Jane Austen’s First Love Read online

  “You think to spoil us, Mr. Austen,” cried my mother, kissing him soundly.

  Cassandra and I were profuse with our gratitude. He smiled and kissed me on the head, saying, “I could not think of you going with holes in your gloves, Jane.”

  As we made the final preparations for our departure, my mother was in a panic, striving, for my father’s sake, to ensure that all would go smoothly in the household while we were gone; but after spending several days with Martha going over all the particulars, and witnessing that good woman’s skill, experience, and good-humoured attitude in managing such affairs, my mother’s anxieties were soon tamed.

  The last days of busy activity passed away. On an evening in late May, Mr. Knight arrived as promised in his handsome coach, which was sizeable enough to accommodate all our party, and attended by several liveried servants. I had not seen Mr. Knight in many years, but he lived up to my remembrance as a well-dressed man of fifty-six with a kind smile who, although a bit stooped in stature, yet held himself with a regal bearing. According to the fashion, he wore a gracefully-styled, white powdered wig, like my father’s.

  “Such a pleasure to see you, cousin. You are looking very well!” cried he, heartily shaking my father’s hand. After warmly greeting my mother and Charles, he turned to me and Cassandra, saying, “Who are these bewitching young ladies? How you have grown since last we met!” He proclaimed us both to be beauties, an utterance which, had it been made by a youthful rattle, I would have taken as disingenuous; but the look in his eyes was so sincere that I could only blush and laugh.

  We were all delighted with Mr. Knight and passed a pleasant evening in his company, during which he and my parents were engrossed in conversation, going over all the minutiae of our lives during the past several years.

  “From the moment my Catherine saw your son Edward,” said he to my mother and father, “age eleven I think he was, she fell in love with him, and insisted she must have him. I cannot express my gratitude to you both, for your generosity in allowing him to come to us. Since the very first day, he has been the sunshine in our lives.” Here Mr. Knight’s voice broke, and he wiped away a tear. “We count ourselves blessed by his presence.”

  My parents’ eyes welled up as well; and for some time we all were too choked up to speak.

  When my mother and I pressed Mr. Knight for information about Miss Elizabeth Bridges and her family, he only smiled and said she was a lovely young lady, and as for the rest of the Bridgeses, they were so numerous, and he felt so unequal to the task of describing them, that he would leave that information to his wife to impart, once we got to Kent.

  The next morning, we all rose early to make ready for our departure. With great anticipation I watched our trunks being loaded on board the coach, and then climbed within to take my place beside Charles and Cassandra.

  “We shall miss you, George,” Mr. Knight called out the window, “but I promise to take care of your wife and family as if they were my own.”

  “I know you will,” agreed my father, “for you have done just so with our Edward; and we could not be happier or more grateful.”

  As the vehicle pulled away, and we all waved at Papa one last time, my mother whispered tearfully, “Oh! This is very hard. I do not know what I was thinking, agreeing to go to Kent without your father! I dare say I shall miss him too much to enjoy a single minute of this holiday.”

  For the sake of my mother, Mr. Knight planned a three-day journey, so as to spend less hours each day upon the road. Even so, the rigors of travel did not agree with her. Although the first day of our crossing was uneventful, the weather pleasantly cool, and the roads dry, Mamma felt unwell almost the whole way, and was obliged to eat some bread to settle her stomach, and to take bitters whenever we changed horses. The motion of the coach had a very different effect on my other companions, who fell promptly asleep. I was too excited to slumber, my mind occupied both with the prospects we passed by and all the delights which were before us.

  On the second day, a heavy shower made the roads dirty and heavy. The rattle of the chaise caused my mother a violent headache and increased the sickness to which she was prone. Upon arrival at the Bull and George at Dartford, she went immediately to bed. Mr. Knight saw to it that the rest of us were well-fed with beef-steaks and boiled fowl; we slept reasonably well, and set off again early in the morning.

