she could see only the writing of strangers, upon paper that was now cracked and yellowing: old, meaningless missives, of no possible interest.
Cassandra surrendered all hope. With a creak of her joints, she sat back on her heels and took a moment to assess her situation. The letters had been removed from her room in an act of deliberate obstruction: That much was now clear. Her private correspondence, and that of Jane, was now in the hands of another. Their intimate thoughts and emotions, which she had sought to conceal, could be revealed to a stranger. Cassandra had come to Kintbury with but one, desperate objective: to protect her dear sister. And she had failed. Burying her face in her hands, she gave in to despair.
Tempting though it was to spend the afternoon moping, reasonable though it might be to wallow in misery—she was old, she had been ill, she was thoroughly spent—Cassandra did not have the luxury of time. The rest of the household could return at any moment. There were packets of letters all over the floor. She must cover her tracks. With a sigh she struggled up and began to replace everything where it had been found. Now, how was it all arranged? Was James next to Mary, or was Mary under Martha? She cleared a small gap, and there, to her astonishment, was a whole other bundle from Jane.
Cassandra seized it; she held it to her bosom. This was extraordinary! A gift beyond gold! And, as with all the best gifts, quite unexpected. She had had no idea that Jane and Eliza had corresponded so often. The two women were friends, of course, but not so very close. How did Jane have so much to say?
All thoughts of the missing papers forgotten, Cassandra shut the old settle and scurried back to her room.
Steventon Rectory
19 September 1800
My dear Eliza,
We are delighted to hear that you are safely delivered of your recent encumbrance, and that the baby herself is thriving. It is a splendid name—an Isabella can only grow up to be a heroine—or a Spanish Queen, I suppose, but I think we will not wish that fate upon her. No. Isabella Fowle will be a heroine whose adventures are both magnificent and solely confined to the great county of Berkshire. I look forward to reading of them, sometime in the future, but in the meantime, please do assure her, mere thriving is all I expect and require.
All goes well here with us. I have nothing to report but the general health of all in the parish of Steventon and Deane. Of the more far-flung Austens, we have only good reports, and thank God for them. My seafaring brothers continue to heap glory upon us—did you hear that Frank is now made Post-Captain? Of course you did. No doubt Kintbury has had so many letters on that matter that the Vicarage was buried and you have only this minute dug yourselves out from under. The act of writing the words brings such a thrill, that I cannot resist it. And now that he has a position, he can only want for a wife. I still harbor hopes of Martha for him. My family is greedy, Eliza—not content with taking just one of your sisters—we want all of them. And Martha is already a sister, in all but name. She is coming to us tomorrow. We have nothing ahead but a festival of books and chatting and walking—so much walking in this excellent weather. Quite desperate walkers, we three ladies are. It may not be everybody’s idea of ultimate pleasure, but we are the oddest of creatures and will enjoy it enormously.
I hope the visit will distract Cassy from her misery, for a few days at least. It is now three years since the death of poor Tom, and her spirits are nowhere near mending. Oh, I understand it, of course, I just wish it were not so. Her anxiety about her future is perfectly natural. After all, what will become of her? There is the question. And—this comes in deep confidence, dear Eliza—it leads us straight to another, which is: what, after all, will become of me, too?
Before we lost Tom, there was no reason to doubt that the Future was a happy thing and off far in the distance. Yet, suddenly, it seems it is upon us, and has a menacing air. One day, perhaps soon, we will have to leave Steventon. Oh, do not worry! My