Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend Read online

  This book is dedicated to Rachel Petty,

  editor, enthusiast, Jane Austen fan,

  my companion and adviser through this

  speculative excursion into the girlhood of

  Jane and her cousin, Jenny (Jane) Cooper.

  Contents

  Monday, 11 April 1791

  Wednesday, 13 April 1791

  Wednesday afternoon, 13 April

  Thursday, 14 April 1791

  Friday, 15 April 1791

  Saturday, 16 April 1791

  Sunday, 17 April 1791

  Monday, 18 April 1791

  Tuesday, 19 April 1791

  Tuesday night, 19 April

  Thursday, 21 April 1791

  Friday, 22 April 1791

  The Assembly Rooms at Bath

  Saturday, 23 April 1791

  Monday, 25 April 1791

  Tuesday, 26 April 1791

  Tuesday evening, 26 April

  Wednesday, 27 April 1791

  Thursday, 28 April 1791

  Friday, 29 April 1791

  Saturday, 30 April 1791

  6 o’clock Saturday, 30 April

  Back at the Assembly Rooms

  Monday, 2 May 1791

  Wednesday, 4 May 1791

  Thursday, 5 May 1791

  Later on Thursday, 5 May

  Friday, 6 May 1791

  Saturday, 7 May 1791

  The Day of Mrs Leigh-Perrot’s Trial

  Wednesday, 11 May 1791

  Thursday, 12 May 1791

  Friday, 13 May 1791

  Elinor

  Saturday, 14 May 1791

  Tuesday, 17 May 1791

  Wednesday, 25 May 1791

  Thursday, 26 May 1791

  Frank

  Monday, 30 May 1791

  Bleak Midwinter

  Thursday, 1 December 1791

  Monday, 5 December 1791

  Till death do us part...

  MY JOURNAL

  Monday, 11 April 1791

  ‘I hate Jane Austen! I really hate her!’

  I stop. I know that voice.

  ‘Oh, Lavinia, Mama says that Jane Austen is just a vulgar, husband-hunting, affected little minx. She says you are to take no notice of her.’

  I know that voice too.

  It’s Lavinia and Caroline Thorpe. I remember them well from the time when Jane and I were at boarding school at Southampton. They made my life a misery there. I can still hear them chanting, ‘Look at Jenny Cooper’s muslin – it looks like a rag.’ ‘Jenny Cooper has the snub nose of a servant girl, she’s such a little dwarf, isn’t she?’; or else, to the owner of the school, ‘Mrs Cawley, Jenny Cooper has broken a school rule!’

  And now here they are at the Assembly Rooms at Basingstoke.

  I hesitate at the door of the ladies’ cloakroom. One curl has come loose from its knot at the back of my head during the hectic pace of the Boulanger dance, but it will have to stay like that. I can’t go in there and face the two Misses Thorpe. I turn to go, but then something stops me and I turn back. Before my courage ebbs away I burst through the door, say to them icily, ‘Jane Austen is my best friend; I’ll thank you not to gossip about her.’

  I push past them and examine myself in the glass, trying to appear calm. I pretend to look at myself, but I can see them sneering, shrugging their shoulders as if I am not worth a reply. I carefully pin up the stray curl, and then decide to leave it lying there on my neck – it looks nice, I think. I half turn and with my head over my shoulder survey my gown, pure white and sprigged with dainty silver flowers. The train is beautiful. A hundred tiny deep blue beads have been sewn to it and they twinkle in the candlelight. I smooth my long white gloves, making sure that they fit snugly over the elbow, and then I sweep past the two Thorpe girls without another glance. As I close the door behind them I hear Caroline say, ‘Anyway, we’re going to Bath for the season; he’s bound to be there.’ She raises her voice a little and says, ‘And the Austens and their beggarly cousin won’t be there to interfere.’

  When I get back to the Assembly Rooms the new dance has not yet been called, but Jane is already hand in hand with Newton. No wonder Lavinia is so upset. The Honourable Newton Wallop is the second son of the Earl of Portsmouth and it’s rumoured that he will be the heir to the Portsmouth estates as the eldest son, John, is strange and, according to Jane, it is feared that he is a lunatic. Newton has been a pupil at Mr Austen’s house at Steventon, and he and Jane seem great friends, joking and laughing. They’ve been dancing together for most of the evening.

