Jane Austen’s First Love (31 page)

“Wait!” cried I. “What is the old saying that one should repeat?”

Pausing, the two maids recited to us in unison: “‘Rose leaves, rose leaves, rose leaves I strew; he that will love me, come after me now.’” They ran off down the stairs.

I watched them go, my thoughts in a whirl. An idea began bubbling up in my brain, and at length took hold. “Cassandra: I know what we must do, to help the couples I have misaligned!”

I revealed my plan to my sister in its entirety. She concurred that while the first half was fanciful, the second half was sensible, and therefore worth a try. However, to work as a whole, it required the complicity of my brother Edward, as well as Fanny and Sophia. “Edward has already gone down to the bonfire,” she reminded me.

“I will speak to him there.”

“How will you get Fanny and Sophia to listen, if neither will open her door to us?”

“There are many different methods to deliver a message,” responded I.

We returned to our chamber, wherein I immediately sat down and wrote two notes. The first read:

My Dearest Sophia,

I know of the pain which you are presently enduring, and I am writing to offer my deepest apologies—and to admit, to my everlasting shame, that I have had a hand in everything which has caused your grief. This may surprise you, but it is true. Pray, allow me to explain. For some weeks now, I have been under the impression that Fanny did not love Mr. Cage (a presumption which turned out to be entirely false). In my naïveté, I had a strong wish for him to pay attention to you, believing you to be a better match; at the same time, I hoped Mr. Deedes would look in Fanny’s direction. When I could, I gently nudged you all in that direction, and I cast the play with these pairings in mind, believing that the intimacies of the theatre might help you discover your true affections. Only now do I know the real truth, and how wrong I was!

I am so sorry for the rift I have caused. All this ill will must be mended, and without delay. Fanny believes that you stole her fiancé; you must tell her how you really feel! With regard to Mr. Deedes: do not give up all hope. I have an idea of how to bring him back—but you must act to-night. Please, please, do me the honour of coming out and speaking to me—now. I await in my chamber with bated breath, a mortified heart, the greatest respect, and—

All best wishes,

Jane Austen

The second note I addressed to Fanny, expressing similar sentiments, and revealing the truth not only of Mr. Cage’s feelings for her, but of Sophia’s feelings with respect to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes.

I folded both notes, knocked to announce my delivery, and quickly slipped them under each young lady’s door; I then returned to my room to wait with Cassandra. Not five minutes passed before two chamber doors were heard opening down the hall, followed by Fanny’s and Sophia’s tearful voices. Their tender exclamations echoed in the passage; after an interval engaged in conversation, both burst into our room, holding hands, red-eyed, and exchanging loving looks.

“Well, Jane!” cried Fanny. “I suppose I should thank you; you have given me my sister back. But I am very, very angry with you!”

“So you should be,” replied I, rising, my cheeks burning with shame.

“I forgive you,” said Sophia, wiping her eyes. “I cannot count how many times Fanny has insisted that she did not love Mr. Cage. It is not wonderful that you took her at her word.”

“All that is in the past,” insisted Fanny crossly. “What matters is what we do
now
. You said that Mr. Cage truly loves me?”

“He does; he told my brother so,” replied Cassandra.

A smile lit Fanny’s countenance and she heaved a great, relieved sigh. “That is the best news I have ever heard. What is your idea, Jane? How do you propose that we get our gentlemen back?”

Before I could reply, Sophia shook her head, and said:

“There is nothing you can do for me. It is too late. You were affianced to Mr. Cage, Fanny; he might return, and your relationship might well be mended. But Mr. Deedes has no reason to return to this part of the country.”

“Then we must give him a reason.” The second part of my plan I thought best not to reveal until I had spoken with my brother, lest I falsely raise any hopes; so I only said: “Are you familiar with the old legend regarding the strewing of rose petals on Midsummer’s Eve?”

Sophia nodded. “Of course.”

“We tried it once, when we were girls; we scattered petals at midnight, and repeated the saying.” Fanny shrugged with a faint smile. “Sadly, no robust young lads came looking for us the next morning.”

“Perhaps,” said I, with a knowing look, “that was because you had not yet met your one true love.”

Sophia and Fanny exchanged a glance; then the former cried, “What are you saying, Jane? You think the legend might work for us to-night?”

“It has worked for other couples. It is certainly worth a try.”

The sun had long since set, but its last dusky rays and the brightness of the moon illuminated our way as Sophia, Fanny, my sister, and I stopped in the walled rose garden. The Bridges sisters had quickly changed into the new gowns which had been made for them expressly for the occasion, and together we sought out the oldest-looking roses we could find, sweeping the loosened petals from the stems into our baskets until they were brim-full.

