Dearest Cousin Jane (12 page)

September 1799

I
confess that the letter received from dear cousin Cassandra this morning gives me some alarm. The most extraordinary event seems to have overtaken Aunt Leigh-Perrot in Bath. She has been arrested and imprisoned on account of a stolen piece of lace! Of course it is a most malicious falsehood and there has clearly been some terrible mistake. I have enough confidence in the legal systems of dear England to believe it may all turn out well, though do not deny there is a period of distress ahead for all my dear family. If found guilty she could be sentenced to transportation to the colonies! I cannot believe that this will happen to the old lady. My family here in England have not experienced a truly unreliable system of law as I have had the misfortune to do, or they would not be so alarmed. I can well believe such a transgression in France at present, but in England, in Bath, impossible!

I do feel that Aunt Cassandra has gone somewhat too far in offering the services of her daughters to support their aunt, to send unmarried young women to be with her in prison—a dreadful thought. Their innocence would soon be corrupted, and were I on more cordial terms with my mother-in-law I would strongly counsel against it. I know enough of my aunt, my mother-in-law, to understand this would not persuade her and my dear husband
cannot be expected to take up the situation at present, concerned as he is with our own future.

But leaving aside the plight of Aunt Leigh-Perrot, there is, I believe, more to concern us about dear Jane. I hear from Cassandra that Tom Lefroy is recently married—he did not let the grass grow under his feet when it came to securing his future; I understand the lady in question is well provided for. And Jane feigns indifference, but she gave her heart to him, of that there is no doubt, and though I believe Cassandra can well survive her own loss, I do not feel so confident of Jane. She needs love and romance to fuel her writing. She has been diverted by having Charles home and truly delighted that he is made. How fine he must look in his new lieutenant’s uniform! During the summer she sent me long letters from Bath while on a visit there with Edward, Elizabeth, and her mother. They were full of her usual wit. She told me that Edward had decided to take the cure in Bath as he had now reached the age and station where it was proper for him to suffer from gout! He had taken two whole floors in Queen Square, so they were tolerably comfortable, but I always felt a touch of melancholy in her correspondence. Edward went into the baths every other evening and Aunt Cassandra took the waters each day, but they had very little other diversion aside from shopping. Jane bought artificial bunches of fruit to trim a hat given her by Elizabeth and bought some small gifts for Cassandra, sounding sprightly enough, but when I heard that Edward had bought a matched pair of carriage horses for sixty guineas I was forced to wonder if Jane felt her own poverty and obligation to be constantly watching her pennies rather trying. I did feel, too, that Edward and Elizabeth might have made an effort to see that Jane went about a little more. They scarcely dined out at all and strolling about Barton Fields is unlikely to result in suitable introductions. When I heard they were to attend an entertainment in Sydney Gardens with music
and a fine display of fireworks, the first thing I thought of was that Edward and Elizabeth would have made up a party that included at least one single man. They must know some and surely Jane, modest though she is, would have expected such a favour. Surely every parent, especially those in straightened circumstances like my aunt and uncle, have a responsibility to try to get their daughters married off. A brother may not feel the same obligation, yet Edward must know that Jane and Cassandra will be entirely dependent on him and the other brothers once Uncle George is dead. Not that I would begrudge that support to my dear sisters-in-law but if other arrangements can be made is it not wise to try to bring them about? They may now despair of Cassandra and marriage but Jane still has a great deal to offer and deserves more opportunity. Surely Charles has a dashing officer or two among his acquaintance? Was there not a young clergyman in the Pump Room with whom my uncle could have made contact? When I consider that even cousin Philly, who with the best will in the world one cannot call attractive either in looks or personality, has a suitor, it seems monstrous unfair that dear Jane is denied. Which thought reminds me that I had perhaps better heed my husband’s warning about Philly, since I have displeased her by my reaction to her request for intercession with my godfather.

When my dear husband returns from Ireland at last and we take up residence in London, to which I greatly look forward, I shall make it my business to invite Jane and take her about with me. So many of my French acquaintance are now in London that I am sure we shall have a fine time. There is no prospect of their returning to France in the immediate future, since Bonaparte now makes himself First Consul and is to rule France in the antique manner of three consuls. I doubt that the other two will have a great deal of influence!

March 1800

I
t is always my luck to miss out whenever anything pleasant is occurring. How I should like to have seen Aunt Leigh-Perrot return in triumph to Bath. She managed it all with great aplomb, I believe. It is reported that she said: ‘Alls well that ends well. The man who accused me is fled, the shop is ruined, and my character is cleared. Lace, I am glad to say, is not necessary to my happiness.’ A brave speech, indeed, but without her husband being willing and able to spend nigh on two thousand pounds to collect witnesses and pay for her keep and food and laundry while incarcerated she would have been in a fine pickle. Lucky they are to have it to spend and have no children to consider.

Then shortly afterwards I was kept from seeing brother Frank on his return from the Mediterranean with his decoration for bravery. What a fine evening they all had, and I deprived as usual because little James fell from a tree and broke his collarbone. I do not see why James was excused duty and could leave his son while I was expected to stay with the boy.

Now I hear that cousin Eliza is to have a fine new house in London. Henry wishes always to give her the best—even if he does it with
her
money. I do not suppose she will have to scrimp and save to furnish that fine place like I have to do here. Not that this small
house is worthy of much attention anyway. We have been married now three years and James is thirty-five, after all. High time he had a stipend worthy of his fine mind and great preaching ability. He deserves more respect than he gets as a humble curate. Why, father Austen is looked up to almost like a squire in his parish at Steventon. The parsonage is spacious, too—far bigger than they need for two old people and two unmarried girls. We have James and Anna and could have more in the future. They really ought to be thinking of us and of retiring—he is not far off seventy.

