Read The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen Online
Authors: Syrie James
The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (35 page)
“Dr. Watkins. I am honoured by your proposal, and grateful to you for extending it. But this is all so sudden and unexpected—it has been many weeks since we last saw or spoke to one another—”
“Yes, it has; yet I sensed—when we were last together, you gave me reason to believe that my feelings are reciprocated.”
Her blush deepened as she groped for words.
Seeing her response, he stepped back in frustration. “Forgive me; I should not have descended on you so abruptly. I have been too direct, too open.”
“I assure you, sir, that is
not
the case. I appreciate directness and openness, almost more than any other qualities.”
He started at this, and changed colour himself; then
resumed, without looking at her, “Well then, it was poor manners on my part. Perhaps I should have first applied to your father, to seek his permission, before addressing you. I promise to do so directly. Will Mr. Stanhope be in this evening?”
“I believe he will, sir. But—”
“I shall return. Pray tell him to expect me at eight o’clock. I wish you a very pleasant day.” So saying, Dr. Watkins replaced his hat on his head and hastily left the room. A moment later, she heard the sound of the front door to the house closing behind him.
Overcome by emotion, Rebecca sank into a chair. For several minutes she remained thus, so astonished that she could not move. She had received offers before, over which she had not expended an ounce of energy in declaring her decision; this, however, was different. Dr. Watkins had presumed her hesitation to be founded on a break in decorum, but that was unfounded—gentlemen were not
required
to ask the father’s permission before courting or proposing to a woman, and based on her recent experience, clearly
many
did not. No;—the problem lay in a different quarter entirely: she truly had no idea how she felt.
Too unsettled to remain indoors, Rebecca retrieved her hat and shawl and went out for a long walk to St. James’s Square and back, which time she spent in deep reflection. She was conscious of the importance of this moment in her life; that her future lay dangling before her. If she said yes, she would have a house in London, and an end to her and her father’s financial woes. She believed it her duty to tell Dr. Watkins the terrible news she had learned about her father. Once he knew, would he still want to marry her? And if so, did
she
want to marry him?
She recalled her discussion with Sarah, regarding her hopes and expectations on the subject of matrimony. Did she love Dr. Watkins? She had always presumed that if she and a man were truly in love, she would know it with conviction, in the very depths of her being; that a connection should exist which allowed them to be completely honest and open with each other, and drew them closer than to any other living being; that to be
with him
should make her feel happier and more complete, than to be without him; that she should care more for
his
happiness than she did for her own; and that he must feel the same way about her.
Did
he
feel all those things? Did she?
Rebecca looked back on the few occasions which she had spent in Dr. Watkins’s company, and began to perceive certain of his actions from a different point of view. When he deliberately stole her away from Mr. Spangle and took her out on the lake, she had been flattered and amused; yet she knew it was selfish and rude to their host. Dr. Watkins, however, had felt no guilt at all. He had spoken unkindly about her friend Amelia, until she had begged him not to. Upon discovering that her father delighted in an anonymous gift, Dr. Watkins had deliberately allowed them to believe
he
had sent it, just as he had wished her to think they intuitively shared a certain preference in literature. Would a true gentleman have behaved thus? No;—he would not.
A true gentleman proved his character and worth not with words, but by his deeds, her father had said. Dr. Watkins had many charms, and she had been captivated by them for a while; but with sudden clarity, Rebecca realised that she had never felt any truly
deep
regard for him. It had been merely a flirtation. She was not—and never had been—in love.
Rebecca returned to the house in a state of great disquiet. She would refuse his offer. Since there would be no connection between them, she was not obliged to reveal her father’s secret. Before Dr. Watkins called that evening, she must think of the proper words with which to respond. She hoped that her answer would not cause him pain.