I was not sure I could trust in old legends—I depended on my
other
part of the plan to be the real means of bringing Fanny’s and Sophia’s wishes to fruition—but I had read and heard enough tales to believe in the
possibility
of magic, and fully intended to scatter rose petals
myself
to-night, with a certain young gentleman in mind.

Cassandra was going to strew rose petals as well. “It might be impossible for Tom Fowle to visit me
tomorrow
,” said she, smiling, “but he might
think
of me, and come to call after we return home.”

We made our way to the park at the front of the house, where the evening air was filled with the sounds of music performed by a trio of hired musicians, and the lively chatter of the sizeable group assembled on the lawn.

An assortment of dry brush, tree branches, and twigs had been formed into a pile as wide as a horse-cart and nearly as tall as myself. Thankfully, the last few days of sun had so warmed the grass as to make it dry enough to sit upon. The servants reclined on blankets on one side; the family were convened on the other, where chairs had been set up for the senior members of the party. Lady Bridges was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Fielding, Mrs. Payler, and my mother; upon noticing Fanny, a troubled look crossed the former’s countenance, but she glanced away.

My eyes sought and found Edward Taylor; he was chatting congenially with his cousin Thomas. My heart ached to be with him; but first, I had important business to attend: I must speak with my brother Edward. I observed that Charlotte, seated not too far off, had her own basket of rose petals. I knew what—or should I say
who—she
would wish for at midnight. If the legend were true—suddenly, I wanted more than anything to believe that it
was
—then only one of us could prevail.
Which
one would it be?

O
ur presence was immediately detected by Elizabeth and my brother Edward, who, hurrying to our side, expressed their pleasure at seeing us all amongst the company.

“You must sit with us,” insisted Elizabeth to her sisters with real sympathy. “Fanny, do sit over here by me; and Sophia, here.” Such a kind display on Elizabeth’s part, particularly in the manner in which she addressed Fanny, with whom she had up till now been on such unfriendly terms, was both surprising and commendable. Fanny and Sophia obliged, laying their blankets beside her, and a tête-à-tête immediately began.

Cassandra and I sat down next to my brother, to whom I said quietly: “Might I have a word with you, Edward?”

“Certainly; but can it wait until later?” For at that very moment the bonfire was being lit.

A torch was brought to the bed of dry leaves at the base of the immense bonfire pile, the lower sticks and branches caught fire, and within minutes it began to spread. I joined in with the crowd as we cheered our approval. Before long an immense bonfire was raging, the orange and red flames leaping up towards the inky sky, emitting a heat that warmed my face and lit the smiling countenances gathered around its circumference. We all sat admiring the conflagration, talking amongst ourselves and listening to the music.

During this interval, I could not prevent myself from glancing at Edward Taylor from time to time; once or twice, his dark eyes caught mine, and he smiled—a look which, as always, caused a thrill to run through me. I could not help but think about the rose petals; if I scattered them at midnight and made a wish, would he come to me the next day? If so, what might he say? My imagination rapidly went to work on this idea, but my musings were interrupted by my mother, who, having returned to the house to fetch her cloak, paused en route to her chair and said to me and Cassandra:

“The night air here is much cooler than we are accustomed to at home. You girls ought to have brought more than just those thin shawls; here are warmer ones.” She handed us two woollen shawls.

“Thank you, Mamma,” replied I, “that was very thoughtful of you; but sitting by the fire, I am quite warm.”

“I do not care how warm you
think
you feel; the damp grass will surely seep through that blanket and you could catch your death of cold. Do wrap yourself up without delay.”

“Yes, Mamma,” responded Cassandra. Although, from the look on my sister’s face, and the perspiration on her brow, I knew that she was equally as warm as me, we both obeyed my mother’s command.

“What do you think, girls? Ought we to have a bonfire at Steventon next year on Midsummer’s Eve?” remarked my mother, looking round with a contented smile. “It is very pleasant.”

“That would be a fine idea,” responded Cassandra.

“We shall have to ask your father what he thinks. Oh! How I miss him! We have been gone far too long, it feels like a year at least! We have had a delightful visit here, and I am happy we came, but how glad I am that we return to Godmersham two days hence, and soon after leave for home!” So saying, my mother moved on, resuming her seat beside Mrs. Payler by the fire.

Her words struck me, reminding me that my remaining time in Kent was very short indeed. In two days, I should be gone, with no idea when, or
if
, I should ever return. The thought of leaving my new friends saddened me—but more particularly, the melancholy realisation that I might never see Edward Taylor again caused moisture to gather in my eyes. I wiped away a tear; moments later, to my surprise, the young gentleman himself dropped onto the blanket beside me.

