At the end of the day, we all walked up the hill to see James and Cousin Eliza off on the stagecoach — Henry was going to stay on at Steventon for the week.
And this time I was the one that suggested to Jane that we go and see George on our way back and get on with his lessons. We didn’t have any food for him, but I had my sketchbook with me and I thought he might like to see the stagecoach that I had drawn. He nodded when he saw that, but on another page I had a picture of a gun, which I had drawn for Frank in my sketchbook, like this, and George was more interested in that. As soon as he saw it, he said, ‘Bang!’ instantly. Jane tried to get him to make the sign for the letter G, but he would not do it, just kept saying, ‘Bang!’ and smiling as if he wanted us to be pleased with him.
‘I think that is fine, Jane,’ I said after a while. I could see that she was getting upset and George was beginning to look at her in a worried way. ‘I think it’s even better that he says “bang”. That means something to him. It probably means that he can hear a little, also, if he can hear a loud sound like a shot. He’s probably not completely deaf. Good boy, George, good boy,’ and I patted him on the back and Jane threw her arms around him and kissed him.
Monday, 21 March 1791
When we finished our lessons this morning, Frank gave me the usual riding lesson on the donkey. I was getting on well now, and Jane could perfectly well have done it, but Frank insisted that he was the one to teach me. Cassandra is probably right about Frank. He was bored. He couldn’t wait to get back to his life at sea. He and Jane kept arguing about the best way to teach me.
When we came back in, Mrs Tuckley was there and I explained to her about the new beads. She looked at them dubiously and said they would take a long time to sew on and that I should think very carefully about whether there would be time for them.
‘You’ll need to count them, Miss Cooper,’ she said with a sigh as she slipped her thimble on to her finger. ‘Then you’ll have to plan where to put them. There may not be enough to arrange all over the gown.’
I got a pewter plate from the sideboard, opened the box of glass beads and began to count them carefully, one by one, on to the plate.
Jane had promised to help me with sewing on the glass beads, but I was surprised when Cassandra joined us. The only problem was that she took charge immediately.
‘Make sure that your hands are clean, Jane,’ she said in a very elder-sister way. ‘Now, Jenny dear, how are we going to arrange these exquisite beads?’
That was a question that didn’t need an answer as Cassandra carried on almost without drawing a breath.
‘I think that the best thing would be to make a triangular shape down the back and widening out to completely cover the train. I would say there aren’t enough to cover the whole of the back of the gown and they need to be close together to attract the eye instantly.’
I hurriedly said I thought that was a wonderful idea, as I could see Jane opening her mouth to object. And I did really think it was a good idea. The train was my favourite part of the gown and I liked the notion of attracting attention to it — this is what it will look like.
We had quite a nice time sewing together for the next hour before Cassandra had to go and help her mother with the dinner. Jane made up a story about a young man, possessed of a good fortune, of course, who had come to the neighbourhood in order to rent Freefolk Priors, a large empty house near Steventon. Once he arrived he fell in love with the prettiest girl in the neighbourhood, Cassandra Austen. He proposed on bended knee in very flowery language (Jane was good at making up ridiculous marriage proposals) and she accepted.
‘What did I say?’ enquired Cassandra. She was laughing and in one of the best moods that I have ever seen her.
‘Just what you ought to, of course; a lady always knows what to say.’ Jane always has a smart answer for everything.
‘Cassandra!’ shouted Mrs Austen.
Cassandra got obediently to her feet. ‘The only problem, Miss Jane,’ she said, poking Jane in the shoulder with her forefinger in a friendly way, ‘is that Freefolk Priors is already let — to a General Mathew.’
‘A general!’ Jane was impressed.
‘Aged about sixty …’
Jane made a face at that.
‘And,’ continued Cassandra, ‘he has no son — just one unmarried daughter — Anne — aged thirty-two and on the shelf. Mama is quite excited about this. General Mathew is the Commander-in-Chief of the Windward and Leeward Islands and Governor of Grenada. Just remember that!’ And then she rushed off to the kitchen.
