Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,72

maternal concern. Cassy, of all people, was her new problem now.

“And how are you today, child?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she peered over the breakfast table. “Recovered at last, I do hope?”

“Thank you, Mama. Perhaps I am a little better.” Cassy dared not say otherwise, and indeed, she did feel much calmer. Her sense of threat was diminishing. After all, what could possibly happen? They were to leave Dawlish the following morning.

“Splendid!” exclaimed Charles. “I suggest we three take our young legs out for a good walk, up over the cliffs and into the country beyond. What say you?”

“Nothing would delight me more,” Jane replied. “It has been such a sadness to me, having an invalid sister. You cannot know how I have suffered, Cass, left all alone. Let us take a good picnic, and we can celebrate your return.”

The matter was settled without waiting for Cassy’s agreement, and she was soon caught up in the flurry of necessary arrangements. Neither of her siblings could be trusted to remember all that they needed, and so, of course, she had to take over. There was an art to overseeing the composition of a good picnic. It happened to be one of her skills.

They set out. This was the first time she had taken the air in more than a week, and her senses could only delight in it. Yes, the sun was behind clouds and the wind was a little fresh, but then, were these not the perfect conditions for walking? And she could think of no better companions than her sister and this brother. They proceeded along the seafront, turned, followed the brook up to the village, and by now Cassy’s spirits were completely restored. She was laughing and happy—any onlooker would have to presume carefree—when the others stopped and looked around. As if they were waiting.

“What is it?” she asked of them. “I assure you we need nothing more for the picnic. We have all we could possibly want.”

“There he comes!” Charles raised his hand and his voice. “Hobday, my good fellow. Here we are. Delighted you could join us. What a fine day we have for our outing.”

“Good day to you all.” Mr. Hobday lifted his hat. “And I am equally delighted to be invited. Ladies. Miss Austen, my particular pleasure. I have not seen you about lately. I do hope you are well?”

“Thank you, sir,” Cassy stammered. Her curtsy was not all it should be. She was not quite in control of her limbs.

“Capital!” Charles exclaimed with great satisfaction, as if all was well in the world. “Let us sally. I am told that if we take this stream as our guide, then a picturesque splendor awaits us. Tell me, Hobday, where do you stand on this picturesque business? Not sure I quite grasp it myself.”

The men strode ahead, and Cassy hung back. She did not want to hear Mr. Hobday’s opinions, on that or any other matter, for fear they might meet her approval. A morning of mutual agreement would prove most unhelpful. Better to live in ignorance, and hope him to be stupid and wrong.

“Do you mind terribly?” Jane, walking with her, put a hand on her arm.

“Yes, Jane. I mind very much.”

“It was all Charles’s doing.”

“Of which you knew nothing?”

“No,” Jane conceded, trying to be serious, but too cheerful for that. “Of which I knew all, and in which I could not see any malice. While you have been sickening with—well, whatever it is that has sickened you—the two have become friendly. Charles seems to like him exceedingly well.”

Another conquest, Cassy thought irritably. Why could he not just leave all well alone?

“Indeed, no one can find any sort of fault with your Mr. Hobday. It seems he is the very model of masculine perfection. The universe has met and agreed upon it. It is all most infuriating.” Jane sighed. “You know that, as a woman of many faults, I abhor faultlessness in others. What is there to be done with them if they cannot change or improve?”

Cassy laughed. “You are faultless in my eyes.”

“No, I do not think so. But you do bear me better than anyone else ever could.” Peace was made between them. “My dear Cass, it is you who are faultless, or as close to it as I could tolerate. You deserve something better than this wretched future of ours. This denial of yourself is completely absurd.”

“Jane! Why must you make such drama from nothing? Our future is not wretched.