The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (22 page)

Mr. Stanhope said, “It
is
a mystery, sir. But if I could know the name of my benefactor, I would tell him how much I appreciate the offering, and give my utmost thanks.”

Eyeing Mr. Stanhope with grave penetration, Dr. Watkins said, “Clearly, whoever sent the book desires neither your thanks nor recognition, sir. Just knowing that you are happy—and that your daughter shares in your delight—must be recompense enough.”

His conviction seemed real, and the self-satisfied look on his countenance assured Rebecca that he was indeed their mysterious patron.

Rebecca now entered into the general ongoing conversation, which was filled with admiration for Mr. Spangle’s achievement.—“Such an imposing room! (a Miss Wabshaw)—Truly imposing! (the other Miss Wabshaw)—Did you ever see so many books? (Sarah)—Look at the gilding on this one (Charles)—This title intrigues me (Mr. Clifton)—I should love to read that one (Mr. Stanhope)—My library is equally fine, if not as large; and I am sure I do not approve of this habit of collecting books for their own sake, according to col our and number (Mrs. Harcourt)—Did you see the view from this window? (Miss Davenport)—Such a delightful prospect, all the way down to the lake! (Dr. Watkins)—Excellent grounds for sport, and that black bitch pointer of his is a real beauty (Mr. Mountague).”

A quarter of an hour passed in this manner, at which point Mr. Spangle reminded every body that at the conclusion
of the festivities, they were all welcome to return and borrow any volume that interested them. He then invited the assemblage to adjourn to the grounds, where they were followed by all the dogs, and he eagerly presented his new fountain, which stood in the centre of his landscaped gardens. A large and rather ostentatious circular structure, it was ornamented
not
with dolphins but with spouting whales, fish, cherubs, a variety of birds, and a representation of Neptune cavorting with the three Muses, one of whom (the most modestly clad), due to her striking resemblance to the woman in the portraits within the house, must have been modelled after none other than the departed Mrs. Spangle.

“It was erected after my own design,” explained Mr. Spangle, “in the memory of my dear Matilda, and I am assured that it splishes and splashes such a vast quantity of water every hour, as to rival the sound and productivity of Aysgarth Falls themselves.”

A round of applause and congratulations followed, with many pretty compliments, which Mr. Spangle received with blushing modesty; at which point he invited his guests to enjoy the many and varied delights of his property, promising them a picnic on the lawn at one o’clock.

Although it was a mild morning, Mrs. Harcourt and Sarah retreated to a shady grove bordering the pleasure grounds, where they sat on a bench talking and fanning themselves. While Mr. Mountague and Mr. Morris engaged in a game on the lawn, the rest of the company began walking along the short avenue of limes which stretched beyond the garden on its way down to the meadows and the small lake. Every where were bounding dogs.

Mr. Stanhope and Mr. Clifton were at the head of the party; from the few words which Rebecca caught, they
seemed to be engrossed in an earnest conversation about Elm Grove and its population. Behind them ambled the Wabshaw sisters in the company of Dr. Jack Watkins. Rebecca heard one of the twins enthuse as they passed by,

“What a fine-looking place. Such a lovely house and grounds!”

“Lovely!” agreed her sister. “One rarely sees such elegant furniture. Mr. Spangle has very refined taste.”

Rebecca felt an arm slip through hers; it was Miss Davenport. Beneath the shade of their parasols, her friend said, “Did you ever see any thing so horrid as that fountain?”

“It does make a very pretty splish splash,” replied Rebecca, smiling.

“‘The splish splashing can be heard from every corner of the house and grounds, what what?’” quoted Miss Davenport, mimicking Mr. Spangle’s unique manner and inflection, then sinking into laughter. “Those statues were nearly naked! One was clearly Mrs. Spangle!”

“And why were ravens and sparrows cavorting with whales and fish?”

“I have no idea! It
is
very endearing, though—that he built it for his wife.”

“I quite admire him for that.”

Miss Davenport sighed. “I would love it if a man built a fountain for me.”