‘Imagine!’ I said to Jane. ‘Thirty-two years old and on the shelf! She must feel very miserable.’
‘I wouldn’t care,’ Jane said. She tossed her head and looked as if she would not care. ‘I’d stay at home and write books and make lots of money, just like Miss Burney.’
Then her mood changed. She began to look thoughtful. ‘So that’s why Mama sent James to call on a General Mathew. I was wondering about that. She was very particular about brushing his coat and tying his cravat.’
We looked at each other with eyebrows raised. ‘Well, well, well,’ I said, but then I shook my head. ‘He’s too young for her; she’s ten years older than him.’
‘My dear Jenny,’ said Jane, imitating her mother’s voice perfectly, ‘equality of age may be desirable, but money is the essential.’ She changed back to her normal voice and said, ‘I bet you that this Anne Mathew has a fortune of her own. James may be the eldest and a great scholar, but he’s going to be a clergyman and all he can hope for is a parish. Having a general as a father-in-law will help with that.’
After dinner it was raining so Jane and I couldn’t go down to see George. We spent some time making more drawings for him. We got as far as O in the alphabet and I wished that we could get an orange for him to eat, but I never saw oranges at Steventon parsonage. The Austens seemed to eat only the fruit and vegetables that they grew themselves. It was a pity though, because I felt that my picture of an orange would not be understood by him unless he had tasted one once.
‘Perhaps Henry would bring one from Overton,’ suggested Jane. ‘You ask him. He’ll do it for you.’
‘No, he won’t.’ I could feel myself going red as usual.
‘Yes, he will.’
‘No, he won’t!’
‘Yes, he will.’
‘No, he won’t!’
We went on like this for about five minutes, both of us getting weak with laughter, and I suppose we were getting louder and louder because Mrs Austen popped her head in to ask what on earth we were doing.
‘Jenny would love an orange; she always eats oranges in Bristol, and I told her that Henry would get one for her.’ Jane kept a very straight face at this and I pretended to look at something out of the window. When I turned round, Mrs Austen was looking at me with an odd expression on her face.
‘Bless me, child, if you want an orange your uncle will get you one when he goes to Basingstoke tomorrow,’ she said abruptly, and went out.
I was mortified that Mrs Austen would think that I was criticizing the food I get here, but Jane said it wasn’t that; it was mentioning Henry. She had a thoughtful look on her face, almost as if she had just realized something.
I didn’t want to hear anything more though, so I ran out and called to Charles to come and have his drawing lesson from me. He had drawn about forty horses already on his slate and he was beginning to be quite good at shading the curves and getting expression into the horse’s eye. Today, I planned, I would allow him to use a page of my sketchbook, and if it was good then we would frame it.
After supper tonight we had music and dancing as usual. Mrs Austen insisted on everyone changing partners after the first set. Cassandra, I noticed, was then paired off with Gilbert East, the baronet’s son, I was paired with Tom Fowle’s youngest brother, and Henry with Jane — the rest of the boys just paired up together, and there was a lot of fun about that, with Tom Fowle calling Charles a sweet maiden.
And then it was all change again — Jane took over the piano and Mrs Austen grabbed Henry while Frank firmly took my hand.
‘Jenny …’ said Frank as he twirled me expertly around. ‘Jenny, tomorrow would you be able to come out for your riding lesson before breakfast, while Jane is practising?’
I told him I would without waiting to hear the reason. Frank and Jane were quite fond of each other, but they always argue, and Jane has a habit of telling Frank exactly how he should be teaching me and he doesn’t like that, probably.
Tuesday, 22 March 1791
My riding lesson with Frank went very well this morning — he seemed to be pleased that Jane wasn’t hanging around criticizing or making jokes. He told me all about his life at sea and his hopes of becoming a lieutenant. He said that the first lieutenant was hopeless and that he was sure he could do the job much better.
