A Jane Austen Encounter (21 page)

A short time later when she returned from the shower, wrapped in a soft robe and toweling her hair, she heard Richard talking to Arthur in their small sitting room. She pulled on her favorite khaki traveling skirt and a yellow top and joined them.

“Arthur suggests we go on to Canterbury today,” Richard said when she entered.

“Muriel had planned for us to go to Godmersham tomorrow, but it seems a shame to miss the chance of spending Sunday in Canterbury. It’s only five miles from Godmersham,” Arthur explained.

Elizabeth agreed. “It sounds wonderful. I can be packed in a jiffy. How long a drive is it?”

“A couple of hours. It’s motorway most of the way.”

Soon they were speeding through the green Kent countryside. Even though driving down the motorway must have been a far different experience from any Jane would have experienced on her visits to her brother Edward’s family, Elizabeth couldn’t help thinking of how frequently Jane or Cassandra made a similar journey.

Edward’s wife had eleven children and either Jane or Cassandra had been required to attend each lying-in—most often Cassandra. And their journeys, although perhaps more picturesque, as Elizabeth would have preferred to travel a little country lane, were far less comfortable. Elizabeth smiled as she recalled the letter Jane, visiting Mrs. Lloyd, wrote to Cassandra at Godmersham, detailing the journey she and Martha Lloyd jokingly proposed: “Martha has promised to return with me, and our plan is to have a nice black frost for walking to Whitchurch, and then throw ourselves into a post chaise, one upon the other, our heads hanging out at one door and our feet at the opposite one.”

It was funny, really, how seemingly private decisions made more than two hundred years ago could be affecting lives today. The Knights of Godmersham Park were distant relatives of the Austens, and childless. The couple took a particular liking to Jane’s elder brother Edward. Mr. and Mrs. Knight asked for the company of young Edward during his school holidays. Mr. Austen hesitated, thinking of the Latin grammar the boy should be studying. Mrs. Austen, however, clinched the matter by saying, “I think, my dear, you had better oblige your cousins and let the child go.” The Knights had Edward so often as a guest in their home that they eventually adopted him, making him the heir to both the Godmersham and Chawton estates.

Elizabeth smiled, thinking of the difference that decision made. Had Edward not inherited the Chawton estate, he couldn’t have offered the cottage to his mother and sisters, thereby providing the home where Jane’s writing flowered. Likewise, Jane’s frequent visits to Godmersham provided her with intimate knowledge of how a great house was run, a model she undoubtedly made use of in her writing.

And, of course, without that legacy there would have been no Chawton House Library for them to have stayed in. She turned to share her thoughts with Richard and saw that he was, once again, reading the
Memoir
. “Does Austen-Leigh mention Jane visiting Canterbury?”

It was Gerri who answered from the front passenger seat. “Apparently they made frequent visits between Godmersham and Canterbury. Of course, after Mr. Knight died, Mrs. Knight moved into Canterbury and left Godmersham Park to Edward, so they often visited her at her home in White Friars—it’s a huge shopping area now.”

“I just read a reference to one of Jane’s visits to White Friars in one of her letters. Let me see . . .” Richard turned a few pages back in the book he was holding. “Yes, here it is: ‘This morning brought me a letter from Mrs. Knight, containing the usual fee, and all the usual kindness. She asks me to spend a day or two with her this week, to meet Mrs. C. Knatchbull, who, with her husband, comes to the White Friars to-day, and I believe I shall go. I have consulted Edward, and think it will be arranged for Mrs. J. A.’s going with me one morning, my staying the night, and Edward driving me home the next evening. Her very agreeable present will make my circumstances quite easy. I shall reserve half for my pelisse.’”

Not to be outdone, Gerri added, “And when Cassandra was in Godmersham, Jane sent droll instructions on shopping and attending a ball in Canterbury: ‘I am still without silk. You must get me some in Canterbury; it should be finer than yours.’ And ‘Pray do not forget to go to the Canterbury Ball; I shall despise you all most insufferably if you do.’”

“I’m amazed you can do that from memory, Gerri.”

Gerri smiled broadly at Richard’s praise. “I suppose I should admit that I looked it up when Arthur told me we were going to Canterbury.”