Upon entering the house, however, she received intelligence which sent these ideas scattering to the winds. It came in the form of a newly arrived letter, which lay waiting on the entry hall table. Rebecca caught it up, her spirits rising at the direction therein inscribed: it was from Amelia! Having not heard from her friend these many weeks, Rebecca was very interested in what she might have to relate, and hastened upstairs to read the missive.
Grafton Hall
My dearest Rebecca,
I know what you are thinking: that I am the world’s worst correspondent. You have sent me two lovely, long letters, and only now am I replying! You will forgive me when you hear the reason behind the delay. My aunt has been very ill. She has kept to her bed this past fortnight. I have attended her with the devotion of a true daughter, which she avowed yesterday has always been the light in which she holds me. I cannot tell you how I cried at hearing those words from her parched lips! In truth, I do not mind very much when she is ill, for she is then less likely to scold and command me to do things which I dislike or find extremely tedious. However, on this occasion, I have been truly worried. Thank goodness Dr. Samuel Watkins has returned from town. He has been here every single day. He says it is a nervous weakness of the liver, and that bleeding, cupping, and his prescribed medicines will almost certainly restore her
to her former state of health. When I look at her, though, and see how vastly pale and weak she has become after his treatments, I do not hold out much hope.
I cannot tell you how much your letters have meant to me, during this time of trial. I wish I could be at Bath with you—or better yet, London! It is so dull here in the country. How I miss the theatre and concerts! How delightful it would be to attend a fancy ball with more than twelve couple! But even a country life can be made tolerable, by the society of a particular friend (of course I mean you), and by a relationship with a man of whom one is very fond. Perhaps you have guessed where this statement is leading, and to whom I refer? If not, all the better, for we did take great pains to be discreet! But now that you are safely away at Bath, I am at last at liberty to reveal the truth about a circumstance of which I have been positively dying to tell you, ever since we met on Main Street!
You seemed shocked that I could never feel any thing for Brook Mountague, but I cannot help it; he disgusts me; and there can never be any thing between us. There is more. Rebecca dearest: I am promised to another. Dr. Jack Watkins and I have had a secret understanding for nearly a year now. We are passionately in love! I would die for him! Do you remember the locket you found in my drawer? The lock of hair is Dr. Watkins’s, not Brook’s; I sleep with it every night under my pillow, and sometimes, I long for him so desperately, I cry myself to sleep. But of this, naturally, I can say nothing to any one, particularly my aunt. She would never approve of my relationship with a physician. She has made it clear that I will marry Brook, or not get a penny of her money. So Dr. Watkins and I have been forced to keep our feelings private, and be patient. When she dies, I will inherit every thing, and then I shall be free to marry whomsoever I choose.
Dr. Watkins’s attentions to you during your stay in Medford were all a pretence. He insisted that it would throw my aunt off the
scent. It was unnerving to be forced to watch my own lover flirt openly with you—at times I was very out of sorts—and I could not help but see that you appeared to develop a regard for him—but what woman could not, for is he not the most handsome man alive? Am I not the luckiest woman in the world? Am I correct in my suspicion, that it was he from whom you expected a proposal on the night of our ball, rather than Mr. Spangle?
How I laugh when I think of it—how cleverly we concealed our plot—not even you, my dearest friend, guessed the truth! I trust that your disappointment was not too great, and no harm was done; for now that you are in Bath, and have so many handsome, landed gentlemen throwing themselves at your feet, I am sure you have quite forgotten a country doctor! Not that he will need to be a physician any more after we are married, and Grafton Hall is ours. Of course you must promise not to breathe a word of this to any one, for you know how quickly gossip spreads; I trust I can rely on your discretion. Now I must put this in the post, and return to my aunt’s bedside. Dr. Watkins (senior) bled her again this morning, and she is very weak. Whether she is meant to pass from this earth to-night, or tomorrow, or will live another year entire, is in God’s hands; in the mean time, I am resolved to remain strong and uncomplaining, and wait until that day when Dr. Watkins (junior) and I can be together for ever. Write to me as soon as ever you receive this! I wish I could see your new pink silk gown, it sounds divine. I long to hear more of the red-haired gentleman you met at the ball.