  Although rain continued intermittently throughout the following day, we were fitted with a famous set of horses who took us speedily from Rochester to Sittingbourne. The final leg of our journey was accomplished with ease, and even my mother’s spirits seemed to revive as we traversed the green Kentish country-side, everyone eager to see those places towards which we were moving. We left the road, and soon crossed a bridge over a slow-moving river suffused with reeds and other vegetation, the length of which was gracefully lined with trees whose leafy limbs bent almost to the water’s edge. Moments later as we rounded a bend, I gained my first sight of Godmersham Park through the drizzle.

  “Oh! Mr. Knight!” cried I. “Your house and park are very grand.”

  My mother, sister, and Charles were equally enchanted. Green lawns spread in every direction as far as the eye could see, comprising an immense park studded with grazing sheep. Just as impressive was the house itself, a very large and handsome Palladian brick mansion which fronted a rise of wooded downland. The centre block of the building was flanked by two-storeyed wings on either side, and there were all the requisite windows, ornaments, and chimneys one could wish for, to provide a most pleasing aspect to the whole. Mr. Knight spoke with relish regarding the finer points of the house’s construction, including details about the masonry and ashlar window dressings, of which he was particularly fond.

  “Is Edward really to inherit all this?” said Charles softly in my ear.

  I nodded, and replied in a quiet voice, “This is just one of the many properties in Kent which belong to Mr. Knight. And you know he also owns another great house and an entire village not far from us, at Chawton.”

  “I cannot imagine being so rich,” whispered Charles reverently.

  Nor could I; but my heart beat with pride and pleasure for Edward and his good fortune. Soon after, we drove up to the house; as if by providence, the rain stopped, the front door opened, and a parade of servants emerged and lined up on the gravel sweep to greet us. The step of the coach was unfolded, the door opened, and when it came my turn to climb down, I caught sight of Edward and Mrs. Knight taking their place at the head of the line. My brother—with his slim but sturdy figure, dressed as he was in a dark, well-tailored coat, satin breeches, perfectly tied white cravat, and shiny black, buckled shoes—looked every bit the charming, aristocratic young gentleman.

  “Welcome, Mamma.” Smiling broadly, he came forward to embrace her, and then greeted Mr. Knight and the rest of us in turn. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you all.”

  Mrs. Knight was equally welcoming. A well-bred gentlewoman who still retained the beauty of her youth, her eyes were quick and intelligent, and her manners composed, friendly, and sincere. “We have so longed for you to visit,” said she, after we exchanged the appropriate courtesies. “I hope your journey was pleasant and free of incident?”

  “The only pleasure it afforded me was its object,” said my mother wearily. “I have survived it as best I could, thanks in great part to the solicitous care of your good husband, and I confess I have never been more delighted to arrive anywhere.”

  We were all glad, after such a journey, to be released from the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the comforts that the house could provide.

  Charles, Cassandra, and I looked on in speechless amazement as we entered the mansion. The high ceilings of the hall and drawing-room were splendidly decorated with intricate, white-painted plasterwork and carvings; white columns and other lavish embellishments surrounded the main doorways; and there were s
uperb marble chimney-pieces. There was an excellent library in the east wing, which I looked forward to investigating further. My mother, who tended to find fault more often than to praise, was visibly moved by all she saw and keen to speak of it. We were all warm in our admiration, and I felt all of my brother Edward’s consequence; to be master of Godmersham, I thought, would be truly something!

  “It is all so lovely,” said I to my sister when we were left on our own in our bedchamber, the yellow room, appropriately named for the warm colour of its paper and furnishings. “A week hardly seems long enough to explore the pleasures of this place.”

  “True,” agreed she, “but the Bridgeses expect us soon at Goodnestone Park—which gives us something else to look forward to. I am sure their house will be very grand as well.”

