A Jane Austen Encounter (13 page)

Elizabeth nodded. “Maybe Edith’s find didn’t have anything to do with papers from Cassandra, but rather from Martha. After all, Martha married Francis—and Edith was helping her father write
Jane Austen’s Sailor Brothers
.”

Richard’s smile was for far more than the steaming platter the waitress set before him. “I think my afternoon at the library could be well spent reading that book Edith and her father wrote.”

Chapter 11

RICHARD INDEED FOUND THE volume he desired and settled down on one of the comfortable sofas in the great hall. The reading captivated him immediately. He had not been particularly enthused by the prospect of reading the biography of two naval officers, even though brothers of Jane, but the warm family reminiscence pulled him in.

He had not expected the author to draw so many parallels between family members and “Aunt Jane’s” characters, and he rather quickly lost sight of the object of his having taken up the volume until many hours later when Elizabeth plopped down on the sofa beside him. “You seem thoroughly engrossed. Have you learned anything?”

“Most interesting. John Henry says—”

“John Henry?”

“Hubback, the author—”

“Oh, right. Edith’s father.”

“That’s it. He says . . .” Richard turned to the front of the book and scanned to find the passage. “Ah, here it is. Hubback believes Jane’s younger brother Charles is a model for Bingley. He says Charles’ impetuous disposition is exaggerated in Bingley, who says, ‘Whatever I do is done in a hurry,’ a remark which is severely reproved by Darcy (and not improbably by Francis Austen), as an ‘indirect boast.’

“And Francis himself comes in for his share of teasing on the opposite point of his extreme neatness, precision, and accuracy. ‘They are so neat and careful in all their ways,’ says Mrs. Clay, in
Persuasion
of the naval profession in general; and nothing’ Hubback goes on, ‘could be more characteristic of Francis Austen and some of his descendants than the overpowering accuracy with which Edmund Bertram corrects Mary Crawford’s hasty estimate of the distance in the wood.’”

“Yes, that is interesting, Charles as a model for Mr. Bingley and Francis for Edmund. Of course, I had assumed she would have drawn on her brothers for her picture of Captain Wentworth.”

“Yes, Hubback comments on that, too.” Again he searched for the passage, then read, “‘Her pictures of the life of a country gentleman and of clergymen are accurate, if not always sympathetic. Perhaps it was all too near her own experience to have the charm of romance, but concerning sailors she is romantic. Their very faults are lovable in her eyes, and their lives packed with interest. When Admiral Croft, Captain Wentworth, or William Price appears on the scene, the other characters immediately take on a merely subsidiary interest, and this prominence is always that given by appreciation. The distinction awarded to Mr. Collins or Mrs. Elton, as the chief object of ridicule, is of a different nature. The only instance she cared to give us of a sailor who is not to be admired is Mary Crawford’s uncle, the Admiral, and even he is allowed to earn our esteem by disinterested kindness to William Price.’”

Elizabeth made an impatient gesture. “Yes, yes, very interesting—but did you learn anything about Martha? Does he talk about Martha and Francis’ marriage? Where they were living? Did Martha write about her life with Jane?”

Richard shook his head. “Nothing beyond the fact that he made Martha his second wife in 1828.”

“Hmph. Obviously written by a man. Pity Edith didn’t have more influence on her father at that point.”

“He does record, however, that Frances was made rear admiral in 1830. That would be just two years after his marriage to Martha. And about that time he purchased Portsdown Lodge in Portsmouth, where he lived for the rest of his life.”

Elizabeth sprang to the edge of her seat. “Portsmouth. There it is, then! And we even know the name of the house. That’s where Martha was living at the time of her death, so that’s where to look for her papers. Surely Edith would have been doing research there for her father, and if we can find them—”

Richard burst out laughing, then cut off Elizabeth’s flow of words and his own laughter with a kiss.

After a few delicious moments, Elizabeth pushed herself back out of his embrace. “What was that for?”

Richard’s smile was so broad it was hard to speak. “Because you are so delightful.” After he kissed her again, this time more fully, he sat back in the cushions. “The thing is, Hubback goes on to say that ‘This property is now included within the lines of forts for the defence of Portsmouth.’ It was bought by the government for that purpose some years before Francis’s death.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that it’s hardly likely we’d find any literary papers stashed away in a fortress of the Royal Navy.”

“Right,” Richard replied. “And even if they should happen to be there, what are our chances of getting to wander around and poke into dark corners?”

“So no side trip to Portsmouth?”