May 1800

That east wind is still bitter in spite of it being spring. I said to my mother-in-law as we sat together at the parsonage that I did not think it wise for the old gentleman to be out in it at his age and that he should consider a warmer location than Hampshire.

‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘his parishioners like to see him and they are used to expecting him to call when they are sick or bereaved.’

‘But do you not find the winters dull here, as well as cold? I wonder you do not consider a place like Bath, where there would always be something to amuse you both—the book shops, the library, the Pump Room. Here you are so shut off from the world, whereas in Bath you would have your relations to hand, as well as much more amusement.’

‘Oh, I own it is dull in winter. I have lived here most of my life, you know, and would quite fancy a change. But we have the girls to consider. Cassy is so fond of the countryside, and Jane dislikes Bath intensely.’

‘Well, as to that, the girls should not be allowed to rule your lives. They should permit their parents to know what is good for them.’

‘I think it is good for them to be happy in the home they have always known.’

‘But Mama, have you not considered how they are ever to get husbands here? Jane will be twenty-five in December and Cassy is almost thirty. If we do not take them in hand, they will both die old maids. A larger society would greatly improve their chances. Cassandra is handsome enough, but she wants liveliness. If she could but meet a widower with a family in need of care, what a wife she would make.’

Mama smiled. ‘I do not think Jane would be suited to such a role, do you?’

I could not but agree. ‘No, but she is becoming sharp and disagreeable, making fun of the few young men she does meet and saying they are not clever enough to tempt her. She would be greatly improved by a larger society. She says herself, I have heard her on many occasions, that she often wants for partners at the balls and assemblies hereabouts. I do not like to see her passed over and I am sure you do not either.’

‘To be sure Bath is a good place to look for husbands, and perhaps Mr Austen would benefit from an easier life. I do not wish to see him work himself into the grave. You are a thoughtful girl, dear Mary, to consider us so kindly.’

I believe she may be warming to the idea. I am sure I can soon make her see that Mr Austen should be making way for a younger, fitter, cleverer man. A man like my husband.

November 1800

I have had an unaccustomed stroke of luck this autumn. It is very unusual for Jane and Cassandra to be absent from home together but that has happened these last six weeks. Cassandra is gone to
Godmersham, where Elizabeth is to be confined yet again, while Jane is staying with the Lloyds at Ibthorpe. It gave me the opportunity to sit with Mama and discuss what we have started to call ‘our plan.’ I can see she is becoming quite animated about the idea of removal to Bath, and best of all, has now contrived to make Mr Austen equally enthusiastic. At first James was astonished and tried to dissuade them.

‘But dear Mama, is your health fit for such a change of scene? Would you not find it too taxing?’

I soon put him off that I can tell you, and made him see that this was entirely the right course for everyone concerned. Who could quarrel with an easier life for his father, more diversion for his mother, and a wider society, with all that implies, for his sisters?

‘No James,’ I said, ‘do not let your own unwillingness to inherit your father’s parish divert you from doing what is clearly the right thing.’

‘I am not at all unwilling to take on the parish,’ he responded. ‘I am as willing as the next man to do my duty. I am only unwilling to put undue pressure on my father and mother for our benefit—we shall be moving into a much larger house and no doubt inheriting most of their property. I would not wish there to be any impropriety, real or perceived.’

‘Impropriety?’ I almost shouted. ‘Many would think the only impropriety was in their keeping you waiting so long.’

December 26th, 1800

We have not passed a cheerful Christmas, though it has been pleasant to have my sister, Martha, staying at Steventon. I was astonished by Jane’s reaction to the news of the removal to Bath. True, my mother-in-law was not very tactful in announcing it the minute
Martha and Jane walked through the door—tired and cold from their journey back to the parsonage.

‘Well girls, it is all settled. Your father and I have decided to leave Steventon and go to Bath.’ But yet for Jane to faint away entirely was a great shock—I have never seen her overpowered before, and she was as white as a sheet.

She has done her best since to put a brave face on it, but whenever the conversation veers towards the move or arrangements connected with it, a strange look comes over her and she is often sharp and even rude in her responses to me. She misses having Cassandra about to support her, I think, but Cassandra shows no sign of wanting to return and indeed has said she will stay away until after the move is accomplished. This is not kind of her and may not make my life easier, as Jane is far from compliant. If truth be told, she has never liked me, or at least not since I married her brother. She was tolerably kind before that, but I believe she thinks I have not been a good enough stepmother to Anna, of whom she is inordinately fond. She has not seen how difficult the child can be and how hard I have had to work to make her mind me. In my opinion, it is all due to the child’s being vastly spoiled by Jane and Cassandra after the sad death of her mother. Then again, Jane has always been too greatly influenced by cousin Eliza, ‘Madame la Comtesse,’ as my father-in-law still calls her. She gives herself so many airs I do not think she needs more flattery from
him
. Of course James was misguided enough to ask Eliza to marry him, though only because he was still mourning Anne and had not quite come to his senses. La Comtesse as the wife of a parish priest—I do not think so! Surely Jane did not really wish for that match—Henry is more suitable a husband by far for such a woman. It might perhaps add to Jane’s reasons for being hostile to me. None of them consider what a trial it is to have the woman your husband wanted to marry in the same family as yourself. I always
wonder if they are thinking that James took me only because Eliza refused him. Few women have as much to endure as I and a larger house and grounds and more possessions would be scant reward.

April 1801
Letter from Mary (Mrs JA) to Eliza (Mrs HA)
Deane Parsonage