Then he seemed to get a bit embarrassed and started talking about the ball at the Assembly Rooms. He asked me if I was looking forward to it.
I just said, ‘Oh yes,’ and I immediately started to think about Henry, and when I next looked at Frank I thought he looked a bit sulky so I apologized quickly and asked him what a first lieutenant did on a ship.
Frank is very nice. I wish that he were my brother. He’s the same age as me, of course, but I think of him as younger. Jane always says that girls are much older than boys of the same age!
After we had put the donkey away and fed her, Frank went off to see whether breakfast was ready, but I stayed outside for a while. It was windy, but not really cold. I liked the damp, fresh smell of the country air. Everything was nice and quiet except for the noise of the hens’ beaks tapping their large metal dish. It was Cassandra’s task every morning to let them out of their house. Jane told me that she used to help Cassandra, but in the past few weeks her sister had told her that she would prefer to do it on her own. There was no sign of Cassandra anywhere this morning, but oddly enough I heard a giggle from the hen house.
I was just going to go in for breakfast when I saw Mrs Austen come out of the kitchen. She came out very fast and hadn’t stopped to put on her pattens; she still had her list slippers on. They were too big for her and just flapped around her feet. She didn’t see me standing there, but headed straight for the hen house, bustling past the feeding hens, who scattered with squawks of dismay and then came running back to their dish again.
‘Cassandra!’ Her voice pealed out and there was an uncanny likeness to the squawk of a disturbed hen. ‘Come out of there directly, the two of you.’
I should have gone indoors straight away, but I was standing just beside one of the laurel bushes and I thought it might be best to stay there in case I attracted attention to myself. I was very embarrassed though when I saw Tom Fowle follow Cassandra out of the hen house. He looked very silly, with a sheepish face and a couple of white chicken feathers sticking to his hair. (I did a sketch for Jane to show her just what he looked like — she thought it was very funny so I’ve stuck it into my journal here.)
‘Go inside for your breakfast, Tom,’ said Mrs Austen in a very severe tone. ‘I’ll get Mr Austen to deal with you later on.’
Tom gave one glance at Cassandra and then went off as quickly as he could. After a moment I heard his large feet crunching the gravel on the carriage sweep in front of the house. He probably felt relieved that it was Mr Austen who was going to deal with him. I think all of the boys were far more scared of Mrs Austen than of her husband. I heard Gilbert East say once that Mr Austen was the easiest and kindest schoolmaster that anyone could ever have.
‘What have you got to say for yourself, young lady?’ Mrs Austen sounded choked with rage as she faced Cassandra. Her back was towards me, but I could tell by the twitch of her head how angry she was.
‘We love each other.’ Cassandra was braver than I would have been. She faced her mother without going red. She wasn’t crying either.
I took two steps backwards, very gently. I would try to escape while they were occupied with each other. It would be terribly awkward if one of them chanced to see me standing there listening to their private conversation.
‘Nonsense!’ I heard Mrs Austen say as I reached the second laurel bush.
‘He wants to marry me.’ I had reached the third laurel bush when Cassandra said that. Her voice was defiant and quite loud. A movement from overhead took my attention and I saw Jane up there. She was sitting on the window seat of our bedroom and the window was slightly ajar. She must have finished her piano practise and gone upstairs to air the room before breakfast. She would be listening to everything with great interest.
‘Cassandra, just you listen to me,’ screeched Mrs Austen. Her voice was so loud that even the hens seemed to be impressed, and they gathered around her as though she were preaching a sermon to them — or else perhaps they thought she was calling them for a second meal. I moved to the fourth laurel bush. I would go in by the front door, I planned; I would just steal along the side of the house and keep on the moss beside the wall so that my feet didn’t touch the gravel.
I couldn’t help overhearing though. Mrs Austen’s voice was getting louder by the minute. The whole house must be hearing the words.