“Hello,” said he, his voice low and deep. “You have been very scarce this evening, and now you look unaccountably sad. What is the matter?”

His nearness caused my heart, as always, to beat more rapidly. Having no wish to tell him what was
really
on my mind, I replied: “I am sad about—what transpired earlier this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” He thought, then added: “Oh! You mean
the romantic problems of Fanny and Mr. Cage?”

“Yes; and also of Sophia and Mr. Deedes.”

“What happened is very distressing of course; but why should you take it so to heart, Miss Jane? They are grown people who can take care of themselves, and it was not your doing.”

“Oh! But it was,” replied I in some anguish. Since I had already told all to Fanny and Sophia, I knew that word would get out sooner or later—and so very quietly, in as succinct a manner as possible, I explained what I had done and why. To my relief, he did not appear to judge me, and when I was finished, said (quoting the Bard) with great seriousness:

“
The course of true love never did run smooth
. I had no idea all this was going on. I thought we were just doing a play! But I must point out: not everything that happened was your fault.”

I shook my head. “It was.”

“I beg to differ. You may have set the stage, so to speak, and made a few subtle suggestions here and there, but it was up to the players themselves to enact their parts, and they did so of their own free will. It was Fanny’s
choice
to flirt with Mr. Deedes; the manner in which Mr. Cage responded was
his
choice as well. Furthermore, not everything you did was detrimental. I believe our play had one very beneficial effect where Fanny is concerned.”

“What is that?”

“It seems to have awakened romantic feeling in her at last; for—from what you tell me—it was only when Fanny observed Mr. Cage making love to her sister on the stage, that she came to realise the strength of her
own
affections for
him
. For
that,
you should be congratulated.”

I laughed. “Thank you for your kind vote of support on my behalf, but that result was entirely unanticipated—indeed, it was the reverse of what I intended—and I can take no credit for it. I still feel responsible, for I indulged in machinations which were very wrong—but I have a plan to fix everything.”

“What is your plan?”

“First, we shall try a little magic at midnight.” I sifted through the petals in my basket, then glanced meaningfully at Fanny and Sophia, whose hands were idly engaged in the same activity.

His eyebrow lifted. “The old legend? Well, it
is
said that magic is at the height of its power on Midsummer’s Eve, and a good time to look into the future, particularly for young maidens seeking suitors.” He looked at me intently, and the expression in his dark eyes seemed to hint at something as yet unspoken.

I blushed and groped for words. “It is a whimsical notion; but I do not rely on magic alone.” I then revealed to him the rest of my plan: “I intend to ask my brother Edward to ride to Canterbury the first thing tomorrow morning, to speak to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes. If Edward tells them the truth of the young ladies’ affections, I believe—I
hope
—it will persuade both gentlemen to return to Goodnestone at once, to declare
their
feelings.”

“An excellent strategy. I wish I could assist with this mission of yours, or take it on myself, but tomorrow my aunt Payler is holding a birthday party for me at Ileden, so I really cannot leave—I hope you are coming?”

“Of course! I would not miss it for the world.”

He seemed pleased. His gaze was now drawn to my own basket, and he added, smiling, “Are
you
going to strew rose petals yourself?”

A blush took over my face; I grew so warm that I was obliged to remove my shawl from my shoulders. “If everyone else is doing so, I would not wish to be the only one left out.”

“Oh! Certainly not. It is as good a ritual as any, I am sure. Did you know that in some countries—in the kingdoms of Scandinavia in particular—Midsummer’s Eve is the most celebrated holiday apart from Christmas?”

“Is it really?”

“There, it is said that if an unmarried woman collects seven different flowers and places them under her pillow, she will dream of her future husband.”

“I had not heard of that.”

Our private interview was interrupted as Sophia leaned over, and inquired: “What did you say, Edward, about flowers under a pillow?”

He repeated his remark, which caught the attention of several others. Sophia laughed and said to Fanny, “Perhaps we ought to try that as well.”

“All this fuss about petals and flowers!” cried Elizabeth. “It is amusing but very silly. Why do we even celebrate Midsummer’s Eve? Does anyone know?”

“I do,” responded Edward Taylor. “Because Midsummer’s Day is my birthday, I have read up on it. From ancient times, it has been a festival of the summer solstice—the longest day of the year. The exact dates vary between different cultures, but because St. John the Baptist was born on 24 June, the Christian Church designated that as his feast-day, with the observance beginning the evening before. Some people believe that golden-flowered midsummer plants, such as St. John’s-wort and calendula, have miraculous healing powers if picked on this night. Just about every European country celebrates with the lighting of bonfires to protect against evil spirits, which were believed to roam freely when the sun was turning southward again.”

