Read Dearest Cousin Jane Online
Authors: Jill Pitkeathley
Dearest Cousin Jane (11 page)
I
knew it! I knew she had set her cap at Henry again, so I was not surprised to hear of the marriage. The countess herself has only just seen fit to write to me, but of course the marriage was the talk of Hampshire and in a letter sent not two weeks after the event Uncle George told me they were married. He, poor foolish man, seemed to think it gave him nobility to have a son married to a countess. I have often thought him naïve—Aunt Cassandra is the realistic one in that household—but I had never thought him stupid. But without a doubt it is stupid to send a large sum of money to Henry’s regiment so that they might toast the bride and groom. No doubt the militia drank a toast to the ‘Good Parson Austen’ too—everyone knows that the military indulges in alcoholic beverages far too much anyway, without encouragement from a misguided clergyman.
Uncle George did not tell me himself but I heard from another source that he has bought a carriage and actually had a coronet emblem engraved upon the side. I was always under the impression that money was too tight for them to afford a carriage—indeed Jane and Cassandra have often in their letters to me expressed regret that lack of a carriage is very disadvantageous for young ladies who like to attend balls as they are always dependent on being conveyed
hither and thither by others. Now their father seems to think that a man in his position must have a carriage. What position is that, pray? He is a country parson and no amount of fine carriages will change that and neither will having a countess in the family. Of course, she is not really a countess at all now as she has re-married, but I cannot see Eliza easily giving up the title. Indeed, in the letter I have finally received from her this week she signs herself ‘Eliza, Comtesse de Feuillide, Mrs Henry Austen.’ The letter contains the shocking phrase that she does not like the word
husband
and will continue to refer to Henry as her cousin!
She is full of apologies that she has neglected me for so long, though she knows I will have heard of her marriage long ago. She is also extremely sorry to hear about the death of my father, though she knows that in truth this was a happy release as he had been senile for years. It seems that a new bride has little time for writing, as she is receiving so much attention from all Henry’s regiment and other acquaintance. Her time has been taken up with all the officers and their families who wish to pay their respects. There have been parties and balls and what with driving out with Henry in their new curricle every day—has everyone in the world a new carriage apart from me?—she has scarcely an hour free, and this explains her silence. The curricle cost fifty pounds at least, so Uncle George says, and also tells me they make a fine sight—Henry in his scarlet cloak with Eliza beside him in a fur pelisse and carrying a large sable muff. The inhabitants of Ipswich are ‘more fashionable’ than she had expected and it seems that they vie with each other to be hospitable to the military. In her letter she tells me that she has given up flirting now that she is married, but I notice she remarks how Henry’s friend Captain Tilson is ‘remarkably handsome’ and that she was already ‘quite in love’ with Colonel Lord Charles Spencer! How does Henry put up with this? But he has always
thought her endearingly outrageous and I suppose it reflects well on him to have secured a well-looking and aristocratic wife. I will allow that Eliza seems to appreciate his tolerance and devotion. She writes:
But all the comfort that can result from the tender affection and society of a being who is possessed of an excellent heart, understanding and temper I have at least ensured—to say nothing of the pleasure of having my own way in everything, for Henry well knows that I have not been much accustomed to control and should probably behave rather awkwardly under it, and therefore like a wise man he has no will but mine, which is to be sure what some people would call spoiling me, but I know is the best way of managing me.
I hope Henry continues to be devoted to Hastings as well as to his wife. The boy does seem to have benefited by a change of surroundings and as they have a garden at their house he is able to enjoy the fresh air. Of course Madame Bigeon takes care of him most of the time—his mother is too busy driving out and attending parties of pleasure—but I am sure that fresh air and sea bathing will do him more good than any amount of medicine.
