The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen Read online

  “Who is the lucky lady, if I may be so bold as to ask?” said he.

  “Why, it is Miss Isabella Churchill of Larchmont Park.”

  “Ah, yes! Larchmont Park,” repeated Mr. Morton solemnly. “I know its reputation, though I have not had the pleasure of seeing it, as I do not have a coach of my own. From all accounts, it is a very fine estate.”

  “It is fine, to be sure, but it cannot hold a candle to Pembroke Hall. But then, what property can? In all the county, nay all the kingdom, give me any Duke or Earl or Baron you like, I say there is nothing like our house and grounds. The family is very attached to it, and rightly so. I expect the wedding will be held here, right in our own chapel, and the reception in the great hall, or out on the west lawn, depending on the time of year.”

  “Is the date of the happy event not fixed, then?” asked Alethea.

  “Not as yet, but I have heard that it is to take place some time next year. I do hope and pray that Mr. Ashford will be happy in his marriage, although if you ask me,” said she, lowering her voice, “I probably should not say this, but she is not half good enough for him, for all her beauty and her wealth.” She sighed. “But it will be a grand wedding, to be sure, the uniting of two great families. The Ashfords are already so very rich, and with the size of the dowry that Miss Isabella brings to the union—”

  Tears blurred my eyes, and I knew I could hear no more. Picking up my skirts, I hurried down the hall, returning from whence we had come.

  “Jane!” It was Alethea’s voice, but I paid no heed. I ran on, through a connecting vestibule and down the steps of a long oak staircase. I heard the pounding of heavy feet behind me and Mr. Morton calling out my name, but I did not stop. As I reached the lower floor and hurried down a corridor towards what I hoped would be an exit, Mr. Morton caught up to me.

  “Miss Austen!” cried he, his eyes bulging with alarm as he kept pace beside me, inhaling great noisy gulps of air, “are you unwell?”

  “No, sir, I just felt the sudden need for some fresh air.”

  “It is all this walking,” said he in between ferocious gasps. “It is too much for a lady as delicate as yourself.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Morton, but I assure you, I am not all that delicate, and I enjoy walking.”

  “Perhaps a turn about the gardens, then. To see the waterworks.”

  Turning a corner, to my relief, I found myself in the front hall, where we had first entered. “Another time, I think. If you will excuse me, sir, I would prefer to spend a few minutes alone.”

  No sooner had I pulled open the great oak front door and rushed through it, than I saw two carriages draw up immediately before me in the gravel drive. The first, an elegant chaise and four with handsomely liveried postilions, was unknown to me, but the coach behind it, similar in equipage, I instantly recognised. The Ashford crest was emblazoned in gold upon its gleaming black exterior. It was, indeed, the very same vehicle in which I had ridden to the Southampton quay some seven or eight weeks earlier, on our way to Netley Abbey.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I froze in surprise, as the housekeeper and half a dozen servants scurried out past me in short order to the attend the arrivals. The doors of both coaches were opened; the stairs folded down; and as I stood gaping, from the first chaise, Isabella Churchill emerged and was handed down by the footman, followed by Maria Churchill. At the same time, from the second vehicle, stepped the very persons whose countenances I had just beheld in the gallery up stairs, Sophia Ashford and her father, Sir Thomas Ashford.

  Their arrival and descent from the carriages took place in a matter of a minute, as I stood, incapable of movement, in the shadow of the doorway; the party had not yet perceived my presence, and I might have turned and fled back inside the building, to procure an exit through another door, had not Mr. Morton blocked my progress.

  “Good gracious!” cried he, nearly overcome with excitement, “It is the Ashford family themselves! Returned from London! We stand in their very presence!” He babbled on in a lowered tone, into my ear, “I do not know the party with them, but from all appearances, they are very great people indeed. Our timing could not have been more impeccable! Oh! How fortune has smiled upon us!”

  At that moment, Mr. Ashford himself descended from the second coach, not twenty yards away. Our eyes met. He started in complete and utter astonishment, and for a moment seemed incapable of movement. I saw a blush overspread his cheeks, just as I felt the colour drain from my own face. The very circumstance which I would have been most anxious to avoid had now befallen me. The man who had won my heart most thoroughly and undeservedly, was standing before me, and at precisely the same moment, only a few yards away, stood the very woman to whom he was promised—the woman who, unwittingly, embodied the destruction of all my former hopes.