The conversation had reached the ears of our elders now. Lady Bridges, with a pinched look on her countenance, said:

“I am sure we do not care what they do in
other
countries
, Mr. Taylor.
English
traditions are the only thing of concern
here
.”

“I disagree,” remarked Admiral Fielding. “I find this all quite fascinating. What other rituals have you heard about, son—other than this rose petal thing?”

Lady Bridges frowned and lapsed into silence, as Edward Taylor continued:

“Well, witches were thought to meet with other powerful beings on Midsummer’s Eve. The bigger the fire, it is said, the farther the mischievous spirits stay away.”

“Thank God we have a big fire, then!” cried my brother Edward, his comment meeting with laughter from the crowd, whose attention was all focused on Edward Taylor now. The servants, too, appeared to be riveted by his story-telling.

“There is usually feasting and merry-making of course,” Edward Taylor went on. “In Bulgaria, it is thought that anyone seeing the sunrise will be healthy throughout the year. They have another curious tradition as well: they dance barefoot on smouldering embers.”

A chorus of voices cried out in horror at this prospect.

“I should like to see a demonstration of
that
,” cried one of the footmen, smiling.

“So should I,” agreed Christopher Payler. “Cousin Edward: will you dance barefoot on smouldering embers for us?”

Everyone laughed. Edward Taylor shook his head. “Thank you, Christopher; that is an interesting challenge, but one I think I shall decline.”

“Sensible boy,” commented Mr. Payler.

I was just thinking how commendable it was that Edward Taylor had declined such an awful dare (reflecting, I believed, a positive step in his personal growth), when he continued:

“It is a far more widespread tradition to jump over the flames.”

“Jump over the flames?” cried my mother. “Dear God! That sounds very dangerous.”

“You wait until it is safe, of course. The practice occurs in too many countries to count—Germany, Russia, Croatia, Spain, Greece—to jump over the flames on Midsummer’s Eve is seen as a way of guaranteeing prosperity and avoiding bad luck. In Spain, it is done three times while crying ‘
meigas fora
,’ which means ‘witches off!’”

“Jump over the flames for
us
, Cousin Edward!” urged Thomas Payler.

The group laughed again.

“We will have no such ridiculous displays here!” cried Lady Bridges. “Jumping over flames! I declare, I have never heard the like of it.”

Charlotte turned to her brother in dismay. “Why do you persist in challenging each other in this infantile manner, Thomas?”

Edward Taylor regarded his cousin from where he sat. “Are you daring me to jump over the flames, sir?”

“I am. A pound note says you cannot clear the fire without scorching yourself or your clothing.”

A great gasp went up at this.

Edward Taylor thought for a moment, and said: “I will do it for nothing—I will jump
three times
—if you will make the jump
once
yourself.”

I sighed and shook my head, dismayed. Did Edward Taylor learn nothing when Charles nearly fell from the tree? Did his apology following that debacle mean nothing? Here he was, debating another reckless challenge without a second thought!

Thomas hesitated. The two young men eyed each other, the gauntlet thrown. A tense silence reigned for a long moment.

One of the servants, his eyes wide, exclaimed: “This will be interesting.”

“Do it!” cried Brook Edward. “Do it, the both of you! Jump over the flames!”

A chant began, of youthful male voices repeating the challenge. I did not like the direction in which this was going. Although the fire had burned much lower now, it was yet hot and wide, the flames reaching perhaps two feet in height; to attempt to jump over it would be dangerous indeed. I agreed with Charlotte; it was childish, the way these two cousins baited each other. I was annoyed with Edward Taylor in particular. Why did he feel obliged to behave in such a manner? What was he trying to prove? Would Thomas rise to the challenge? I hoped not; if he said no, the matter would end there and then.

Thomas stood, and said quietly: “I will do it, if you go first.”

“Done!” replied Edward Taylor, rising with a smile.

I groaned inwardly, also leaping to my feet. “Mr. Taylor, we have spoken of such things before. It is reckless!”

He paused and shrugged slightly. “This marks one of those instances when reckless behaviour is called for: my reputation is at stake.” To the general assembly he cried, “Give me a moment to make ready.”

I sighed again, my heart hammering in my chest, as Edward Taylor traversed slowly all the way around the bonfire, studying it, as if taking a measure of its height and circumference in his mind. He then walked some little distance away, where he stretched his arms and legs, presumably in preparation for his exertion.