  ‘Your very humble servant, ma’am,’ says Newton, and Jane replies in very affected tones, ‘La, sir, pray do not be such a tease.’ And then she laughs as Newton reminds her of the time that she and he made an apple-pie bed for Jane’s prim sister, Cassandra. Lavinia would be furious if she could hear how friendly they sound.

  I don’t waste any more thoughts on Lavinia. I can see Thomas coming towards me. I don’t push my way through the crowd to join him. I just stand and look at him.

  Captain Thomas Williams, the youngest captain in the navy – brave, handsome and noble . . . and in love with me! Tall – taller than most people at the ball; broad shoulders; black hair gleaming like a blackbird’s wing under the candlelight from the chandeliers above; dark brown eyes, so piercing and yet . . . I think back to the little damp woodland and the bluebells and tiny forget-me-nots at our feet and how those eyes were so soft and pleading then. And still I can’t believe that he has asked me to marry him.

  He has reached me now.

  ‘You look so beautiful,’ he murmurs in my ear, and I smile and know that whether my curls are pinned up tidily or escaping down the nape of my neck, it makes no difference to him. He loves me as I am and no matter what I do or say. We go and stand beside Newton and Jane.

  ‘Oh la, sir, you make me blush,’ she is saying to him, and Newton instantly responds with a deep bow and says loudly, ‘Madam, your beauty overwhelms me. No poor words of mine are enough to describe you.’

  ‘Dearest Newton . . .’ Jane begins in a very lofty way, her voice so loud that several people turn to listen to her, and then she spoils it by hissing, ‘You’re on the wrong side, Newton. You are such a ninny. Go and stand beside Jenny. Quick, the music is starting.’

  I smile at Newton as he joins me. He’s quite handsome – not handsome in the same manly way as my Thomas, but he is large-eyed, curly-haired and fresh-faced. He stretches out his hand to Jane, and Thomas takes my hand and we whirl around as the last dance of the evening begins.

  I can see Lavinia and Caroline Thorpe now. Neither is dancing. They are standing in front of their mama and Lavinia is half twisted towards her, saying something. I can guess what. When she turns back her face is full of rage, eyes narrowed as she looks at Jane.

  ‘Jane,’ I whisper, ‘look at Lavinia Thorpe, over there by the fireplace. She’s furious with you.’

  Jane looks over her shoulder, a lightning look, but that is enough for someone with Jane’s quick wits. Newton dances back and Jane puts up her hand to hold his. She smiles sweetly into his face and drops a demure curtsy and then they are off dancing rather closer than is usual, both of them laughing as the two rows of dancers clap them energetically.

  ‘Jane,’ I say when we are back in our bedroom at Steventon, ‘I think that you have made an enemy.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ she says, carefully hanging up her ball gown.

  ‘She’ll gossip about you,’ I say, hanging my gown beside hers.

  ‘Who cares about Lavinia Thorpe?’ Jane’s voice is scornful as she sits on the stool in front of our little looking glass and begins to take the pins from her curls.

  ‘Not me,’ I say, taking up
the hairbrush. I will brush her hair a hundred times and then she will do the same for me. I don’t care about Lavinia Thorpe either. All I can think of now is that my uncle, Mr Austen, will be coming back from Oxford tomorrow and that Thomas will ask for my hand in marriage.

  And then we will live happily forever after.

  Wednesday, 13 April 1791

  It’s my birthday today. I’m seventeen years old.

  And I am in love with the most wonderful man in the world.

  And he is in love with me too – he wants to marry me.

  I’m trying to draw him, to do justice to his tall figure, his broad shoulders, his dark hair and his lovely brown eyes, but I am crying so hard that my tears splash down and spoil my drawing. Because we cannot be married. The match has been forbidden.

  And to think that my own brother, the only near relation I have left in the world, should have done this to me. I know that it is his horrible wife, Augusta, who has prompted him, but he didn’t have to obey her in that cowardly way that he always does. If only my mother were still alive, she would not have allowed it to happen.

