I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend Read online

  But I also know that I must send this letter to Mrs Austen – Jane’s life may depend on it – so I cannot give up.

  Now the street is less crowded. I am trying to see the post-inn. It should be near. I passed it one day, but I cannot see it now. I am straining my eyes so much to see it that I almost don’t notice that a man with a sword is coming towards me. He’s looking all around him, and his hand is on the hilt. He hasn’t seen me yet, but he will do in a minute. I stop. There is nowhere to hide.

  The man lifts the sword and shouts, ‘En garde!’ Then he screams something. For a moment I am frozen, just standing there, watching the light of the street torches flash on the steel of the naked blade. He draws back the sword and then makes a stabbing motion. The sword is very near to me. I can’t move. My mouth is dry and my legs have no strength in them. I feel paralysed. The man shouts again. He is staring straight at me, but I know from the strange look in his eyes that he doesn’t see me. He doesn’t see a sixteen-year-old girl, small for her age; he is seeing some enemy. I don’t know the meaning of the words that he yells, but I know that I must get away quickly. Now the man points his sword at the ground and examines the blade carefully. He is talking to himself in an angry, loud voice. He lifts the sword again and it flashes in the torchlight. Suddenly the strength comes back to my legs. I turn round very quickly and start to run in the opposite direction. The railings in front of the houses and the bright rectangles of window light blur in front of my eyes. My feet in their soft shoes patter on the cobblestones. My chest hurts. I can hardly draw a breath.

  I turn back into the lane.

  And I run straight into another man.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he says, and he sounds quite alarmed. ‘Where are you off to, young lady?’

  I stand very still. He has a tight hold on my arm and I don’t struggle. I just wait, my heart racing. I think about resisting so that he has to let go of my arm, but my legs are still so weak that I am quite glad to be held. And then the dangerous-looking man with the sword passes us, going straight along the well-lit street of Bargate. His face is terribly scarred by a puckered line that runs down one cheek from eye to chin. He takes no notice of us; he is too busy looking over his shoulder and muttering loudly to himself. His eyes are strange. I can see them quite clearly in the light of the flaring pitch torch that has been stuck into the gateway of a house by the roadside.

  ‘Whew!’ whistles the man, letting go of my arm and giving a little bow. ‘That fellow looks dangerous.’ I look closely at him now and I’m not so scared of him. He is very tall and imposing, but quite young, and looks just like I imagine one of Jane’s brothers to look. He catches my eye and smiles, and his smile is so warm and his eyes so kind that I begin to feel less frightened.

  ‘You’re too young to be out alone in the streets of Southampton at this hour,’ he says. ‘How old are you? Fifteen? What’s your name?’

  ‘My name is Jenny Cooper and I’m sixteen,’ I say, and I try to sound annoyed and grown-up, but I can hear my voice shaking.

  ‘Captain Thomas Williams, at your service, Miss Cooper.’ He bows again and I manage to drop a curtsy. He is very handsome, with jet-black hair curling around his neck and very dark brown eyes. I would like to ask him how old he is, but I daren’t. He’s probably about the same age as Jane’s brother James. It feels so strange, standing there in the street at night with a man that I haven’t even been introduced to, a man that I’ve never seen in my life, and another man, a madman, walking up the street waving his sword, that I start to giggle and then I think about poor Jane lying on the bed muttering, her face red with the fever, and I feel so bad about giggling when my best friend is so ill that I start to cry.

  ‘Are you running away?’ He gives me a worried smile, and for a moment looks as though he might move to comfort me, though he can’t, of course. It would be most improper. But for some reason I feel that I can rely on him, and I begin to feel better. I shake my head.

  The watchman has got to the top of the High Street now. I see him turn round and start to march down towards us.

  ‘Take my arm, keep your head bowed so that your bonnet hides your face, and we’ll just stroll along. Try to stop crying, or else I’ll be in trouble with the watch.’ Captain Thomas Williams has tucked my hand through his arm and he starts to saunter up the High Street, stopping from time to time to look in the shop windows. He doesn’t say any more until after the watchman has gone to check on the locked gates of the Assembly Rooms and then he stops and faces me.

  ‘Seriously,’ he says, ‘I think you should go home. Running away isn’t a good idea. I’ll take you home now. Where do you live?’

  ‘I’m not running away!’ I nearly shout the words and then lower my voice in case the night watchman hears me.

  ‘So where are you off to then?’ He’s smiling, but he looks a bit worried. I wonder if he’s sorry he met me. He probably doesn’t want the responsibility of deciding what to do with me.

  ‘I’m going to the post-inn. I want to send a letter.’

  ‘A love letter?’

  ‘No, to my aunt.’ I hold up the letter so that he can see the address and he looks surprised.

  ‘Wouldn’t the morning do?’

  ‘No,’ I say, and I tell him everything.

