I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend (21 page)

‘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.

So I’ve put it in here. I’ll have lots of Jane’s written works before this journal is finished.

‘
Lovely and fair one,’ said the noble youth, ‘not withstanding your forbidding squint, your greasy curls and your swelling back, which are more frightful than imagination can paint or pen describe: I cannot refrain from expressing my raptures and asking you to marry me.
’

Alas for the passionate young man, Cassandra’s mama did not approve of the match on account of the tender years of the young couple, Cassandra being but 36 and the noble youth little more than 63. It was agreed that they should wait a little while till they were a good deal older before embarking on matrimony
.

Wednesday, 23 March 1791

Mrs Austen is still in a bad mood today. She was very cross with Jane this morning. She says that she has no accomplishments except piano playing.

‘You can’t sketch, you have no interest in cooking or managing a house; you just spend all of your time making up jokes and scribbling silly stories,’ scolded Mrs Austen.

‘Well, I don’t care,’ said Jane. ‘I won’t want to get married to a man who would want me to be a housekeeper. I shall marry a man with a good fortune.’

‘Jane …’ said Mrs Austen. She said the words slowly and solemnly. ‘Don’t be silly. It won’t be up to you to choose a husband. A man will choose you, and no man of fortune will choose a silly girl without any accomplishments who spends all her time making jokes and allowing boys to slide her down the stairs on a rug. I know you are not yet sixteen, but you must think of the future. Your father cannot afford to give you a dowry. If you wish to marry well, you must be willing to make yourself attractive to a young man of fortune. Why can’t you be more like your cousin? Look how polite she is and how beautifully she draws. I’ll tell you this, Jane: she’s the sort of girl that men like. You’re just a silly tomboy. The Lord forgive me, but I have no patience and no time to deal with this child!’

And then she slammed the door and went out.

‘I don’t care,’ repeated Jane, opening the door again. And then, very loudly, she shouted after her mother, ‘I don’t care; so don’t bother talking to me. I shall make my living by writing novels, and thousands of people will buy them, and that’s that.’ She slammed the door shut and scowled at me for a minute and I felt terrible. I wished that Mrs Austen hadn’t said that about me.

However, Jane being Jane, after a minute she began to grin and she scribbled a few words on a piece of paper, which she crammed into her pocket. Then she jumped up and said cheerfully, ‘Come on, Jenny, let’s go out.’

When we had put on our bonnets and were coming down the stairs we saw Cassandra go into Mr Austen’s study.

‘Tom Fowle is in there, and my mother also,’ whispered Jane. We looked at each other.

‘I hope they don’t send poor Tom away,’ said Jane as we went down the avenue towards the gate. ‘I like Tom.’

‘And he and Cassandra are very much in love,’ I said. I felt very, very sorry for them.

Mr Austen had brought an orange home for everyone. Jane had decided that she would be the one to give the orange to George as he was her brother, and I said that in that case I would share mine with her.

George was glad to see us. He was getting used to
all the strange things that we did, and I noticed that his eyes always went to the basket when we arrived.

Today I took out the picture of the orange first. I was really proud of it as I had copied it from the real fruit and blended the paints very carefully until I got the exact colour. As I had guessed, he didn’t take too much interest, but I formed my fingers and thumb into a round shape and kept saying ‘orange’, while pointing to the letter
O
, and he made an attempt at making the sign after me.

But when Jane peeled the orange and popped a slice in his mouth, he was amazed by the taste. I don’t think he had ever eaten anything so strange. For a moment he stood very still and I thought he was going to spit it out, but then he chewed and swallowed and opened his mouth for more. After every few slices we made him point to the letter and make the sign with his own fingers and thumb. By the end of the time we were sure that he knew the sign for the letter
O
, and we tested him on a few more. He remembered
A
for apple,
E
for egg and
C
for cake, but that was all.

‘Still,’ I said to Jane as we walked home, ‘now he knows four letters of the alphabet and a month ago he didn’t know any; perhaps by Christmas he will know them all.’

Mrs Austen was in a much better mood at dinner time, and what was even more surprising was that Cassandra was looking very well. She was smiling to
herself and being very helpful to her mother.

‘I’ll help Mary with the clearing up, Mama,’ she said when everyone had finished. ‘You go and have a rest.’

‘We’ll help too,’ said Jane virtuously. She carefully closed the door after the last of the boys had gone out and came back over to the table and started to pile the dirty dishes on the tray.

‘Come on, Cassandra, tell us what is happening,’ she coaxed.

For a minute Cassandra hesitated. I felt awkward because I thought she would tell Jane to mind her own business, but I think she was so happy that she wanted to tell someone about it.

‘You mustn’t say a word,’ she said warningly.

‘Your secret is safe with me, young maiden,’ hissed Jane. I thought this would annoy Cassandra, but it didn’t. She just laughed.

‘Well, Papa talked to Mama last night and then he talked to Tom again this morning and then we all talked together. Papa was very nice.’ Cassandra’s eyes filled, though her lips curved in a smile; she was halfway between laughter and tears. She looked very pretty, I thought.

‘Go on,’ said Jane. She didn’t normally hug her sister, but she did so now. And Cassandra hugged her back.

‘We’ve promised to wait,’ she said. ‘We’re going
to be engaged, but not married. Tom told Papa that he does have some prospects. He has a distant cousin who is a lord — Lord Craven.’

‘He never spoke of that before!’ Jane sounded impressed. Her stories were full of lords.

‘Tom’s not like that.’ Cassandra smiled gently and blushed a little. ‘He never boasts. He only mentioned it to Papa today. He said that Lord Craven has promised to get him a place as a chaplain on one of his ships going to the West Indies. When he comes back Lord Craven will do his best to get him a parish.’

Jane asked her when they would be able to get married, and Cassandra told her that it would probably not be for five or six years yet. She still looked very happy about it, but when Cassandra carried out the tray to the kitchen, Jane and I agreed that the time was far too long.

‘Perhaps Lord Craven will die and leave Tom ten thousand pounds,’ said Jane cheerfully.

‘Shh!’ I said, energetically dusting the crumbs from the tablecloth. I could hear Cassandra coming back.

‘You sit by the fire and we’ll do the work,’ said Jane solicitously, taking the copper kettle from her sister. ‘People need to rest after an emotional shock, and being proposed to is probably the greatest shock that any girl can have.’

‘I must find out what he said,’ she muttered to me
as we carried out the kettle and teapot to the kitchen. ‘How can I write romantic novels unless I know what they say on such occasions?’

I said that it was probably private, but Jane didn’t look as though she were listening.

‘Cassandra,’ she said when the tablecloth had been folded and put away in the drawer, the fireplace swept and new wood put on the fire.

‘Yes, Jane.’ Cassandra was in a happy dream, staring at the flames.