Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,105

folded up the letter and put it away. “I cannot accept that theory. It is too sinister for words. And if you are right, then she can only be disappointed again.”

“Truthfully?” Jane moved to her side, and put a hand on her shoulder. “You do not regret it? You would never go back to him? Even now, that you no longer have the worry of me and our mother? I do wonder sometimes. Both of you were made, surely, to be married ladies. I never was, of course. But you two: You would have been such excellent wives. Is there not, deep within you, some small, closed, secret chamber of disappointment?”

Martha smiled. “I, for one, was never presented with a choice.”

“And I”—Cassy squeezed the hand that now held hers—“regret nothing. Look at us. We have found our Utopia! I can imagine no better life than the one we have here.”

26

Kintbury, April 1840

“DINAH?” A CHASTENED CASSANDRA spoke softly from the armchair. “You are awake. Thank the Lord! Are you feeling a little better?”

“Bit sore, m’m.” Dinah wriggled and shifted, checking gingerly about her body for tenderness. She winced as her hand met her forehead. “Ouch. Still, not so bad considering. I think I got away with it, m’m.”

“You have been very lucky, from what I can see. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“Wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, Miss Austen. ’Course, only if you’re going that way.”

Cassandra rose on command—“I shall make it at once”—withdrew to the kitchen, and struggled back with a heavily laden tray.

“Ah, the good china, I see.” Dinah sat up. Cassandra rearranged her pillows. “Naught but the best for the invalid.”

“It seemed a shame not to use it. You had not got around to packing it up, then?”

“Didn’t have the ’eart, m’m. Miss Isabella’s that fond of it.” She slurped her tea and sighed happily.

“Dinah, while we are alone”—Cassandra sat down—“I have a few questions for you. First of all—and this is simply to satisfy my own curiosity—might I be right in thinking that you have been listening to the reading in the drawing room of my sister’s novel Persuasion?”

“And what if I ’ave?” Dinah narrowed her eyes. “Law against it, is there? Servants hearing things thought too good for ’em?”

“Not at all,” Cassandra protested. “Indeed, the reverse. Nothing could delight me more! It just occurs to me that your fall from the stairs was not dissimilar to a scene in the story. You remember, it takes place in Lyme?”

“Can’t think what you mean, m’m,” Dinah rebuffed her. “I’ll take another cup of that tea, if you don’t mind.”

Cassandra took the china and poured. “Be that as it may, I would like to take the opportunity to applaud you for both your intelligence and your devotion to your mistress. You took quite a risk there, but it appears to have worked.”

Dinah looked smug and slurped loudly again.

Lowering her voice, Cassandra leaned over. “And now—well, this is a delicate matter. I hope you do not think me intrusive—about Miss Isabella and Mr. Lidderdale.”

“So we got there at last, did we?” Dinah gave one of her sniffs—signifying deep contempt, if Cassandra read it correctly—then visibly softened. “He loves ’er. She loves ’im. They been like it for years.”

“Yes. I understand that now. But why—?”

“The master wouldn’t ’ave any of it. You know how he got sometimes. Stubborn as a mule. No budging ’im. There’s not much wrong with Mr. Lidderdale, I tell you that for naught pence. The whole village loves ’im, but he’s not much in ’is origins, if you get what I mean. Not born a gentleman, and the reverend wouldn’t put up with it. Not good enough for Miss Isabella, and that was that. Not even better than nothing at all, which is what the poor lamb ended up with.”

“I am so shocked to hear that.” Cassandra had never heard whisper of any such drama! “As well as greatly saddened, on the poor couple’s behalf.”

“So when Mr. Fowle passed away, I of course got me hopes up. There! I thought to m’self, they’re free. There’s no one to bully them. And I kept saying all that to Miss Isabella, whispering in ’er ear. Then you turned up in the works with your spanner.”

“Yes, I am sorry. And if I had but known…” Cassandra was humble. “But what of Mrs. Fowle, and her feelings on the match? Surely she must have been most conflicted.”

“If she was, she never let on.”