Jane Austen’s First Love (13 page)

“May I repeat the compliment with regard to
you
? Cassandra, I observed Thomas Payler looking at you earlier this morning with the most earnest and yearning expression! It was clear to me that he wished to pick strawberries with you, but lacked sufficient courage to make the overture.”

Cassandra coloured slightly. “Please, do not joke about such things.”

“I am not joking. He likes you, I know it. Were he to follow his inclination and seek out your company—”

“Jane: I insist—for all the reasons previously described—that it is highly unlikely Mr. Payler would ever be interested in me. And I—” She seemed unable to go on.

“You are wiser than I in many things, Cassandra; but I think you are wrong about
this
. I cannot believe that wealth, class, and status are
irrevocable
impediments to love. Where true love reigns, I believe anything is possible.”

“That is a fine belief, dearest; but it is not really practical.”

We had arrived at the rear lawn, where several nets had been set up for shuttlecock. Edward Taylor and Charlotte Payler were already engaged in playing a game. Shuttlecock was a sport in which I had very little experience, and I watched with a pang of envy as they bandied the feathered shuttle to and fro, each of them playing with enjoyment and expertise.

“We are only here for three weeks,” continued Cassandra. “We may not return for many years. Even if you should form an attachment with Edward Taylor, you must know it would have to be of very brief duration.”

With an aching heart, I replied:

“Then it will be brief. And who can say what the future might hold?”

Goodnestone Park

Tuesday 7 June, 1791

My Dearest Martha,

Thank you for your letter, which found its way to me here this morning. It is refreshing to hear news of home, particularly to learn that you are faring so well as mistress of the rectory, and more to the point, enjoying said duties. As for my last letter, wherein I gave a description of Goodnestone Park and all its inhabitants, although it might seem to be a shame to destroy anything written by my own hand (and I am flattered that you think the epistle contains several clever turns of phrase), I insist that you burn it (along with all the rest of mine) when you have finished reading it for the seventeenth or eighteenth time. I would not wish its contents ever to be made known to those few whom I so good-naturedly abused, even if they were all accurately depicted!

I have scarcely had a moment to myself since our arrival. The house is so full of people that there is hardly a quiet corner to be found anywhere; and you know how much I love quiet corners. My mother and the Knights are to come tomorrow. The strawberry-picking party proved to be particularly diverting. I was so fortunate as to spend time conversing again with Edward Taylor, the young gentleman who so obligingly retrieved us from the road upon our journey hither. He is truly the most engaging, well-travelled, and accomplished young man I have ever met in my life. I must tell you more when next I see you, for there is not room enough in this missive to do him justice. I wish I could scold you for your implication; but indeed, the Bard’s line, “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” does apply, at least to me; I am already in a fair way towards falling in love with him! Should he ever return the sentiment, it will be a great disappointment to his aunt, Mrs. Watkinson Payler, who has designs on him for her daughter Charlotte (a pretty, rich young lady whom Mr. Taylor seems to dote on, but who is far too reserved for my taste). Yesterday, I hoped to capture his attention by displaying my considerable skills on the archery range, but as I am already proficient at the sport, he spent all his time teaching Charlotte how to shoot a bow and arrow. How irritating it was to see him standing over her for such a lengthy period, and in such an intimate posture! How I wish he had been instructing me! It seems that a young lady, if she has the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.

Now I have something truly unexpected to tell you. This morning I rose early and, before breakfast, I removed to the drawing-room, which was as yet uninhabited, hoping for a rare, quiet moment to practise on the pianoforte. I had just sat down at the instrument when my brother Edward suddenly appeared, hastened within, and shut the door. “Jane,” said he, in great distress and perturbation, “I need your help.” “My help? Why?” said I. He explained that he and Elizabeth had quarrelled last night. He had made a thoughtless remark, his fiancée was furious with him, and he wanted to write her a note of apology. “However,” said he, “I think something more than a standard letter is required—a poem perhaps, or something in the romantic vein—but I am hopeless at that sort of thing. You are a clever writer, Jane. Would you do me a great favour and draft a note to Elizabeth with pretty words of apology, which I can then transcribe in my own hand? It will have to be our secret, of course; it must seem as if I wrote it myself.”

