Jane Austen’s First Love Page 11

  All soon issued outside, our object: the walled garden enclosing the strawberry beds, which lay just beyond the garden where I had walked with Edward Taylor two days previously.

  During this progression, everyone instinctively separated into parties according to age, interests, or familiarity. The youngest boys and girls, a very sizeable crowd, all led the charge, determined to find (and no doubt eat) the best strawberries for themselves. The older gentlemen—Sir Brook, Admiral Fielding, and Mr. Thomas Watkinson Payler—made up the next grouping; Lady Bridges and Mrs. Fielding walked just behind; the lovers—Fanny and Mr. Cage, and my brother Edward and Elizabeth, walked in pairs, quietly conversing; Frederic Fielding gravitated to Edward Taylor, Thomas Payler, and his two eldest brothers; Mrs. Watkinson Payler and her daughter Charlotte chatted beneath their parasols; and Mr. Deedes took charge of Sophia, Marianne, Cassandra, and myself.

  All of this occurred in the most natural manner; but as we made our way across the lawn, I could not help but glance aside at Edward Taylor, hoping that he would choose to pick strawberries with me.

  Mr. Deedes, with a good-natured smile, said, “Miss Austen, Miss Jane: did I hear that you are from Hampshire?” At Cassandra’s affirmative reply, he added, “Regrettably I have never visited that part of England, but I understand you have a marvellous cathedral.”

  “Yes, at Winchester,” answered Cassandra.

  This conversation continued, but I could not attend; my thoughts were all of Edward Taylor, who was walking so close by. As we approached the wooden door leading into the first of the three walled gardens, he caught my eye, and my pulse quickened; I thought I perceived an expression intimating that he was on the verge of quitting his present company to join ours; but Mrs. Watkinson Payler, pausing until we caught up to her and her daughter, turned to me with an eager smile, and said,

  “Miss Jane! It seems that Lady Bridges has singled out you and my daughter Charlotte to be companions! Shall we walk together so that you can become acquainted?”

  “That would be very nice indeed, Mrs. Payler,” said I, striving to shew more enthusiasm than I felt, for she and her daughter did seem to be affable ladies. As the three of us separated from my party, with a sinking feeling, I observed Edward Taylor pass through the opening with the other young gentlemen. I soon followed in the company of Mrs. Watkinson Payler and her daughter, who walked quietly at her mother’s side.

  As we crossed through the first walled garden, where servants were preparing for the collation to be held later that day, Mrs. Watkinson Payler said: “Tell us all about yourself, Miss Jane. Are you out yet?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Neither is Charlotte. But her father and I are allowing her and all of our sons to participate in all the events at Goodnestone this summer, nevertheless. We saw no reason not to, as this is a celebration for family and friends, and so many other children are to be included. Is your mother extending you the same consideration?”

  “She is, ma’am.”

  “I am glad to hear it, for then you and Charlotte will see a great deal of each other! What fun you will have!”

  I darted a smile at Charlotte, and in an attempt to include her in the conversation, said: “I hope that proves to be the case, Miss Payler.”

  Charlotte seemed to be on the point of replying; but her mother cried,

  “Oh! Is not it a lovely day for an al-fresco party? It is just the same as last year! What a long row of tables and chairs they have set up here, and all decorated so prettily with flowers! And as always, it is situated beneath a canvas shelter and a good shade tree—so thoughtful! Wait until you see all the food and beverages they will be bringing out! We have been honoured to attend the Bridgeses’ strawberry-picking party three years in a row now, and I must say, it is always the highest compliment to be invited! The last two years were not nearly as nice as the summer of 1788, for that summer the Taylors were in residence at Bifrons, which occasioned our inclusion—and oh! What a delightful family they are! The Reverend Edward Taylor is so very learned, and all my nieces and nephews are so handsome and amiable, particularly the eldest! The last time we had seen them they were so very small, I could form no opinion of them—Charlotte was but a little child when they emigrated abroad, and my nephew Edward only five years old himself—but now only look at him, nearly seventeen and every bit the gentleman! Have you heard him play the violin?”

