Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend (25 page)

‘You’re quite right, ma’am,’ said Jane, spooning some honey on to her toast with a calm expression.

‘What?’ Augusta looked at her suspiciously.

‘Yes, indeed, I’ve heard you say so again and again. I have very good hearing,’ she added with a bland expression as she licked the honey spoon. ‘I’m always
overhearing things that are not meant for me. My mama used to say, “Little pitchers have big ears,” when I was small. She made sure not to talk about private business when I was
around.’

As Jane and I were going back up the stairs to our bedroom I could hear Augusta from the parlour saying loudly to Edward-John, ‘I’m not sure that I am too impressed with the manners
of that Austen girl. She seems to me to have all the vulgarity of her mother combined with the slyness of her father.’

When we got into the bedroom I looked anxiously at Jane to see if this had hurt her, but to my surprise there was a broad smile on her face and her eyes were sparkling.

‘There’s some mystery here,’ she hissed. ‘Who was she having dinner with yesterday?’

I looked blank and she said impatiently, ‘Go on, Jenny; think! Who’s staying at the Greyhound Inn – and don’t say Harry . . .’

And then suddenly something about her expression made me think. My mouth opened, began to form a name and then shut again.

Jane nodded.

‘The Wilkins brothers!’ I gasped.

Jane shook her head vigorously. ‘Not the Wilkins
brothers
– remember, Mr Stanley is reserved for you, you lucky, lucky girl. No, I would guess that she dined with Mr Jerome
Wilkins.’

I must say that first of all I was flooded with horror. What a terrible thing for Edward-John to have a wife who would dine alone with another man. But Jane’s expression made me conceal my
feelings. After all, why should I care about Augusta?

Jane was looking more than pleased though. She looked positively elated – with that expression that she wears when her brain is working fast. She went over to the window and began to
mutter, ‘Harry, Harry, where are you? Come on, Harry!’ drumming her fingers on the glass all the while.

‘Here he is,’ she said after a minute. I was glad to see him and to distract Jane from Augusta. I felt a bit uncomfortable talking about my brother the clergyman and his wife.
However much I loathed Augusta, somehow I just could not imagine her doing something like that.

But then, as I was putting on my bonnet and cloak, I remembered the scene in Mr Jerome Wilkins’s house. After I ran from the parlour it had taken a long time for Augusta to appear. Several
maids and the butler had come through the front door and stared in alarm before she had arrived to see her disgraceful sister-in-law weeping hysterically on the front lawn. I had been so upset and
so frightened at the time that I had not really considered Augusta’s strange behaviour.

Why did she take so long to appear?

And what had she been doing in Mr Jerome Wilkins’s house?

Harry greeted us with an air of quiet satisfaction when we met him beside the garden in Queen’s Square. He had already been to see the Leigh-Perrots – ‘They
keep early hours,’ he said briefly, though I guessed that he wanted to have the most up-to-date information for Jane. The couple had been in very good humour. Mr Leigh-Perrot had engaged four
lawyers from London, and letters testifying to the good character of Mrs Leigh-Perrot had come in from all quarters. The trial had been set for the following Monday, 9 May, and they were hoping
that their ordeal would soon be over and they would be back in their own comfortable house on that very night.

I asked Harry whether he thought that it would really end happily or if they were pretending in order to keep their spirits up. I thought this was the sort of thing that a devoted husband and
wife might say to each other, without really believing it. Harry tried to say that he thought it would, but he has a very open, honest face and after a few words he fell silent.

‘Why shouldn’t it?’ asked Jane in an annoyed tone, interpreting his silence as I had done.

‘Well, there’s talk at the Greyhound that your aunt turned red and then white when Miss Gregory found the white lace in her parcel,’ said Harry. He watched Jane’s face
anxiously before adding, ‘They say that Sir Vicary Gibbs, the prosecuting lawyer, will make full use of that.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Jane. ‘Anyone would look uncomfortable if they were accused of stealing. I wish I were a lawyer. I’d answer him.’

