I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend

by Cora Harrison

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself exclaiming. I liked Henry’s dark hair, tied behind his neck with a plain black ribbon. Powdered hair always looked so artificial.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Henry sternly. ‘I have enough expenses without having to buy hair powder, especially now that they are talking of putting a tax on it.’

  ‘Still’ — Mrs Austen was trying to console herself — ‘I dare say that many young ladies these days may think it looks old-fashioned.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mama.’ Henry stooped and gave her a kiss. ‘I won’t disgrace you. Charles will polish my new shoes with the buckles on them — won’t you, Charles?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Charles eagerly. I guessed that Henry would give him sixpence for doing it. Jane told me that although Henry was in debt, he was always very generous to Charles, and Charles, like Jane, adored him.

  ‘How’s James going to get there then? He’s coming too, isn’t he?’ asked Frank, who was still annoyed.

  ‘James,’ said Mrs Austen with a small smile, ‘will be going with General Mathew and his daughter, Anne.’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Austen looked surprised but Mrs Austen distracted him by asking him had he finished with his newspaper — knowing that he hadn’t, of course.

  ‘What shall you wear, Mama?’ asked Cassandra. She was very careful of her mother’s feelings these days, I noticed. Poor girl — she was so relieved at being allowed to consider herself engaged to Tom Fowle.

  Mrs Austen laughed. ‘I think my yellow silk will have another outing,’ she said. ‘It’s an old friend of twenty years and I wouldn’t want to neglect it. Thank God I am too advanced in years for this new fashion of straight-down muslin gowns. I like a gown with a good wide skirt.’

  ‘Jenny,’ said Jane later on, ‘I was thinking that we might try to dress up George one day, especially now that he has got used to having his hair combed and his face washed. There is an old suit in the theatre dressing-up box. My mother made it for Frank a couple of years ago when he was acting the part of a parson.’

  I asked her if she was sure that it was worth bothering George about a small thing like clothes. She didn’t reply for a moment, but when she did her answer sent goose pimples down my back.

  And this is what she said:

  ‘I’m thinking of bringing him over one day next week and showing Mama and Papa how he can read some of his letters.’

  Saturday, 26 March 1791

  Cousin Eliza and James arrived on the stagecoach this morning. They hadn’t told their time of arrival so they drove from Deane Gate Inn by post-chaise. Jane and I were out in the garden gathering daffodils when the chaise, driven by the post boy, skidded across the gravel of the sweep and pulled up in front of the hall door. Eliza was laughing and so was James. He didn’t often laugh; I realized that when I saw him now. He handed Eliza out of the chaise with quite an air of a man of the world, and Eliza dropped a splendid curtsy to him. He whispered something in her ear as she rose up gracefully and she said, ‘Fie, fie, Sir Anthony!’ and they were both laughing as they went up the steps.

  I wondered whether Henry saw them.

  Jane and I still had a last fitting for our gowns this morning and we had to help with the sewing of the hems, so we didn’t join in the rehearsals in the barn. I kept wondering how they were getting on and who Eliza was flirting with — Henry or James?

  Eliza was in great good humour at dinner time. Mr Austen laughed so much at one of her tales that a button flew off his waistcoat and Mrs Austen had to sew it on again.

  After dinner, Cassandra, Jane and I tried on our new gowns so that Mr Austen and Cousin Eliza could see them. Jane wanted the boys called in, but neither Cassandra nor I agreed with her. I think Cassandra wants to surprise Tom Fowle tomorrow night — and I want to surprise Henry. Cousin Eliza said that she will wash and dress our hair in the latest style from Paris and that we should not let anyone see us until the transformation (she pronounced it in the French fashion) had taken place.

  Cassandra took off her gown quite quickly and went back downstairs just as the boys were coming out of the schoolroom. Jane and I stayed chatting with Cousin Eliza and listening to her talk about Marie Antoinette, the Queen of France, and the things that used to go on in the court before this revolution came along.

  Cousin Eliza had great plans for doing our hair. She went to her trunk and got out some trimmings for Jane and me. There was a red velvet rose for Jane and a beautiful blue velvet one for me. I explained that Henry had given us a ribbon each for our hair. I could feel myself getting red, but although the velvet rose was nice, I still wanted to wear his gift. Cousin Eliza didn’t mind in the least. She helped us to trim our gowns with the roses instead. They were sewn to the left shoulder and they looked lovely there.