  I was overpowered by mortification and vexation. I had determined to maintain as great a distance as possible between myself and Mr. Ashford, to preserve what little remaining dignity I had in that affair. I imagined that he had made the same resolution himself, after his escape from Southampton. Oh, folly of follies! Why, I thought in silent chastisement, had I allowed myself to be convinced to come there that day? It was the most regrettable, ill-judged thing in the world! What would Mr. Ashford think to find me at his home, of all places, and so far from my own? I had returned his letter, unopened. If he had admitted to his engagement in that missive, he could have no idea that I knew of it. It might appear as if I had purposely thrown myself in his way again, when in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.

  Before I could think of what to do or say, Alethea and Squire Bigg-Wither appeared at my elbow, and Mr. Morton rushed forward towards the Ashford party, both arms outstretched in greeting.

  “Please forgive us our intrusion, Sir Thomas Ashford, Mr. Ashford, Miss Ashford,” cried he with gushing formality and a bow to each. “I am your servant, the Reverend Lucian Morton of Hartsford Rectory, Brimington. My esteemed guests, whom you see there just behind me, are visiting from Hampshire; they are my distant cousin, the Squire Lovelace Bigg-Wither of Manydown Park, Wooton St. Lawrence; his daughter, Miss Alethea Bigg, and her friend, Miss Jane Austen. I insisted that to tour your magnificent home, while they were in the vicinity, was an honour and a privilege not to be missed.”

  I secretly blessed Mr. Morton, for in all his loquacious pomposity, he had actually managed to relay the explanation for my unexpected presence here to Mr. Ashford in as succinct a manner as was humanly possible. Mr. Ashford still stood rooted to the spot where he had first caught sight of me, the same thunder-struck expression on his face.

  “Indeed, sir?” replied Sir Thomas, as we all approached. He shook hands heartily with Mr. Morton and the squire, then bowed to Alethea and myself. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

  “The pleasure is entirely mine,” said Mr. Morton, looking as if he might faint.

  “I do hope our home met with your expectations,” said Sophia, with a warm smile for each of us. She looked to be no more than three-and-twenty, and her voice was soft and sweet.

  “Oh! It quite exceeded them, in every way, Miss Ashford,” replied Alethea.

  “Words cannot express my esteem and admiration for its magnificence,” cried Mr. Morton.

  “Worth every mile of my journey,” said the squire.

  I manufactured a smile but said nothing, as my throat had, of a sudden, entirely closed, and it was all I could do to breathe.

  “May I introduce our dear friends,” said Sir Thomas, as at that moment Mr. Churchill descended from the first coach, and his party came forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, and Miss Isabella Churchill, of Larchmont Park. Despite the fact that the ladies have spent nearly every day together in London for more than a fortnight, they could not bear to part. And so they are to stay with us a little longer.”

  Mr. Morton eagerly thrust out his hand again and appeared ready to repeat his introductions, when he was interrupted by a sudden cry of wonder from M
r. Churchill.

  “Miss Austen? Good God! Is it really you? Here, in Derbyshire?”

  “It is,” I replied, scarcely recognizing the squeak which served as my voice.

  “But, how amazing! We met Miss Austen at Lyme the summer before last, and again, some months past, at Southampton,” Mr. Churchill explained to Sir Thomas and Sophia.

  “It is very nice to see you all,” said I politely, at last recovering the power of speech. From the corner of my gaze, I detected Mr. Ashford making his approach. To the other side, I felt Alethea and the squire’s looks of silent surprise, and the heat of Mr. Morton’s stare of profound amazement at my being known to these people.

  “I declare, Miss Austen,” said Isabella, joining the party with a puzzled frown. (To my dismay, she was even prettier and younger-looking than I had remembered; I was forced to remind myself that she was, indeed, already seventeen years old.) “You look familiar to me. Have we not met?”

  “We have.” I reminded her that the occasion had been a musical party some weeks past at Southampton, and later, at the home of Mrs. Jenkins.

