra didn’t even glance at her mother. All her attention was on Tom, and her whole soul was in her eyes as she tenderly stroked his hand. It was true love, Jane and I agreed afterwards — no one, remarked Jane wisely, would ruin a good petticoat for a man unless they loved him.

  * * *

  It’s bedtime now and I should be asleep, but I can’t sleep. My candle was blown out about an hour ago by Mrs Austen when she came in to say goodnight. I just lay tossing and turning for half an hour. Jane was asleep so I could think my own thoughts. At the moment everything in my mind seemed to be about falling in love and getting married. I was thinking of Cassandra and Tom Fowle and how she had looked when she thought he was injured. I thought about the two of them a lot, of the way they kept looking at each other — during meals, when they passed each other on the stairs, when they danced together in the evenings. And then I thought of the handsome William Chute, sitting on his black stallion with the hunting horn in his hand. It’s the first time, really, that I seriously thought about falling in love.

  In the end I got out of bed and came to sit by the fire with my journal on my knee. There is enough light from the fire to write by. So I’ve written down the bit about Cassandra and about the fun that Jane and I had in the church, filling out the forms for calling the banns.

  But in a few years this will all be very serious for us.

  I will have to find a husband.

  And it will have to be a rich husband, if Mrs Austen is right.

  After all, my mother was much poorer than Jane’s father, who is rector of a parish and has a large farm. I know that she only left fifty pounds a year for my maintenance. Edward-John won’t want to give me anything when I marry — even if he did, Augusta wouldn’t allow him.

  I will have no fortune, so who will marry me?

  Jane was telling me about a girl who lived near to one of her cousins. This girl was aged barely sixteen when she ran away with an army captain. According to Jane, she was attracted by the soldier’s red coat! When her relations caught up with her, the couple had already been living together as man and wife so there was nothing to be done except to get them married as soon as possible.

  I just can’t imagine!

  Thursday, 10 March 1791

  It’s nice sharing a bedroom with Jane. Cassandra and Jane used to share it, but now Cassandra has her own bedroom as James has left home. I like sharing with Jane; it is good fun to be able to chat together. We stayed awake so late last night, talking and joking — and even after that I had got out of bed and written in my journal — so this morning we both woke up late, and had barely enough time to wash our faces and just smooth our hair before running down to breakfast.

  After breakfast I asked Jane to come and help me to brush my hair and said I would do hers for her after that. My mother always said that to have nice hair you had to give it one hundred strokes of the brush twice every day.

  When we got to our bedroom, Jane started doing an imitation of her mother scolding the butcher.

  ‘I really cannot think, Mr Baxter, that you can know what you’re talking about. How anyone could pretend to be a butcher and sell those pieces of scrap meat for gigot chops, I declare to goodness, I just do not know. These were no more gigot chops than I am a donkey. Do I look like a donkey, Mr Baxter?’

  I asked Jane why she did not like her mama. There is something about the way she imitates her mother that makes me feel a little uncomfortable.

  ‘She’s not my mother,’ said Jane, and her voice was all
sort of hissy and low. ‘My real mother has been imprisoned in a lonely castle hundreds of miles away. She’s been locked up there since I was born. That woman’s just my stepmother.’

  ‘What?!’ I said, and I must have screamed it because Jane put her hand over my mouth.

  ‘Shh,’ she said mysteriously. ‘Terrible things can happen in this house. Haven’t you read Mrs Parson’s book The Mysterious Warning? Did you hear that creak last night at midnight? And those footsteps coming slowly up the stairs? Did you hear a dripping sound?’

  In a way I found it funny, but in another way I felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t really like one of Jane’s weird stories where you can tell that, inside, she is finding it all just as funny as you are. Jane actually sounded bitter when she spoke of her mother. I tried to think of something to divert her.

  I reminded Jane that since her mother is my aunt — and my mother’s sister — then she couldn’t possibly be Jane’s stepmother. As if my mother would have kept that piece of family news from me! I said all of this in a joking tone of voice. I hoped that she would laugh, but she didn’t. She just kept on brushing my hair until she had finished the hundred strokes.