The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (33 page)

“Not at all. It is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Clifton,” replied Rebecca. Her friends did not seem to discern any thing unnatural in her expression, which she hoped was gracious; but on Mr. Clifton’s countenance, she read his full understanding of her feelings, and his consciousness of the last, unhappy words which had been spoken between them.

“Is not your father joining us?” inquired he.

Rebecca explained why Mr. Stanhope was obliged to miss the outing, and how sorry he was. Mr. Clifton looked disappointed; both he and the young ladies communicated their sincere regrets and well-wishes, and the four turned southwards, out of the city.

Miss Russell, with a bright smile, asked if she might take Mr. Clifton’s arm, and then immediately took possession of
said limb, making any reply unnecessary. The pair took the lead, leaving Rebecca to walk a few steps behind with her friend. They began in the same direction formerly taken to Beechen Cliff, but then diverged onto a foot-path.

“The valleys of Lyncombe and Widcombe are very beautiful,” promised Miss Clifton. “I think this one of the prettiest walks outside of Bath.”

They fell into conversation, the better part consisting of the surprise and joy with which Miss Clifton and her parents had received her brother’s unexpected visit, and a recounting of what they had discussed the night before.

“Philip had a great deal to say about the people of Elm Grove, whom he seems to admire very much. He was in a glow all evening; Laura could not take her eyes off him. She has liked him, you know, ever since she moved into the neighbourhood when we were sixteen, and now declares she will marry nobody else.”

“Does he return her affections?” asked Rebecca.

“I feel certain he does. He is kind and attentive to her, and in his letters to me, never fails to send her his best regards. Now that he is settled with a house and a good income, it would not surprise me if they were wed by this time next year.”

Rebecca had little time to reflect upon this statement; for at that moment, Mr. Clifton paused and said to Miss Russell,

“I have monopolized your company long enough, Laura. I know my sister would love to talk with you. Shall we exchange walking partners?”

Miss Russell looked dismayed; but Miss Clifton, smiling, said, “An excellent notion.”

Mr. Clifton left the former’s side, walked directly to Rebecca, and offered his arm; which, not wishing to embarrass or offend his
sister, she took after some hesitation. In an instant, the two new parties moved ahead.

They were traversing a meadow, on a foot-path only wide enough for two. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, the air was mild, and the landscape serene. For some time, the only sounds which reached Rebecca’s ears were the bleating of sheep, the twitter of birds in the trees, and the tramp of their own feet. She was bewildered as to why Mr. Clifton had sought out her company, if he was not to speak; but she was determined to be polite to him.

“I understand your visit to Bath was unexpected, Mr. Clifton?”

“Yes. I decided to come on very short notice.”

“I hope you are here for pleasure and to see your family, and not for any reasons of ill health?”

He looked surprised. “Thank you; you are very kind. I remain in good health. I am happy to see my sister and my parents, although that was not my motive in travelling hither.”

“No?”

“No. I came to see you.”

“Me?”

“My sister had mentioned in her correspondence that you were here.”

They walked on. Rebecca was too astonished to speak further, yet bursting with curiosity—why on earth Mr. Clifton should be compelled to travel to Bath to see
her
, consuming all her thoughts. At last, he said,

“Miss Stanhope: I find that I owe you an apology.”

This pronouncement was equally unexpected. “Indeed, sir?”

“The last time we spoke, on the night of the ball at Grafton
Hall, you accused me of committing an act not out of generosity, but with a selfish purpose: to assuage my own conscience. When I sent that book for which your father had expressed a desire, I thought I was simply doing him a kindness. It did not occur to me to view the act in any other light, until my cousin brought it up that evening. But upon further reflection, I saw that both he—and you—were right. I did have more of my own self-interest at heart in the matter, than his.”

Rebecca looked at him. This was, in her recollection, the lengthiest speech Mr. Clifton had ever made to her; and the substance of it was very gratifying. “Thank you, Mr. Clifton. It is noble of you to share these thoughts. But surely, you did not come all the way to Bath, just to tell me that?”

“No; indeed, I have a matter of far greater consequence to impart.” A pause succeeded, as he seemed to collect his thoughts. “I considered writing to your father about this, for it concerns him as well—but it is a personal matter, and I thought—I think—that some things are best said in person. I had hoped to speak to you
both
to-day—but I trust you will repeat what I say for his benefit.” He paused again. “No doubt you can guess the subject to which I refer?”

“I confess I cannot, sir. Unless, in some way, it involves the—the circumstances of my father’s resignation?”

“Exactly so.” With a steadiness of manner and calmness of tone, Mr. Clifton went on. “What I wish to communicate is this: when I took over as rector at Elm Grove, I believed I was doing the community a service. I had no reason to question my uncle’s depiction of Mr. Stanhope. I accepted the position on offer with gratitude—only a fool would have done otherwise—and I considered it as the most natural of progressions. However, when you defended your father so
unequivocally that night over cards, and insisted that the church’s money had been stolen, not gambled away—an idea which my uncle had never mentioned—I began to question my uncle’s motives. At the party at Finchhead Downs, when I fell into conversation with Mr. Stanhope, I found that I liked him very much. He seemed to me an honourable and decent gentleman. I came away wondering: could he have been telling the truth about the money’s loss? After you and I spoke at the ball, the subject would not leave my mind. So I decided to delve into it.”

Rebecca’s heart beat faster; she was all attention. “What did you do?”

“Upon my return to Elm Grove, I spoke with the servants at the rectory. To a man and woman, they showed only the highest regard for their former master and his daughter.” He gave her a brief smile. “They insisted that Mr. Stanhope was the most scholarly, good-hearted, and charitable man in the world. He may have liked to drop a few farthings at the card-table, they said, but he would never stoop to
serious
gambling.”

