Jane Austen’s First Love (12 page)

“How large is it?”

“My father’s farm?”

“Yes. How many hands does he employ? What is he growing this annum?”

In some bemusement, I answered: “I cannot tell you.”

“No? It is a secret, then?”

I laughed. “Hardly. I simply do not know. He leases, I believe, about two hundred acres just up the road from our house—it is called Cheesedown Farm—but as for the specifics to which you refer—I have not the vaguest idea!”

“I take it, then, that farming is not one of
your
passions?”

I shook my head. “I have the greatest respect for farmers. We cannot do without them; the food they produce sustains us and the community. I have a deep appreciation of the land—and there is much amusement and many comforts attending a farm in the country. But I admit, on a day-to-day basis, my interests lie elsewhere.”

“That is something else we have in common!” Mr. Taylor smiled as he added another berry to his basket.

“Oh? I thought, when you asked such probing questions, that you shared your father’s enthusiasm for agriculture.”

“Not at all. I was just attempting to be—polite.” We both laughed, as he continued, “My brothers and sisters and I spent the bulk of our time studying while in Carlsruhe, but we were also obliged, for health and exercise, to work on the farm several mornings a week. Do not get me wrong; I love to be out of doors. I take pleasure in vigorous activity. I enjoy a morning of berry-picking, like this, or a long walk through the woods; but I would rather hop a fence than mend it, would rather climb a tree than trim it, and would rather ride an ox than feed it.”

“How I agree with you! I know this might sound shameless or even sacrilegious—and I do so admire my father’s devotion to his farm—but to constantly be worrying about the vagaries of the weather—”

“—and the rise and fall of the market—”

“—to oversee labourers, and till the soil—”

“—plant seeds, and clear weeds—”

“—the work and responsibilities have always seemed to me very tedious.”

“Yes!”

We exchanged a smile; I felt the mood ease again between us, to something fine and comfortable.

Gesturing towards our baskets, which were now filled to the brim, he said, “In that vein: I think we have done our duty where agriculture is concerned today—do you agree? Shall we move into the shade and sit for a little while?”

This idea, while very appealing to me, never materialised; for at that moment Lady Bridges made a general announcement, observing that everyone seemed to have completed their berry-picking, and inquiring as to whether they had enjoyed themselves. Her question was met with enthusiastic replies and applause, after which her ladyship directed everyone to bring their filled baskets back to the tables in the first garden, where refreshments were now being served.

I retrieved Edward Taylor’s coat, shook it briskly to remove the dust which had there accrued, and returned it, uttering my thanks. The whole party began to remove
en masse,
and as we moved with it, Mrs. Watkinson Payler appeared abruptly beside us with her daughter in tow, and with a bright smile said,

“Edward! Charlotte has not entirely recovered from the heat, I dare say she would be most appreciative if you would give her your arm.”

Mr. Taylor, after the briefest hesitation, smiled handsomely, and hanging his basket over one arm, he offered her an elbow. “It would be my honour, Charlotte.”

My heart sank as Charlotte quietly slipped her hand through the bend of Edward Taylor’s arm; but my spirits immediately revived when, turning to me, and holding out his other arm, he added,

“Miss Jane? May I escort you both?”

A
fine-looking repast had been laid out, with pitchers of lemonade as well as wine and wine punch. A great many servants stood at attention, accepting the strawberry baskets and placing them strategically. Mr. Taylor selected a central location immediately across the row of tables from his cousin Thomas, and held out a chair for Charlotte to his left, and for me to his right.

My sister swept in and claimed the chair beside mine, and as all the party arranged themselves in congenial comfort, my sister bent to my ear and said in a low voice,

“You seem to be enjoying yourself this morning.”

I could not reply; but she squeezed my hand lovingly, and we exchanged a little smile.

Just then, I heard Elizabeth’s affectionate but softly reproving voice, as she whispered to my brother, “Surely, Edward, you would not think of filling my glass
yourself
.”

“Ah,” replied my brother, colouring slightly, as he set down the wine bottle in his hand. “You are correct as always, my love. Thank you.”

A servant rushed in to fulfil the duty. Even so, I winced inwardly at Elizabeth’s reproof. At home at Steventon, we would not think twice about filling our own wine-glasses while at table. It was a sharp reminder of how much my brother’s life had changed, and would continue to change in the years to come.

There came the sound of a knife tapping against glass; Sir Brook was calling for attention and urging everyone to settle down. When quiet reigned, he cried out in his booming voice,

“It is a great pleasure to see you all at an event which, I am proud to say, for the past twenty-odd years, has been deemed the highlight of the summer. That will surely
not
be the case
this
summer, however—for as you know, Lady Bridges has been busy as a bee planning a great many more festivities to follow this one—the first of which is the ball to be held here at Goodnestone two days hence, this very Wednesday, where I intend to make a formal announcement which you have all been anticipating. However, as I have my family and my dearest and most particular friends all gathered today in one place, I cannot deny myself the gratification of making a little advance
,
unofficial
declaration regarding the two happy circumstances which have motivated this month of celebrations: the first of which, is that my daughter Fanny is to wed the esteemed Mr. Lewis Cage, Esquire, of West Langdon, Milgate!”

