Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend (28 page)

It takes a good half-hour before we can make our way back to the coach. I fall asleep on the way home.

Wednesday, 11 May 1791

Today has been an odd day. Everyone is so relieved that the jury found Mrs Leigh-Perrot innocent, but it is almost as if some great weight is still over the household. Every
time the doorbell rang Franklin seemed to jump, and even though it was invariably bunches of flowers or messages for Mrs Leigh-Perrot, he still did not relax. Augusta declared that she had a
migraine and went off to bed, Edward-John went out for a walk and Mr Austen and James went to book tickets for the stagecoach home.

James had told some great news to the Leigh-Perrots over breakfast. He is engaged to be married to Anne Montgomery, General Montgomery’s only child. ‘Quite a fortune with her,’
Mrs Austen had whispered to her sister-in-law and Mrs Leigh-Perrot smiled approvingly at James.

Jane and I wondered whether to go to the post inn with James, but then thought that might seem a bit heartless, so we hovered and didn’t quite know what to do.

My aunt and uncle were restless too, moving from room to room, upstairs and downstairs, almost as if they could not believe that they now had the freedom to do what they wanted and to go where
they wished.

It was Mrs Austen who put a stop to this. When we all sat down to dinner at three o’clock, she suddenly announced:

‘My dear sister, what you must do is give a party. Allow all your friends to come and congratulate you. And hear of your experiences. Get it all over and done with in one evening. Invite
everyone!’

‘What a wonderful idea! Let’s have it tomorrow.’ Her brother beamed at Mrs Austen, and his wife was equally struck.

Everyone rushed through dinner. Eliza arrived just when it was finished and gave her enthusiastic support. Jane and I were seated at a small Pembroke table and set to work filling out invitation
cards from a list that Mrs Leigh-Perrot produced from her desk. Two of the maids were employed in taking bundles of them all over the town while Mr Leigh-Perrot and Franklin decided on the menu and
a long list of delicious food with pies of every description. Pastry-cooks, wine merchants, flower shops, musicians – all were pressed into the service of this impromptu party.

‘No one will come at such short notice,’ said Mrs Leigh-Perrot.

‘Nonsense, everyone will come. They’ll all want to tell their friends that they’ve seen you and heard your stories about the jail,’ said Mrs Austen bluntly.

‘
Chère madame
, you are a
cause célèbre
!’ said Eliza fervently.

‘Is there anyone you girls want to ask?’ Mrs Leigh-Perrot is in very good humour with us. While pretending to berate Mrs Austen for taking two such ‘innocent young women’
into the courthouse, I think that she was touched by how the Austen family had rallied around her. Jane has become a great favourite with her – I think that both the Leigh-Perrots were amazed
at her courage at speaking out at court. They both thanked her very earnestly. I noticed that they barely spoke to Augusta!

‘What about Harry Digweed?’ suggested Jane.

‘Harry Digweed!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘Is he still in Bath? Goodness gracious, what on earth is he doing hanging around a place like this? I thought that boy was wedded to
farming.’

She must have noticed something in Jane’s tone because her eyes narrowed and she exchanged glances with Mrs Leigh-Perrot. And both of them stared at Jane, who looked unperturbed and
started to fill out the next card on the list before her.

‘Harry Digweed – of course, we must ask him! He was like a son to us during that terrible time!’ Mr Leigh-Perrot was emphatic. Now James was the one to look put out. And
Edward-John. Neither of them liked to hear such praise of Harry Digweed.

‘He’s a nice boy – a playmate of my boys,’ said Mrs Austen, making it sound as if Harry was about ten years old.

‘And what about you, my dear?’ Mrs Leigh-Perrot looked across at me.

I felt a little hesitant, but I had promised Thomas to keep an eye on his sister so I asked her whether she would invite Admiral Williams and his niece, and she was very happy to do that,
writing out the card herself instantly.

‘Dear Aunt,’ said Jane, after we had written for what seemed like hours, ‘pray allow Jenny and me to deliver some of those cards.’

I was on my feet as soon as she said that. I could guess what she felt. After the tension of that terrible day in Taunton we just wanted to get back to normal again and to run down the hill
streets of Bath and laugh and joke as usual.