“Nor to Southampton, I’m afraid. I did a little more checking on Jane Austen sites there. Apparently the ‘commodious old-fashioned’ house where they resided ‘in a corner of Castle Square’ was alongside the medieval town wall. The wall still stands and there is a Jane Austen trail with eight plaques marking sites associated with Jane.”

“And that’s it?”

Richard nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Elizabeth sat in a thoughtful silence for some time. Then she brightened. “But we know whatever was there existed in 1906, when Edith was doing her research. So where were they?”

“Well,
if
the papers came from Martha Lloyd—and we don’t know that they did—perhaps they passed to a member of her family.”

Elizabeth brightened. “Yes. Her sister Mary—who had married Jane’s brother James and lived in Jane’s old home at Steventon Rectory. I think we should go to Steventon tomorrow.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll go find Arthur and ask if he can drive us.”

She had only taken two steps across the Persian carpet when the young man himself walked in, followed closely by Gerri who threw herself into the sofa opposite Richard with a sigh.

Arthur held out his hands. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Gerri, really I am, but it isn’t my field.”

“You’re supposed to be the researcher.” She sulked.

“What’s the problem?” Elizabeth asked.

“The usual,” Arthur answered. “Gerri’s stuck and somehow it’s my fault.”

“That’s not fair!” She flared. “You aren’t trying. Richard has been a lot more help than you have.”

Richard was rather alarmed at being the apparent cause of the argument. “What did I do?”

“You suggested Cowper.” It came out as an accusation.

“Oh, yes, I did. Jane’s favorite poet. A deeply spiritual, if troubled, man. I thought you might find something useful for your essay. I didn’t mean to start a war.”

“Hardly that,” Arthur said, “but we haven’t found much useful.”

“I recall Jane saying they ‘must have Syringa in the garden for Cowper’s sake’.” Elizabeth resumed her seat next to Richard.

“Yes, that was a reference to a line from ‘The Task,’” Richard said. “I wonder if they have a copy of it here.”

Arthur pulled his mobile from his pocket. “I’ll have it for you in a tick.” He ran his finger down the screen, then handed it to Richard.

Richard scrolled a bit more. “Ah, yes, here it is in ‘The Winter Walk at Noon’ section: ‘Laburnum rich In streaming gold; syringa, ivory pure.’”

“Very pretty, I’m sure. But it doesn’t say much about Jane’s spirituality, does it?” Gerri held a pen poised above her notepad, but wrote nothing. She seemed determined to enjoy her sulk.

“Well, let’s see what else we can do.” Richard walked to the side table where he had earlier spotted an indexed copy of William Austen-Leigh’s biography. He was reminded of Elizabeth’s earlier comment that he seemed to be doing all of Gerri’s work for her, but he didn’t mind helping out. He turned a few pages. “Well, here’s a letter where Jane says she purchased Cowper’s works along with Boswell’s
Life of Johnson
.” He moved on before Gerri could complain that that hardly proved anything other than that Jane was a voracious reader.

“Hmm, ‘my father reads Cowper to us in the morning.’” He turned to a reference of how Jane was attracted to the return to nature in Cowper’s poetry. “But it wasn’t nature for nature’s sake,” Richard said. “In
The Task,
Cowper saw the rural life as conducive to developing piety and virtue in the reader, which Jane also did.”

Gerri still looked blank, so Richard continued, rather feeling as if he were conducting a tutorial for a not overly bright student. “I think we can see this most clearly in the Edmund Bertram/Mary Crawford conflict where Mary is a product of the corruption of city life and Edmund, the country parson, says he sees his role to have charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively, temporally and eternally.” He paused. “I think I have that pretty much from memory. Edmund had in his hands the guardianship of religion and morals and believed that ‘as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation.’” He was certain that last was right, as it had so much impressed him.

“Yes,” Elizabeth added, “and we were just reading that Jane’s brother Francis, who was known for his devotion, may have been her model for Edmund.”

Their efforts seemed to have placated Gerri, who was now scribbling away. At last she looked up. “Got it. Off to my computer, then.” She stood and started toward the door.

“No problem, Gerri. We’re always glad to help,” Elizabeth said to her back.

Gerri turned. “Oh, yeah, thanks awfully.”

Richard opened his mouth to tell her she was welcome, but was preempted by a familiar voice from beyond the open door. “And this is the Great Hall. The antlers over the fireplace—” Muriel broke off her lecture at finding the room occupied. “Oh, hello, everyone. You remember Beth from the
Chronicle
.” She repeated the names of each person in the room for the reporter.