Just then, heavy, hurried footsteps were heard behind them. Rebecca looked round to find Mr. Spangle himself hastening in their direction. The ladies exchanged a silent, conscious glance, and ceased their conversation.

“Miss Stanhope,” cried he, “Miss Davenport! I beg you, attend, attend.”

Dropping arms, they allowed their host to catch up to them.

“I cannot express what delight it gives me,” cried Mr. Spangle, gasping and perspiring profusely as he drew near, “to have you lovely young ladies at my humble home. I hope every thing meets with your approval?”

“It does indeed, sir,” replied Miss Davenport.

“Do you like my fountain?”

“Oh! Yes, sir,” enthused Miss Davenport. “It is a truly lovely fountain. I like it more than I can say.”

“And you, Miss Stanhope? What do you think?” asked he, as they all walked on together.

“It is a fine tribute to your wife, sir,” responded Rebecca sincerely. “And the house and grounds are very beautiful. You should be justly proud.”

“Just so, just so, Miss Stanhope! Do you know that when I bought this property—I chose this precise location expressly, out of all of England, and for good reason—I said to myself: this is not only a very beautiful piece of land, but a very well situated parcel as well. It has every thing one could wish for.—As my dear wife always said, it has many attributes which do not at first meet the eye—will you allow me to point them out, Miss Stanhope? You no doubt saw that it is close to the church, a very, very good thing on a Sunday in bad weather, for I assure you the walk is not troublesome at all; and neither is it far from the village, which delighted Mrs. Spangle, for there is an excellent butcher; very convenient, what what? I say! A far cry from what the residents of Thornton and Bleglsey must endure, for
they
are obliged to send four miles for their meat. Look, just there you see the stew-pond, which I put in for Mrs. Spangle, who
always delighted in fresh fish; and for me, I have the dovecote, for there is nothing like a good pigeon-pie, eh what what? And I trust you saw my fruit-trees planted just inside the garden wall? Although they are not as ancient as one might wish, some are quite the best in the country, for the quantity of harvest they bear.”

Rebecca replied that she thought the house very well situated indeed, and that the grounds, trees, and gardens were any thing which a man could want. These compliments seemed to gratify him exceedingly. They had by now reached the meadow at the edge of the lake, where a pair of small row-boats were tethered and bobbing at a small wooden dock.

“What pretty boats,” said Rebecca. “I like nothing better than a water party.”

“Oh! Do let us take a stroll instead,” protested Miss Davenport. “I see a nice path along the lake edge, through the trees.”

“I think Miss Stanhope had rather go
out
on the lake, than to walk around it,” said Mr. Spangle eagerly. He paused to shout an order to several hounds who were milling nearby, and barking at the ducks. As the dogs obediently ran away up the hill, Mr. Spangle added, “That little blue row-boat is a very sturdy vessel, and was quite a favourite of Mrs. Spangle. I am sure you would like it, Miss Stanhope.”

Rebecca hesitated, unsure how best to reply. Her friend had requested her company on a walk, and at the same time, although Mr. Spangle had not worded it specifically, his meaning was clear: he wished for her to go out in the boat with him.

All at once, Jack Watkins intervened, and said, “I
understand why your wife would have been partial to that little blue boat, sir; it looks very snug. I, however, admit to a preference for the
green
one. May I have your permission to borrow it? That is, if Miss Stanhope will do me the honour of allowing me to convey her out onto the lake?”

Mr. Spangle’s face fell; his mouth opened and closed in a manner resembling a fish, as he emitted a small, disappointed sound; then, slowly recovering himself, he said, “Why, why, certainly young man; that is what the boats are for, to be borrowed and taken out, eh what what? And, if that is what Miss Stanhope wishes—” He was unable to continue.

“Miss Stanhope?” enquired Jack Watkins with a charming smile.

Rebecca felt all the awkwardness of the moment. Although she was keen to go boating with Dr. Jack Watkins, she had no wish to disappoint either her friend or her host—and she felt particularly bad on Mr. Spangle’s account. “There are three seats in the boat,” said she at last. “Perhaps
Miss Davenport or Mr. Spangle would like to accompany us?”