A hearty ovation followed. Fanny and Mr. Cage stood to be recognised. While he humbly bowed, her
countenance gleamed with pride as she looked all around her, seeming to relish the approbation of the assemblage.

“I have not done!” cried Sir Brook, motioning for a reluctant Fanny to sit, and for the crowd to quiet down. “I have yet another proud announcement: my daughter Elizabeth is betrothed to a very fine young man, Mr. Edward Austen, of Godmersham Park!” More applause, as Elizabeth and my brother Edward happily stood, to receive the party’s adulation. “It is certainly a very singular instance of good fortune in one family, that two girls, almost unknown, should have attached to themselves two young men of such unexceptionable characters,” continued Sir Brook, “and I pray to God that their future conduct will ever do credit to their choice. The date of the weddings has not yet been fixed, but will almost certainly take place in December. In the meantime, let us enjoy the celebrations of these engagements, which begin on Wednesday and continue through Midsummer’s Eve. Ladies and gentlemen: will you please rise and raise your glasses to the affianced couples, and join me in wishing them every happiness?”

All stood; glasses were lifted; words of congratulations were shouted; and everybody drank. Sir Brook then directed us to eat and be merry, which we accordingly did, enjoying the many offerings on the table from the cold meats, bread, cheeses, and cakes, to the salad and cucumber, and of course the strawberries and cream.

The meal, while delicious, would have been more agreeable from
my
point of view, had not Edward Taylor spent the preponderance of the time making observations to Charlotte, and engaging in conversation with his cousin Thomas across the table. My time with him in the strawberry garden had been so thoroughly engaging; we had experienced a connection which I should not soon forget. How could he now, not half-an-hour later, say nary a word to me, and act as if I did not exist? Meanwhile, Charlotte merely nodded and smiled sweetly at his every word.

Cassandra and I were limited as to conversation, for I could not speak openly about what—or
who—
was on my mind, with the very object seated immediately beside me.

We had all nearly consumed our fill, when Mrs. Fielding reminded everyone that the following week, in honour of the betrothed couples, she and the admiral were to host a concert at Bifrons, for which they had engaged professional musicians.

“It promises to be a truly delightful affair,” said she, waving one fat, white arm in the air. “I have a very great appreciation for music, and an excellent ear for it as well. I should have been very skilled at the art had I ever had the opportunity to learn, for my own brother played the oboe, and the apple does not far fall from the tree, for,” (nudging her son seated beside her) “my Frederic is a true prodigy on the oboe, which he has studied since he was nine years old, when he had learnt all he could on the clarinet and the flute; and I dare say he has such a musical ear, that he can hear particular notes in a sonata or concerto in a way that no one else can.”

Frederic blushed a deep red and kept his eyes on his food.

Determined to engage Edward Taylor in some fashion, I whispered to him,

“What an interesting remark with regard to Mr. Fielding’s musical ear, in that it sounds very clever, yet there is no way to prove it.”

Edward Taylor laughed.

“My girls are also very accomplished on the pianoforte,” exclaimed Lady Bridges with a sniff. “They have all studied with the best music-masters, and were trained especially at an elite academy in town.”

“My nephew Edward is a great proficient on the violin,” remarked Mrs. Watkinson Payler proudly. “His entire family has performed concerts in Europe.”

“Is that so?” inquired Mr. Cage with interest.

“I do play the violin, sir,” replied Mr. Taylor modestly. “Music has always been my father’s hobby, and his partiality to it was gradually imparted to all his children; but I would not wish my abilities to be overstated.”

“My brother-in-law—this young man’s father—told me,” said Mr. Watkinson Payler, “that his children performed a sort of travelling concert at least once a week, wherever they happened to be living, and the locals often came to listen. Some months ago, he wrote of a particular evening in Verona, when their family was invited to join a group of professional musicians, and they held a magnificent concert before a vast audience including all the grandees of the town.”

“How delightful!” cried Mr. Deedes.

Edward Taylor’s blush deepened. “It was an unexpected but very pleasant introduction to the society of Verona, yes.”

“I have never heard anyone play the violin as well as my nephew!” cried Mrs. Watkinson Payler. “Edward: you must play for everyone sometime, perhaps next week, after the concert at Bifrons? Lady Bridges, your daughters might delight us with their talents on the same occasion.”

Lady Bridges coloured violently at this, and said, “There will be no time for personal demonstrations on that evening, I believe. Mrs. Fielding, have you not engaged musicians for two full hours?”

“I have,” replied Mrs. Fielding.

“Well!” cried Lady Bridges. “We would not wish to tire our audience with
too
much of a good thing.” She quickly changed the subject, and the conversation at the table turned to other things.

I glanced at Edward Taylor with wonder; there seemed to be no end to the extent of his accomplishments. It was both sad and amusing to think that Lady Bridges (apparently) found his abilities such a threat to her own progeny, that she would not allow him to display them. “I hope to hear you play one day myself, Mr. Taylor,” murmured I, “although, while I confess to a love of music, I dare say I will hear the notes in the same manner as everyone else.”