‘No money … no prospects … What will you live on? … after all I have said to you … ashamed of yourself …’
Cassandra tried to say something about love, but her mother interrupted her.
‘Love!’ she said scornfully. ‘I tell you this, Miss Cassandra, love will vanish pretty quickly when you have ten children in a couple of pokey rooms. That boy is going to be a clergyman. It’s his only future. He can’t marry for at least ten years, not until he makes a position for himself, finds a patron, gets a parish. And where will you be in ten years’ time? Answer me that, pray. You’ll be an old maid, a very poor old maid. Your father can do nothing for you; nothing, do you understand? You must marry money.’
And now I was at the kitchen door. The cook was frying eggs for breakfast; the spluttering of the hot fat had probably prevented her from hearing anything, but the parlourmaid and the kitchen maid were whispering and giggling in the corner by the scullery. I brushed past them and rinsed my hands under the tap there and then slipped into the breakfast parlour. Jane was already there, looking demure, but her hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement.
Cassandra didn’t come in to breakfast. Mr Austen asked where she was and Mrs Austen told him that Cassandra had a headache. I saw the boys look at each other; Tom Fowle turned red, and Jane nudged my foot under the table. Mr Austen, I thought, was probably the only person in the house who didn’t know all about the hen-house drama this morning.
‘I feel sorry for Cassandra,’ I said to Jane as we began our lessons. I twirled Mr Austen’s globe as I thought about Mrs Austen’s words. Life was hard for girls without money, I thought. Unless a rich man asked their hand in marriage, they were doomed to be old maids and that wasn’t a pleasant thought!
‘I wish I were a boy,’ said Jane as if she had read my thoughts. ‘Frank has great plans to be rich. First he is going to be the best midshipman in the navy — so good that his captain will immediately recommend that he become a lieutenant — and then he will be such a good lieutenant that he will catch the eye of some admiral, and the admiral will recommend that he become a captain and get his own ship. And then he will capture some Dutch ship and get lots of prize money and he will be very rich …’
I nodded, my eyes on the globe, looking at all the places where Frank would sail in his ships — the East Indies and the West Indies, the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific Ocean. ‘… and then he will be able to marry whosoever he likes.’ It would probably take about ten years for Frank to get to that position, I thought. It was just as well that I was not in love with him or I too would be an old maid by the time he came home rich and triumphant. Who would I marry though? I didn’t think that Mrs Austen would like me to marry either Henry or Frank, and I didn’t really know any other young man.
> And then a sudden thought crossed my mind. It was more of a picture than a thought, really.
And the picture was of a very handsome young man in naval uniform, with black hair, high cheekbones and brown eyes and a voice that was as soft and warm as chocolate.
But I didn’t really want to see Captain Thomas Williams again, did I?
I couldn’t see him again.
I just couldn’t.
It was impossible.
Unthinkable.
If I did, I would be disgraced forever and my reputation would be in tatters.
Even if he said nothing to the Austens, what would he think of a girl who allowed herself to walk through the streets of Southampton at midnight with an unknown man? I imagined those brown eyes filled with scorn and I knew that I definitely did not want to see him again. How miserable — if only things were different. If only I had been cleverer that night, hidden myself better — not been such a coward as to stand in the middle of the pavement staring, like a frightened mouse, at that madman whirling his sword. I wish I didn’t keep remembering Captain Williams. It’s so stupid; I hate myself.
I’m going to turn back the pages of my journal and look at the sketch I made of him. At least I have that.
‘Look at this,’ said Jane. She had been scribbling on a piece of paper while I was daydreaming and now she was copying it into her notebook where she keeps her stories. I read it over her shoulder and said that she would have to change the name of Cassandra because she would be upset if she read it — everyone reads Jane’s stories notebook.
‘I’ll change it to Rebecca then in my fair copy – you can have the one that says Cassandra, because no one reads your journal.’ Jane was writing busily as she spoke.
‘There you are,’ she said, tossing it over to me when she had finished.
I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend Page 12