“Still, well done,” Richard said. “Afraid I need to have the text in front of me. Here’s Jane’s account of another visit she made to Canterbury: ‘Our Canterbury scheme took place as proposed, and very pleasant it was—Harriot and I and little George within, my brother on the box with the master coachman. Our chief business was to call on Mrs. Milles, and we had, indeed, so little else to do that we were obliged to saunter about anywhere and go backwards and forwards as much as possible to make out the time and keep ourselves from having two hours to sit with the good lady—a most extraordinary circumstance in a Canterbury morning.

“‘Miss Milles was queer as usual, and provided us with plenty to laugh at. She undertook in three words to give us the history of Mrs. Scudamore’s reconciliation, and then talked on about it for half an hour, using such odd expressions, and so foolishly minute, that I could hardly keep my countenance.’” Richard smiled.

“Since that visit occurred in October of 1813 and Jane began work on
Emma
in January of 1814, it seems to be a pretty clear indication of where Jane’s inspiration for Miss Bates came from,” he concluded.

Elizabeth had been so busy listening to the accounts of Jane’s visits to the city that she had paid little attention as Arthur navigated the increasingly busy narrow streets they were driving. Now she gasped when she looked up. To her right, above the row of shops, rose the majestic Bell Harry Tower of Canterbury Cathedral, its ornate pinnacles seemingly reaching to the clouds. And then, just to make it all perfect, the bells rang out as if to welcome them.

“I was incredibly lucky to get reservations in the Lodge, so we’ll be staying right in the cathedral precinct,” Arthur said. He drove on, very slowly, in the narrow street crowded with tourists and cars, around to the back of the cathedral yard. “I didn’t get a parking reservation, though, so I’ll let you out here and go on to the car park.”

Elizabeth simply couldn’t believe it when she emerged from the car and stood looking up. The magnificence and intricate beauty of the cathedral was overwhelming. “For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory” came to her mind, and she wanted to kneel right there on the tarmac.

But Gerri was urging everyone on to a range of new buildings behind them. Modern, yet in keeping with the ancient buildings inside the close. “I’m so glad Arthur was able to get us in. Muriel always wanted to stay here, but we never managed it.” Gerri swallowed hard and led the way over the large square paving stones.

It took them only minutes to get settled in their pristine rooms and they were back outside again standing in front of the cathedral with Elizabeth reminding herself to breathe. She had thought they would go in immediately. She knew the places she wanted to visit: the site of the martyrdom of Thomas a Becket, Becket’s shrine, the shrine of the Black Prince . . .

But Arthur, who seemed to have taken over as guide for the day, suggested they look around the shops and have something to eat first, then come back to the cathedral for Evensong. “It’s hardly ‘evening,’ more like ‘afternoonsong,’ since it’s at 3:15.” He led the way across the precinct and out through the impressive Christ Church Gate and into the market square thronged with people. Elizabeth pulled out her camera, wanting to capture it all: The war memorial pillar in the center, the picturesque shop fronts around the square, the medieval buildings lining Mercery Lane with the upper stories overhanging the ground floor until the two sides of the street almost met . . .

“This is where the Buttermarket was.” Arthur pointed to the memorial cross. “In medieval times, the square would have been lined with stalls selling healing water from Becket’s Well, pilgrimage badges, and various trinkets. Those buildings,” he pointed across the street, “were once a hostel for pilgrims to Becket’s shrine—offered hundreds of beds.”

Richard laughed. “With complimentary fleas, undoubtedly. Oh, all those years of teaching Chaucer—why couldn’t we have made this trip sooner, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth agreed, but at least they were here now. And she was determined to soak up every drop of atmosphere. She snapped a picture of the strings of colorful pennants crisscrossing above their heads as they moved on down Mercery Lane. Their guide’s steps slowed in front of a bow window filled with antique art prints and old books. “Let’s go in,” Richard suggested. “This looks like just the sort of place that might have a copy of Edith’s
Watsons
. Or better yet, Catherine Anne’s
The Younger Sister
.”

Gerri raised her eyebrows. “Chance would be a fine thing.”

“An even finer thing if he could afford to buy it,” Elizabeth agreed with a smile, but she entered Whipple’s Rare Books and Prints willingly, savoring the scent of old leather, polished floorboards, and just a little dust.

