Cassandra's Sister (6 page)

“Oh,
I
am not the writer in this family,” replied Mama, “though I do occasionally like to try my hand (an awkward hand, I confess) at poetry. It is my eldest son, James, who most likes to compose, and Jenny has written little entertainments for the family too. Come in, come in, and sit down. Kitty, bring the tray.”

Elizabeth took Jenny's arm as they followed their elders. “Little entertainments for the family,” she murmured. “I hazard that you would not wish your literary efforts to be so described!”

“It is my punishment for having lived a mere eighteen years, I fear.”

“How are you, Elizabeth?” asked Cass warmly. “We have not seen you these three months.”

“Perfectly well. But I cannot say the same for this poor bonnet, which I must take off before it is crushed flat. There!”

Installed in a comfortable chair, with the new hairstyle revealed by the bonnet's removal duly admired, Elizabeth resumed. “I have been travelling. And what pleasures it has afforded me! You must try it, my dear Cass. And Jenny, too. How splendid it would be to go about the country together!”

Both sisters laughed, loud enough to incur a frown from Mama, who was ever hopeful of elegant visits rich in intellectual and artistic stimulation. “I am happy that you are enjoying yourselves, my dears,” she said archly.

Elizabeth knew her friends' mama well. She bowed her graceful head. “I was recommending your daughters try travelling, ma'am. They find the notion extremely comic, though I consider it an excellent way of educating the female mind.”

“Travelling?” repeated Mama, surprised “I am a great traveller, to be sure, at least I was in my youth. But do you mean travelling abroad, Miss Elizabeth?”

Mrs Bigg entered the conversation, her hand reassuringly placed upon Mama's arm. “No, no, my dear. Elizabeth has been to Plymouth this summer, and to the very tip of Cornwall, a place called Land's End. She was struck by its wildness and beauty.”

“Indeed I was,” Elizabeth informed Mama. “There is no need to travel to the Swiss mountains, when we have such cliffs and crags here in England. And Plymouth was full of enchanting people, all bent on a summer of gaiety. If I attended one ball, I must have attended twenty.”

“Twenty balls!” exclaimed Cassandra. “Was anyone of our acquaintance there?”

Elizabeth paused, suddenly self-conscious. She looked at her hands, which lay in her lap, remembered that she carried a fan, opened it and began to fan herself. “Mr Harwood was there, for some of the time.”

“Mr John Harwood?” asked Cass.

“The very same.”

“Such near neighbours, at Deane House,” said her mother, with a significant look at Mama, “and yet Elizabeth seems to have seen more of Mr Harwood in Plymouth than we did in the whole of last year.”

“It is not what you think,” protested Elizabeth, her voice weary but her eyes bright.

Mama, though doubtless interested to hear more of Elizabeth's Plymouth adventure, could not neglect her duties as hostess. She rose to dispense wine and sweetmeats. Cassandra took advantage of this diversion to say, matter-of-factly, “Speaking of travelling, I am soon to make a visit to my brother Edward's house, Godmersham Park.”

“Are you going there alone, Miss Cassandra?” asked Mr Bigg, whose part in such a feminine conversation had hitherto been negligible. Daughters travelling alone, however, was a subject on which he felt qualified to speak. “My Elizabeth did not go to Plymouth alone.”

“Although I am over twenty-one, and perfectly capable of conducting myself in public unchaperoned,” cut in Elizabeth.

“But you are unmarried, my dear,” her mother reminded her gently.

Elizabeth's fan went up another inch. She did not reply.

“She was accompanied by her aunt,” her father informed Mama. “A woman of very good sense.”

“She had her personal maid too, of course,” added Mrs Bigg. “With eleven dresses and jackets, and six bonnets packed, and all the shawls and shoes and things a young lady needs, as well as a heavy jewel-box, the services of a footman would not have gone amiss either, but we were unable to spare one.”

Jenny felt their neighbour's want of taste, and could look at neither Elizabeth nor Cass. How long would it be before she was able to pass over such moments with the ease of her sister?

“Cassandra shall not be travelling alone either, Mr Bigg,” Mama assured him. “She is to be accompanied to Kent by her eldest brother, James, who will spend a few days on business in London.”

