The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (25 page)

Mrs. Harcourt dominated the conversation throughout the meal, naming all the people in the surrounding neighbourhoods who were expected at the ball, the latest news about them and their families, advice which she had given them in previous encounters (some events occurring twenty or thirty years in the past), and how in each case they had acted upon that advice with gratitude and advantageous results.

After dinner, as they waited for the carriages, Mr. Mountague made jokes, and they all laughed. Rebecca felt gay of heart and filled with anticipation for the coming festivities—all the while, keeping her secret hopes to herself.

Mr. Spangle was the first to arrive. He was extravagant with his compliments, insisting that Miss Stanhope was a shining example of feminine beauty, and that she must promise him a dance. The party from the vicarage came next, followed by a great many people whom Rebecca did not know. Mrs. Harcourt received them all with pleasure. Amelia Davenport, seated regally in a chair with her foot wrapped and raised, was the centre of much attention, as every body stopped to inquire about her injury, and to offer their condolences and advice as to treatment.

Sarah and Rebecca regarded the door expectantly, waiting for Dr. Watkins to make his appearance; and when he did, his eyes immediately found Rebecca’s across the crowded room, with a look which seemed filled with significance.

“Surely he
does
mean to speak to you this evening!” whispered Sarah.

“If only my first two dances were not promised to Mr. Mountague,” returned Rebecca regretfully.

In no time at all, the company was moving into the ball-room, and Rebecca lost sight of Dr. Watkins. How, she wondered, would it be possible for a man to perform an act so intimate as to offer his hand in marriage, in a room so filled with people? Would he contrive to get her alone, as he did at the lake? If so, when and how?

She heard the violins. Suddenly, Mr. Mountague was before her, offering his arm. They moved to the top of the room; the rest of the couples joined them, forming several lines; and the first dance began. To Rebecca’s consternation, Mr. Mountague went left instead of right, causing a disruption. Laughing with apology, he rushed into the proper place, only to step on Rebecca’s foot. He continued to dance with good-natured but incompetent zeal. The second dance was equally painful to endure—but Rebecca smiled patiently throughout, feeling more sorry for
him
than for herself. The moment of her release, she thanked him and sought out a chair in a quiet corner, to gain respite for her injured toes.

While sitting out the next two dances, Rebecca was able to look around with ease. On the opposite side of the ball-room, she observed Dr. Watkins bringing a cup of punch to Miss Davenport, who was settled in a chair by the wall. The two fell into an animated discussion;
she
seemed irritated, and
he
was doing his best to soothe her. Rebecca perfectly comprehended why Amelia was unhappy; her injury—even
if
contrived—prevented her not only from dancing with Mr. Mountague, but from participating in any of the evening’s entertainment.

Of a sudden, Rebecca became aware that Mr. Mountague and Mr. Clifton were conversing nearby; and although they were partially obscured from her view, she overheard the following:

“I knew it had to be you who sent it to the old man,” asserted Mr. Mountague. “Who else would give such a dull book?”

“Well, now that you know, I would appreciate it if you would keep it to yourself,” replied Mr. Clifton.

“Whatever you wish; but from all reports, he is delighted with it. A costly edition, I am told. Why you should wish to keep it a secret—indeed, why you sent it in the first place—is beyond me, unless it was to impress his daughter. She is a lovely creature.”

“Do not be a fool.”

“Wait! I know what it is—You think to make recompense for taking over the poor old man’s living, do not you!” Mr. Mountague laughed.

“Keep your voice down, will you?”

“You are the fool, cousin. There is no call whatsoever for guilt or remorse, and
certainly
no need for such an extravagant, conciliatory gesture—particularly if it is anonymous!”

There was a pause; then Mr. Clifton said, “If it eases the mind, what harm can it do? Except, perhaps, to the pocketbook.”

Mr. Mountague laughed again.

Rebecca’s cheeks grew warm with disappointment and indignation. To discover that Mr. Clifton apparently did, after all, feel
some
measure of guilt with regard to her father’s removal from Elm Grove, was satisfying; but to learn that the book Mr. Stanhope received did not come from Dr. Watkins after all—that it was the result of such a low motive—that
all the imagined generosity and goodwill which she had attached to the person behind the gift, was entirely false—
that
was a real blow.

In this state of heated vexation, Rebecca observed Mr. Mountague walk round the perimeter of the room. When the music stopped and the dancers separated, he had caught up with Dr. Watkins and Amelia on the other side. Dr. Watkins now glanced over, and, whether by accident or design, caught her eye. He smiled. All notion of Mr. Clifton and his transgressions left Rebecca’s mind. Certainly, she thought, Dr. Watkins means to cross to me
now;
but at that moment, she heard Mr. Clifton’s voice at her elbow.

“Miss Stanhope: may I be allowed the honour of the next dance?”

Rebecca was too astonished and piqued to reply; to her consternation, he was accompanied by her father.

“Come, my dear Rebecca,” said Mr. Stanhope congenially, taking her hand and urging her to her feet, “after having been obliged to dance with the worst possible partner in the room, you cannot refuse to dance with the
best
. Never were two cousins more unlike, to my mind! Mr. Clifton feared that you might turn him down, but I said you never would.”

Rebecca had no wish to dance
now
—and even if she did, of all the gentlemen in the room—Mr. Mountague included—Mr. Clifton was the
last
person whom she would choose as her partner. But how could she refuse, without offending her father?

The couples were already assuming their positions. Mr. Stanhope smiled. Mr. Clifton nodded graciously, and without a word, led her to their place in the set. Without knowing quite what she did, Rebecca allowed herself to be led.