They were greeted by a plump lady with rimless glasses on the end of her nose. Her grey hair had doubtless been in a smooth coil on the back of her head hours before, but it now escaped its pins to something of a haystack effect. “Catherine Anne Hubback?” she replied to Richard’s query. “Yes, Jane’s niece—something of a literary light in her day. Extinguished now, of course. She went on to write nine more novels after
The Younger Sister
.”

As she spoke, she moved to a row of shelves in the back of the shop. “It’s in three volumes, you know. We did sell a copy of the first volume years ago.” She shook her head. “The third volume is unobtainable.”

She turned to the shelves. “But by the most remarkable fortune, we recently obtained a copy of the second volume.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and surveyed the shelf of books in front of her. “No, I’m so sorry. It seems to be gone. Perhaps my husband sold it.” She went to the bottom of a narrow staircase behind the bookcase. “Francis,” she called up.

In a moment, the wooden stairs creaked and a thin, spidery man appeared. “What is it, my dear?”

“Did you sell the Hubback volume that came in last month? These people were inquiring about her works.”

He blinked at them as if his eyes needed to adjust to the light which, truth to tell, wasn’t any too bright. “No, I didn’t sell it. Isn’t it there?” He turned to gaze at the same spot his wife had surveyed. He continued to peer at the books, checking the rows above and below, leaning ever closer to the spines until his chin was almost brushing the shelf. “I don’t understand it. I’m certain this is where I put it.”

He turned back to his would-be customers. “This is most distressing.” Deep furrows ridged his forehead.

“Could it have been misplaced?” Elizabeth suggested. “By a customer browsing or something?”

“I most sincerely hope so. Mostly our customers are of a very high sort—serious readers and collectors. Not ones to be careless. But it’s always possible . . . tourists—” He broke off with a slight shudder. Recollecting himself, he carried on. “You see, just last week I was offered a most interesting document . . .”

Still shaking his head, he turned and ascended the creaking stairs to his room above, leaving his wife to cope on her own. Which she seemed more than capable of doing. “Well, that is disappointing, but don’t despair. You asked about Edith Brown as well?”

Richard agreed that, indeed, he had.

“Of course we have some early editions of
Jane Austen’s Sailor Brothers,
which she assisted with, but I think you’ll be more interested in these.” She led them to shelves on the other side of the small shop. “I’m sure you know that Edith Brown, who would have been Jane’s great-grandniece through Catherine Anne, was the first to start the whole phenomenon of the Austen sequel.”

This time the books she sought were readily to hand. She offered Richard a volume bound in stained, light-blue cloth. “
Margaret Dashwood; or Interference
,” he read.

“Goodness,” Elizabeth said. “One tends to forget that Elinor and Marianne had a younger sister. It would be rather fun to learn what became of her.” Richard grinned and held out the card stating the price of the book. “Well, maybe not
that
much fun.”

Mrs. Whipple replaced the book Richard held with a similar volume,
Susan Price; or Resolution
. “Ah, Fanny’s little sister,” Elizabeth said.

“That’s right,” the bookseller said. “Brown carries on with the rather charming girl Jane gave us, who, as Jane predicted, has made herself indispensable to Lady Bertram. We have Mrs. Norris and Mary Crawford and most of the cast from
Mansfield Park
. Fanny and Edmund are very happy together and have three children, but are, I’m afraid, rather sanctimonious.”

“It sounds like a very interesting read,” Richard said. “But I’m particularly interested in
The Watsons
.”

“Oh yes, I do apologize. I’m afraid I rather let my enthusiasms run away with me. Let me see what I might be able to do for you.” She replaced the volumes and turned to her desk, which, not surprisingly, held an old-fashioned wooden card file in the place where most would now have a computer. She pulled out one of the small drawers and thumbed through several cards. At last she drew one out. “I’m afraid my husband’s note is somewhat unclear. And in his defense, it’s easy to get a bit muddled with so many continuations of the fragment having been done over the years. It’s possible this could be the one you’re looking for, although there was one done just before Edith Brown’s 1928 version, by L. Oulton, published in 1922.

“I do tell Whipple he needs to make more complete reference notations. What do you think?” She held the card out to Richard. “Is that last numeral an 8 or a 2?”