Jane Austen’s First Love (4 page)

The next day, I determined to satisfy my curiosity on particular points with regard to my brother’s intended bride. As we all sat down to an early dinner after church, with the butler and two footmen standing at the ready, I said:

“Edward, how did you meet Miss Elizabeth Bridges?”

“We have been acquainted with her family for many years.”

“It is only very recently, however,” put in Mrs. Knight, as she helped herself to a serving of roast goose from the proffered silver platter, “after Edward came home from his Grand Tour, that he and Miss Elizabeth became attached.”

“When I left for the Continent, Elizabeth was just a girl. When I saw her again, at an assembly at Canterbury last November—well.” A gleam came into Edward’s eyes, and his features softened. “Four years had changed her a great deal.” His affection for his fiancée shone plainly on his countenance; it made me smile.

My mother was more vociferous in her reaction, exclaiming in a scolding tone,

“Well! You might have written us something about her, Edward, before announcing your engagement so unexpectedly! But we are ever so pleased for you!” To the table at large, she said brightly, “It is plain to see that he is out of his head in love with her! And that is a good thing, for when you consider all the difficulties which can arise between a couple on the path of life, they ought to at least
begin
by being truly in love.”

This remark elicited a laugh from everyone at the table, and a blush from Edward, who lowered his eyes and concentrated on eating his meal.

“What can you tell us about the other members of the Bridges family?” said I to Mrs. Knight.

“Oh! I can tell you our house is dull and quiet compared to Goodnestone Park,” replied she. “
There
you will find young people of all ages running up and down the halls, and their parents have a right to be very proud of every single one.”

“Do I understand correctly that they have eleven children?” inquired my mother.

“They do. They have five sons all called Brook, and six daughters.”

“Five sons called Brook?” repeated I, aghast. “You are joking!”

“It is no joke,” replied Edward. “It is a fact.”

“But how amusing! Five sons called Brook, when tradition calls for only one! What a testament to the vanity of the father, to name every son after himself!”

“Jane!” admonished my mother with a reprimanding glare. “Think about what you are going to say before it comes out of your mouth!” (adding to the Knights) “Please forgive my daughter, she constantly embarrasses me, she speaks far too freely.”

I wanted to sink into the floor.

“You need not apologise, Mrs. Austen. I like a girl who speaks her mind. I find it refreshing.” Mrs. Knight’s eyes found mine as she sipped her wine, and her look was so kind and affable, I knew from that moment that I had found a friend. “I
do
comprehend why it would seem a mark of vanity for a man to name every son after himself. But there is a long family history behind the name Brook Bridges, dating back to well before the reign of Queen Elizabeth.”

“Sir Brook wanted to ensure that whoever inherited the estate,” explained Mr. Knight, “whether it be the eldest son or, in the great passage of time, any of his younger brothers, would always be called Brook Bridges. It turned out to be an excellent strategy, for they lost their first son young—he died ten years ago in a schoolyard accident at Eton—and one of their other boys died in infancy as well.”

“Oh. I see.” My cheeks grew crimson; I was truly mortified now by my outburst, and vowed to
try
to be more careful about what I said in future. “Does not it cause great confusion, though, to have every son named the same?”

“They are called by their middle names to distinguish them,” answered my brother Edward. “Brook Henry is called
Henry
, Brook John is called
John
, and so forth.”

“Will we meet them all when we go to Goodnestone on Saturday?” asked Cassandra.

“Not all,” replied Mr. Knight, “for their eldest son is away on the Grand Tour at present, and Henry, who was recently ordained, is obliged to begin his duties at his benefice at Danbury, Essex, this very month.”

“Sir Brook and Lady Bridges have no love for Eton after what happened to their first-born son,” added Mrs. Knight, “so the youngest three are being educated at home.”

“What are the daughters like?” asked I.

“They are all graceful, brown-haired beauties,” answered Mrs. Knight, “the eldest of whom were educated in town at a prestigious school in Queen Square, and came away very elegantly accomplished.”

“How long a drive is it to Goodnestone Park?” inquired my mother.

“About sixteen miles,” replied Mr. Knight.

“Sixteen miles!” cried my mother in dismay. “Well! That is a very long way indeed. I had no idea it was so far! And them expecting us in a week’s time! I am afraid we shall have to put off going a while longer, Mr. Knight, for after three days on the road, I have done with travelling and need to rest my stomach. I could not bear to see the inside of a conveyance for another fortnight at the very least.”

This idea was met with great disappointment and protest from Charles, my sister, and myself. As I pointed out to my mother, we had come all this way to meet the Bridgeses, and Elizabeth in particular; to put off our visit for another two weeks would nearly cut in half the length of our stay at Goodnestone.

“Besides, they are expecting us for dinner on Saturday,” I reminded her, “their annual strawberry-picking party is on Monday next, and the engagement ball is two nights later!”

“I am sorry Jane, but there is nothing for it. You know how ill I have been. While on the road, I could scarcely eat. Even now, I am afraid to take anything stronger than tea and toast, despite the many fine foods on offer at this table. With the state of the roads in this weather, sixteen miles could take three hours—and I assure you, another hour in a carriage would kill me.”

Mr. Knight, having only just returned from a long and tiring trip himself, was perfectly content to remain at home another ten days; his lady, however, seemed to read my distress, for she smiled softly, and said to her husband, “Certainly
we
cannot think of going anywhere until Mrs. Austen is well enough to travel—but surely Edward
must
go as scheduled. And as for the other young people—might we send them ahead on their own as well? We have entertained the Bridges girls here at Godmersham several times, without their parents being present. Lady Bridges said her children in particular are looking forward to meeting the young Austens in advance of the other guests, to have the opportunity to become acquainted.”

