Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,91

We shall find better soon.”

“And when summer comes around,” Martha joined in, “you will no doubt be once again in residence with some grand relation.”

“Ah, yes. And then I shall be happy once more!”

Martha laughed. “You are all Lizzy Bennet—one glimpse of ‘beautiful grounds’ and everything changes.”

“You flatter me twice, dearest.” Jane kissed Martha’s cheek. “Comparing me to Lizzy and quoting my words back at me. You know the way to a novelist’s heart.”

“I wish you would compose something new for us.”

“I cannot. Not here.” Jane sank again. “All that is behind me.”

“Then let us start First Impressions again, after dinner.”

Through all their journeys, as Jane traveled from visit to visit and from one temporary home to the next, her writing box had traveled faithfully with her, each treasured manuscript tight by her side.

“Again? You both know it by heart!”

“And yet it pleases us anew every time,” said Cassy. As they made their plans for the evening—a reading, followed perhaps by a game or two—Jane’s demeanor improved. They followed the river, chatting and laughing, and all was, for the moment, peace and harmony. But, still, Cassy could never quite stop feeling fearful. It was as if a monster were stalking their threshold. She was on permanent guard, her weight against the door, her eyes ever vigilant: desperate to keep it at bay.

22

Godmersham, Kent

12 January 1807

My dear Eliza,

It has come again! Of course, I am in Kent, and Martha with you, so my only source of information is the tone of her letters, but—I have every reason to fear Jane has slipped into yet another bout of melancholy. This is now the fourth such occurrence and grieves me particularly, for I feel responsible. I should never have come away and left her alone.

I had thought that, if she were surrounded by family, all would be well. It was so kind of James and Mary, offering to go and stay with my mother and sister while they were alone in their lodgings after Christmas, and I am sure that they both did their best to bring cheer to the season. Unfortunately—and I cannot think why, the reasons are not known to me—their visit seems to have sent Jane over the edge. I was too much the optimist.

The worst of it this time—oh, Eliza! I am frantic!—is that I am so far away from her here and cannot see any way in which I can return. I am beholden to my brothers to deliver me back, and none is at present minded to do so. They are enjoying such good winter sport and—though I have not dared to ask—would be quite heartily sick if they had to leave now. So I can do nothing but sit here—in splendor, certainly, but such is my impotence I cannot enjoy it.

I was wondering—and do forgive me for asking, you must know I would not were I less desperate—if you might be able to spare Martha soon? Should you still need her in Kintbury, then I quite understand, but if instead it would be easy for you to release her back to Southampton, I would be so grateful, Eliza. She is the only other person I can trust.

With love,

C. Austen.

Cassy wrote the Kintbury address, sealed up the paper, and put down her pen. There was nothing she could do now but hope. That morning’s letter from Jane—an anguished cry from the darkness—had distressed her enormously. What would she give to be by her side now! She hid it away in the bosom of her dress, and rose from the writing table.

Elizabeth Austen looked up from her place by the fireside. “All well, my dear?” she asked kindly.

“Quite well, thank you,” Cassy replied. “Though I believe my mother and sister are missing me a little.”

“Oh, do not worry yourself on their account, Cass, truly. You are too much in the service of others. No one can object to you enjoying yourself here for a while.”

Elizabeth had, just before Christmas, been delivered of her tenth baby. With each new addition, her fondness for Cassy had grown incrementally: The more crowded the nursery, the greater occupation for the mother, the shorter lived the governess, then the more welcome the sister-in-law found herself to be. It was a simple enough formula, which Cassy well understood. It was also true, though, that through these epic years of heroic breeding, the two women had formed a genuine bond, and a deep affection had grown up between them. Each matched the other’s devotion to