Jane Austen’s First Love (18 page)

I had longed for a way to be useful; perhaps, I thought,
this
was what I was meant to do. Could I, I wondered, be of further use in a similar manner? Were there any other people who might require my assistance, in fixing or promoting their romantic interests?

Glancing behind me, I caught sight of Sophia, smiling as she walked and chatted with Mr. Cage. Just ahead of me strolled Fanny and Mr. Deedes; from the bits and pieces of their conversation which drifted back to me, they seemed to be discussing their shared passion for art. A memory recurred of the same two pairs dancing at the ball. Of a sudden, a strange feeling came over me, as if a divine voice had spoken in my mind:

“What a fine-looking couple Sophia and Mr. Cage made! How much more natural did
they
appear together, than did Fanny with her own fiancé! And how very
right
Fanny looked, when paired with Mr. Deedes!”

A wild association of new, unexpected notions began to infiltrate my brain, filling me with such excitement that I could scarcely breathe.

Ever since Fanny’s secret admission that she did not love Mr. Cage, but was only marrying him for his money, my heart had bled for Mr. Cage. To see on a daily basis so incongruous a match, had filled me with disgust and despair. From what I could tell, Fanny and Mr. Cage had done nothing but argue since he arrived—a sign that both were unhappy. They had nothing in common. Surely they should never be getting married!

On the other hand, the connection which Fanny and Mr. Deedes had shared in the ball-room, and at the breakfast-table, and as they now chatted so amiably before me, was too obvious to ignore. They were sweet to each other; they shared a talent and appreciation for art; they were meant to be together.

Fanny ought to be with Mr. Deedes!

I felt absolutely certain that, under the right circumstances—given the opportunity to know each other better—Fanny and Mr. Deedes would discover their true affinity.
She
would come to realise that a match
ought
to be based on love, not material prospects; that she had made a mistake in accepting Mr. Cage; and that she ought to break off her engagement. The blow would be softened by
his
coming to the very same conclusion.

In time, Fanny and Mr. Deedes could announce their own attachment.

By then, Mr. Cage would have found a partner more suitable to
his
character.

There was no doubt in my mind as to who that other partner should be: Sophia Bridges. Mr. Cage was a pleasant gentleman, and so much admired; Sophia was one of the most intelligent, affable young ladies whom I had ever met. He was a great reader; so was she. And had I not seen her melt at the sight of him? Given the gentlest of pushes in the proper direction, they should surely find in each other their ideal match!

I felt certain that something very unusual was at work here; that I had been given insight into a matter of great importance, which I was compelled to act upon. Such a correction to the pairings would be in everyone’s best interests, and would promote the greater happiness of all parties.

I saw that I must take action, yet I must be sly about it. I could not confide in Cassandra, without breaking my vow to Fanny. Nor did I wish any of the people involved to know that any scheming had been done on their behalf; no, it must all come about as naturally as if they had thought of it themselves.

I had very little time, I realised, to accomplish my goals. In a fortnight, I would be leaving Kent, and everybody else was to disperse shortly thereafter—the Bridgeses to Bath, and Mr. Deedes to Scotland with the Knights and my brother Edward. I must act quickly. But how to go about giving all four parties that little, necessary push?
That
was the dilemma which stayed on my mind all evening, and kept me awake far into the night.

T
he following morning dawned gray and cold, with very threatening skies. Nevertheless, the same group gathered early on the Goodnestone grounds for the planned cricket match, which was to be held on a wide, grassy field at the front of the house, beyond the steps leading down to the parterre.

I had been, up until now, too preoccupied by my own thoughts to notice the weather. Despite many long hours of pondering, I had yet to come up with a satisfying means by which to promote the romantic pairings I desired. However, a sharp east wind which nearly blew off my bonnet, brought the matter to my attention.

“I do not like the look of those clouds,” remarked Elizabeth with a worried expression.

“I would not worry,” responded Sophia optimistically. “Many a cricket game has been played on a cloudy day.”

“
Gray
clouds are one thing,” commented Mr. Cage, “but
those
clouds are black. It looks as if we are due for a shower.”

“Mr. Cage, do not be so gloomy!” cried Fanny. “Yesterday was fine; surely it will brighten soon.”

As I shivered and wrapped my cloak more tightly about me, an animated discussion ensued amongst the party, involving predictions as to the state of the weather, half of those assembled absolutely certain that the clouds would burn off by noon, and the other half predicting rain.

The Paylers arrived late, the sons rushing to join their teams, who had begun forming on the cricket field. As Mrs. Watkinson Payler and Charlotte hurried up to the benches where the ladies were gathered, they brought bad news: there had been a kitchen fire at Ileden the preceding evening, which had nearly destroyed the entire outbuilding. The winds were such that the manor house itself had been in grave danger for a good long hour; but thankfully the offices were set at such a distance from the house, that a shift of wind prevented any further calamity.

“I cannot guess how long it may take to rebuild the kitchen,” said Mrs. Watkinson Payler despondently. “We are in a terrible mess at present.”

“I am so sorry,” cried Lady Bridges, “for the inconvenience you are suffering. I cannot imagine how we should get on without a kitchen. Shall I have Cook make up dishes for your family, and send them thither?”

