The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (44 page)

“Why not?” asked Rebecca.

“They saw it as an underpaid and undervalued profession. To them, it meant spending my life in some tiny, isolated village,
cut off from the world half the year by muddy roads and floods, without the congenial companionship of any other educated family. This was not their idea of my future. They had more exalted plans for me. They wanted glory and excitement. They wanted me to go into the army.”

“The army?” repeated Rebecca. So accustomed was she to thinking of Mr. Clifton as a minister, she had difficulty imagining him in any other role.

“You may well sound surprised. It would not have been a good fit. But for most of my life, they were so insistent on this point, that it was my expectation as well. Then I saw my brother go off to Oxford, and I envied him. Not his
position
in life—I was very content to make my own way in the world, on my own merit—I envied him only the advantage of higher education which was afforded by family tradition to the eldest son.”

“How well I understand you,” said Rebecca, who envied that very education herself.

“Learning is like a hunger for me,” continued Mr. Clifton. “The world is such a vast and fascinating place. A lifetime is not long enough to understand and explore its many wonders. I told my father that I wanted to attend university, but he protested that it was an unnecessary expense—what did an army officer need with reading Greek and Latin, and science and the classics?”

Rebecca nodded with compassion, for the first time understanding how this might have contributed to Mr. Clifton’s moodiness and quiet reserve while growing up.

“I wanted to make my mother and father happy, so I was determined to go along with their desires.”

“What changed your mind?” asked Mr. Stanhope.

“My father was about to buy a commission for me. While
on holiday that summer, I became acquainted with two men who were serving in a nearby regiment, and saw what their lives were like.—They were itinerant, often involved in the lowest, most immoral, and boisterous kinds of activities, and constantly joking about war and their expectations of the glories of battle. I knew that this was not for me. I informed my mother and father that I was resolved to becoming ordained, and if they would not pay for my education, I would find some one else who would. Eventually, they came round to the idea.”

“Your first curacy, before you came to Elm Grove—was it a fulfilling position?” inquired Mr. Stanhope.

Mr. Clifton’s lips twitched in the effort to hold back a smile. “It fulfilled my parents’ every nightmare. It was the tiniest, most provincial backwater imaginable, and the pay was very low. But I liked the people for their honesty and simplicity, and I quite enjoyed the work—just as I enjoyed my time here.”

“Have you found another benefice?” asked Rebecca.

“No, not yet. I will be sorry to leave Elm Grove, but—” (smiling at Mr. Stanhope)—“happy in the knowledge that I leave it in the very best of hands.”

“What would you say to staying, Mr. Clifton?” asked Mr. Stanhope.

“Sir?”

“I could not bear to see you leave without the guarantee of new employment. I am not entirely recovered from my indisposition, and another pair of hands would be a welcome addition. If you like, you may remain as curate and assist me for as long as it takes, until such time as you find another appointment.”

Mr. Clifton was surprised and grateful. “Thank you, sir. I accept with pleasure.”

The two men shook hands. Rebecca felt all the happiness of the moment, and fairly glowed with pleasure at the knowledge that Mr. Clifton would be staying on.

The next few days were very busy, with members of the community coming to call, to welcome back their rector and his daughter, and to express their good wishes. One of the first visitors was Sir Percival, who came with his hat in hand, seemingly very ashamed, and offering his most sincere apologies for the events which had transpired. He returned all the money Mr. Stanhope had given him, which had been meant to replace the stolen funds. Furthermore, he granted him ten acres of farmland to add to his living. Mr. Stanhope readily forgave his patron, and their friendship resumed as it had been before, with one exception: the rector had so lost his taste for betting of any sort, that he could no longer stomach the notion of any game of cards other than Whist, Cribbage, Casino, and Quadrille.

Rebecca had not been home a week when a letter arrived from Sarah, which contained astonishing information.

Medford Vicarage

Even Rebecca’s prior knowledge of the pair’s secret understanding could not prepare her for the surprise of
this
intelligence, which gave rise to such a rush of contradictory feelings, that a full hour’s walk in the garden was required
before she could regain a sense of tranquillity. “A governess!” she repeated over and over to herself. Rebecca could think of no worse fate for Amelia.

She reported the news to her father and Mr. Clifton, who shared her amazement. All were relieved to hear of Mrs. Harcourt’s recovery, and much discussion was given over to a review of the villains’ behaviour, which they agreed was shameless.

“My heart bleeds for the young lady whom I so recently considered a friend, and with whom I once passed so many happy hours,” said Rebecca, “but when I recall the deceit which lay behind that friend’s every word and expression, the lack of concern she harboured for my feelings, and the despicable manner in which she treated her own aunt, my heart hardens anew.”

There being no longer any reason to withhold the information, Rebecca admitted that she had learned of the secret liaison earlier; that, after Dr. Watkins proposed to her, he had expressed dissatisfaction with his career choice; and that her refusal may have prompted him to start the unfortunate rumour at Bath.

Mr. Clifton, disgusted by the doctor’s conduct, admitted that while at Oxford, he had been acquainted with Jack Watkins;—the man had been known as something of a rake. It seemed to Rebecca that, considering every thing, Dr. Watkins had got off rather too easily. Mr. Stanhope reminded her that one’s future was one’s own reward, and in the end, Dr. Watkins was obliged to live with himself.

The month of December passed away. With great relish, Mr. Stanhope resumed the work he had always loved. There was much to be done in the parish, and Mr. Clifton carried out his duties devotedly, proving to be a great asset to
the rector. Rebecca, happy to be home, fell into her former, agreeable routine, practising her music daily, walking, reading, visiting and sewing for the parish poor, and once again teaching several of the village children to read. Christmas came and went, bringing Sarah and Charles and their children for their promised visit. During this time, Mr. Clifton went home to see his own family, and Rebecca found that she missed him very much.

In January, an unexpected event occurred on the matrimonial front. Sarah wrote to say that Mr. Spangle had wed Miss Cecelia Wabshaw, and she and her twin sister had both moved into Finchhead Downs.

“For the life of me, I cannot tell you which twin he has married,” Rebecca said to Mr. Clifton, upon reporting the information, “but whoever it is, I believe they are perfectly suited to one another.”

“I hope, with all my heart,” said he, “that Mr. Spangle will come to think of his new bride as well as he did of his last—and that her sister will make a welcome third.”

In the same missive, Sarah offered further information as to what had become of Amelia: Mrs. Harcourt had found her a position as a governess in Shropshire, had sent her off with only five guineas and the clothes on her back, and refused to speak to or hear about her ever again.

A fortnight later, Rebecca received a letter from Amelia herself.

Batley Gables