Jane Austen’s First Love (30 page)

“Oh!” cried I.

“He has no idea why Fanny broke off with him,” said Edward Taylor. “I declare, I have never in all my life seen a man more heart-broken.”

“What ever made Fanny think that Mr. Cage and her sister are in love?” asked Cassandra.

A heat rose to my face. “It—it seems that their performance in the play was too authentic.”

“They were only acting!” cried my brother.

“
She
read it very differently.”

“Acting can be a very dangerous game.” Edward Taylor shook his head.

“Mr. Cage
was
very sweet to Sophia, apart from the play,” insisted I, “and she seemed to respond to his attentions.”

“Why should they not be sweet to each other?” replied Cassandra. “They were to be brother and sister. I assure you, Sophia has no feelings whatsoever for Mr. Cage. She never has.”

“How do you know?”

“I have just spoken with her. She is overcome with grief. Although Mr. Cage’s recent overtures were offered and received only in friendship, she believes his attentions inflamed her sister’s jealousy.
Her
affections have long been placed in another quarter. In truth, she is in love with Mr. Deedes.”

“With Mr. Deedes!” I was astonished.

“Sophia admitted that she has felt an attachment to Mr. Deedes since they first met many months ago. She has secretly cherished a hope that he might return her feelings, and declare himself this very fortnight, while at Goodnestone.”

“Mr. Deedes
does
return her feelings,” said my brother. “He told me so himself. He was on the point of speaking, when the play was proposed—and events took such a turn from there, that the opportunity never again arose.”

“Dear God!” cried I.

“This is a wretched business,” said Cassandra.

“We must go to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes directly,” exclaimed I, “and tell them how Fanny and Sophia really feel.”

“It is a bit late for that, I am afraid,” said Edward Taylor, “for the two gentlemen left for Canterbury an hour ago.”

I
paced back and forth before the window of my chamber, entirely distraught. Below, the early stages of the migration had begun, from the house to that section of the park where the bonfire had been set up. Although the news of Fanny’s break with Mr. Cage, and the sudden departure of that gentleman and his friend, was very distressing indeed, Lady Bridges had decreed that the Midsummer’s Eve festivities should go ahead as planned.

“It would be a shame,” said she, “to allow the disappointments of a few to become the disappointments of the many; for the bonfire is an event which our family and friends look forward to all year, and it is particularly meaningful to the servants.” The Midsummer’s Eve bonfire, she explained, was one of the few affairs at Goodnestone other than the Christmas party in which the staff was also included.

I had looked forward to this evening’s merriment these many weeks; but now, I was in no mood to celebrate. Fanny refused to speak to Sophia or anyone else. Both had shut themselves in their rooms and refused to answer their doors. Cassandra, perceiving my distressed state of mind, had informed the others that I needed to rest before the bonfire, and she had stayed to listen to me in my despair.

I had just admitted everything to her with regard to my machinations for the four lovers, from the moment the idea was conceived, to Fanny’s tearful admission that evening. Cassandra, shocked and distressed, was shaking her head.

“I suspected that you were up to something, Jane, but in my wildest imaginings, it was never this.”

“How could I have been so blind and stupid?” cried I. “I took up an idea and made myself believe in it implicitly; yet it was all founded on the shakiest of premises. To know, now, that Fanny is in love with Mr. Cage after all, and that his affections for
her
have never wavered! To understand that Mr. Deedes is just as in love with Sophia as she is with him—and I had no inkling! To learn that he was about to speak, when
I
intervened and kept throwing him at Fanny! Last week, I saw him admiring the pictures which had won the contest, and thought his praise was all for Fanny; now I see that he was not admiring
her
work that day, but rather Sophia’s! It was not Mr. Cage’s appearance that had caused Sophia to blush, the evening when both gentlemen first arrived; it was
Mr. Deedes’s
. It had always been Mr. Deedes! During the Snapdragon game, Mr. Deedes and Sophia were the most eager players—both inspired, I surmise, by the tradition that the winner would marry their true love within a year. Oh! Had I not suggested the play, Fanny and Mr. Cage would still be betrothed, and Mr. Deedes and Sophia might have been engaged by now!”

“That is entirely possible.” Cassandra sighed. “Sadly, Mr. Deedes cannot discover her true feelings for a long while yet, if ever; for he has gone to Canterbury, and next week leaves for Scotland with the Knights—and the day after tomorrow, when we depart, the Bridges family all go to Bath.”