  “Oh! Yes, I remember it now,” cried she. “We were having such a nice conversation that afternoon, about London and what not, and I do not recall what else, my engagement, I think, and then you ran off in such a hurry, my aunt Jenkins and I were very much concerned for your health.”

  Mr. Ashford was now but a yard or two away, and he stopped. I could not look at him; my stomach was all in a flutter, and I could barely think. Fighting to maintain my composure, I replied, “I was not feeling well that day, but I have quite recovered.”

  “Who would have thought we would encounter each other again, in such distant locations?” said Isabella wonderingly.

  “Indeed. Who would have thought?” I replied, adding, “I assure you, we had no idea of your returning home to-day, or we should not have come. Mr. Morton was certain that you were all in London. The housekeeper never said a word.”

  “We had a very early start,” said Sir Thomas. “She did not expect us before dinner.”

  “How delightful that you are all acquainted,” said Sophia. “Please do stay and join us for tea. You do not mind my asking, do you, papa?”

  “Of course not,” said Sir Thomas.

  Mr. Ashford seemed to be strangled by his tongue. His eyes darted up to mine, and I could see in them a mixture of confusion, mortification and apology. I could not say which one of us was the more uncomfortable.

  “Surely this is no time for visitors,” I said quickly. “You have just returned from a long journey. You must be tired. I would not dream of intruding on such short notice.” The Ashford and Churchill carriages pulled away, just as the squire’s coach drew up to take their place. “Oh! Look! Here is our carriage. It has been a pleasure.”

  “So very nice to meet you,” said Sir Thomas warmly, with a parting bow.

  “I do hope we shall have the opportunity to meet again,” said Sophia, as she smiled and curtsied, then took her father’s arm and led him into the house.

  I boarded our carriage without a backwards glance, my heart pounding, rejoicing at my escape. The rest of the party followed, and we were soon underway.

  “You astonish me, Miss Austen!” said Mr. Morton, from his seat opposite me in the coach. “Why did you not tell us that you knew the Churchills?”

  “I had no idea of our meeting them here,” I replied.

  “It is quite extraordinary,” said Alethea, “that you knew the young lady Mr. Ashford is to marry.”

  “When the housekeeper mentioned the upcoming nuptials,” persisted Mr. Morton, “surely you could have said something then.”

  “It did not seem important,” said I.

  “Not important!” cried Mr. Morton. “Such a prestigious acquaintance! Why it is the most important thing in the world!”

  “He is rather handsome, do not you think?” said Alethea.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Why, Mr. Ashford, of course. What a fine figure of a man.”

  “I did not notice,” I lied.

  “Although he did seem rather reserved,” said Alethea. “I do not think I heard him speak a single word.”

  “A very fine quality in a man,” declared Mr. Morton. “I admire a reserved and quiet person. I always say that verbosity is a great sin, as it can prove most tiresome to those who are prevailed upon to listen, particularly if the speaker is not an educated person, like myself, with an agility of mind and tongue, and an extensive knowledge of the world, which can provide a great variety of interesting topics from which to chuse. In the absence of such facility, I believe one should only speak when one has something of great importance to say, and even then, one should chuse one’s words very carefully.”

  When Mr. Morton suggested a visit to another manor home the next day, I claimed a headache and said I preferred to stay behind. I looked forward to a few hours of quiet and solitude, in which I could pour out my feelings in a letter to my sister.