  Tuesday, 8 February 1791

  I’ve been sitting here for hours in the dormitory, thinking all about my midnight walk through the streets of Southampton as if it were still happening, living through it all again. I can’t decide whether it was the most terrible hour in my life … or perhaps the most wonderful …

  But anyway, the letter has gone to Mrs Austen, and Jane is beginning to seem a little better — almost as though she knows that her mother is coming. She has stopped muttering and tossing and turning and her eyes have closed. Her breathing is still very loud. It rattles in her chest and now it is like the sound of a tea-kettle boiling. I get into my bed and wrap myself in the two thin blankets.

  But still I am scared to go to sleep in case when I wake I find that Jane has died. I have to keep awake and I will keep awake by writing.

  I can’t help thinking of what might have happened to me if I hadn’t met Captain Williams last night. I know that I ran a terrible risk, but it will be worth it if Jane’s mother arrives in time.

  There’s another thing in my mind, and it seems selfish to even think of it with Jane so ill, but I can’t help it.

  I know that if anyone recognized me out alone in the streets of Southampton at midnight I would be ruined forever. My brother, Edward-John, would be ill from shock if he ever heard of it, and his wife, Augusta, who is always so proper, would probably persuade him to cast me off and send me out to the East Indies or some such place.

  I have a nightmare feeling that the next time Mrs Cawley takes us walking in Southampton someone will come up to her and point to me and then the whole story will become known …

  I must think of other things … perhaps I shall write about Captain Thomas Williams. He told me the name of his ship — it is the Bonaventure, and he has been out in the East Indies. It is strange, but I felt so at ease with him once we started talking that it was as if I had known him for a long time. He is an orphan, just like me, and that made a bond between us. When I told him that my father and mother were dead, he squeezed my arm just a little. I could feel the muscles of his arm through the wool jacket of his uniform. I suppose that life at sea must be very hard work — he was so big and strong that I felt very safe with him. I loved listening to him telling me about his life at sea and about his far-off cousin who died and left him a property on the Isle of Wight and about his uncle the admiral, and what a stern man he was, though he thought he had done his duty by his orphaned nephew and niece when he placed the boy in the naval college and the girl in a boarding school. I think Captain Williams must be a very good brother because he seemed so worried about his sister, Elinor, who he says looks a little like me, except that her hair is not quite so blonde and her eyes
are green. He is so nice. He sounded angry when he told me how unhappy Elinor was at boarding school, where the owner used to tell the girls that they could eat the bread but only smell the cheese. The girls there were starving, he said. I could hear the anger in his voice when he told me about that. I liked him very much when he told me that the first thing he did when he heard of his inheritance was to take his sister away from that school where she was half starving and allow her to live at home, with a governess to teach her.

  I couldn’t help thinking about Edward-John. I don’t think that if he had an inheritance he would want to spend it on me.

  But I don’t want to think about Edward-John or about Augusta.

  I want to think about Captain Williams …

  That uniform of a captain in the navy suits him so well. The gold braid shows up his brown eyes, and the epaulettes on his jacket make his shoulders look even bigger. His voice is lovely, velvet-smooth like chocolate.

  And when we had arrived back at the school, he escorted me up the steps, kissed my hand and then shut the door very quietly behind me.

  I don’t suppose that I shall ever see him again, but I will always remember him and how handsome he looked in his uniform. I’ve tried to sketch a picture of him — it’s not as handsome as he is but it’s a fairly good likeness, I think. Drawing is my best subject.

  Oh, and he told me that he can set his timepiece by the mail coaches and my letter to my aunt will be at Deane Gate Inn by daybreak. He got me to write ‘URGENT’ above the address so that the innkeeper will send the letter over to the parsonage at Steventon immediately.

  He even waited until I could see with my own eyes the men loading the mail coach with the sacks of mail, including my precious letter. He told me that some of the mail had come from his ship, Bonaventure, from Southampton docks. He showed me how the sacks were stamped with the name of the ship.

  I hope that Captain Williams is right that Mrs Austen will get the letter tomorrow morning. I hope that she will be here soon. I was so frightened that Jane might die, but now I am more hopeful.

  A minute ago, Jane cried out as if she was in pain, but when I bent over her there was no recognition in her eyes. She is still in a very high fever. It seems so strange to see her like this — Jane who is always so full of life. It’s only a few days ago that she was bouncing on her bed, mimicking her mother:

  ‘Jane, you are nothing but a hoodlum, that’s what you are, madam, and don’t you look at me in that saucy way or I’ll box your ears. Henry, stop laughing at her; you make her even wilder. Frank, stop that; stop it, I tell you. Charles, I saw that! I shall get your father to deal with you if you’re not careful. I declare to the heavens that no woman on earth has such a family! It’s no wonder that my poor nerves are in such a state!’

  Jane jokes about everything. I think had it not been for Jane and her jokes and her friendship I would never have survived the first few weeks here at this terrible school where we are half starved most of the time.

  Her mother will know what to do.