  “I have not had that pleasure.”

  “Oh! It is a pleasure indeed. Have you met his brothers and sisters?”

  “No. This is my first visit to this neighbourhood.”

  “Every one of them is proficient in the arts, but where music is concerned, Edward is the most gifted. He is so charming, so accomplished, and he has travelled the world!” Leaning in towards me, and lowering her voice briefly, Mrs. Watkinson Payler continued: “Lady Bridges does not much care for him, which I say only reflects her lack of good judgement, for he is one of the finest young men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I am very proud to be his aunt.”

  I smiled with pleasure, for these assessments of Edward Taylor’s character met with my own perceptions; it was very agreeable to know that his aunt thought so highly of him.

  We were making our way through the second walled garden, and my thoughts reverted to that recent evening when Mr. Taylor and I had walked atop the wall. What, I wondered, would Mrs. Watkinson Payler think of him (and of me!), were she to be made aware of our (shocking and) dreadful behaviour? Thankfully unaware of my musings, the lady nodded towards the young man in question (who was walking ahead of us, chatting with his friend and cousins), and added, “Charlotte! Is not your cousin Edward handsome and charming?” Without waiting for a reply, she went on, “When he and his family were last at Bifrons, he spent a great deal of time with Charlotte, you know.”

  A slight blush overcame Charlotte’s features, and she glanced away. An unexpected feeling of dread descended on me; I had presentiment of what Mrs. Watkinson Payler might be about to say next. I hoped I was wrong. “Did he?”

  “Yes. Edward was ever so sweet to her, even though she was but thirteen at the time. Since he has come back again and is staying at our house, they see each other every day.” Lowering her voice again, she added in confidence: “I think he is falling in love with her—and she with him—and nothing could make me happier! It is my dearest hope that he and Charlotte will marry one day.”

  My stomach clenched and my mouth went dry; I could make no reply. I remained silent until we reached the opening in the high, brick walls leading into the third enclosed garden, which I knew contained the strawberry beds, and through which the greater part of the company had already passed.

  “Pray, excuse me,” said Mrs. Watkinson Payler, “I will see you within. Charlotte: stay right there.” So saying, she darted up to Edward Taylor, to whom she made a cheerful remark, before venturing through the entrance herself.

  My mind was in a daze, distracted and dismayed by Mrs. Watkinson Payler’s previous words. Oh! Was it true that Edward Taylor was in love with Charlotte? If so, did she return his feelings? Did that mean I had no chance of ever winning his affections?

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas Payler pause and gaze earnestly at my sister, as if he wished to seek out her company—but apparently he lacked the nerve, for with a lowered gaze, he proceeded into the next garden with his brothers. As Cassandra walked on with Sophia and Marianne, Edward Taylor turned back to me with a friendly smile and said:

  “Good morning, Miss Jane.”

  I returned the greeting, my heart pounding with a mixture of hope and anxiety. Many people, I noticed, had paired off by now. Would Edward Taylor choose me or Charlotte as his strawberry-picking companion? If so, who would it be?

  “You are in for a treat, Miss Jane,” said he. “It has been several years since I picked strawberries at Goodnestone, but they were the best I had eve
r tasted.” Glancing over his shoulder, he added quietly: “By the way, Mr. Fielding has something he particularly wishes to say to you. I hope he will gather his courage and be successful.”

  Alarm spread through me. Frederic Fielding, standing nervously a few feet off, blushed a deep red and stared at the ground. Edward Taylor now held out his arm to Charlotte, and said,

  “Shall we, cousin?”

  Charlotte, with a lovely smile, took his proffered arm, and the two strode away together.

  Hot tears threatened behind my eyes. I wanted to run back to the house, to weep in my chamber, but I was too devastated to move. Mrs. Watkinson Payler must be right! He had chosen Charlotte!