“A sensible notion, dearest,” replied Mr. Knight.

“Yes! Yes!” remarked my mother. “It is indeed an excellent solution, Mrs. Knight. Pray, write to Lady Bridges at once, and if she approves of the scheme, let us send the young people on before us.”

The described message was sent by post, and a few days later, we were all gathered in the parlour, when a servant brought in a letter for Mrs. Knight. It was from Lady Bridges, expressing her approbation of the proposed plan, and her expectation of our arrival on Saturday at noon, with my mother and the Knights to follow on the morning of the ball. I was thrilled by this turn of events, and looked forward eagerly to our visit.

The week at Godmersham passed quickly and quietly, as if in a dream. Everywhere one looked, there was something beautiful to meet the eye, from the house and furnishings to the prospects from every window. The food and wine were plentiful and excellent in quality, and there was ice with every meal—a real delicacy which we never got at home, and which I knew only the very rich could afford in summer. The weather was not cooperative, with several days of thunder-showers preventing us from making an excursion to Canterbury to visit the renowned cathedral, but I did not mind, for I found a good book in the library and a warm place by the hearth, where I passed many long and happy hours. Whenever the sun made an appearance, my sister, Charles, and I took lovely long walks, exploring the park, the river, and the Greek Temple on a distant eminence, all of which we found delightful.

On our last day the skies opened up again, the rain continuing long into the night, drumming against the window-panes with such ferocity that it awakened me several times. I worried that our trip would be delayed after all; but to my relief, we awakened to clearing skies and the singing of birds. Mrs. Knight was concerned that the roads might be too dirty to travel, but her husband assured her that his chaise was a sturdy vehicle, and the horses were so familiar with every turning of the route, as to be able to traverse it safely and expeditiously.

Edward was so anxious to see his lady love that Mr. Knight gave him leave to ride off with his servant an hour ahead of us, insisting that his postillion would take very proper care of the three of us.

To Goodnestone, therefore, we were to go.

Cassandra and I admired the picturesque country-side as we drove along, while Charles was more enthralled by the manner in which the liveried postillion, rising so regularly in his stirrups, handled the pair of horses.

It was very muddy in spots, yet we made good progress. We had been on our way about two hours when we came to a long and lovely stretch of luxuriant woods, in which the tall, leafy trees at the road-side met overhead, forming a kind of tunnel. After some time passing through this pretty and secluded section, we suddenly burst out into a pleasant, open country dotted with grazing sheep. I immediately observed a lane leading across a vast field towards a distant grove, through which I could perceive the upper story and gabled roof-top of an immense, modern mansion house with a white stone façade, two elegant wings, and many chimneys.

“Sir!” cried I to the postillion through the open window, over the soft plodding of the horses’ hooves and the gentle jangle of their harnesses, “what house is that?”

“That be Bifrons, miss,” said he loudly in return, “the residence of Edward Taylor, Esquire; been in the Taylor family for generations, Bifrons has.”

“For generations?” commented Cassandra to me in surprise. “From what little I can perceive, it appears to be very new.”

“It looks very new!” echoed I to the postillion.

“It is, miss! The first house stood here since Elizabethan times, and all red brick it was, and grown very old. The Reverend Mr. Taylor had it all rebuilt in the newer style some fifteen years past, and very grand it is. The manor house is let out to tenants at present, as the reverend and most of his family be out of the country.”

“Did you say the
Reverend
Edward Taylor?” inquired I.

“Yes, miss. It seems he succeeded to Bifrons upon the death of his brother.”

“The house looks even bigger than Godmersham,” remarked Charles in awe.

“If only there were not so many trees blocking the way,” murmured I. “I long for a better view of the place.”

Here ended this conversation, for our journey was abruptly interrupted by events of an unexpected and catastrophic nature.

We were proceeding down a small incline, the horses moving at a round trot, when I felt a queer jarring, as if one of the animals had stumbled. The vehicle began shaking dramatically to and fro, and then to our consternation it pitched to one side, sank with a heavy jolt, and came to rest at an alarming angle, leaving all within in a state of extreme unbalance.

“What happened?” exclaimed Charles, as we all struggled to remain upright in the injured vehicle.

Looking out the window, I replied: “It appears as though we have fallen into a deep and muddy rut.”

“Oh dear,” said Cassandra, very worried.

The postillion dismounted and glanced in at us. “Is anybody hurt?”

My brother and sister shook their heads.

“No, sir,” said I.

With a grunt, he returned to the fore, where he stood in silence, surveying the situation and frowning deeply.

“Should we get out?” asked Charles.

“I think not,” replied Cassandra. “It is so dirty. We had best wait and see what he wishes for us to do.”

Still on foot, the postillion picked up the reins and spoke sharply to the horses, urging them forward; but although they strained and pulled, the chaise did not move. A few minutes passed thus engaged, with no more promising outlook. I was feeling very discouraged, and wondering how we should ever be liberated from the mire, when I heard the sound of horses approaching.

Through the window of the chaise, I caught sight of two riders coming towards us across the empty fields. As they drew nearer, I became aware of their distinguishing features. They were young men, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age, and from the quality of their clothes, hats, and tall leather boots, and the way they held themselves in the saddle, I knew them to be the sons of gentlemen. The first had a ruddy countenance which, although pleasing, was not regular enough to be called handsome.

My full attention, however, was directed at the young man riding beside him, who was so good-looking as to make it difficult to look away.