It is now plain to me why the military are made so much of in Suffolk, as they are here in Kent and even in Hampshire. Everyone is taken up with the fear of invasion. I am becoming fearful of reading the newspapers, which now contain almost nothing but details of pending invasion by the French. It seems that Bonaparte is at Boulogne and awaits only fair weather before crossing the channel. When the sun shines people speak of ‘raft weather,’ since this is how the French mean to cross the water—by means of giant rafts with paddles powered by windmills—the
Morning Post;
carried a print of such a contraption this morning. They could carry many hundreds
of armed soldiers and we could all be overpowered in no time. They would come by night and the long dark nights of this month when there is no moon is when we are most at risk. Great beacons have been built on every hilltop to pass on the alarm of any landing and we are told to listen for the church bells ringing backwards, as that will be the sign that the invasion has begun. Mama has told our servants to lay in stocks of food, but so many people are doing the same that flour is now in short supply. My cousins Frank and Charles are both at sea and have told Jane that there is no risk at all and that the newspapers are spreading panic. They believe that Bonaparte has other fish to fry and that he intends to invade in the Mediterranean, not in England.
I am sure that Jane has passed this news to Eliza, as they are regular correspondents, but even if it is true—for which I sincerely pray—it will not stop the new Mrs Austen from parading herself in her new frogged riding habit, for all the world as though she herself were to be the defender of our realm.
I have to ask her a favour, which I am reluctant to do, but I need her to intercede with Warren Hastings on behalf of my friend—perhaps I might even call him ‘my admirer’—Mr George Whitaker. Now that I am left alone with my mother, who is not in good health, and that he has been cut off by his father, we shall never be in a position to marry if Mr Whitaker does not receive preferment from somewhere, and as he knows of my connection with the great Warren Hastings he has asked me to intercede with Eliza to seek commissions from him so that we might have enough to marry on. He has not actually made me an offer, but we both know that this is dependent on him securing a position. We would be quite prepared for him to undertake some business abroad. I cannot at present leave Mama and it may be some years before…I shall write back immediately and seek her support.
May 1798
Well, that did not take her long! When I think how she has often teased me about Mr Whitaker and wished me joy with him but when it comes to giving practical support…she can say only that it is utterly out of her power to comply with my request. She actually tells me she has the most insuperable aversion to asking favours and that she could never approach Warren Hastings as he is so teased with requests and supplications. She does give me his address for Mr Whitaker to write himself but actually forbids us to use her name in the matter—so what good would that do? She is as shamelessly selfish as ever—having had two husbands herself she does not scruple to deny the opportunity of marriage to one whom she professes to love. She merely says that she has observed there is a tide in the affairs of this life and she hopes mine will take a turn for the better soon.
Henry’s regiment is to be posted to Ireland soon I gather. She will not accompany him—it would serve her right if Henry found some consolation there.
My dearest wife,
My longing to see you and the boy again grows ever stronger with each month we are apart. It is now almost a year since I saw your dear face, though your charming letters are a great joy and consolation. I was so glad that in your last you were able to tell me of some improvement in your health. I had hoped that the air at Dorking would do you good, being drier and more bracing than that of East Anglia. I know that you, too, had thought that the quiet country life and early hours would suit your constitution. We had hoped the same for dear Hastings, too, and I know that he was the principle reason that you moved to Surrey when I was posted to Ireland. Alas, his seizures, or epileptic fits as you say the doctors now call them, seem to have grown worse and are a source of great grief to you and I assure you to his devoted stepfather. My love, I cannot help believing that your own poor health can be attributed in large measure to the worry of his condition. And I hope when the current emergency is over we shall be able to devise for ourselves a more stable life that will have the effect of soothing your spirits as well as his. More of this anon.
Now that we are stationed in Dublin, my life with the militia is considerably more agreeable. This is largely due to the kind
attentions I have received from the Lord Lieutenant since our dear friend Charles Spencer did me the honour of making the introduction. He keeps a fine table and cellar and we dine with him twice weekly at least.
I know you say that you are content at home with your harp and your books, but I do feel that if you partake of some agreeable company it would lift the spirits of one who has always been so sociable. I know that Lady Burrell and Lady Talbot have sought you out and I do recommend that you take up their invitations when they next call. In truth, I would find our separation intolerable were it not for the friendships of the fine gentlemen I have mentioned.