“How good of them to say so.”

“I spread my inquiry further amongst the community. Although reticent at first to impart any thing which might make me feel unwelcome, all, at length, came round to sing the praises of their former clergyman. If any one was in trouble and needed a helping hand, Mr. Stanhope was only too glad to lend—or give—the required sum. I found it difficult to believe that a man of such a selfless and giving nature, would so betray his parishioners’ trust. Several admitted that they thought it very hard he had been obliged to resign, just because that money went missing. ‘
Missing
,’ said Mr. Coulthard, with absolute conviction. ‘
Missing, sir, but never gambled away
,
I promise you: that money was stolen.
’ I asked myself: could he be right?”

Mr. Clifton paused, for they had now reached a narrow, shallow stream, and he insisted, in a most gentlemanlike manner, in assisting all three young ladies over the well-placed stepping-stones which crossed it. Rebecca was all anticipation, awaiting a continuance of their discourse.

As they resumed their walk in their established pairs, Mr. Clifton went on, “When I confronted my uncle with the reports I had received, he admitted, rather shamefaced, that he may have
overemphasized the gambling charge a bit
—those were his very words—as an excuse to let Mr. Stanhope go, so that he might make good on his promise to give
me
a living. You can imagine, Miss Stanhope, what agony I felt, upon making these discoveries—and how I blamed
myself
for all the pain which you and your father have suffered on my account.”

Mr. Clifton spoke with such animation and sincerity, and was so obviously distressed, that any ill-will towards him which had formerly been lodged in Rebecca’s mind and heart, began immediately to soften and dissolve. She had presumed Mr. Clifton to be selfish, cold, and indifferent; yet it seemed he had only been blinded through his devotion to his uncle, and that he did indeed suffer deep feelings.

“Mr. Clifton: I thank you,” said she slowly. “Your report relieves my mind on many matters, and I am grateful and honoured for the effort you have gone to on my father’s behalf. But pray, do not take the entire responsibility for our troubles on yourself. Your uncle was the instigator of true evil in this affair.”

“I am equally at fault, for I should not have accepted my uncle’s offer without questioning his intentions. And if you
will permit me, Miss Stanhope, I intend to redress this wrong, by seeking the proof of what occurred on the night in question.”

“Proof? How do you propose to accomplish that, sir?”

“By appealing to the innkeeper, where your father passed the night, the last time that money was in his possession. Can you tell me, Miss Stanhope, where your father broke his journey, on his way to London?”

“He stayed at the King’s Arms, at Leatherhead, Surrey.”

“I shall write to the innkeeper this very evening, and see what I can learn. If it is at all within my power, I intend to set things right.”

C
HAPTER
XII

After Mr. Clifton’s declaration, so choked was Rebecca with emotion and new-found hope, that she could only utter a quiet, “Thank you, sir,” and it was some minutes before she could speak again. Mr. Clifton, seemingly aware of her distress, maintained a respectful silence as they walked along.

They soon reached Widcombe. Although it offered a charming view of the manor-house, parsonage, and church, their visit was cut short by Miss Russell, who complained that she was tired, and wished to return to Bath at once, with Mr. Clifton’s arm to lean upon. They exchanged walking partners and immediately turned back.

Miss Clifton was curious to know of what Rebecca and Mr. Clifton had been speaking. Rebecca discovered, with gratitude, that he had been very discreet regarding
the particulars concerning herself and her father, with regard to their removal from Elm Grove. Now believing there to be no reason to conceal any thing, she informed Miss Clifton of the whole of the affair. Her friend expressed shock and regret over all that had transpired to date, and shared in the hopes that with her brother’s intervention, the matter should be soon resolved in a satisfactory manner.

As they said their good-byes outside the Newgates’ house, Mr. Clifton explained that he must return to Elm Grove in two days’ time. Miss Clifton invited Rebecca and her father to join them all at the theatre the following evening, and she readily agreed.

No sooner was Rebecca in the door than, finding her father alone in the parlour, she eagerly told him every thing which Mr. Clifton had related that morning. Mr. Stanhope was thrilled beyond expression.

“I pray, papa, that Mr. Clifton’s efforts will be successful; that somehow, he will find a way to establish your innocence.”

“It is almost too much to hope for,” replied Mr. Stanhope. But for the first time in months, Rebecca saw a gleam of hope in his eyes.

As she lay in bed that night, Rebecca’s mind was full of the day’s events, and her feelings were in turmoil. In a single day, her view of Mr. Clifton had altered considerably. He had gone to great effort to learn the truth about her father. She appreciated all his explanations and apologies. Mr. Clifton was, she realised, an intelligent, thoughtful, and sensitive man. She wondered at herself, that she had never been aware of these qualities in the past. She saw him now as a friend and ally. Even more overwhelming was the new-found
possibility, that he might be able to learn some information which might clear her father’s name. Oh! If only it could be so! Eagerly, she looked forward to speaking with him again.

However, at the theatre the following evening, Miss Russell monopolized Mr. Clifton’s attention before the performance and during the interval, and it was not until the play ended, that Rebecca and Mr. Stanhope at last secured a moment to converse with Mr. Clifton in the lobby.

“I wanted to express my gratitude, sir,” said Mr. Stanhope, “for all you have done so far on my and my daughter’s behalf. It was very good of you.”

“It was both my duty and my pleasure, sir.”

“I wish to thank you in particular,” added Rebecca, “for seeking us out in Bath to explain your findings.”

“I hope to have even better news for you in the very near future,” replied Mr. Clifton. “As soon as I know any thing, I shall write to my sister.”

They said good-night, and went their separate ways.