The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (45 page)

The contents of this letter made Rebecca smile and shake her head. In reply, she wrote such comforting words as she could devise, without laying blame, correcting untruths, or uttering a chastisement, for it seemed to her that Amelia was suffering enough already.

C
HAPTER
IX

The new bells, a project which had been abandoned upon Mr. Stanhope’s departure from Elm Grove, were again discussed, and Mr. Stanhope and Mr. Clifton together made a successful journey to the foundry, where they commissioned the work to begin.

With Mr. Clifton residing at the rectory, Rebecca saw him every day. They had all their meals together, took walks together, and with the company of Mr. Stanhope, spent
their evenings talking, listening to music, and reading aloud to each other. This enforced proximity brought them ever closer. Rebecca found him to be the most solicitous of men, always thinking of her or her father’s needs before his own, and often surprising them with little acts of kindness. She had never met a more considerate and thoughtful person than he. She discovered that they had many thoughts and views in common, and those subjects on which they disagreed were always opened up to lively and satisfying debate. She felt as if she could talk to Mr. Clifton for ever, and not run out of things to say. It amazed her that the man with whom she now spoke so easily and with such enjoyment, could truly be the same Mr. Clifton who had, for so many years, been so quiet and aloof in her presence.

Rebecca soon felt as if they had been friends for ever, and when another month had gone by, she began to recognise in herself ever stronger signs and feelings of attachment. This dawning came upon her so gradually, that it was not until one evening as she and her father sat before the fire listening to Mr. Clifton read aloud from Shakespeare, that she was all at once struck by the full force of feeling which had overtaken her heart.

She loved Mr. Clifton! She had been in love with him for many months now! Every nerve in her body thrilled with transport at this sudden knowledge. She cast a veiled glance at him, heart pounding, wondering if he suspected, and if he felt the same.

Rebecca had little time to consider her new feelings, however, or to contemplate when and where they might carry her, for the very next day, she was obliged to travel to Medford to assist in her sister’s lying-in. On the fourth of March, Sarah added another beautiful baby girl to her family, who
was called Margaret, after her grandmother. Rebecca spent several weeks in Medford helping Sarah with the children during her confinement, and found great comfort in making herself useful. She dined on pigeon-pie at Finchhead Downs with Mr. Spangle, his new bride, and her sister;—and to Rebecca’s great satisfaction, the newlyweds and Miss Wabshaw appeared, all three of them, as happy and in love as any couple half their age. Rebecca was pleased by the twins’ good fortune, and could not suppress a wicked thought: that in marrying a Miss Wabshaw, Mr. Spangle should indeed be the happiest of men, for he had got two for the price of one.

Whenever she could, Rebecca visited Mrs. Harcourt, who was in such excellent health and spirits, as to make Rebecca trust the lady would live into her nineties. As Mrs. Harcourt no longer had Amelia to spend her money on, or to reserve her fortune for, Rebecca used her powers of persuasion to convince her, in a manner as to make Mrs. Harcourt believe she had thought of it herself, to finance all the needed improvements to the vicarage at Medford, which Mr. Morris had so long desired.

While at Medford, Rebecca heard from Charles, who heard it from his man-servant, that Dr. Jack Watkins had joined his father’s practice in London, and was apparently doing well. Rebecca presumed this to be the last news she would ever receive of that gentleman, and in this she was satisfied; but one morning, as she was walking through the village on her way to the baker’s, to her surprise she encountered Dr. Watkins himself exiting the solicitor’s.

He froze upon seeing her;—then recovering, and affecting a mild expression, he walked up to her and politely enquired as to how she was.

“I am well, Dr. Watkins, thank you. May I ask what brings you to Medford?”

“I am just passing through,” answered he, as they walked on together, “to conclude some business with regard to the sale of my father’s house.”

“I understand that you are happily settled in London now, and quite the success?”

“I am working with my father, yes, and we have established a clientele. He thinks to retire soon, and I expect to take over.”

“You have given up all thought of living in the country, then?”

“The country? Why, no. That was never my object. I have always preferred life in town. A physician can reside nowhere else. You are here to see your sister, I presume?”

“Yes, and to be of some use, I hope, to her and her husband. They have a new daughter, Margaret.”

“Please offer them my most sincere congratulations. Have you seen Mrs. Harcourt during your visit?”

“Many times.”

“I have the greatest respect for that lady; although I regret to say that she thinks very highly of herself, and less so of any one in the professions, even if they are friends of long standing, who have been of valued service to her.”

“Perhaps she has reason to think less of such persons, if, for example, they have in some way abused that friendship.”

“I suppose that is possible,” returned he, colouring slightly and glancing away, “although I can think of nothing which
I
or my father have ever done, which might have offended her.”

“Can not you? Well, it must remain a mystery, then.”
Disgusted by his hypocrisy, and wishing to be rid of him, Rebecca was about to say good day, but he went on,

“I understand that you are again residing in Elm Grove, and that your father has regained his position as rector?”

“That is so.”

“I am glad to hear it. I remember how much you desired to return to that place.”

“I am very happy there.”

“I am relieved for another reason, Miss Stanhope—for I heard a most alarming report, of events which you suffered at Bath last November, shortly after I saw you there.”

“Did you?” She was interested in hearing what he had to say on
this
matter.

“It has come to my attention that you were obliged to leave under a cloud of some kind.”

“That is true; we suffered through great difficulties and privations on that occasion, due to an unfounded rumour which was circulated, which maligned my father’s integrity.”

“How shocking. Did you ever learn from whence this report originated?”