  I look across the room at the figure of my cousin and best friend, Jane; the curtains of her bed are drawn back, but she is still asleep. Not surprisingly really, as it must be very early in the morning. There are no noises to show that anyone in the house is up. The birdsong sounds as if it’s not much past dawn. Jane has a smile on her lips. Just before she fell asleep her last words were: ‘I’m definitely going to put your dreadful sister-in-law into a book. People will laugh at her in the years to come. You just wait.’

  No doubt she is now dreaming of the great novel she is going to write.

  Or is she dreaming of the Honourable Newton Wallop and what fun it was to snatch him from Lavinia Thorpe?

  No, it’s probably her novel – writing is more important to Jane than anything.

  I have to smile a bit at the memory of all the ridiculous things that Jane writes about this Augusta who is going to feature in her novel, but then my tears well up again. Soon I will run out of dry handkerchiefs, so I try hard to stop.

  And I will stop!

  I’m not going to allow this to happen.

  Thomas and I will get married just as we planned.

  I will go to live in his house on the Isle of Wight and walk through the forget-me-not woods with him.

  It’s good for me to get angry. It makes me feel that I can change things.

  All I have to do to feel furious is think of what happened between Thomas and my stupid brother, Edward-John, and his wife, Augusta, who has hated me from the moment that my mama died and she had to ‘welcome’ me into their house.

  I must try to write down everything that was said, and not said . . .

  Mr Austen, my very kind uncle, had suffered a heavy cold while staying with his eldest son, James, in Oxford and was still not very well, I think, when he arrived off the early-morning coach on Tuesday morning. He looked pale and tired, and when Thomas asked him for the favour of an interview in his study he seemed more resigned than curious. I saw my aunt, Mrs Austen, look up with an air of sharp interest, and now I wish so much that she had joined her husband from the start. If she had, perhaps Edward-John would not have been involved so quickly.

  But she didn’t, and Jane and I were left gripping hands under the table until Mrs Austen said abruptly, ‘Come on, Jane; help your sister to clear off the breakfast things. Jenny, you look in a dream – a bit of housework will bring you down to earth, won’t it, Cassandra?’ But Mrs Austen did not look annoyed. She flashed an amused look at her eldest daughter to invite her to join in the joke and then patted me reassuringly on the arm when I went to take her plate.

  At that moment Mr Austen’s head popped around the door, looking flustered.

  ‘Edward-John,’ he said in his hesitant manner, ‘perhaps you should come into my study and have a word with Captain Williams.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Edward-John got to his feet in a stately manner and Augusta immediately followed him from the room. Mr Austen shut the door firmly behind them without glancing at his wife, who compressed her lips angrily and then tried to smile reassuringly at me.

  ‘Papa won’t allow Edward-John to say no,’ whispered Jane to me, but I said nothing in reply. I was very fond of Mr Austen, but if Edward-John and Augusta, especially Augusta, were against this marriage, I feared there was not much chance of Mr Austen changing their minds.

  The three of us had finished clearing the table. Jane was vigorously sweeping the oak-boarded floor, while Mrs Austen, instead of going off to the dairy as usual, set about rubbing the copper kettle to a high shine. Mr Austen’s pupils had been sent to the schoolroom to start on their lessons by themselves and I had begun, nervously, to polish the sideboard when Thomas came to the doorway.

  ‘Jenny, could you come here for a minute?’ he said. His voice was tight with anger. I went towards him, putting my hand in his. Suddenly I felt cold. Behind me I heard Mrs Austen get to her feet, dropping the copper kettle with a thud back on to the hob by the fireplace. She said nothing but followed us both, and Jane squeezed in beside her.

  Mr Austen’s study was a small one. He was seated behind the desk, with Edward-John standing beside him, and Augusta had arranged her lace flounces across the only other chair in the room. Mrs Austen did not give her a glance as she placed herself on the window seat. Jane perched on her father’s library steps, and Thomas, still keeping hold of my hand, drew my arm through his own and faced my uncle and brother across the desk.

  ‘I don’t see what this has to do with Jenny and Jane,’ began Augusta. Even she did not have the courage to say it had nothing to do with Mrs Austen.