  Hartsford, Wednesday 3 May 1809

  My dearest Cassandra,

  Thank you for your most welcome letter, which I received the day after our arrival. Your account of the incident with Mary and my mother and the dirty bath water was so hilarious, I must have laughed for a quarter of an hour. You are truly the comic writer of the age, and from this moment forward, I acquit all honours on that front.—However it grieves me to hear that you and my mother have been so miserable in general, and have been obliged to remove to Alton until my return, but perhaps we should not have expected more. Your decision to quit the Inn and move to Mrs. F. Austen’s cottage is, I think, a good one, particularly since my mother is still not feeling well. Perhaps the exchanging of one Mary for another will do her good.32 —Please tell my mother that I think of her every day. She ought to consider writing to Martha, who I believe knows of a new remedy for the headache.—By now you should have received my first letter from this location, in which (in a most indiscreet manner, I confess) I described all things Mr. Morton, both his personage and his parsonage. In the two days since, Mr. M. has proved himself even more odious and supercilious, if that is possible to imagine. There was a time when I considered the squire to be a rather garrulous individual, but Mr. Morton has quite surpassed him in that department; he can pontificate on a subject in a manner so lengthy and so obtuse, it can scarcely be described.—But I must quit this subject at once, or I shall soon be pronounced guilty of the same fault. Now, I cannot put off another moment, the most important news of this missive. My previous correspondence can in no way have prepared you for the intelligence which I am about to impart.—Do you recall my original perturbation at the very idea of travelling into Derbyshire? Well, my darkest worries on that score came to pass yesterday afternoon. Mr. Morton insisted that, of all the great sights in Derbyshire, we must go to Pembroke Hall! All the party wished to go, and as Mr. Morton insisted that the family were away in town, I felt quite safe in complying. (And I must admit to having an avid curiosity to see the place.) You will scarcely believe me when I tell you what came to pass!—

  I was deeply engrossed in writing when I heard a carriage arrive outside. It was not yet half past one, causing me to wonder if something had gone wrong, for I had not expected Mr. Morton and the Bigg-Withers to return so soon.

  “Pardon me, miss,” said the maid, entering with a curtsy. “There is a young lady to see you.”

  “To see me?” I enquired in surprise.

  “Yes, Miss. A Miss Isabella Churchill, as was.”

  I started, nearly speechless. “Please shew her in.”

  I laid down my quill and stood, greatly puzzled. What could Isabella’s business be, in coming to see me, all the way from Pembroke Hall? Nothing came to mind—unless, I thought with growing alarm, by some chance, she had learnt of my friendship with Mr. Ashford, and felt (quite unreasonably) that I might pose a threat on that account. I wondered anxiously what I might say to ease her fears, if this were indeed the case.

  In
seconds, the maid returned; the young lady glided in. She wore a very pretty gown of spotted yellow muslin with a pale blue sash, and carried a matching parasol; from the same arm, dangled an embroidered satchel of moderate size.

  “Miss Austen,” said Isabella, holding out a gloved hand to me to shake. “I pray I am not disturbing you?”

  “Not at all,” said I, taking her hand and searching her face for any sign of malice. Finding none, I added, “Please, sit down. May I offer you some refreshment?”

  “Thank you, that would be very kind, my throat is parched.” Setting down her satchel and parasol, Isabella arranged herself upon the sofa. I took the nearest chair and nodded to the maid, who departed, I hoped, in search of something that might unparch a throat.

  “I am afraid Mr. Morton and the others are out sight-seeing,” said I. “They are not expected back until late this afternoon.”

  “All the better, for it is you in particular that I came to see, Miss Austen.” Her condescending tone and beneficent smile left no doubt as to the honour she felt she was bestowing.

  “Oh! Indeed,” said I, searching for a proper response. “It is always a pleasure to receive a visitor.”

  “I know you must be surprised to see me. After all, we are barely acquainted. But then, true friendships have been known to start with even the most unlikely of persons, are they not? It is only through the most extraordinary circumstances that you are even known to my brother and his wife, and Mr. Ashford. Why, imagine my astonishment when Charles informed me, only last evening, that you all took a water-party to some ruined abbey or other while they were in Southampton!”

  My stomach was all in a flutter, as I could not yet detect, from her expression, whether or not she harboured resentment towards me on that score. “It is true, we did make such an excursion.”

  “Charles said you had a picnic and a marvelous time. I cannot tell you how envious I was to hear it. I would have been among the company myself, had I not been ill, and forced to stay at home. I told Ashford I was quite put out. After all, I barely saw him while we were in London, he was always so frightfully busy. I told him that I wanted a water-party of my own, just like the one you had in Southampton! ‘You simply must take me to the lakes,’ said I. Ashford replied, ‘We could go, but it would not be the same without Miss Austen.’ I asked him why ever not. I must say, his response took me quite by surprise. It is the reason I am here.”