‘The important thing is the jury,’ said Harry. ‘If they like Mrs Leigh-Perrot, and believe her, then they will acquit; if they don’t . . . well, they
won’t.’

Harry had certainly changed, I thought, watching him gaze at Jane’s worried face. He adored her, that was obvious, but these days he did not hesitate to disagree with her. However, he was
very protective of her and did not like to see her troubled. Now he was anxious to put her mind at ease.

‘Perhaps you could write to her,’ he suggested. ‘She definitely doesn’t want you to come to see her, but you could write and offer to help her with her submission. The
lawyer arrived this morning when I was there. On my way out I heard him tell her that she will have an opportunity in court to make a submission and that he always advises his clients to write it
out beforehand.’

I could see a struggle going on in Jane’s face. On the one hand, she would love to do this, I know, and I could just imagine how funny it would be when she had written it. But on the other
hand this was a serious matter. She briefly told Harry that she would think about it, and then changed the subject.

‘Harry, we need your help about something else,’ she said. ‘It’s something about Jenny – something to ensure her everlasting happiness with the man whom she
loves.’ She delivered these words so dramatically that a passing lady escorted by a middle-aged maid passing by, gave her an icy glance.

Harry flushed a little and I went bright red.

‘Jane!’ I said.

‘You know that terrible sister-in-law of Jenny’s who is forcing her brother to refuse permission for the marriage – well, I was thinking that if we knew something about dear
Augusta, something that might, shall we say, bring her round to understanding Jenny’s point of view, well . . .’

‘You’re not thinking of doing a spot of blackmail yourself, are you?’ enquired Harry with his attractive grin. ‘Bath is having a bad effect on you. What would your father
say?’

‘I just thought you might have noticed her arriving by sedan chair at the Greyhound Inn last evening,’ said Jane with her most demure air.

Harry was deeply embarrassed, I could see. He kicked at the railing around the gardens with a well-worn riding boot. Eventually he said in a reserved tone, ‘Yes, she did come to have
dinner with a gentleman.’

‘Private parlour?’ queried Jane with a lift of her eyebrow.

Again Harry gave the railings a few gentle kicks, but eventually he nodded.

Jane understood his feelings. Afterwards she said to me that all boys are like that – they hate telling tales. Jane is an authority on boys – as well as having her own brothers, she
has been brought up with Mr Austen’s pupils filling the house for most of the year. Quickly she changed the conversation back to discussing whether or not she should draft something for Mrs
Leigh-Perrot’s submission to the jury of twelve men at her trial. Harry was very enthusiastic about how well she would do that. He remembered, rather tenderly, I thought, a story that she had
written when she was only eleven and how clever he had thought it. By the time he left us to exercise his horse, he looked quite happy again.

‘Let’s go and talk to Eliza about it,’ said Jane as soon as he left us.

Eliza was still in bed, her hair under her nightcap still in its curling papers. She looked blissfully happy as she sipped her hot chocolate and nibbled her toast.

‘Dear Phylly is out,’ she said. ‘She’s gone to the early-morning service at St Swithin’s and when that is over she will go to the post office. She spent yesterday
writing letters.’

‘Shame about that,’ said Jane, sitting on the foot of the bed. ‘Think what fun you would be having going ten times around Queen’s Square Gardens in the fresh morning air,
instead of lying there in your bed drinking chocolate.’

Eliza shuddered dramatically, but made no reply. One nice thing about Eliza is that she is very loyal to Phylly. Apparently Phylly used to write to her once a week during all the years that she
was in France. Though Jane said to me privately, once, that was Phylly’s way of tormenting Eliza. She knew that her cousin was too busy with her social life to write back more than once a
month, and so Eliza had to apologize a million times to Phylly for the delay in writing. Phylly probably deeply enjoyed making her feel guilty, according to Jane.

‘We wanted to ask your advice,’ said Jane, taking a bonbon from a silver box on the dressing table and offering one to me also.