“How sage is Shakespeare’s line,
What fools these mortals be!
How ironic that
I
was obliged to speak those words on this very day, for he may as well have written it specifically about me. Like Puck, I have mistakenly misaligned everybody! I feel like such an idiot.” I sank down onto a chair and covered my face with my hands, too mortified to look at her. “My romantic schemes did not end with those four people, Cassandra. There is yet one other couple whom I hoped would form a connection during our stay at Goodnestone.”

“Oh? Who is that?” Cassandra replied, an odd tone in her voice.

Flushing, I peeked at her from between my fingers. “You and Thomas Payler.”

“Me and Thomas?” She smiled. “Jane: I may not have understood your intentions regarding the others, but did you truly think I did not notice what you were up to on my behalf?”

My hands dropped to my lap. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. How many times did you ask what I thought of Mr. Payler? How often did you mention his many attributes to me? It was obvious you were promoting the match.”

A ray of hope darted through me. Perhaps not everything I had done was in vain! “He is perfect for you, Cassandra. He is a sensible, kind, good-looking young man from an excellent family, with whom you share common interests.”

“So you have said many times; and while that may be true, Jane, I am not interested in Thomas Payler in
that
way. I could never love him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am in love with someone else.”

I was so astonished, I could hardly formulate a reply. “In love with someone else?”

She nodded, blushing.

“But—with whom?”

“Tom Fowle.”

Tom Fowle was one of our father’s former students—a young man who had lately become a clergyman. I had barely given him a thought since the day he left our household many years before. “How long have you been in love with him?” cried I, astounded.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I think, and he came to live with us.”

“All these years, you have had such feelings, and you never said a word?”

“It has taken all this time to truly know Tom, to understand and appreciate his many good qualities, and to feel certain that we are right for each other. When I
did
know that I loved him, I did not have the nerve to voice my feelings aloud, even to you, dearest; for Tom is so much older than I. I never dared to hope he would notice me; but on his last visit, he gave me reason to believe that my feelings are returned.”

I thought back to the time of Mr. Fowle’s last visit as well as I could, but I had only the vaguest memory of it; I had been very engrossed, as I recalled, in writing a story at the time, and had paid him little attention.

“Tom is still struggling to establish himself,” added Cassandra softly, her colour heightening even further, “but one day, when the time is right, I think it likely—I
hope—
that he will declare himself.”

I was surprised, confounded—stupefied. I, who prided myself on my powers of observation, had lived side by side with my sister since childhood, sharing every thought and confidence—yet I had never had a clue that she harboured such deep feelings for another.

“How mortifying it is, Cassandra, to discover that I have so little understanding of others.” I crossed to the window again, greatly vexed with myself. Below, I observed Elizabeth and my brother Edward emerge from the house, intimately conversing; she carried a basket of roses on her arm. Behind them came Edward Taylor with Thomas and Charlotte. I sighed, adding:

“There is someone else whom I misjudged for a long while as well: Charlotte Payler. I disliked her unjustly when we first met. Considering how she feels about Edward Taylor, it would be only natural for her to feel threatened by his regard for me; yet she has been very sweet to me.”

“I always thought Charlotte a good and amiable young lady.”

“Oh! How could I have been so grievously in error about
everybody
? My first impressions were all completely wrong!”

“I
tried
to warn you, dearest, particularly where the others were concerned, but you would not listen.”

“I am so ashamed. What a treacherous effect my schemes produced! I attempted to employ a home theatrical, an otherwise innocent activity, for a less than respectable purpose—to manipulate the feelings of others—and what a dangerous intimacy was created! Now Sophia and Fanny are utterly wretched, as are the men who love them. Two sisters who once were close may never speak to each other again—and it is all my fault!”

“The heart cannot be easily deciphered, nor can it be directed or managed; in matters of love and matrimony, people must be left to their own devices.”

“I know that now. Oh! I have made so many blunders. If only Papa were here, I should ask him what to do; he always has such excellent advice.”

“I think I know what Papa would say, if he were here.”

“Do you?”

“Do you remember many years ago, when an elderly friend of Mamma’s came to call, whose face had been ravaged by the pox?”

“No; when was this?”

