Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,76
she was once in Bath, for my brother was fortunate enough to meet her there.”
“Was he indeed?” Cassandra remembered the occasion with clarity. She had gone to the Pump Room alone with her parents; Jane could not be persuaded to come out that day. The senior Mr. Dundas had met only this other Miss Austen. As so often, poor, weak truth must lay down its life for the triumph of anecdote.
“He reported that she was the most sparkling creature he ever did meet!”
Well, that was most gratifying. She did recall, thinking about it, that she had been on rather good form.
“Your situation interests me. It must rub, does it not? I often find myself pondering on the random way in which blessings are scattered in families. There is your sister, a woman of genius, who, if there is any justice, should be the subject of interest for future generations. And there beside her is you, madam, whom, by the vagaries of fate…” He paused, and for the first time showed a little uncertainty.
“… am rendered of interest to no one at all?” she finished for him, helpfully. “I think we are going this way, are we not, Miss Fowle? If you are off to your church and the very great importance of its ministry, Mr. Dundas, please do not let us detain you.”
They made their farewells, and he swaggered off into the distance.
“Isabella,” Cassandra said gently, once they were alone, “do you intend to comply with this outrageous demand?”
“I do not feel I have a choice.” Isabella sniffed as she walked. “He spoke as one most sympathetic to my predicament, and of course the parish must always come first. Mr. Dundas is a man never less than impeccable in all matters. He was very flattering about your sister, was he not?”
“Indeed. I was quite charmed. But, my dear, have you yet found a place to which you might go?”
They had arrived at the drive of the vicarage.
“No, not at all.” Isabella sighed and sniffed again. “Oh, it is all my own fault, I dare say. It generally is. That is what my sisters would tell me. I have been too happy to let others decide on my behalf. I am a wretched creature, all abject and prone.”
They were met at the door by Dinah, who stood waiting to take their outer garments.
“Surely there must be somewhere to suit in the village.” Cassandra untied her bonnet. “You have some money, Isabella: the means of providing some sort of roof for your head. My dear, do remember that. All is not lost.”
Isabella unfastened her cloak. “Yes, of course. A place. I shall find a place.” Her self-pity resurfaced as she looked around the gracious hall. “Though I may never again have a home.” She retrieved her handkerchief from a pocket, dabbed at her nose, and brightened a little. “Indeed, I did hear yesterday of a house here in the village.” Her face fell again. “No, that will not do. It is beyond my slender means. I could only take it if both my sisters came with me. Thank you, Dinah. That will be all.”
Dinah stayed where she was.
Cassandra’s heart lifted. A house of three women, and all deeply connected: This was the best possible outcome, the one she had hoped for since her arrival: the Holy Trinity of Domestic Perfection. And now she could share her own intelligence.
“I spoke to your sister Elizabeth only this afternoon!” she declared with great satisfaction. “She is willing to share with you if you would like it.”
They moved through to the drawing room. Dinah followed them.
“And I am quite sure Mary-Jane, too, can be persuaded. She seems to feel a little insecure in that cottage.”
Dinah fled from the room, Cassandra hoped to make their tea.
“Oh, I do envy you. A new place is always a matter of tremendous excitement, and this will be the first of your own,” Cassandra went on. “Think of that, my dear. So many women end up perched on the edge of their extended families, trying not to get in the way. You will have a parlor! Possibly even a garden. We have so loved our garden in Chawton. A patch of earth of one’s own, to tend as one wishes; one small corner of the glory that is an English country village: It is the most we can wish for in this life of ours.”
She was subsumed with joy at the future to which Isabella could now look forward. Living alone,