  She said that we were two of the prettiest girls in England and that the young men would be queuing up to dance with us. I hope she is right. I really only know two young men, Henry and Frank.

  Frank is very nice, though he’s quite young. He probably will dance with me, but I hope that Henry dances with me also.

  Eliza then gave us both a little card to record the names of our partners. It was small enough to go in the smallest reticule and it had a tiny little silver pencil attached to it.

  ‘And you must have a fan,’ she said suddenly. She went over and rummaged in her trunk and eventually she found two of the most beautiful fans, made so finely of ivory that they were no thicker than a pencil.

  ‘There you are,’ she said triumphantly. ‘These come from my beloved France. The one with the little pink rosebuds on it for Jane, and the one with white and gold lilies for Jenny.’

  ‘It’s lovely, but it’s just that I don’t want a fan dangling from my wrist all the evening,’ said Jane, handing hers back.

  ‘But, chérie, you don’t dangle your fan from your wrist; you use it, mon enfant. Don’t you know the language of the fan?’ Jane and I looked at each other and we both raised our eyebrows. ‘No, we don’t, Eliza,’ said Jane. ‘Tell us.’

  ‘Dear, dear, dear, ma pauvre petite! Your poor maman, Jane! She is so busy with the meals and the washing she has not time to teach the young girls the things that matter.’

  ‘Tell us, Cousin Eliza, please,’ I repeated. I couldn’t ever imagine Mrs Austen, with her work-worn hands and her battered features, fluttering a fan in front of her face. If we were going to learn, it would have to be from Eliza.

  ‘There are so many things you can say with a fan!’ Eliza spread her hands in a very foreign way and then took my fan from me. ‘Regardez, mes enfants! Like this’ — she half folded her fan and put her head on one side — ‘you say, “I’m not sure,” and then, like this’ — she folded up the fan and turned its left side uppermost — ‘this says, “Call tomorrow,” and …’

  ‘Jane,’ screamed Mrs Austen from the bottom of the stairs, ‘where did you put my shawl? I declare to the heavens, you are the untidiest girl I have ever seen or heard of in my life! Come down at once and find it.’

  ‘Wait till I come back — I want to hear all the rest.’ Jane slammed the door behind her and went clattering down the stairs.

  When she was gone I asked Eliza how men knew how to understand the language of the fan. Did someone teach them? I was thinking about Henry, and the strange thing was that I think Eliza might have been thinking about Henry too when she answered with a slight smile on her beautifully rouged lips.

  ‘Chérie, a wise young man will always get an experienced lady to teach him the language of love.’

  For a few minutes neither of us said anything, but then as we heard Jane’s footsteps running up the stairs, Eliza said, very softly, ‘Jenny, Henry is sweet and good-natured, but he is a young man, and young men love to play games. Do not get too serious. You have fun while you are young.’

  And then Jane whirled back into the room and Eliza gave us more lessons on the language of the fan until we were quite perfect — though I could never imagine myself unfurling my fan in that drama
tic gesture that meant: I love you!

  ‘I’m going to have such fun teaching Tom Chute all about this!’ said Jane in the end.

  But I’m not going to have to teach Henry, I thought to myself; I think he probably knows it already. Did I mind? I decided not to think of it any more. Cousin Eliza was just having fun with Henry. Perhaps I should do the same.

  Before we left, Eliza told us both to come to her room after supper.

  ‘Her first ball is the most exciting event in a young girl’s life,’ she said dramatically. ‘You come here to my chambre after supper, and I will get you ready. You will bathe here —’ She gestured theatrically towards the hip bath by the fire. It had a screen half around it, but I could see a basket full of little jars and bottles on a stool. ‘And I shall shampoo your hair with my special shampoo from India. My godfather, Warren Hastings, brings me a present of some every time he visits England, so I shall shampoo and dress your hair and then you can have a little rest. One should always rest before dancing — and then you will come back in here and don your new gowns. And then the ball!’

  ‘Thank you very much, Cousin Eliza,’ I said, and Jane hugged her.