“Oh! Do not trouble yourself, Lady Bridges,” replied Mrs. Watkinson Payler, “for we have a neighbour not half a mile distant, a very good woman who has offered to help us out in a similar manner. But, however,” added she in disappointment, “I regret to say that we will be unable to host the dinner at Ileden next week, as we had promised.”

“Do not give the dinner another thought,” answered Lady Bridges. “We can find something else to do. And if there is any way in which we can help you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Mrs. Fielding, who had been very silent ever since her arrival, now abruptly said, in a tone of great anguish: “There is something I must tell you, Lady Bridges; it concerns the concert we hoped to hold at Bifrons on Tuesday.”

“Oh?”

“I have just received a letter from the musicians. It seems that several of their party have fallen ill, and they have withdrawn from the engagement.”

“Oh dear!” said Elizabeth.

“I am quite distressed,” went on Mrs. Fielding. “I do not know what to do, for I cannot get anybody else to perform at
this
late date.”

“The concert need not be cancelled,” suggested I. “I am sure there are many talented musicians amongst our own company who could give a performance. Edward Taylor plays the violin; and did not you say, Mrs. Fielding, that your son is a fine musician?”

Mrs. Fielding went very red. “He is indeed most accomplished; and although it would be a very great responsibility for one so young, had he several weeks to prepare, I am sure he could give a splendid performance which would delight you all; but there is no time, Miss Jane. I would not wish to throw something together.”

“Yes, yes, I understand you completely,” replied Lady Bridges hastily. “If there is to be a concert at Bifrons, you would prefer it to be the kind of
sophisticated
evening which you had anticipated, with professional performers, and nothing less.”

“Precisely,” said Mrs. Fielding, looking very much relieved.

“But what are we to do instead, Mamma?” cried Elizabeth, disappointed. “That is two events now cancelled.”

Lady Bridges was unable to make a response; for at that very instant there came a great crack of thunder, the heavens opened up, and a heavy shower began, sending cricketers and spectators alike running, screaming, and laughing, back to the safety of the house.

After drying off as best we could, all gathered in the drawing-room, where we stood warming ourselves by the fire, or staring out the windows at the downpour, while Lady Bridges ordered tea and coffee to be brought round.

“If it is a brief shower,” remarked Mr. Deedes, “we might still play when the clouds pass over.”

“Indeed we might,” agreed Edward Taylor. “I once played a match on the Prato in Florence during a light rain, and last autumn in Rome, immediately after a shower, we played cricket in the Villa Borghese, where the Prince Borghese had constructed a circus for us in his grounds.”

“This is not Italy,” remarked Thomas Payler disconsolately. “Those clouds are not going anywhere.”

“Indeed, it looks to be a very bad storm,” observed his father.

Everyone made such conversation as they could, attempting to put on cheerful faces; but when an hour had passed with no let-up in the rain, except for an increase in its severity, and an amplification of the sharp, rushing wind, Lady Bridges arranged for the collation, which had been intended to be eaten during the interval in the cricket match, to be served in the dining-room.

The food was consumed, but without as much enjoyment as might have been wished, for every face continued to turn to the windows, contemplating aloud upon the weather in a very despondent state of mind.

“Oh! It was so unlucky.—How the gods did tease!—Such bad luck!—It was hard to believe the day before had been so very fair.—June was supposed to be fair and mild.—The weather must not always be judged by the calendar.—We may sometimes have finer days in November, than June.—There was nothing worse than a wet day in the country.—If only the rain would let up, they could play on the morrow.—At this rate, the field should be flooded for days.”

As the meal concluded with no break in the rain, everyone agreed, with great disappointment, that the cricket match certainly could not go forward that day, nor on the morrow, and should probably have to be postponed for a week at the very least.

“It is a shame,” said Mr. Deedes, “but there is no reason to be gloomy; it can be held another time. We are to be together for a fortnight, after all.”

“I hope that is long enough,” remarked Sir Brook. “The last time we had clouds this black, and a rain this hard, was in early spring; it continued for ten days entire, and it took a fortnight after
that
for the roads to dry.”

“Oh! Do not say such a thing!” cried Lady Bridges, very distressed. “Already, on top of the cricket match, we have had two other events cancelled: a dinner and a concert. If this bad weather continues for many days, then
all
my planning shall be in vain.”

“Mamma is right!” cried Fanny. “If it rains like this, there can be no horse-racing, nor any walks in the woods next week.”

“If the roads
are
very dirty or flooded,” added Elizabeth dismally, “we can never do the carriage ride to Canterbury, either.”

“And what of the Midsummer’s Eve bonfire?” said Sophia, sighing. “It
cannot
rain on Midsummer’s Eve.”

“Blasted weather,” said my brother Edward. “It is going to ruin everything.”

Conversation drew to a halt. Everyone was in low spirits, every face wearing a miserable expression. The youngest three Bridges children, growing restless, were collected by the nurse-maid and taken upstairs; at which point Sir Brook stood and said:

“Lady Bridges: I have had enough of this gloom and doom. Here we are, all assembled with our dearest friends and relations. If we are not to play cricket today, let us play something else. Let us set up the card tables in the library, and allow the young people to join us, or if they prefer, to engage in parlour games of their choice.”