“You were very young, seven or eight perhaps. We laughed at the old woman behind her back, and called her pox-face, and said any number of unkind things, believing she could not hear us. Before she left, she shook our hands graciously, but I saw the hurt in her eyes; she said that she had once been as young and pretty as we were, and that we should take care not to fall ill, or we should meet her fate and both be called pox-face one day.”

“Oh!” My cheeks burned now as a fragment of the memory came back to me. “Papa found out what happened, and as I recall, he sat us down and gave us a very stern speech—but I have forgotten what he said.”

“He said he was going to share one of the essential truths he had learned in life: that happiness and well-being ultimately depend on
character
—the way we treat other people on a day-to-day basis. He made us walk three miles to her house the next day to apologise.”

The entire incident came back to me then, along with the rush of guilty feelings it had engendered; no wonder I had done my best to forget it. “To further demonstrate our good intentions, we worked in her garden all afternoon pulling weeds.” At my sister’s confirming nod, I sighed grimly. “I understand your implication, dearest. I must apologise for this mess I have made, and find a way to rectify it; but I fear, when I admit to Fanny and Sophia what I have done, they will never forgive me.”

My first order of business, in addition to an apology, was to get Fanny and Sophia to speak to each other again, so that the rift between them should be mended. However, despite our most valiant efforts—Cassandra and I knocked on their respective chamber doors several times, begging them to let us in—our appeals were rebuffed. “They did not wish to speak to anyone; they had no wish to attend the bonfire; they preferred to be alone.”

“What shall we do?” said I, greatly disappointed, as my sister and I gave up the attempt and started down the passage towards our room. “How shall I mend what I have done, if they will not even hear me? And that is only the first step. Somehow, I must let Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes know that Fanny and Sophia truly love them—but how? I cannot write to them, nor can I ride to Canterbury to visit two single gentlemen—and the information must reach their ears by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“Because according to Edward, tomorrow is the only day Mr. Cage will be in Canterbury, and within our reach; the next morning he is to travel on to his own house, some eight-and-thirty miles distant. The day after
that
, we return to Godmersham, the Bridgeses leave for Bath, and Mr. Deedes will be preparing for his tour to Scotland. The opportunity to reunite the lovers will be lost.”

As my sister and I pondered this dilemma, two housemaids emerged into the passage from the upper stairs, each carrying a small basket over her arm. I recognised one of them as the maid who had styled and powdered my hair for the ball.

“A lovely evenin’ for a bonfire, i’nt it?” said Sally as they both dropped a curtsey before us.

“It is indeed,” replied Cassandra.

“So kind o’ Lady Bridges to invite us,” said the second maid, a fair-haired girl, smiling, “and to let us cut her roses.”

“Roses? What do you need roses for?”

“Why, they’re to wish on,” replied Sally. The two girls exchanged a look, and burst into giggles.

“To wish on?” repeated I, mystified.

“Don’t tell me you never made a wish on Midsummer’s Eve?” said the second maid.

“I never have,” said I.

“Nor I,” added Cassandra. “Some of our neighbours in Hampshire have bonfires, but I have heard nothing about roses or wishing.”

“Perhaps it i’nt common in your part of the country, miss, but it’s a tradition hereabouts; roses are ever so important. It’s said that any rose picked on Midsummer’s Eve or Midsummer’s Day will keep fresh until Christmas.”

Sally, with a toss of her dark curls, said, “That’s a load of twaddle, Nancy, and well you know it. Howsoever, the legend about wishing at midnight
is
real.”

“Tell us about the legend,” insisted I.

“It’s said,” replied Sally solemnly, “that at midnight on Midsummer’s Eve, if young girls scatter the petals of roses before them and repeat the ancient saying, the next day their true love will visit them.”

“Indeed?” My curiosity was now truly piqued.

“My mother sprinkled petals of roses for my father on Midsummer’s Eve, and he come to her next morning, not knowing a thing about it! They’ve been married now seven-and-twenty years! My young man and I’ve been courting since Christmas, and I keep hoping he’ll pop the question. If I repeat the saying loud enough, maybe he’ll do so tomorrow!”

“My own grandmamma swears she married my grandfather because of a Midsummer’s Eve wish, and they are very happy,” said the fair-haired maid. “
I’m
going to say it above a dozen times, and scatter every single petal in my basket; and if my John should come calling tomorrow, I’ll know he’s my one true love, and the one I am to marry!” Giggling, the two girls started to dash off.