It is of a conversation with them that I now wish to speak. The Lord Lieutenant, in company with most of the officers, thinks that the militia will be stood down next year if the war continues to go our way. Lord Nelson’s great victory in Egypt has raised morale and the navy now feels the French are almost vanquished. Now my dear, do not allow your hopes to rise too much on the subject of your French property—it will be a considerable time before we can address that issue—but when I am stood down, how should you like to be the wife of a banker and live in a fine house in London? This is a prospect I am now seriously considering. I can arrange a partnership with Henry Maunde who has much experience in this field and once trade begins again all the fellows think more banks will be needed so why should not I take the opportunity? We could also be agents for army transactions and many of my acquaintance would give us commissions, I am convinced.
Do let me know, dear girl, what is your view of this scheme. Apart from my friends I have mentioned it to no one but you, though I am in frequent correspondence with my sisters and
my father. My brothers Frank and Charles are not the best of correspondents, as you know, but they have the excuse of being at sea and indeed in action from time to time. Brother Edward writes little but I have received a long letter from Jane, which I enclose, and from that you will see what a fine life he now enjoys. As to brother James, you will have heard that Mary ([Jane calls her Mrs JA to distinguish her from you—Mrs HA) is safely delivered. It is to be hoped that now she has a boy of her own, she will be more kindly towards little Anna. If I were as bad a stepparent to your dear boy as Mary is to Anna, I should be ashamed.
Jane is scribbling again, as you will see from her letter. It was good for her to have space to spread her papers at Godmersham and I hope that with this book she might eventually find a larger audience than her family. She deserves that, does she not? I wonder if I could interest a publisher in her work once we are settled in London.
I now bid you adieu and send my fondest love. I have hopes of returning to England in December but that still seems too long to be apart.
Your most devoted cousin and husband
Henry Austen
My dear,
On rereading Jane’s letter before sealing this I wonder if I should add a warning about heeding Jane’s misgivings about cousin Philly. I know you are inordinately fond of her but the rest of my family thinks her a mischief maker, often given to saying cruel things. I wonder if they have heard her say such things about you? Might it be wise to be a little guarded in your intercourse with her?
Letter enclosed with This,
From Jane Austen to Her Brother Henry
My dear Brother,
I expect you have heard from Papa that Mary is brought to bed of a boy—named James Edward for his father. Things did not go too well with her and Mama made the journey to Deane in the dark to be at the lying-in. Thank God they both came through and we are all thankful. In presenting James with a son and heir it is to be hoped that Mrs JA will have overcome her resentment of poor little Anna, who quite dotes upon her new brother, though as you know she can rarely please her stepmother. Mary does not manage things as well as Elizabeth, who always looks so neat and tidy at her lyings-in. Henry I entreat you, do not tease—I expect you are saying that E has so much more practice—after all she has had seven already and shows no sign of stopping!
I certainly must not tease about Elizabeth as the real purport of this letter is to tell you all about our family visit to their new—and very splendid—abode. Rowlings, where they have lived since their marriage, is a fine enough house, but as for Godmersham! As Cassandra and I walked around we agreed it was like a fairy tale or the Palace Beautiful in
Pilgrim’s Progress
.
It would have been nice to be conveyed to Kent in our own carriage, but as you know, we were unable to continue its upkeep and were obliged to give it up. So we went post as far as Canterbury but our discomfort was forgotten when we arrived at Godmersham. It is a fine brick house, with two wings and a most imposing façade with a set of steps to the front entrance where Elizabeth, Edward, and five of the children were waiting to great us, their coachman having collected us in the finest of their
carriages (they have four!) from the Inn in Wye for the last stage of the journey.
Edward says he was reluctant to move in when Mrs Knight became a widow, but as she said, when they adopted him and he agreed to change his name from Austen to Knight, with that came all the privileges of an eldest son, which certainly include inheriting the family property and taking his own family to live in it. It is the rule, of course, and I am certain that Edward and Elizabeth are more gracious about it than my John and Fanny Dashwood—I am sure you remember them from my readings to you from Elinor and Marianne. Edward was very proud to show his family around, as well he might be.
It is a lovely house, long and low, built of warm red brick with decoration in white stone. It is most favourably situated in a green valley, surrounded by parkland and woods, which abound with game for the shooting parties. The trees were a fine sight, with their leaves just turning gold. We went in by the north front up a flight of steps and Edward proudly led our mother in. He is becoming quite portly, which I suppose is fitting for a landed gentleman. Elizabeth is as pretty as ever despite her many confinements.