Between the two of us, we told her about Harry’s latest news and his suggestion that Jane help her aunt with the submission to be read out to the jury. I had started to get quite
enthusiastic about that idea. There was no doubt that Jane could put things into words very well, and Eliza would be able to tactfully tone down the exaggerations a little.

But Eliza disappointed us. She seemed unlike her usual flamboyant self – very, very cautious and circumspect – very wary about interfering in the Leigh-Perrot affair.

‘I think, Jane
chérie
, we should leave your aunt and uncle to work these things out themselves. They are both people of the world; they will know the right things to do. They
have legal advice. They will be well looked after.’

We were both a bit taken aback by this, and to cover the awkward moment Jane began to tell Eliza about Augusta and her dinner at the Greyhound Inn. Immediately Eliza’s eyes began to
sparkle. ‘
Oh là là
,’ she breathed. ‘
Quel scandale!
‘ In her excitement she spilt her hot chocolate on the silver tray.

‘And listen to what happened to Jenny,’ went on Jane, competently taking the tray and depositing the spilt chocolate into the slop pail.

I told Eliza all about how Augusta left me alone at Mr Stanley Wilkins’s house and how she went into Mr Jerome Wilkins’s house. Jane joined in with the account of how Mr Stanley had
proposed to me and then tried to ravish me – ‘ravish’ was Jane’s word and it made me feel like a heroine in one of Mr Richardson’s books.

‘
Alors!
‘ was Eliza’s comment. She slipped her dressing gown over her nightdress and threw back the covers.

‘We were thinking, Jenny and me, that we might hint that we know something – make her worried. What do you think about that, Eliza?’

Eliza powdered her face and then carefully outlined her eyes with something called kohl, one of the many gifts brought from India by her godfather, Warren Hastings. Then she took from a jewelled
box a tiny black patch, which she placed to conceal a minute pimple on her left cheek. Only when that was done to her satisfaction did she reply.

‘
Mais non.
Leave this to me.’

Quickly she pulled out a sheet of superfine writing paper, dipped her quill into the ink pot and began to write. The letter was short and soon folded and sealed with a drop of scarlet sealing
wax. Then Eliza wrote the address on the outside.

‘An invitation for your dear sister-in-law to a little tea-drinking tomorrow afternoon,’ she said as she gave me the letter.

‘Oh, but we want to be there,’ complained Jane. ‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Augusta will say nothing if we are around.’

‘Quite true,’ observed Eliza tranquilly. ‘I have asked her to bring you both, but I will send you out of the room to fetch some
petits gâteaux
from the pastrycook.
You will no doubt be able to listen well from the little kitchen and will arrive with the sweetmeats after I have finished talking about my daily visit to the baths and inviting Augusta to join
with me in this health-giving process.’

‘I’m sure that you never visited the baths in your life,’ said Jane with conviction.

‘But,
chérie,’
cried Eliza, ‘of course I did. How else could I turn faint on the way home last Thursday and have to drop into the Greyhound Inn for a small glass
of brandy to restore me?’

Jane has just asked me whether I have put in the cleverness of Eliza in finding an excuse for knowing about Augusta’s visit to the Greyhound Inn, and when I told her that I had she said
that she is pleased that Harry is not involved.

‘In fact, I think I’ll tell him the story about Eliza feeling faint after her bath and then he won’t worry about being dishonourable. Harry is so very honourable himself that
he would never suspect Eliza of making the whole thing up.’

Saturday, 7 May 1791

At about four o’clock today we went out to visit Eliza. Augusta led the way, wearing her new and very magnificent purple pelisse and carrying her immense fur muff. Ever
since I have come to Bath and stared in the windows of the shops with Jane I have begun to realize how much Augusta’s clothes must cost. Today she was also wearing a brand-new pair of yellow
nankin boots and carrying a matching reticule. Her walking gown was of silk and her immensely large hat, crowned with its luxuriant bunch of floating ostrich feathers, was of the finest velvet.