  The next day, I determined to satisfy my curiosity on particular points with regard to my brother’s intended bride. As we all sat down to an early dinner after church, with the butler and two footmen standing at the ready, I said:

  “Edward, how did you meet Miss Elizabeth Bridges?”

  “We have been acquainted with her family for many years.”

  “It is only very recently, however,” put in Mrs. Knight, as she helped herself to a serving of roast goose from the proffered silver platter, “after Edward came home from his Grand Tour, that he and Miss Elizabeth became attached.”

  “When I left for the Continent, Elizabeth was just a girl. When I saw her again, at an assembly at Canterbury last November—well.” A gleam came into Edward’s eyes, and his features softened. “Four years had changed her a great deal.” His affection for his fiancée shone plainly on his countenance; it made me smile.

  My mother was more vociferous in her reaction, exclaiming in a scolding tone,

  “Well! You might have written us something about her, Edward, before announcing your engagement so unexpectedly! But we are ever so pleased for you!” To the table at large, she said brightly, “It is plain to see that he is out of his head in love with her! And that is a good thing, for when you consider all the difficulties which can arise between a couple on the path of life, they ought to at least begin by being truly in love.”

  This remark elicited a laugh from everyone at the table, and a blush from Edward, who lowered his eyes and concentrated on eating his meal.

  “What can you tell us about the other members of the Bridges family?” said I to Mrs. Knight.

  “Oh! I can tell you our house is dull and quiet compared to Goodnestone Park,” replied she. “There you will find young people of all ages running up and down the halls, and their parents have a right to be very proud of every single one.”

  “Do I understand correctly that they have eleven children?” inquired my mother.

  “They do. They have five sons all called Brook, and six daughters.”

  “Five sons called Brook?” repeated I, aghast. “You are joking!”

  “It is no joke,” replied Edward. “It is a fact.”

  “But how amusing! Five sons called Brook, when tradition calls for only one! What a testament to the vanity of the father, to name every son after himself!”

  “Jane!” admonished my mother with a reprimanding glare. “Think about what you are going to say before it comes out of your mouth!” (adding to the Knights) “Please forgive my daughter, she constantly embarrasses me, she speaks far too freely.”

  I wanted to sink into the floor.

  “You need not apologise, Mrs. Austen. I like a girl who speaks her mind. I find it refreshing.” Mrs. Knight’s eyes found mine as she sipped her wine, and her look was so kind and affable, I knew from that moment that I had found a friend. “I do comprehend why it would seem a mark of vanity for a man to name every son after himself. But there is a long family history behind the name Brook Bridges, dating back to well before the reign of Queen Elizabeth.”

  “Sir Brook wanted to ensure that whoever inherited the estate,” explained Mr. Knight, “whether it be the eldest son or, in the great passage of time, any of his younger brothers, would always be called Brook Bridges. It turned out to be an excellent strategy, for they lost their first son young—he died ten years ago in a schoolyard accident at Eton—and one of their other boys died in infancy as well.”

  “Oh. I see.” My cheeks grew crimson; I was truly mortified now by my outburst, and vowed to try to be more careful about what I said in future. “Does not it cause great confusion, though, to have every son named the same?”

  “They are called by their middle names to distinguish them,” answered my brother Edward. “Brook Henry is called Henry, Brook John is called John, and so forth.”

  “Will we meet them all when we go to Goodnestone on Saturday?” asked Cassandra.

  “Not all,” replied Mr. Knight, “for their eldest son is away on the Grand Tour at present, and Henry, who was recently ordained, is obliged to begin his duties at his benefice at Danbury, Essex, this very month.”

  “Sir Brook and Lady Bridges have no love for Eton after what happened to their first-born son,” added Mrs. Knight, “so the youngest three are being educated at home.”

  “What are the daughters like?” asked I.

  “They are all graceful, brown-haired beauties,” answered Mrs. Knight, “the eldest of whom were educated in town at a prestigious school in Queen Square, and came away very elegantly accomplished.”