You can only imagine how surprised I was by this request! At the same time, I was delighted by his faith in my abilities. Of course I told him that I would be only too happy to help. (I break no vows of secrecy in this disclosure, for he said I might tell you and Cassandra, but no one else.) He required my services immediately, in the hopes that the breach could be mended by this evening at the latest (for the engagement ball is tomorrow). I spent a good two hours labouring over the endeavour. It was rather a trial to compose, as he did not wish to share the particulars for which he was apologising, requiring the admission of guilt to be constructed in the most general terms. At length I found inspiration in Shakespeare (three copies of his complete works, which appear to have never been read, adorn the library shelves here). My brother proclaimed the finished work to be brilliant. He is recopying it now; we must wait to see its effects, which I hope will prove fruitful!

I expect I shall hardly sleep a wink to-night, for the ball is tomorrow—my first real ball! Although it will not be held at an assembly room filled with handsome strangers, as you and I so often imagined, there will be one tall, handsome young gentleman with whom I hope to dance (his identity I leave you to guess); after that, I will have nothing else to wish for. From the bustle which has been going on all day in preparation for the event, I predict it will be very grand; my only regret is that my mother steadfastly refuses to allow me to powder my hair. I can only hope, when she arrives tomorrow, that I can succeed in changing her mind. I must close now, for Sophia, Marianne, and Cassandra are calling me to join them for a walk into the village. Fare you well.—Please give my greatest love to my father when you speak to him, and a handshake to all the boys.

With best love, &c., I am affectionately yours,

Jane Austen

How ill I have written. Your hand is so much more delicate than mine. I begin to hate myself.

Here is the note of apology which I wrote for my brother Edward:

My Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth,

Words cannot express my chagrin over the words I so errantly spoke last night; and yet I must appeal to you in words, for they are my only ally. I spoke in haste, without thought or consideration for your feelings; I was self-serving and thoughtless. To know I have hurt you pains me so deeply, that I can never forgive myself; I only hope that you can forgive me.

Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? My heart has been yours from the very instant I first beheld you. When I look to the future, our future, I know that we are meant to be together. To thee I belong, and always will. Pray, allow me to quote the words of the world’s most celebrated poet:

Hear my soul speak; my heart beats for none but thee . . .

One half of me is yours, the other half yours . . .

And so all yours . . .

My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite.

My dearest Elizabeth, I admire you; I honour you; I look up to you; I adore and love you. Indeed, thy sweet love such wealth brings, that I do scorn to change my state with kings. Pray, forgive me, say you will, this moment, else my heart will be torn asunder, and I shall never recover, for without you at my side, I am nothing.

With greatest love,

Your Edward

In reviewing the note, I thought that
some
might consider it overly dramatic, but I deemed it appropriate for the circumstance and for the individuals involved. My theory proved to be correct, for when I descended for dinner that evening, Edward drew me aside, glowing, and said that Elizabeth had cried when she read it. The intent was achieved; they had made up their quarrel.

“I cannot thank you enough, Jane, or tell you what I owe you. You are truly a genius.” My brother hugged and kissed me, beaming with happiness; then, spying Elizabeth coming down the stairs, he spoke softly in my ear: “Remember: this is our secret.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were lit with affection for her fiancé, a sight which did my
own
heart good. I could see that she and my brother truly cared for each other, and to know that I had been of some small service in this matter—that my own words had brought them back together, and helped to rekindle her love for him—was a source of great satisfaction. I had truly proved
useful
at last!

That night, as predicted, my mind was so filled with anticipation for the next day’s ball, and the enjoyment I expected to receive from it, that I tossed and turned in bed for hours, driving my sister to distraction. At last, well into the wee hours, I fell into a fitful slumber, only to awaken just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the sky.