He laughed again and seemed about to reply, when our attention was captured by a commotion at the far end of the table. Fanny was speaking in urgent tones with Mr. Cage, and the tenor of their discussion, which was escalating into a real argument, could be heard:

“But I
must
have a chariot,” cried Fanny heatedly. “I cannot abide a chaise.”

“A chaise is an excellent vehicle, my dear,” countered Mr. Cage. “I have owned one these past ten years, and never had a moment’s trouble with it.”

“But
everybody
has a chaise. They are so common.”

“I myself have never admired a chaise,” agreed Lady Bridges. “Why, every hack is a chaise.”

“Precisely,” exclaimed Fanny. “It is very confined, barely half the size of a coach, and has that horrid seat which pulls out. I cannot ride facing backwards; it makes me very ill.”

“You shall never be required to ride backwards, my dearest; I promise.”

“You are entirely missing the point. A chaise is driven by a
postillion
, whereas a chariot, with its coach-box and driver, four horses, and seating for four passengers, with both seats facing
forward,
is ever so much more elegant!”

“Well,” replied Mr. Cage, looking troubled, “I will give the matter some consideration, my dear.”

“See that you do,” insisted Fanny.

Sir Brook looked mortified by this exchange; he quickly stood and invited all the ladies and gentlemen who wished to escape the heat, to retreat back to the house. The younger people, he announced, or indeed all those who were so inclined, were free to enjoy shuttlecock and bilbocatch on the rear lawn, and archery in the park at the front of the house.

The party then broke up into two distinct parts, with the elders retreating with Sir Brook and Lady Bridges to the mansion. As all the young people began to merrily advance towards the exit from the walled gardens, Mr. Taylor turned to Charlotte, and said:

“Have you ever shot a bow and arrow, cousin?”

Miss Payler shook her head.

“I have practised archery with my brothers ever since I was small,” said I, feeling rather smug. “Mr. Taylor, may I challenge you to a round?”

“I would love to,” returned he sincerely, “but I promised Charlotte the first game of shuttlecock.”

He whisked Charlotte away. Deflated, I walked on with my sister.

“Charlotte is a very pretty and demure young lady,” observed Cassandra.

“She is
demure
, indeed. Does she ever speak? I do not believe I have yet heard her utter a single word!”

“I am sure she speaks, dearest. She is merely quiet and modest, two very becoming attributes for a young lady.”

“Well then, she is the very opposite of me! Oh! She dresses so perfectly, and nods so sweetly—do you think she is the sort of girl whom Mr. Taylor prefers?”

“I could not say.”

“Mrs. Watkinson Payler certainly thinks so. She is convinced that he and her daughter are in love with each other. She is determined that they will wed some day.”

“How does Edward Taylor feel about that?”

“I have no idea.” I could not prevent a frown, for as much as I hated to admit it, Edward Taylor and Charlotte Payler
did
make a lovely couple. I averted my glance, as it pained me to see them together.

As we approached the rear lawn, I told Cassandra bits and pieces of what I could remember from my conversation with him that morning.

“Edward Taylor’s childhood has been truly extraordinary,” remarked my sister.

“It has! I have never met anyone else half so fascinating. Oh, Cassandra! When we were together earlier, picking strawberries, it seemed almost as if time had stopped, as if no one else in the world existed but just us two. It felt so
right
to be with him.”

Cassandra hesitated, then gently said, “However right it felt to
you
, dearest—you must know that a match between you and Edward Taylor is extremely unlikely.”

“Unlikely? Why?” responded I, nettled. “Because his family is so wealthy? Because he is the heir to Bifrons, and has consorted with princes and princesses?”

“Yes. We have nothing, Jane, but our father’s good name. No property, no dowries. Edward Taylor will no doubt—certainly his father will expect him to—marry someone like Charlotte Payler, who comes from money and property.”

I knew in my heart that she was right, but was not ready to accept it. “Our brother Edward was born of the same parents as ourselves, yet
he
is considered perfectly eligible for the rich Elizabeth Bridges.”

“Yes, but only because he was adopted by an even wealthier family.”

I sighed. “It is not fair.”

“Nobody said that life was fair, dearest.”

“Did you see the way Elizabeth spoke to him about the wine? I think her a dictatorial, self-centered snob, with no sense of humour and not a shred of imagination. They are very ill suited to each other.”

“I disagree. I believe it to be a most promising match.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because there is true love on both sides; it is very evident. I think our brother, coming from our comparatively humble beginning, must feel he requires a strong, aristocratic wife to help him fit into the society he now keeps. We have observed Elizabeth, on several occasions—including the incident with the wine—prove herself very adept at doing just that.”

I nodded slowly, conceding her point. “They do seem to be very much in love; and perhaps she
is
good for him. Therefore, I will try to think better of her. But this brings me back to my earlier point: why should not Edward Taylor marry for the same reason? Is it inconceivable that he should ever love someone like me?”

“It not inconceivable at all, my dearest. I believe that any young man of taste and sense, once making your acquaintance, should fall madly in love with you.” She spoke with such deep and genuine affection, as to make me smile.