“I see,” said Mr Bigg. Satisfied that propriety had not been compromised, he settled to the dish of sugared fruits at his elbow.

Elizabeth might have a heavy jewel-box and a lady's maid, but Mama's elder daughter was engaged to be married. Jenny knew it was unrealistic to suppose that her mother would miss this chance to remind Mrs Bigg of her own daughters' deficiency in this respect. She waited for Mama's voice to recount to Mr Bigg the remaining arrangements, and sure enough, it came.

“While in London, James is to meet Mr Tom Fowle, to whom Cassandra is engaged, and bring him back to Godmersham.”

Elizabeth was delighted. “A tryst! How romantic! Whose scheme was this?”

Her fan back in her lap, her wine glass at her lips, she looked pointedly at Jenny. “Did it come from the imagination of our own storyteller?”

“Actually, it did not,” said Jenny.

“It was nothing to do with Jenny at all,” Mama assured Elizabeth. “The family in Kent has long expected a visit from Cassandra, and Tom has some business in London later this month. When my husband heard about this, he immediately suggested that Tom be invited to Godmersham too. Tom is Edward's particular friend, you know.”

“Am I to understand, then,” said Elizabeth, mockseriously, “that the schemer of the family is the Reverend? Dear me, we cannot have him invading the province of ladies!”

“Indeed we cannot,” laughed Cass. “Though I am grateful for his intervention, and for my brother Edward's hospitality.”

“Shall they give a ball, do you think, while you are there?” asked Elizabeth eagerly.

“A ball has been discussed, Miss Elizabeth,” Mama told her. “And if one
is
held,” she added, turning to Cass, “you may be sure that you and Tom will be asked to lead the opening dance.”

The thought of this responsibility silenced Cass, but Jenny seized an opportunity she had long awaited. “Elizabeth, are you and your sisters planning to attend the ball tomorrow, at the Basingstoke Assembly Rooms?”

Elizabeth looked expectantly at her mama. “What do you say, ma'am?”

“I do not see why not,” replied Mrs Bigg, sending a glance in Mr Bigg's direction. “If my husband does not object.”

“I have never objected to your, or the girls' pursuit of enjoyment,” he returned swiftly. “Indeed, I know not why you exert yourself to ask the question. My daughters must be the most tireless dancers that ever lived.”

“May Cass and I go, Mama?” asked Jenny.

Mama hesitated. She did not mind the girls going to balls; what she found more problematical was the convention that unmarried girls be chaperoned, this task usually falling to their mother. She considered her nervous disposition adversely affected by public balls, though she would occasionally appear, resplendently attired, at a private one.

Jenny saw by the quick movement of her eyes that Mrs Bigg, without waiting for Mama's agreement, had begun to make plans. “Do not be concerned about a chaperone, Mrs Austen,” she said. “I can perform that duty for all the girls. Might your daughters be delivered to Manydown, so that I can take them on from there?”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Jenny before her mother could speak. “Is that not a kind offer, Mama?”

“Very kind,” agreed Mama. She, too, was making plans. “What a pity none of my boys are at home. Henry, in particular, always enjoys a ball. But Mr Lyford, the doctor's son usually turns out, I understand.” She got to her feet. Carefully, she adjusted the lace on her sleeves. “And I have no doubt whatsoever,” she added, “that the family from Deane House will be there, including Mr John Harwood. Now, I believe I hear a horse. My husband is come home, so shall we go in to dinner?”

T
he Assembly Rooms at Basingstoke were not as grand as their name suggested. The hall was not wide enough for its height, and tended to become very hot, as the windows were narrow. But the young people of the district tolerated these inconveniences with serenity, because public balls were the only means of meeting anyone of the opposite sex who was not either in or known to their own family.

Jenny loved dancing. She loved to hear the music, loud in such a confined space. She loved the
tramp, tramp
of shoes on the wooden floor and the
swish, swish
of gowns as the ladies turned at the end of the set. She loved the dusty smell of seldom-worn finery. And when enough punch had been drunk to loosen reserve, she loved the look of shiny expectation on the faces of her partners, who led her to the set with damp hands.