Lying in bed, I heard the house coming awake as servants scurried down the hallways, going about their duties. I rose, dressed, and went downstairs to find preparations for the evening’s entertainment already in progress: immense flower arrangements were being placed on stands in the foyer and central hall, chandeliers were being fixed with fresh wax candles, and all the furniture and the carpet in the dining-room were in the process of being removed, to transform it into a ball-room. At the same time, the furniture in the library was being re-arranged, and some of it taken out, to temporarily accommodate the dining-room table and chairs, for both the day’s meals and the supper that evening.

Wishing to remain out of the way, I walked for an hour in the park, an exercise which did my spirits a great deal of good. Not long after breakfast the Knights’ carriage arrived, bringing with it my mother and Mr. and Mrs. Knight. I had so enjoyed the past few days at Goodnestone (wherein I had experienced a unique and pleasing sense of freedom from my mother’s constant supervision), that I was surprised by how very glad I was to see her. I was happy to see the Knights as well, and the morning was given over to a lengthy discussion regarding everything which had happened to each during our separation, with my mother particularly interested in the details of the strawberry-picking party, how large were the beds, what variety of berries were cultivated there, how the weather conditions in Kent had affected their growth, &c. Lady Bridges was delighted by this line of inquiry, which might have gone on for a full hour uninterrupted, had not Mr. Knight proclaimed his need to stretch his legs after the confinement of the carriage, at which point he, Mrs. Knight, Sir Brook, and Lady Bridges took my mother without to view the gardens.

All morning, the young ladies were in a fever of worry and anticipation, for their new gowns had not yet been delivered. I could not imagine waiting in such suspense for a garment to arrive, which was to be worn that very evening! Elizabeth assured me that this was the general state of things in their household, and that all would be well. Indeed, at three o’clock another carriage drew up, bringing the dress-maker with all the new garments which were required.

Although it was yet early, all the ladies immediately rushed upstairs to dress, so that any final adjustments to their gowns could be made. My sister and I took advantage of this respite to practise our steps out on the back lawn, after which we retreated to our chamber to begin our toilette. I was filled with excitement. To think that to-night, I would dance at my very first real ball!

We put on our best gowns, which—although perfectly acceptable for a Basingstoke assembly—were nowhere as nice as those being worn by the Bridgeses. However, they were presentable: Cassandra’s was the rose-coloured silk she had worn upon coming out, adorned with new trimmings, and she looked quite beautiful. Although mine had been made over from one of Cassandra’s old gowns, the satin was still in good shape and free of stains, and it was a shade of dusky blue of which I was particularly fond. The sleeves were trimmed with gold braid, and I thought my new sash of gold silk looked quite stylish. My only regret remained unaltered: that even though the preponderance of the company would be powdering their hair to-night, my mother would not permit me to do so.

We had just finished dressing when there came a knock at the door; it was one of Lady Bridges’s housemaids, promoted for the moment to assist us with our hair.

As Cassandra sat down at the dressing-table, the maid (who introduced herself as Sally) said, “Do ye have any hair pieces, miss?”

“We do not,” answered I.

“Well, never mind, ye both have such lovely long hair, it will do just fine without.”

Sally set about brushing Cassandra’s hair, pinning part of it up, while leaving another part long and curly. When she finished, she said that she would prefer to do my hair next, and then apply pomatum and powder to us both afterwards.

I sat down before the looking-glass, unable to prevent a deep sigh. “There is no need for pomatum or powder in my case, Sally. I am not to share in that particular ritual of beauty to-night.”

“What do ye mean, miss?” said Sally to me in surprise, as she brushed my hair. “No powder? Why ever not? This be a grand ball, ain’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” responded I tightly, “but my mother thinks me too young for powder.”

“Too young?” The maid shook her head. “Ye’re never too young in
this
house, miss. Why, all the Bridges boys and young ladies have been powderin’ their hair for every formal occasion since they were ten years old.”

“Since age ten?” cried I. “Do you mean to say that—even little Harriot Bridges is going to have powdered hair to-night?”

“Yes, miss. It don’t seem right for you to be the only one with natural hair.”