This suggestion was met with enthusiasm by all around; and as those we looked up to removed to the library, the young people progressed back to the drawing-room, and suggestions for parlour games were exchanged.

“It is such a dark and gloomy day, we ought to play Snapdragon,” suggested Edward Taylor.

“That is a Christmas game,” argued Mr. Cage, “and too dangerous.”

“It is perfectly safe,” insisted Edward Taylor.

I could not agree; I had played Snapdragon before, and although it had proved rather thrilling, I had nearly always burned myself.

The group, however, was overwhelmingly eager to play it, regardless of the dangers or the season; and a servant was dispatched to procure the necessary
accoutrements.
The drapes were closed, and in short order, a wide, shallow bowl was set up in the centre of a table; brandy was poured within; and a quantity of raisins was added, more than enough to accommodate all the party.

“According to one tradition,” said Edward Taylor, “the person who snatches the most fruit out of the brandy will marry their true love within a year.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Deedes, with great interest. “I had not heard that.”

As our party was so large, it was determined that we ought to split into two halves: one group would play, while the other half recited the accompanying chant, and then we should switch. I was part of the chanting group at the first. We gathered round the table as Mr. Deedes set the brandy alight. In the dim light of the room, the blue flames playing across the liquor created an eerie and quite spectacular effect. Everyone looked rather demonic as they all pressed forward, attempting to pluck raisins out of the burning brandy and extinguish them by eating them, at the risk of burning their fingers and mouths.

At the same time, my group chanted:

Here he comes with flaming bowl, Don’t he mean to take his toll, Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Take care you don’t take too much, Be not greedy in your clutch, Snip! Snap! Dragon!

With his blue and lapping tongue, Many of you will be stung, Snip! Snap! Dragon!

For he snaps at all that comes, Snatching at his feast of plums, Snip! Snap! Dragon!

The game proved both hilarious, and as usual, slightly perilous. At one point the bowl nearly turned over, threatening to send burning brandy spilling to the ground. I burned my fingers and tongue on some of the raisins, as did several of the others, but we intrepidly kept on playing. Towards the end of the game, however, when Charlotte cried out upon plucking out a burning raisin, Edward Taylor came to her aid; taking her hand, he examined the red marks found there, then called for a servant to bring ice and salve, and removed himself from the game to attend to her.

With so much commotion, it was difficult to observe everything that was going on, or to keep track of how many raisins everybody ate, so the scoring was on the honour system. Sophia and Mr. Deedes were both particularly avid players; but although they did very well, it was determined that my brother Edward had won by a small margin.

“I simply had to win,” cried he when the game concluded, “as my wedding is in December. I want there to be no doubt that I am marrying my one, true love.”

This statement was met by a sweet clamour from the assemblage, and a look of surpassing affection from Elizabeth. I was happy for my brother, and their loving display made me smile with pleasure; but another such display produced a very different effect. Sitting on a sofa across from me, Charlotte’s valiant knight still hovered over her with concern, and she was all blushing gratitude. Observing these familiarities made me warm with envy and confusion. How unfair it was that
she
, as his cousin, could accept such attentions with impunity, in a manner which I could never hope to do!

Cassandra came over and sat beside me. “You are sulking, Jane,” whispered she with both sympathy and reproval.

I averted my gaze and sat in silence, reminding myself that such behaviour on
my
part was unattractive and unworthy. But oh! At that moment, how dearly I wished that
I
was Edward Taylor’s cousin!

All the players seated themselves on the chairs and sofas around the room, and various conversations erupted. My mind continued in a fog, barely conscious of what anybody was saying; but in time, I became aware that Sophia was commenting to Edward Taylor,

“How lucky you are, to think that you have visited Rome and so many other extraordinary places, and seen so many ancient wonders.”

“
I
have been to Rome as well,” interjected my brother Edward, “and it is indeed a marvel of antiquity, but some day I should dearly love to see Athens.”

“As would I!” cried Edward Taylor. “The closest I have got to
that
venerable city however is what I have read in books, and a few rehearsals for
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

“Rehearsals?” repeated Cassandra with interest. “Have you participated in theatricals, Mr. Taylor?”

“Only home theatricals, strictly amateur proceedings.” Leaping up from his seat, Edward Taylor arranged himself apart from his cousin, on the floor. “My father, in addition to a fondness for music, has always had a decided taste for theatre; he encouraged it in us as children, and we came to enjoy it as well. I cannot tell you how many times my brothers and sisters and I have mourned over the dead body of Julius Caesar, and
to be’d
and
not to be’d
, for my father’s amusement—or our own.”

“We did the same thing,” said Cassandra. “We put on a great many plays in our barn at Steventon.”

“I was there for many of them in the early years,” added my brother Edward, “and what fun it was! I shall never forget our first play:
Matilda
by Dr. Francklin, a tragedy complete with passionate threats of murder and suicide. My brother James always directed, and wrote the most amusing prologues and epilogues in verse; I spoke the former on that occasion.”