Cassandra threw herself into the preparation. She sewed new ribbons on Jenny's best dress, and mended the hole in the satin slipper which her sister had neglected after her last Assembly Rooms ball. She starched lace and pressed and perfumed gowns, and made Jenny a headdress of blue ribbons to match her new trimming. With the Bigg girls and their mother to encourage their high spirits, the girls mounted the steps to the Rooms in a state of expectation greater than the occasion afforded.

It was always the same. The anticipation, Jenny remembered as soon as she entered the hall, was ever more enjoyable than the event. The first part of the evening would have to be passed in talking with acquaintances on inconsequential subjects. She would be obliged to admire everyone's attire, however bizarre, and accept compliments upon her own. She must remember whose mother had died, whose father was ailing, whose daughter was near her confinement, whose grandchild had recovered from fever, thank the Lord.

During pauses, when the necessity to speak did not present itself, she would be able to survey the collection of potential dancing partners, from someone's sixteen-year-old brother to the man who kept the draper's shop in Basingstoke High Street, and had done so these forty years. She would not sit down often, because the gentlemen knew she never forgot the steps or tripped over her gown. But it would not be until much later, amid red faces and increasing noise, that she would truly begin to enjoy herself.

“So the Misses Austen are gracing the Rooms tonight, I see?”

Jenny recognized the voice before she set eyes on its owner. “Good evening, Madam Lefroy,” she said, turning.

“Madam” Lefroy was as English as everyone else but had married a man with French ancestors, and liked to use the English version of the French form of address. She raised her eyebrows. “Why, how delightful to see you girls here! Your mama did not inform me you would be attending, but let that pass.”

Jenny and Cass curtseyed. “It is charming to see you, Madam Lefroy,” said Cassandra. “And Benjamin.”

Benjamin Lefroy, fifteen years old, with a face as round as his father's and a disposition as merry as his mother's, exchanged a sympathetic smile with Jenny. Each knew the other, and the other's mother, well. He bowed neatly, clicking his heels, and excused himself.

“How tall he has grown!” observed Cassandra, looking after him. “I believe he is taller than our brother Charles, who is two years older.”

“Do not say that before Mama,” warned Jenny. “Oh, look, here come Mary and Martha.” She waved her fan. “Good evening, Mrs Lloyd! Martha, what wonderful feathers!”

“Do you like them?” Greetings were exchanged, and Martha showed off the feathered headdress, sent by a relative to Mary, who had shrunk from wearing it. “Mary is so much more modest than her elder sister, you see,” said Martha amiably. “Where is your mama? Did she agree to your coming tonight without her?”

“We came with the Biggs,” explained Jenny.

“All of them?” asked Martha. “It must have been a crush in the carriage.”

“It was, but we were all so merry, it mattered not at all. And Mr Bigg was not there, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated Martha, almost laughing. “Or else you would have needed two carriages!”

“Sshh!” warned Jenny, “Alethea and Catherine are behind you.”

Martha turned. “They are speaking with two girls I have never seen before.” She turned back to the little gathering. “Let us hope some gentlemen arrive soon, or I fear we shall be dancing with each other.” She leaned closer and spoke lower. “I see that Elizabeth Bigg and her mother have engaged the attentions of Mr John Lyford. Well, they are welcome. If he asks
me
to dance I shall refuse.”

“You will not,” predicted Jenny. “It is very difficult to refuse a gentleman when he is standing before you. The trick is to avoid being asked in the first place.”

“True. But Elizabeth Bigg has not avoided it. See, she is curtseying to him. How lovely she looks this evening! Perhaps if we stay away from her, if that is possible in a room this size, we shall get some offers from people's fathers and uncles.”

“To be sure. Though we can always dance with Ben Lefroy. He is at least tall, as Cass pointed out to his doting mama.”

“Did she?” Martha laughed softly. “Dear Cass. If only her Tom were here, or his brother Charles, whom I have always considered personable.”

All this was exchanged as Jenny and Martha threaded their way between knots of nervous girls, fanning themselves and breaking into unprovoked giggles. Martha nodded her feathers and Jenny her ribbons to their many acquaintances as they passed.

Alethea Bigg caught sight of them. “
What
a lack of gentlemen!” she cried. “We should have brought Harris!”