  ‘I disagree with you, ma’am,’ said Thomas. I had never heard his voice so hard. ‘I think Jenny’s future is very much her business.’

  ‘Miss Cooper,’ said Augusta, trying to make her reproof of his familiarity with my name sound jolly, but Thomas did not reply. He did not even look at her. He pressed my arm close to his ribs and turned to Edward-John.

  ‘Perhaps, sir, you would be good enough to explain to your sister why you have refused my offer of marriage,’ he said, and he sounded as though he spoke through gritted teeth.

  Edward-John gulped a bit. He wasn’t used to dealing with naval officers like Thomas, who had a note of authority in every word that he spoke.

  ‘My sister,’ he said with an attempt at bluster, ‘doesn’t need any explanation of an action that I, as her sole guardian, take for her good.’

  ‘Jenny knows,’ said Augusta sweetly, ‘we just want the best for her.’

  Thomas squeezed my arm again and this gave me courage to speak up for myself.

  ‘The best thing for me,’ I said boldly, ‘is to be allowed to marry Captain Williams. That is what I want to do and that is what will make me happy.’

  I saw with some compassion the slightly ashamed look that Mr Austen gave me. I understood and was sorry for him.

  ‘Oh, Jenny dear . . .’ Augusta affected a tone that I supposed was meant to be motherly, but still sounded spiteful. ‘Believe me, we just want the best for you. You are so young, just sixteen years old!’

  ‘She’s seventeen tomorrow,’ said Jane. ‘And then she’ll be in her eighteenth year,’ she added, earning herself an angry glance from Augusta.

  I took a deep breath. It was ridiculous, but I was so afraid of Edward-John and Augusta. I think that, between them both, they had broken my spirit after my mother died. While I lived in their house in Bristol, I had been like a little mouse, just whispering replies and silently agreeing to everything that was proposed. It was only when I had become best friends with Jane – when I had learned from her to be independent and to think for myself – that I had begun to question whether Edward-John and his wife Augusta really were devoted to my interests. Augusta hates me; I know that. She hates me and she doesn’t want anything good to happen to me.

  Suddenly I was angry.

  ‘I want to marry Thoma
s.’ It all came out in a bit of a rush, but I made sure that my voice sounded clear and strong. Thomas pressed my arm again. I almost felt as though we were one person, standing up there in front of the hostile presence of Edward-John and Augusta.

  ‘Come now, let us be reasonable. What are Captain Williams’s prospects?’ Mrs Austen sounded unusually conciliatory. Usually she gave her opinion in a very forthright manner. She was my mother’s only sister, and if she could not change Edward-John’s mind, then no one could. However, in her usual alert fashion, she had sized up Augusta and there was a note of caution in her voice.

  Thomas turned to her gratefully. ‘My prospects are good, ma’am,’ he said respectfully. ‘As you know, I am a captain in the Royal Navy; my yearly salary is five hundred pounds. In addition I have been privileged by being entrusted with various commissions from the East India Trading Company, and these have proved very lucrative indeed to me.’

  Even Augusta looked a little impressed at that. The Austens had remote connections with Warren Hastings, the director of the East India Company, and everyone knew that Warren Hastings was almost as rich as the King of England himself.

  ‘And,’ continued Thomas, pressing home his advantage, ‘since I understand that Jenny’s mother left her fifty pounds a year until she turns twenty-one, this money can be invested for her in diamond mines in the East Indies and I can guarantee to double and treble its value within a few years.’

  And that, as Jane said afterwards, was his mistake. He should never have mentioned the fifty pounds. Augusta hates me, but she quite likes having that extra fifty pounds a year – very little of which is spent on me!

  ‘I could see those boiled-gooseberry eyes of hers pop out even further than usual,’ said Jane when we were talking about it in our bedroom. ‘It was obvious that she was thinking about how much she would lose if you were married. Edward-John would have to hand over your property to your husband then. That’s the law.’ Jane as usual knew everything about marriage.

  ‘It will, of course, be put into a trust for Jenny, or for her children, if that is what she wants,’ continued Thomas, a little puzzled by the silence in the room. ‘And there will no doubt be another war with France any moment now . . .’ He stopped.