  ‘I shall enjoy it hugely,’ said Eliza. ‘You must go now, mes petites. I shall take a little promenade over to the barn to run through my part again.’ She slipped on her cloak and pulled the large hood over her head.

  I don’t know who she is going to practise with as James has already left for General Mathew’s place. She and Henry don’t have a scene together.

  I could hardly eat any supper as I was so excited and so nervous, and Jane was almost as bad. As soon as the meal was over and the table cleared, we slipped upstairs, telling Mrs Austen that we were going to have a rest. First of all we went into our bedroom. It was still bright out of doors, but the room was dim and the two white and silver gowns hanging on the closet door gleamed with the shimmer of moonlight.

  ‘I can’t believe that it is going to happen, can you?’ I asked Jane, but she just said, ‘Grab your towel and wrapper before Cassandra comes along to see what we are doing.’

  We tiptoed down the stairs, taking the steps cautiously one by one so that the wood did not squeak. Just as we got to the bottom of the flight, Sukey, the kitchen maid, came toiling up, carrying two heavy pails of steaming hot water, one in either hand. Jane opened the door for her and then we went in. The room was already steamy, with a huge glowing fire, and it smelt of rich and exotic scents. As we came in, Eliza was emptying a small bottle of bright red liquid into the water already in the bath. Sukey poured first one pailful and then the second one and the red liquid swirled in cloudy whirls and coils, the vivid colour changing to a dusky pink. The air was filled with a sweet fragrance and then Eliza added a handful of lavender to the water and the clean, sharp smell blended with the perfume of roses.

  ‘Thank you, Sukey,’ said Eliza gently. Sukey looked almost bewitched by the scents, but she pulled herself together and bobbed a curtsy. ‘Here you are,’ said Eliza, handing her a coin. ‘Come back with two more pails in half an hour.’ And then, Eliza being Eliza, she took a little scented muslin bag from her basket and handed it to the kitchen maid. ‘Put that under your pillow tonight, Sukey, and you will have sweet dreams.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Sukey bobbed another curtsy and went towards the door, taking one last look at the steaming bath before closing the door quietly behind her.

  ‘Now, mes petites, we have to decide on a soap for you.’

  ‘We brought our soap, Eliza,’ said Jane, holding out the scummy white bar that lived on our washstand.

  ‘Mais non! Mais non!’ Eliza was getting more French by the moment. She took the soap from Jane, smelt it and put it down with a shudder. ‘No, that coarse lye soap is terrrrrible for your delicate skins. How could your maman give you such a thing? Voilà!’ And Eliza went in behind the screen and came out with two bars of soap and held them out. Jane touched the orange one, but I only had eyes for the second piece of soap. It was a pale green, shiny and smooth and glossy. I sniffed the bar, and Eliza handed it to me with a smile. I held it up to the light from the window. It was completely translucent and it smelt wonderfully romantic and aromatic — like pine needles under a hot sun.

  ‘Mine smells of oranges,’ said Jane, sniffing hers.

  ‘You have chosen so well, my children,’ enthused Eliza. ‘I knew that the green would suit Jenny’s character — shy, like a little violet in the moss beside a spring — and you, my Jane, this is your scent — sharp, exotic, spicy — just like your personality.’

  First Eliza washed my hair with her special Indian shampoo. She rubbed and massaged my head and then showed me in the looking glass. I had white foam like a whipped syllabub all over my head, almost like a very curly wig, and I smelt of incense.

  While I bathed, Jane had her hair shampooed and then she bathed. Eliza insisted that we use her thick Turkish towels, not the thin, hard towels from our bedroom, and while we sat, wrapped in these, in front of the fire, she styled our hair.

  Mine was pulled back from my face, with just one little curl hanging over my forehead. Then Eliza fastened the rest of my hair with a little ribbon of rubber on the back of the crown of the head and allowed the whole weight of it to flow down my back. While the hair was still damp, she quickly wound strands of it around spills of paper and tied them tightly with rags.

  ‘Leave them in place until after your gown is on. I myself will brush it out and fasten the blue velvet bandeau. You will be ravishing, ma petite!’

  And then Eliza went to work on Jane’s hair. First she sprinkled it with an exotic oil that filled the room with its spicy smell and then she wound each curl around her finger, brushing it and holding it in place until it dried before going on to the next.