“It was said that it came from
you
, sir, through your valet, while you were staying at the White Hart Inn.”

“Through me? And my valet? Indeed? But that is very extraordinary. I can recall nothing which
I
might have said to my valet, which could have been at the root of the evil. If I was, in some way, unintentionally responsible for your distress, you have my deepest apologies.”

“I appreciate that, sir. Thankfully, all was resolved, and my father and I suffered no lasting ill effects.” They were outside the baker’s now, and Rebecca, anxious for the conversation to be over, added, “Here is my errand. I wish you good fortune, Dr. Watkins, in all your endeavours.”

“And you in yours,” replied he with a bow.

Rebecca hastened inside the shop, glad to leave him behind. She was conscious of the fact that in their interview, Dr. Watkins had never mentioned any thing with regard to his proposal of marriage to her; nor had he inquired after Amelia. She tried to think if any thing he actually
had
said might have cleared him of any blame; but sadly, she found only the reverse. His insincerity and disingenuousness only proved, in her mind, his complicity in the terrible events which had transpired at Bath; and were she ever to encounter him again, she knew that she could not believe any thing further he might have to say on the matter.

All during her stay at Medford, Rebecca thought about Mr. Clifton. She replayed in her mind all the special moments they had spent together, and conversations they had shared, since that first day at Bath when he had come to see her. How good he had been to her and her father! Looking back over the past months, she thought she perceived in
him
, the same symptoms of affection for
her
, as she herself felt; and she was filled with happy expectation.

Upon her return to Elm Grove, Rebecca was met with exceedingly good tidings. Sir Percival had heard through his sister that the living of Beaumont, which lay only twelve miles distant from Medford, and came with an income of three hundred and fifty pounds a year, might soon be available; and so he had bought it for Philip. The vicar of Beaumont was elderly, and when he died, the position would be Philip’s.

Mr. Clifton was grateful, and Rebecca delighted. Secretly, she cherished a hope that this employment would bring about the joyful circumstance of which she had been dreaming. If Mr. Clifton
did
return her feelings—it was true they could not
yet
marry—but an engagement under such conditions was not unheard of.

Several days passed, however, with no change—no offer. The moments Rebecca spent in Mr. Clifton’s presence were an anxious trial. Were his recent acts of generosity merely examples of his inherent decency and kindness? Was she only imagining his regard? She had sensed a growing distance in him of late, and a distressing notion occurred to her: that he might have sensed her growing attachment to
him
, and become alarmed. Perhaps he considered her only as a friend. Perhaps his heart belonged to some one else. All at once, with dread, Rebecca realised who that some one else might be: Miss Laura Russell.
She
had doted on him for years. Did Mr. Clifton love Miss Russell? The very notion made Rebecca sick and miserable.

Rebecca was glad of a distraction which she hoped would rescue her from these unhappy musings—but sadly, it only proved to aggravate matters further.

Miss Clifton came to visit—the first time she had been to Elm Grove in many years. Although her aunt and uncle invited her to come to Claremont Park, she insisted on accepting Mr. Stanhope’s offer to stay at the rectory. It
should
have made for a delightful reunion—for the sister and brother were bound by both blood and deep affection; the two friends had become very dear to each other; and a great deal had happened since they were last together, ensuring animated conversations over breakfast and dinner, while sitting by the fire, and while walking on the paths through Rebecca’s favourite meadows. However, the gathering proved to be pure torture for Rebecca, for in Mr. Clifton’s presence, she perceived his indifference, and she could not see Miss Clifton, without thinking of Miss Russell.

One morning, while Rebecca and Miss Clifton were engaged in a stroll and a tête-à-tête, her friend said,

“My uncle is very generous, is not he? To buy the living at Beaumont for Philip?”

“He is.”

“This paves the way, at last, for my brother to marry.”

Rebecca’s heart fluttered apprehensively, and her face grew warm. “Do you think so?”

“He never had the means before. He has ten thousand pounds from my father, but that income can only go so far. He required his own living—and now he has it. I am so happy for him—and for Laura. She is confident that she will soon receive a proposal.”

Rebecca’s blood froze, this awful news confirming all her fears. “Did your brother—did he confide in you on the subject?”

“Not yet. However, I know him well—he is agitated about something—and I will share with you a secret. Yesterday he asked me quietly, in passing, if I thought my mother might be willing to part with my grandmother’s ring. Of course I said mama would be only too happy to give it to him, should he ever require it. Very quickly thereafter he inquired as to how Laura was faring, and whether she was travelling next month or not.”

So distressed was Rebecca upon hearing this news, it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other. She contributed very little to the conversation for the remainder of their walk, and was very glad to get home. The living at Beaumont she now saw as a great evil, for it was the means by which she should be separated for ever from Mr. Clifton. How she wished Sir Percival had never thought of it!

Miss Clifton left the next day, and although Rebecca was
sorry to be deprived of her companionship, she was glad of the reprieve from conversation upon a topic which only brought her pain.

The morning after her friend’s departure, Rebecca was seated in the parlour, lost in very agitating thoughts while engaged in drawing—an occupation to which she had recently returned—when Mr. Clifton found her, and asked what she was doing.

Her heart beat faster in his presence, but she was so filled with sadness that she could not look at him. Struggling to retain her composure, she said, “It is a picture of my mother—or an attempt at one. It is difficult to draw any thing from memory, particularly a likeness, but it pleases me to try nonetheless.” She showed it to him.

Mr. Clifton pronounced the drawing very good, and its object very beautiful.