“Doing a story, are you?” Richard asked.

“Yes. You know this year is the two-hundredth anniversary of the publication of
Pride and Prejudice,
so we’re doing lots of related stories all year, including a series on ‘The Austen Trail.’ I’m doing features on all the places connected with Jane.”

“My suggestion, of course,” Muriel said. “So naturally I feel responsible to see she gets a good tour.”

“What a fun assignment,” Elizabeth commented.

“Yes, and I’m fortunate to have Dr. Greystone for a guide.”

“Tomorrow I’m taking her to Box Hill,” Muriel announced. “We’ll all go. Won’t that be jolly.” It wasn’t a question.

“Box Hill? So you’re doing locations featured in the books as well as places Jane lived?” Richard asked.

“Yes, the series will run all year. I hope to visit all the houses that are thought to have served as models, too.”

“Lovely. We’re going to Godmersham,” Elizabeth said. “Where else are you going?”

Beth looked at her notes. “Well, Stoneleigh Abbey is thought to be Sotherton Court—Mr. Rushworth’s home in
Mansfield Park
. It was in Mrs. Austen’s family, and Jane visited there with her mother.” She looked at Muriel for confirmation. “And I’m hoping to get up to Derbyshire. Apparently Chatsworth House is thought to be the model for Pemberley—”

“Yes, quite right. But we can go into all of that later,” Muriel cut her off. “We need to make our plans for tomorrow. Arthur, you can take Elizabeth and Richard and Gerri in your car. I’ll go with Beth and we’ll pick up the hamper for our picnic on the way. It’s an hour’s drive—easy enough—but we should set out at ten o’clock.”

Richard resisted suggesting they should synchronize their watches.

Muriel was almost at the door when she turned back. “Oh, yes, and Claire and Robert will be joining us. I rang them. Thought it would be good press for the Centre.”

One look at the conflicting expressions on Arthur’s and Gerri’s faces made Richard wonder whether Dr. Greystone was truly as impervious to others’ feelings as she seemed or whether she delighted in stirring things up.

Chapter 12

IN SPITE OF AWAKING to sunshine the next morning, Elizabeth couldn’t help being aware of a certain sense of misapprehension. She couldn’t put her finger on the problem as she tried to express it to Richard over tea and toast in their cozy nook. “I’m almost afraid to undertake an outing to Box Hill. The day was such a disaster for Emma.”

“But you are unlikely to insult a Miss Bates.”

“I might not be answerable if Dr. G. gets on her high horse, though.”

Richard chuckled. “Even the upright Mr. Knightly wouldn’t hold you responsible for that. Muriel hardly qualifies as an impoverished social inferior. I’m confident our day will go rather better than Emma’s.”

After breakfast, the party duly assembled in front of the house in accord with Muriel’s mandate and Elizabeth was surprised to see a tall, grey-haired figure in jeans and a turtleneck standing by a sleek black van. Muriel strode forward. “Paul, so glad you could make it. Knew you wouldn’t want to miss our little outing. More of the Jane Austen Quest, what? You ride with us. I know you’ll want to give Beth an update on your publishing plans.” She observed the spacious people carrier Paul had arrived in. “Never mind, we’ll ride with you. Far more comfortable.” She turned to the pair from the Jane Austen Centre. “Robert, you can leave your car parked right there. Plenty of room for you and Claire in here.” She climbed into the passenger seat of her publisher’s minivan.

Arthur watched glumly as Claire obediently followed Robert and Beth into the other vehicle, then turned to hold the rear passenger door of his own car for Elizabeth. Richard sat beside her, leaving the front passenger seat for Gerri. Like Emma’s party, they had a fine day for their excursion and Elizabeth could easily enter into Emma’s feelings, as, having never been there before, she looked forward to seeing what everyone found so worthwhile.

Muriel’s “hour’s easy drive” turned out to be nearer to two, so everyone was more than ready for the exercise of ascending the path to the top of the green hill that commanded a wide prospect over the countryside. Arthur stepped forward to assist Claire from Paul’s vehicle, but had no more than wished her a good morning when Muriel shoved a travel rug into his hands and began marshaling the troops forward, with Robert carrying the picnic hamper and Paul the basket of tea flasks. Elizabeth was more than happy to walk at the end of the procession with Richard. “Safety in numbers—she has more people to boss around, so we can relax.” Elizabeth grinned as she took Richard’s arm.