  ‘I shall just take some of this back hair to form un petit chignon,’ she cried. ‘Ah, now, it starts to come together. Voyons, we will make you a little dark-haired rose.’

  And the amazing thing was that Jane’s head did look like a rose — like one of those huge French roses with hundreds of curled petals. I told her how pretty she looked — she couldn’t do the same for me with my hair all screwed into corkscrew spirals, but I had complete confidence in Cousin Eliza.

  ‘And now, mes enfants, go back to your room and sleep. I will wake you before the carriage comes and help you to get dressed. But sleep now.’

  Jane is asleep as I write this, but I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to write down everything about that extraordinary hour in Madame la Comtesse’s room. When I am old, I will read these pages again and I will remember what it was like.

  The Assembly Rooms at Basingstoke

  Sukey taps at the door and we both wake with a start. She puts fresh wood on to the fire, lights the candles, and then goes out with a last look at the two beautiful gowns. ‘Jane, help me with my stays. Lace them tighter … tighter. They should push the bosom up.’

  I can hardly breathe, but then Jane opens the laces a little. ‘You look fine,’ she says. ‘At least you have a bosom to show off. I wish my bosom would grow a bit. I’m going to stuff a couple of Cassandra’s torn silk stockings inside my stays.’

  I slip on my chemise and then my finest lawn petticoat. I wear my shortest petticoat. I don’t want any of it to be seen under the gown. The gown is too beautiful.

  And then Eliza appears with her hair in curling papers and wearing a very becoming wrapper of lace; she seizes the two gowns and we follow her to her chamber, which is lit by at least twenty candles. She hangs up the gowns and then shakes a little more of that spicy, aromatic oil over Jane’s hair and brushes her curls once more.

  Then Jane has to sit very still with a piece of old muslin over her head to absorb the extra oil while Eliza takes out my curling papers and brushes each fat ringlet over her finger and arranges Henry’s bandeau carefully, pulling forward a couple of curls over my forehead. She brings over the looking glass and I think that I look years older, that my hair is blonde and beautiful, that
my eyes are large and even bluer than my velvet bandeau. I don’t even notice my snub nose.

  Then Eliza slips our gowns over our heads very carefully, produces two pairs of superfine white elbow-length gloves from her trunk, hands us our fans and our reticules. Last of all she leads us over to a full-sized cheval looking glass – the only one in the house, I think – and we both tell each other how lovely we look.

  ‘That gown really suits you. I think white is your best colour,’ I say to Jane. ‘I like you better in white than in pink.’

  ‘I’m glad we forced Mama to agree to short sleeves, aren’t you?’ Jane was admiring her bare arms.

  ‘I love them.’ But I was too busy looking over my shoulder, admiring the shimmer of blue light from the beads on my train, to bother about my arms.

  ‘Sit on the bed, mes enfants, while I dress,’ says Eliza, and we sit and admire how swiftly she gets ready, patting her lips with a piece of damp red leather from Brazil (so she told us), brushing out her curls, dusting her face with some talc and pulling on a pair of superfine silk stockings before taking a gown of shimmering lilac from her press.

  ‘The coach from the inn has arrived.’ Charles is clattering up the stairs, his voice high with excitement.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I say, opening the door and looking out.

  Charles is wearing a pair of white gloves; they are far too big for him and look quite comic next to his young-boy skeleton suit.

  ‘Don’t forget you promised me a dance, Jenny,’ he says. He looks so sweet with his well-brushed hair that I feel quite motherly towards him. He sounds a bit anxious so I smile reassuringly at him as I drape a lace shawl lent by Eliza over my shoulders. Mrs Austen says that I will be cold, but I don’t want to spoil the effect of my lovely gown with my old blue cloak.

  In the end, Mr Austen, Henry and Frank have gone to Basingstoke by stagecoach with the other boys from Mr Austen’s school. It is just as well; I’m worried about my gown as Jane and I squeeze next to Eliza, while Cassandra, Charles and Mrs Austen sit opposite. I wish I didn’t have to sit down; I’m worried in case I lose one of the glass beads, although Jane and I sewed them on as firmly as we could. It seems an age before we arrive at Basingstoke.