All the rooms are magnificent but especially the main drawing room, which is very ornate and decorated with plaster depictions of fruit, flowers, and leaves. The chimney piece is vastly superior to any I have ever seen and I dearly wish I had had it as a model for the fixtures at Rosings or even Pemberley! The furniture is very fine, with silken chairs and gilt mouldings and embroidered chair backs. My favourite room, you will not be surprised to hear, was the library. Edward is not much of a reader as the estate takes up so much of his time—or at least that is what he says, though his steward seems very able and my father enjoyed walking the farms with him. But what a delight the library was to me and to Cassandra!
And we sat there often just the two of us, with two fires, five tables, and twenty-eight chairs; we did not mind a wet day in the least! The other joy for us was that we had not only our own room but our own sitting room and dressing room, too, with a fire lit all day and all night—such a comfort to be able to rise in the early morning if I had an idea to set down and not sit shivering by a cold grate. Yes, I have been scribbling again and have started a whole new story that I believe will amuse you all. I have called my heroine Susan and she is young and impressionable and a great reader of novels such as
Udolpho
. What I hope will amuse in the story is that she has a little difficulty distinguishing fiction from reality. The story is set in Bath and I found our recent visit there useful for description, though to tell the truth staying with Aunt and Uncle Leigh-Perrot was not the most pleasant experience. Anyway, during the stay at Godmersham I found that I could increase my rate of writing because of not having to tidy away my papers so frequently. I could leave my work spread out, secure in the knowledge that no one needed to lay a table for dining and that the servants were too much in awe of ‘The Master’ to spy on his sister’s writing.
I made a new friend there, too—Miss Sharpe, the governess. Now Henry, do not scold me for calling a servant a friend. She is part of the family, a gentlewoman, and only obliged to shift for herself as her family fell upon hard times. I am only too aware that your sisters might find themselves in the same plight if our brothers are not generous to us after the death of our father, which I hope and pray may be long delayed. Miss Sharpe and I both enjoy walking and Edward’s estate gives us plenty of opportunity, with a large shrubbery, a park near ten miles round, a river, and even a Doric temple. Elizabeth took us visiting to the neighbours round about, principally the Knatchbulls and the Wildmans, and we went several times into Canterbury, where old Mrs Knight now
lives. She is a kind lady and is prodigiously fond of Edward. What a lucky thing it was for him, and I suppose for all of us, that she and the late Mr Knight took such a fancy to our Edward on their honeymoon journey that they wished immediately to adopt him, for they never had any other children and their estate might have passed to a very distant family or been broken up. I remember at the time that you and I thought it heartless of Mama and Papa to agree to the arrangement, but I am sure they now feel their decision was vindicated as we can all enjoy Godmersham—as I told Cass ‘Everyone is rich in Kent.’
I confess I found it difficult to adjust to the different standards here at Steventon. I became used to dining at six on partridge and French wine, whereas here we dine on mutton at three thirty. I miss my sister greatly—you know that she has stayed on with Elizabeth and Edward as Elizabeth is to be confined again soon and would like Cass to help. I know full well that my sister will be a greater favourite than I at Godmersham as her sweet and docile temperament is more acceptable to them. Much though I enjoy the luxury I fear that their neighbours somewhat look down on us as Edward’s ‘old maid’ sisters and poor relations and I do not find that comfortable. But my mother’s poor health at present means I have much to concern me with household matters and when I have no time for my writing I become cross and ill tempered.
Speaking of cross and ill tempered, I beg you when you write to dear Eliza to suggest to her that she is less open in her correspondence with Philly. Your dear wife is so frank and open that sometimes she is easily taken in and I am sure she does not realise that Philly is always critical of her and does not hesitate to tell my mother or other members of the family of what she calls ‘ her latest extravagance’ or ‘ her ridiculous aspirations.’ She even criticises her mothering, which is especially wicked since we all
know that there could be no more devoted a mother than your wife. I pray you remember me most kindly to her and send a kiss to dear Hastings.
I hope that this emergency situation is soon over and that you may be free to return to your family, of whom no one thinks of you with more affection than
Your devoted sister
Jane