‘Why didn’t you ask Newton Wallop?’ I said to Jane as we walked through Queen’s Square, neatly avoiding Phylly, whom we spotted on her way up to St Swithin’s
church. I was reminded of Newton because I could see him in the distance, coming up Barton Street.

‘He’s going . . .’ began Jane and then stopped. Newton was waving violently at us, holding up a piece of paper. It looked like a letter.

‘What are you up to, Jane?’ he called when we came within speaking distance. ‘Is this from one of your novels?’

Now I could see the paper. It was, indeed, a letter. The address:

was written in large, straggling capital letters. Jane and I stared at it.

‘And I had to pay postage on it,’ continued Newton. ‘Come on, Jane; don’t pretend to be an innocent. Only you write letters like this.’

Jane took the letter and I peered over her shoulder. This is what we read – I’ve stuck it into my journal here.

‘An anonymous letter about me!’ Jane breathed the words as though it was something she had looked for all her life. ‘Pray, pray, Newton, let me keep it. Jenny
can stick it into her journal and it will divert us during the long winter evenings.’

‘Didn’t you write it, then?’ Newton sounded puzzled. ‘I thought you were the only one who wrote in that sort of style. Are you sure that you didn’t write it? I can
remember you writing a play a little like this when I was at your father’s place.’

‘No, I didn’t write this,’ said Jane regretfully. ‘But I wish I had. What fun to write letters about oneself! Though I would be sorry to make you pay postage, Newton. I
would have trudged down to York House at dead of night and slipped the letter under the door.’

‘You swear that you didn’t write it, then?’ Newton still sounded puzzled.

‘Alas!’ said Jane sadly, looking lovingly at the letter.

‘It’s all very well to think it funny, Jane,’ I said hotly, ‘but who is writing letters about you? It’s a terrible thing to say. Whoever wrote it is implying that
you are just a flirt.’ I had a strong suspicion that it might be Lavinia, and yet it did not seem like her. I wouldn’t have thought that she would use words like ‘abjectly’
and ‘follies and vices’. They seemed to be rather old-fashioned expressions.

‘Well, have it if you like,’ said Newton in an offhand way. ‘Perhaps it is someone having a joke. I say, Jane, is Frank at home? I’m off back to Hampshire today and I
wondered if we could get in some hunting.’

‘I think he is still at Southampton,’ said Jane absently. She gave her hand to Newton and we both wished him a goodbye and a good journey, but I could see that her mind was still on
that stupid letter as we walked on towards Eliza’s place. From time to time Jane gave a little giggle to herself and had another peep at the anonymous letter.

Harry was standing outside the door of number 13, Queen’s Square. He often did that if he wanted to meet us, but this time there was something strange about his manner. He did not walk
towards us, but waited until we had turned into the doorway and were under the arches before he moved.

And then I saw that he had a letter in his hand.

‘Harry!’ exclaimed Jane. And then suddenly she stopped. I saw a change come over her face. She took a step back. His face was white with fury.

‘What does this mean?’ he exploded. He didn’t sound at all like the usual shy, slightly hesitant Harry.

‘Let me see.’ Jane held out a hand. Her voice shook and for a moment she looked as though she might cry. ‘Harry, please give me that letter . . .’ she said.

For a moment I thought he was going to refuse, but then he held it out, and when she took it he turned and walked away.

‘Let me look,’ I said. Jane wasn’t looking at the letter but gazing after Harry; she looked quite upset. So I read through the letter myself. It was nastier than Newton’s
one and had things about Jane making a fool out of Harry and regarding him as the village idiot, but it was the same handwriting and also signed ‘A FRIEND AND WELL-WISHER’.

‘I didn’t write it, Harry.’ There was a funny quaver in Jane’s voice when she said that, and Harry instantly turned on his heel and came back. He stood very still for a
moment, looking down at Jane, and then snatched the letter out of my hand.

‘Of course you didn’t write it,’ he said, and then I saw him looking closely into her face. I looked also. There were definitely tears in Jane’s eyes. Harry put a hand on
her arm and squeezed it and then he smiled. ‘Of course you didn’t write it,’ he repeated, and now his tone lightened. ‘Whoever wrote that could spell the word
“friend”, so it definitely wasn’t you!’