They stood opposite each other in line, in perfect silence. From the calm look on his face, it was clear to her that he had no idea of what she had just overheard. Why he had bothered to ask her to dance was a matter she could not fathom. Too infuriated to initiate any conversation, and afraid she might say something she would regret, she resolved to hold her tongue. As the music began and they performed the customary steps, he took the burden upon himself, and asked if she was enjoying the ball.

“It is too early to tell,” replied she. “I have only danced one set.”

“And that with great patience and forbearance, from what I observed. As your father said, my cousin Brook has more enthusiasm for the dance than ability.”

“Mr. Mountague has great enthusiasm for many things.”

“Certainly, he enjoys every kind of sport.”

“And he enjoys making sport of others.”

Mr. Clifton seemed troubled by this remark, but made no answer.

Rebecca could not resist the temptation to go on. “Mr. Mountague always speaks his mind; that is one thing I admire about him. Even when the truth might be painful, he keeps no secrets; he is very straightforward.”

“Perhaps too straightforward at times.”

“Perhaps; but at least one knows where one stands with him. Whereas you, Mr. Clifton, have always been an enigma to me.”

“An enigma, Miss Stanhope?”

“I have known you, or known of you, for much of my life; and yet we have never had a meaningful conversation—unless you count the day we disputed the merits of change, while standing in the rectory garden at Elm Grove.”

He did not comment.

“I feel that I know your sisters and brother better than I know you, sir, although I have had far less occasion to see
them
.”

In a constrained manner, he said, “It is only natural that you should gravitate to my sisters—they are lovely young women, and you have much in common.”

They made their way down the rest of the line and back without uttering another word. It was not until they were well into the second dance, that Mr. Clifton asked her if, since coming to Medford, she had been afforded any other opportunities to play the pianoforte and the harp. The question was so unexpected that Rebecca could not hide her surprise.

“I have, sir. Mrs. Harcourt has allowed me to make use of her instruments on two occasions.”

“That is generous of her. However, you must be accustomed to practising every day.”

“I did practise very regularly when I lived at Elm Grove.”

“You must miss it.”

“I do.”

“Your performance at the dinner party here was truly exquisite. You gave pleasure to a great many.”

His compliment, which seemed very sincere, caught her unawares; but she reminded herself of the source. “Thank you.”

“Your voice is particularly fine.”

“You believe it has improved, then, since our early days? You no longer think I sound like two cats fighting?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said so at a Christmas party at Claremont Park when I was nine years old. You and Brook sat with your
fingers in your ears while I sang, and afterwards made fun of me.”

He blushed slightly. “Did I say that? Forgive me. I hate to think of how I acted then. Pray tell me you do not still hold a grudge. It was just youthful antics.”

“Was it just
youthful antics
again to-night, sir—the conversation you two held not more than half an hour ago, with regard to a particular book? ‘If it eases the mind, what harm can it do? Except, perhaps, to the pocketbook.’—I believe that was your remark?”

A deep shade of crimson now overspread his features. He seemed incapable of a reply.

“Do not worry, Mr. Clifton. I will not tell my father who sent him that volume, or that the only reason you did it was to assuage your conscience.
He
thinks an admirer wished him enjoyment of the gift, and I would not rob him of that pleasure.”

Mr. Clifton said no more, nor could he look her in the eye. Thankfully, the dance was soon at an end, and they parted in silence.

Once again Rebecca fled the dance floor with relief, this time with a pounding heart, due more to the anxiety of the meeting, than from her exertion. What an unpleasant encounter that had been! She was very annoyed with herself, and could not decide if she was glad she had spoken, or if it would have been better had she remained silent.

As she caught her breath and looked round the room, she noticed Dr. Watkins still standing beside Amelia, his attitude suggesting the unwilling performance of a duty. He turned now, and gazed directly at Rebecca with such intensity, that a flush came over her. This was the moment, she thought; and, deciding to take matters into her own hands,
she returned his look with an encouraging smile, then glanced meaningfully towards the side-door, which she knew led to the veranda. She proceeded thereto, hoping he would follow.

Stepping outside, Rebecca was immediately refreshed by a light breeze and the coolness of the evening air. The ball-room windows were open, and the illumination from within, coupled with that of a bright, full moon, cast a pleasing glow upon the brick terrace. Crossing to the low rail which overlooked the gardens, she stopped, gazing down at the immense expanse of lawn, trees, and shrubbery beyond, all shrouded in shadowy darkness. Had Dr. Watkins comprehended her meaning? Would he join her here?

Her wishes seemed answered; for just as the music started up again, the sound of the door opening met her ears.

C
HAPTER
VI

Rebecca’s heart drummed in anticipation; she retained her posture and waited as footsteps approached.

“Miss Stanhope?” uttered a male voice.

Her spirits sank. It was not the voice she had hoped for. It belonged to Mr. Spangle.

Straining not to show what she felt, she turned to face him. “Mr. Spangle: sir.”

“I have been earnestly desiring an opportunity to speak to you all evening,” said he, hastening to her side. “Imagine my delight when I intercepted your most demure, most welcome signal just now, alerting me to your objective to go without, and inviting me to join you.”

With great discomposure, Rebecca comprehended what a mistake had been made; he must have been standing not far from Dr. Watkins, although she had not noticed him. “Forgive me, sir, but I did not venture outside with a view to effecting a private meeting with you.”

“Indeed? Well! If I mistook your intentions, I am glad of the result. May I deduce that you stepped outside only to admire the moon? A beautiful moon it is, too, what what? A full moon is always agreeable on the night of a ball, for even the brightest torch or lamp of a carriage does nothing to light one’s way. My wife used to awaken me from a sound sleep to look at the moon, particularly a full moon, which made her think of a great cabbage in the sky. ‘Does not it look like a great, white cabbage, my dearest?’ Mrs. Spangle would say in that sweet, engaging voice of hers. The morning after a full moon, she quite often had a taste for produce from the garden.”