“Certainly,” replied Jack Watkins smoothly, “there is room for one more.”

“You know I hate going out on the water!” cried Miss Davenport with irritation. “It always makes me ill!” Then, eyeing Rebecca and Jack Watkins, she added more softly, “Well, perhaps you did
not
know. But now you do.”

“Perchance some one else would be amenable to walk with you, Miss Davenport,” suggested Jack Watkins.

Philip Clifton immediately strolled up to Miss Davenport, and said, “I would be happy to join you on your walk, cousin. The woods at the water’s edge look most inviting.”

Miss Davenport did not look happy; but she smiled and thanked her cousin for his offer. “Are you sure you will not come with us, Miss Stanhope?”

“I—thank you,” replied Rebecca, who, if she had considered walking with Miss Davenport before, certainly had no wish to do so
now
, under her present company, “but—if you will forgive me—”

Miss Davenport sighed and turned, and, with a brief backward glance, she and Mr. Clifton walked away.

Jack Watkins then pronounced, “Mr. Spangle, I have observed Mr. Stanhope and the Miss Wabshaws studying your lake with the greatest interest and anticipation. I believe they would be most grateful if you took them out for a ride in the other boat.”

“Oh! Yes!” cried one of the Miss Wabshaws with en thusiasm.

“We should like nothing better, Mr. Spangle!” agreed the other.

“It has been quite a while since I enjoyed a water cruise,” admitted Mr. Stanhope, “if you do not object to rowing for a bit, sir.”

“Well, well, I say!” returned Mr. Spangle with a formal bow. “The pleasure would be mine.” He then escorted his party down towards the dock, bestowing upon them a detailed description of the fine workmanship of the boat in question.

Jack Watkins and Rebecca followed at a small distance behind them. The whole matter had been resolved so quickly, that Rebecca was too amazed to speak. As the others boarded the blue vessel, Jack Watkins handed her down into the green one. Once he had assured himself that she was comfortably situated, he untied the boat from the dock, settled onto
the seat facing her, and took up the oars. Before she knew it, they were gliding away.

C
HAPTER
III

As they proceeded out into the glassy green water of the lake, Rebecca could not help but smile at how smoothly Dr. Watkins had arranged it; for the two of them were now quite alone together. He made a fine figure as he rowed.

“What does that look signify?” asked Jack Watkins, gazing at her. “You smile; yet there seems to be some deep meaning behind it.”

“I am thinking that this was very wicked of you, Dr. Watkins,” said she. “You must be aware that Mr. Spangle wished to take me out on the lake.”

“Would you have preferred to be with Mr. Spangle?”

Rebecca smiled again, then caught herself; and said nothing.

“Are you happy in present company?” persisted Dr. Watkins.

Rebecca blushed and did not reply.

“I will perceive this intriguing silence as an affirmative,” said he, laughing. “I hope you forgive me for being so forward? I thought only to rescue you from an uncomfortable situation.”

“You did, sir, and I thank you, but—I admit, I feel guilty for disappointing Mr. Spangle.”

“He seems to taking his disappointment very well,” replied Dr. Watkins indifferently, nodding towards the other boating party, who were gliding in the opposite direction.
Catching sight of Miss Davenport and Mr. Clifton, as they strolled along the path surrounding the lake, he added, “I wish I could say the same for your friend, however. She seems rather—how shall I put it—perturbed.”

Rebecca glanced thither, intercepting a look from Miss Davenport, whose countenance indeed looked pained. “I wish it were not so. I surmise she feels that I have abandoned her.”

“That is Miss Davenport for you; always thinking of herself and her own pleasures first. She wanted your company, and could not have it. She is pretentious and spoiled—the sad product of her upbringing with her aunt.”

“I wish you would not speak ill of her. I like her, and I am flattered that she likes me and enjoys spending time with me. She is not perfect, Dr. Watkins, but who amongst us is without flaws?”

“You are absolutely right, Miss Stanhope. I have been rude. Consider me properly chastised. Again, I beg your forgiveness.”