And then he tore the piece of paper into forty or so pieces and thrust them into his pocket. ‘There are a lot of very stupid people around,’ he said.

And after that there was a minute’s silence. They just stood there looking at each other. I remembered my thoughts the night after the ball at the Crescent when Jane said that the polished
gentlemen were not quite real and that she could not imagine going for a walk in the woods with them, and I wondered again about her feelings for Harry. Was it just because he was a friend of her
youth (as she put it) or did she have stronger feelings for him?

‘We’ve an invitation for you, Harry,’ said Jane eventually, taking the card from her reticule. ‘It’s a party tomorrow at the Leigh-Perrots’. Will you
come?’

Harry took the card gently from her and smiled. He does have a nice smile!

‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘I’ll go straight back to my lodgings and write a polite acceptance.’

‘Let’s show the letter to Eliza,’ I said after he had left.

‘Let’s not,’ said Jane.’ I know who wrote it, and it will only upset Eliza. Phylly wrote it. I knew I recognized the writing when Newton was showing it to me, but it was
only when I saw the second one that I remembered.’

I felt annoyed about this and said that I thought we should tell Eliza. However, Jane insisted that she didn’t want to. She seemed in a very good mood and was humming a little song to
herself as we climbed the stairs.

Eliza was full of questions about Augusta, but she was not disappointed to hear that nothing had yet been said.

‘Give her a day or two,’ she advised. ‘She’s the sort of woman that tries to hold on to her spite. If nothing happens soon, then we might have to apply a little more
pressure.’ Her eyes met Jane’s and they smiled at each other.

Augusta did not come down to supper this evening, and it seems nothing has yet been said to the Austens.

‘Perhaps Mr Jerome Wilkins has abandoned her,’ suggested Jane. ‘She threw herself into his arms and spluttered, “
Damme, Jerome, I shall be married to you
.”
And then he said, in a manner truly heroic, “
Damme, Augusta, you are too old for me
.” I’ve taken that from a story that I wrote when I was a twelve-year-old,’ added
Jane. She gave a melancholy sigh and said, ‘I was so immature then; I could do better now.’

Jane always manages to make me laugh.

Thursday, 12 May 1791

And of course Eliza and Mrs Austen were right. Everyone did come to the party. The Leigh-Perrots’ house was a large one, but it was thronged! There were even people
sitting on the stairs to eat their supper since the crowds in the dining room were so enormous. In fact, that became the fashionable place to be for the younger crowd. When eventually Jane, Eliza,
Harry and I squeezed our way downstairs and went in for supper the dining room had begun to clear.

The supper was delicious. Franklin, beaming from ear to ear, was serving every kind of exotic food. I filled my plate and went over to talk to Mr Austen, who was looking a little out of place
among the smooth-talking Bath gentlemen.

‘It’s a wonderful party, sir, isn’t it?’ I began. ‘I wish Thomas was here.’ And then when he didn’t reply, in desperation I asked the important
question: ‘Have Edward-John and Augusta said anything to you about me, sir?’

Mr Austen, however, was still not listening to me but gazing, with a puzzled frown, across the room, at Jane and Harry Digweed. They were standing with full plates, right in the centre of the
room, and Jane was pointing directly across the room to where Augusta was demurely talking to Phylly while Edward-John hastened towards them with a couple of glasses of wine in his hands.

Her?
I could see Jane’s lips mime the word, while her face was filled with horror at some scandalous revelation about a cousin. Harry was looking embarrassed, his face very red, but
that was all right. That almost helped the piece of play-acting that was going on. Now Eliza took part, stopping in the middle of the floor, staring at Jane – just as if she could hardly
believe her ears – and then turning around to look with horror at Augusta. Augusta coloured up, made some excuse to Phylly, then moved away, only to be accosted by Eliza who, with the
exaggerated gestures that would have looked good on the stage in Covent Garden Theatre in London, drew her into a corner and began to whisper in her ear, with many backward glances at Jane. Jane
played her part well, rising on tiptoe to whisper into Harry’s ear – her lip movements were so exaggerated that I, and probably the rest of the room, could almost make out the words
Are you sure it was really her?