Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,70

perceived by a stranger.”

“Ah. The loss of a parent is a heavy burden to carry,” he said with a sigh, “especially in one so young.”

“Mrs. Hobday told us last year of your own bereavement, for which I am sorry.”

“Thank you, madam. My father was an excellent man, and is much missed. My mother was badly struck by the grief of it, and that explains our peripatetic existence. She found it too painful to stay in our family home for a while. But I think, and pray, that, her strength now recovered, we shall be returning this autumn to our estate.”

Cassy felt her mother twitch as that small but all-powerful word pierced through and pricked her innermost mind.

“For myself, I believe our mourning has gone on long enough. It is not only because I am keen to take up my inheritance, more that the pull of Derbyshire is too strong to resist.”

“Derbyshire!” exclaimed Cassy.

“Derbyshire?” In her excitement, Mrs. Austen clean forgot she was asleep.

“So you know it?” Mr. Hobday seemed pleased.

“Alas, not at all.” Cassy felt foolish. “It is just that my sister has it in her head the place is some sort of perfection.”

“Then your sister is a lady of great intuition. It is God’s own country, I sincerely believe.”

Mrs. Austen struggled to her feet. “And we would very much like to hear all about it, would we not, Cassy? Come now. Let us walk again.”

They both rose, on order.

“You can describe everything to us in the greatest of detail. We are country people ourselves, Mr. Hobday, with an excellent sense of the land. My daughter here is quite a hand with the poultry, although—dear me! How foolish—I suppose you have people for that, yes? Well, of course. An estate, I heard you say. Now, how many acres?”

The tide had turned. The thin spit of sand—so wide and firm on their outward journey—was still desperately holding out, as if it had a choice in its future. Though it knew, from experience, that the sea was bound to overcome it in time.

“Ah, that is extensive,” Mrs. Austen was saying. “And how much is farmland, and how much is park?”

Their return to the village had to be hurried. Cassy chose not to contribute to the conversation, but nobody noticed. Mrs. Austen had too many questions to ask of Mr. Hobday, and Mr. Hobday was all too keen to reply.

* * *

WITH THE EXCITEMENT OF CHARLES’S arrival, the family became introspective. They each, individually, preferred the company of Austens above any other. With enough of them assembled, there was no need for society. They were a party unto themselves. And if they could not all be together, then this, for the ladies, was the perfect arrangement. Among their brothers, they each had their favorites, but on Charles they both equally doted.

The evening was warm, preserving the memory of the heat of the day. Jane sat by the open window, reading aloud to them. A light breeze sauntered through and lifted the hair around her face.

“I say, your Thorpe is the devil of a bounder.” Charles jumped up and strode around the small parlor. He could never be still for long. “If that is the Oxford Man, I am grateful not to have gone there myself. I dare him to try and come onto my ship: We should have him run up the yardarm at once.”

Jane lowered her pages. “He never would be on your or any ship, Charles. Mr. Thorpe has neither the heart nor the head for it. We all know that our sailors are the very best of our men.”

“Hear, hear,” said Mr. Austen. “As the French now know to their cost.”

“You say that, and yet my sister here continues to insult me!” Charles retorted.

“I?” exclaimed Jane. “My dear Charles, you are surely teasing! What can I have done?”

“Is it not obvious? You will persist in writing these stories, full of splendid fellows of all different sorts, but never once have I heard one of your heroines to be blessed with a dashing sailor brother whom she admires and adores.”

“That is true.” Jane laughed. Cassy looked up from her sewing and smiled to see her sister so at ease. After a successful reading of her own work to the family, she glowed as she never glowed otherwise. “But to do so would defeat my own purposes. It would strike right through the narrative. You must see that if a young lady is so fortunate as to have her own dashing sailor