  Frederic Fielding strode hesitantly forward, twisting his hands nervously. After stammering a few nonsensical syllables, he managed to stutter, “Miss Jane, would you—would you do me the honour of—of consenting to be my companion in the strawberry-picking?”

  Disappointment enveloped me; but I gathered my wits, blinked back my tears, and replied as I ought. Mr. Fielding bowed and turned to walk beside me.

  Seeing Edward Taylor just ahead of us, speaking quietly and congenially to Charlotte, made my heart ache with hurt and jealousy; but I knew these to be uncharitable emotions, and struggled to contain them. I wanted to hate both Mrs. Watkinson Payler and her daughter, but I could not. It was only right, I told myself, that Mr. Taylor should like his cousin and prefer to pick berries with her. He had known her for several years, after all, whereas he had only just met me.

  We entered the last walled garden, which was equally as large as the two which had preceded it, and equally as lovely. I was immediately enveloped by the sweet fragrance of ripe strawberries, and looking around me, my sense of misery began to slowly dissipate. It was a most delightful place, with rows of fruit-trees of several varieties lining the perimeter, beneath which, and taking advantage of their verdant shade, were situated a great many wrought-iron benches; in the centre, enjoying the full effects of the sun, were innumerable beds of strawberries, cloaked with bright green leaves and heavy with ripe, red fruit. Birds twittered in the tree-branches and butterflies danced in the air. Our party, although sizeable in number, were so dispersed as to not make the area feel at all crowded, with the oldest gentlemen seated on shady benches quietly conversing, and everyone else stooped low in pairs or threes here and there, chattering gaily as they filled their baskets.

  Mr. Fielding indicated a strawberry bed that had not yet been taken. We immediately proceeded there and bent at our task, searching for and gently retrieving the ripest berries as our prizes. I could not help but taste a few; they were indeed just as delicious as promised. Our intercourse was minimal; now and then he gave me a shy smile, and we exchanged a few remarks about the weather and the state of the roads. Knowing that he and his family were the present tenants of the house which Edward Taylor would one day inherit, I asked:

  “How do you enjoy living at Bifrons, Mr. Fielding?”

  He hesitated. “It is a very big house.”

  “I understand it is very grand as well.”

  “It is very big.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  A great deal of thought seemed to be required before he articulated his reply. “In Hertfordshire, while my father was at sea.”

  I asked him where he had gone to school, but he gave only the briefest of answers, putting an end to the subject.

  Half-an-hour passed in this awkward manner. He never asked me a single question, or made a remark of his own accord. I was trying to think of some thing to say which might be of interest to him, when his mother, across the way, and wiping her brow with a handkerchief, cried:

  “Frederic! It is so hot. I can no longer bend and stoop in this manner, but neither can I turn in a basket half-empty. Come, come over here! You must assist me!”

  Rising, Mr. Fielding bowed to me and begged my pardon. I nodded cordially in parting, relieved to see him go. I stood, and glancing halfway down the garden, spotted Cassandra, Marianne, and Sophia working happily together in a strawberry bed. I considered joining them; but at that moment, a deep, familiar voice sounded just behind me.

  “Have you walked any more walls lately?”

  My heart jumped with surprise and pleasure, as I turned and gazed up into the beautiful, dark eyes of Edward Taylor.

  Chapter the Eleventh

  No, sir; that was a one-time-only event, I am afraid. My sister would not look kindly on me walking atop any more walls,” said I, laughing.

  “What a shame. I admit, I have never seen a young lady attempt such a thing before. You exhibited remarkable skill at the endeavour.”

  The expression on Edward Taylor’s countenance was so earnest and flattering, it sent a shiver of happiness up my spine. “Thank you. So did you.”

  He smiled.

  I wanted to ask why he was here, and not with Charlotte—and why he was standing before me with an empty basket—but I did not wish to break the spell; fortunately he took charge of the matter himself, by explaining:

  “My cousin and I filled our baskets already. She was fatigued and went to sit in the shade. I saw you on your own, and I thought I might join you and start on a second basket—if that is agreeable to you.”