  “How long a drive is it to Goodnestone Park?” inquired my mother.

  “About sixteen miles,” replied Mr. Knight.

  “Sixteen miles!” cried my mother in dismay. “Well! That is a very long way indeed. I had no idea it was so far! And them expecting us in a week’s time! I am afraid we shall have to put off going a while longer, Mr. Knight, for after three days on the road, I have done with travelling and need to rest my stomach. I could not bear to see the inside of a conveyance for another fortnight at the very least.”

  This idea was met with great disappointment and protest from Charles, my sister, and myself. As I pointed out to my mother, we had come all this way to meet the Bridgeses, and Elizabeth in particular; to put off our visit for another two weeks would nearly cut in half the length of our stay at Goodnestone.

  “Besides, they are expecting us for dinner on Saturday,” I reminded her, “their annual strawberry-picking party is on Monday next, and the engagement ball is two nights later!”

  “I am sorry Jane, but there is nothing for it. You know how ill I have been. While on the road, I could scarcely eat. Even now, I am afraid to take anything stronger than tea and toast, despite the many fine foods on offer at this table. With the state of the roads in this weather, sixteen miles could take three hours—and I assure you, another hour in a carriage would kill me.”

  Mr. Knight, having only just returned from a long and tiring trip himself, was perfectly content to remain at home another ten days; his lady, however, seemed to read my distress, for she smiled softly, and said to her husband, “Certainly we cannot think of going anywhere until Mrs. Austen is well enough to travel—but surely Edward must go as scheduled. And as for the other young people—might we send them ahead on their own as well? We have entertained the Bridges girls here at Godmersham several times, without their parents being present. Lady Bridges said her children in particular are looking forward to meeting the young Austens in advance of the other guests, to have the opportunity to become acquainted.”

  “A sensible notion, dearest,” replied Mr. Knight.

  “Yes! Yes!” remarked my mother. “It is indeed an excellent solution, Mrs. Knight. Pray, write to Lady Bridges at once, and if she approves of the scheme, let us send the young people on before us.”

  The described message was sent by post, and a few days later, we were all gathered in the parlour, when a servant brought in a letter for Mrs. Knight. It was from Lady Bridges, expressing her approbation of the proposed plan, and her expectation
of our arrival on Saturday at noon, with my mother and the Knights to follow on the morning of the ball. I was thrilled by this turn of events, and looked forward eagerly to our visit.

  The week at Godmersham passed quickly and quietly, as if in a dream. Everywhere one looked, there was something beautiful to meet the eye, from the house and furnishings to the prospects from every window. The food and wine were plentiful and excellent in quality, and there was ice with every meal—a real delicacy which we never got at home, and which I knew only the very rich could afford in summer. The weather was not cooperative, with several days of thunder-showers preventing us from making an excursion to Canterbury to visit the renowned cathedral, but I did not mind, for I found a good book in the library and a warm place by the hearth, where I passed many long and happy hours. Whenever the sun made an appearance, my sister, Charles, and I took lovely long walks, exploring the park, the river, and the Greek Temple on a distant eminence, all of which we found delightful.

  On our last day the skies opened up again, the rain continuing long into the night, drumming against the window-panes with such ferocity that it awakened me several times. I worried that our trip would be delayed after all; but to my relief, we awakened to clearing skies and the singing of birds. Mrs. Knight was concerned that the roads might be too dirty to travel, but her husband assured her that his chaise was a sturdy vehicle, and the horses were so familiar with every turning of the route, as to be able to traverse it safely and expeditiously.

  Edward was so anxious to see his lady love that Mr. Knight gave him leave to ride off with his servant an hour ahead of us, insisting that his postillion would take very proper care of the three of us.

  To Goodnestone, therefore, we were to go.

  Cassandra and I admired the picturesque country-side as we drove along, while Charles was more enthralled by the manner in which the liveried postillion, rising so regularly in his stirrups, handled the pair of horses.