Your affectionate friend, Amelia Davenport
Rebecca’s feelings, as she read this letter, can scarcely be described. At first, she was concerned to learn of Mrs. Harcourt’s illness, and distressed by Amelia’s callous view of the matter. When she read the third paragraph, however,
she leapt to her feet, and exclaimed, “Good God! I do not believe it! It cannot be!”
That Amelia Davenport (who, to all her family’s expectations, had long been intended for her cousin Brook Mountague) should have had a secret understanding with Dr. Jack Watkins—for nearly a year! It was inconceivable! Rebecca had never once suspected such a thing. She was horror-struck—incredulous. Was there any chance, she wondered, that it was untrue? After some thought, she decided that it must be so; for why should Amelia fabricate such a story? Further proof presented itself when she recalled the manner in which Jack Watkins had started and blushed that very morning, when she related how much she appreciated directness and openness. He must have been thinking of the lies he had told her, and was ashamed. And yet, Rebecca thought with increased perturbation, if it
was
all true—if Dr. Watkins
was
promised to Amelia—then why did he just propose to
her
?
Rebecca paced back and forth, her mind in a tumult, and divided between three things: her prior conversations with Dr. Watkins and Amelia, in which they had both expressed their contempt for each other—statements which she now realised had all been the grossest falsehoods, deliberate instruments of their deceit; small moments when she had observed the two of them in interaction, which now took on new meaning (such as the way Amelia had behaved on the day of the boating party, when Dr. Watkins had taken Rebecca out on the lake; and the ankle injury Amelia had feigned the day of the ball—no doubt to facilitate a need for Dr. Watkins’s attentions); and the offer of marriage which Dr. Watkins had just made, which was unaccountable.
With regard to the first two ideas, in reviewing Amelia’s behaviour, Rebecca grew very angry. How could
Amelia (whom Rebecca had thought her friend!) have silently allowed this charade to go on, with no regard for Rebecca’s growing feelings? How cruel! How disingenuous! That no permanent injury had been inflicted on
her
, with regard to Dr. Watkins, came as a relief; however, it did not excuse Amelia’s conduct, for in secretly consorting with another man, Amelia had inflicted injury on both Mr. Mountague
and
their aunt. Moreover—and far worse—was Amelia’s admission with regard to her feelings for that very aunt. To think that Amelia had deliberately kept her proposed suitor, Mr. Mountague, in the dark, while lying in wait like a vulture for Mrs. Harcourt’s demise—all the while intending to marry Dr. Watkins, the moment she received her inheritance. Shocking! Abominable! Despicable!
When Rebecca moved on to consider Dr. Watkins’s part in the equation, she became very perplexed. She could not comprehend it. If all that Amelia purported was true, then he was a veritable scoundrel. Yet he had seemed so sincere in his expression of love to her. Surely, a man of his calibre would not propose to a woman on a whim—particularly if he was already promised to another. Could Amelia somehow be mistaken in her conception of their relationship? Were they really, truly
engaged
? Even though Rebecca did not want Jack Watkins, she wanted to learn the truth behind the affair. She required an explanation from
him
—and she hoped that he would have something to say in his own defence, which would make her think better of him.
All during dinner, while her father and Mr. and Mrs. Newgate chatted animatedly, Rebecca scarcely heard a word that was said. Her gaze kept returning to the clock on the mantel. Mrs. Newgate, noticing Rebecca’s distracted manner, and having heard from the maid about Rebecca’s visitor,
teased her unmercifully about her secret beau, and begged for full disclosure. Rebecca only replied that the gentleman in question was expected at eight o’clock, and that she would be most grateful to be allowed a private interview. This request prompted raised eyebrows from the men, and additional quizzing from her hostess; but every one agreed to make themselves scarce at the appointed hour.