  “Oh! Yes,” I managed. That he had chosen Charlotte first, was a source of some little hurt; but I determined not to think about it. He was talking to me now. I crouched down and prepared to work; but he said,

  “That is an awkward position. Pray, use my coat to sit or kneel upon.”

  “Oh, I could not—” began I; but he had already removed said garment and was laying it on the ground before me.

  “It is too hot to wear it, in any case. This will serve a better purpose.”

  “Thank you.” I arranged myself on the garment as directed; it did indeed promote my comfort. Edward Taylor kneeled down in the dirt beside me, and we returned to berry-picking. With him so near, it was difficult for me to concentrate, or to determine how best to begin a conversation; but once again he performed the service.

  “You seem to be an experienced strawberry-picker.”

  “Apparently not as experienced—or as fast—as you.”

  “My basket was half the size of yours.”

  “Ah. Point taken.” I picked another berry and gently stowed it. “We have strawberry beds at home, at Steventon. Picking the fruit, and eating it, has long been one of my favourite pursuits.”

  “Mine as well. We used to have strawberry beds at Bifrons, not so extensive as these. One of my earliest memories—I might have been four years old—is of me and my brother Herbert stuffing ourselves on berries, then returning to the house with our clothes and hands and faces all sticky and stained red, to the amusement of my mother, and the great displeasure of my father.”

  “I hope you were not punished for it.”

  “Oh, we were! We were sent to bed without dinner. After a cold bath.”

  Our eyes met, and we both laughed. I said: “I am sorry. There is nothing funny about a hungry stomach or a cold bath.”

  “There is nothing funny about my father. He has very strict ideas of how his children ought to behave. He also greatly prized his strawberries, perhaps even more than does Lady Bridges—although in her case, I believe the gardeners must take all the responsibility for the growing and care of the strawberry plants; whereas my father, however much I may resent him in other ways, is a dedicated agriculturalist, deservedly earning the reputation of being a most excellent farmer.”

  It was dismaying to learn that he resented his father; I wished to know more on that subject, but was uncertain how to go about the inquiry. “I understand that your father is a clergyman as well?”

  “He was a clergyman before he came into possession of Bifrons, after the passing of his older brother—after which he devoted his time to the farm and scholarly pursuits. When we
first went abroad, my father so greatly missed farming, that after two years in Brussels and one year in Heidelberg, when we removed to Carlsruhe—”

  “Carlsruhe? Where is that?”

  “In Baden-Württemberg, southwest Germany, near the Franco-German border.”

  “Why did you go there?”

  “Carlsruhe offered resources of various kinds, especially masters well versed in all those subjects which my father deemed essential to our education. We lived there very happily for five years, and my father indulged his bent by convincing the Margrave of Baden-Baden—the reigning prince—to let him one of his farms of some seven or eight hundred acres.”

  “He leased a farm from a prince!”

  “He did. Rissing—so the farm was called—was very much out of order during the first period; but my father found an intelligent bailiff who spoke English, and with his help, greatly improved it and increased its productivity.”

  “An arrangement which, I suppose, proved very satisfactory to the margrave.”

  He laughed. “Yes.”

  Edward Taylor’s manner was so congenial, and his discourse so captivating, that I found myself once again entirely at ease in his company.

  Across the way, I perceived Charlotte Payler seated on a bench beside her mother, both fanning themselves. Mrs. Payler smiled briefly at me, and I thought I perceived slight irritation in her eyes. All at once, I felt a little guilty about the attention which Edward Taylor was paying me. Her desires for her daughter were clearly very important to her. I had no wish to hurt her or Miss Payler; but then, I had no idea if Miss Payler and Mr. Taylor shared those feelings and intentions which her mother had expressed. And what of my feelings? Were not they equally important? I reminded myself that Charlotte had the opportunity to see Edward Taylor every single day, for he was now residing at her very house; I had to make the most of what little time I was allowed to spend with him.