Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,31

long months of Tom’s absence! At last, we can start counting in weeks—or days, even—to the moment of his return. The relief—to be delivered of such a burden of worry! And now, because it is my wont to pick away at a thing while others embrace and enjoy it, I find myself wondering: what will he be like? After the voyage, the campaign, the experience, will we even know this new Tom Fowle? Oh, Eliza, I do hope so. He has always been quite the dearest of men. Of course, I pray that he comes back unscathed but, on top of that, also unchanged.

The weather stays sharp with us; the hail of the morning is now turning to snow. My sister and I do not mind it. It justifies us in doing that which annoys our household and brings us the most happiness: we stay in our dressing room and keep to ourselves. I amuse Cassy with words, and she attacks her trousseau with a new sense of urgency. Today, she is trimming a cap with lace that our brother Edward has given her, and very splendid it is, too—far too—fine for a humble Miss Austen; no doubt it will sit well upon the head of a proud Mrs. Fowle.

With the approach of Tom’s ship and, en suite, her own marriage, Cassy is all a jitter. For me—and I must stake my claim to be the person who loves her the most (apart, of course, from our Tom)—it is a delight to see her returned to high spirits. Though I will admit to some jitters of my own. It is finally here, the point at which she and I must separate and I take up my position of Solitary Daughter. I cannot welcome it, but I suppose I shall bear it.

And I do, of course, have my new sister, Mary, living close by me! That will be a comfort, no doubt. She and James seem all marital contentment—marital contentment being quite à la mode—and I can report that they call on us as often, if not more, than we could ever have hoped. That is in part due to my little niece, Anna—she still prefers to stay with us in the Rectory, but I think only because it is what she is used to. We have tried sending her back to Deane a few times, yet somehow she always seems to return. It cannot be long before she understands that Mary is her new mama, and that is her family. It will all work out well in the end, never fear.

I shall finish now, and return to our sisterly haven, while it is still mine to enjoy. No doubt, I can count on seeing you in person very soon, at some point during the nuptial celebrations. It will be a joyous event, and if I am seen to be crying, do make sure to tell the world that my tears are of pride. Not only will my Cassy be the most handsome of brides, but also the best possible wife.

Your dear friend,

J.A.

Cassandra was trembling. The letter fell from her hands. She was arrested—submerged—by a tide of self-pity that was quite overwhelming. The feeling was repulsive to her; one to which, ordinarily, she forbade entry. And yet now she could not even begin to control it. She read the date again. Yes. The very day, possibly—who could say?—the very moment. She surrendered the struggle; let the loathsome emotion wash over her. Oh! To reach across the years, and hold that poor little Cassy close in her arms.

* * *

BY APRIL THE SEASON WAS TURNING. In the garden, around the small village, out in the rolling country of Hampshire, all was fresh, new, and reborn; yet still, in the afternoons, the young Austen ladies did not venture out if it could be avoided. Through the dark winter months spent waiting, they had found joy here in their dressing room. The closeness that had existed between them since childhood was explored, developed—mined to a new depth that both found enriching. Each preferred the company of the other over anyone. A habit had been formed.

“You are writing at quite a pace today, Jane.” Cassy was kneeling and pinning the empty shape of a lilac gown that she, as Mrs. Tom Fowle, would soon one day inhabit. “Mind your hand. Are you sure you will be able to decipher it when you read to us this evening?”

“I am a novelist in haste, Cass.” Jane’s pen