  Wednesday, 9 February 1791

  Only one more day to go and then Mrs Austen might come!

  I did sleep after all and suddenly woke with a start to find Lavinia standing over me saying triumphantly, ‘You’re in trouble!’ I had fallen asleep half sitting up and my journal was still on my knee. Quickly I pushed it under the blankets.

  ‘Why?’ I asked. I was scared of Lavinia. Could she possibly have seen me go out last night? Pretended to be asleep and then looked out of the window and seen me walk down the street at night by myself? I could hardly breathe, I was so terrified.

  ‘You didn’t close your curtain between the beds. You know that is not allowed.’

  ‘Mrs Cawley told me to keep an eye on Jane.’ My heart was thumping with relief as I told the lie. It was all I could think of to say, but at least Lavinia couldn’t have seen me leave the dormitory, otherwise she wouldn’t have bothered about something as trivial as keeping the curtains closed between the six beds in the dormitory.

  ‘No, she didn’t.’ Lavinia sounded very sure and she probably was quite certain: Mrs Cawley hates Jane and it was easy to guess that she would never have bothered asking me to look after her. ‘You’re just a liar, Miss Jenny Cooper. Well, I’m going to tell.’

  She bounced away and I could hear her calling down the stairs. ‘Ma’am,’ she called, her voice sounding very sweet, ‘I’m sorry to report that Jenny Cooper has broken the dormitory rules.’ I got out of bed. Quickly I bent down and pushed the inkpot and the quill under the bed. I felt quite sick and dizzy when I stood up again. I was so tired and the floor was so cold that my teeth chattered and once again the water in my ewer had frozen to the sides of the jug. Another day without washing! Why had we been sent to this horrible place? My feet were frozen as I pulled on my long woollen stockings, then I put on my warm flannel petticoat, and then my gown. I wrapped myself in my shawl and waited. The other girls avoided looking at me.

  I didn’t have long to wait. Mrs Cawley marched into the room, followed by Lavinia smiling smugly.

  ‘Jenny Cooper,’ screamed Mrs Cawley, ‘you are a bad, disobedient girl. You will have to wear the backboard for two hours as a punishment.’

  I bowed my head obediently. And then I got an idea and asked if I could sit by the fire downstairs while I was wearing the board. I shivered a little and rubbed my hands together. I didn’t need to pretend to make my voice shake. I am scared of Mrs Cawley. Lavinia says that once Mrs Cawley beat a girl with a rod until the girl’s back was bleeding. I would die if she tried to beat me. I hate her.

  Mrs Cawley’s eyes narrowed when I begged to sit by the fire, and a sour smile came over her face. ‘No, you won’t,’ she said vindictively. ‘I’ll send one of the maids up with the board straight away and she will strap you into it. You just stay here in the dormitory until I send for you.’

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ said Lavinia after Mrs Cawley had gone. ‘You’ll never get a husband if you have round shoulders. You should practise standing up tall and then you might grow a little. That cousin of yours is taller than you and she’s a good year younger.’ And then with a contemptuous glance at Jane she swept out of the room. The other girls followed her, but Amelia, who I’ve noticed is kinder when she’s without her friends, stopped for a moment and waited until Lavinia had gone. Then she whispered, ‘What about your breakfast?’

  ‘I don’t suppose that I’ll get any.’ My voice sounded as if I didn’t care, and at that moment I didn’t. I wasn’t hungry; in fact, I felt slightly sick. I wanted to feel Jane’s forehead and I couldn’t do that while any of the girls was around. Mrs Cawley had forbidden me to touch Jane. She had an idea that no one could catch the fever unless they were touching a patient. Captain Thomas Williams told me that wasn’t true; it was breathing in bad smells and something called miasma that gave people fever. I didn’t care anyway. As soon as Amelia had gone out of the room, I felt Jane’s brow; she was still very hot, but I thought she was a little better. At least she was lying quietly now, not muttering. I pray that when her mother comes to take her home to Steventon she will recover.

  The only good thing about the backboard is that I can go on writing. I wouldn’t have been able to if it had been Mrs Cawley that brought it, but Becky, the kitchen maid, felt sorry for me.

  ‘I have to strap you into it, miss,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what Mrs Cawley told me to do, but I won’t buckle it tight.’

  ‘Thank you, Becky,’ I whispered back. I moved a little after she had closed the buckles. It was uncomfortable, but not the torture that it is when Mrs Cawley fastens it. I was able to move my head from side to side.

  Becky was nice. She even had a bit of bread in the pocket of her apron that the cook had given to her for me. ‘You’re just as well off without the stirabout, miss,’ she said, taking the bread out and showing it to me. ‘Mrs Cawley told Cook that she must make it with just water and oats from now on; she says the milk bills are to
o high. I’ll put the bread here on your cupboard so that you can reach it.’

  I took it to please her, but I didn’t feel hungry. That was the strange thing; normally I was always hungry.

  ‘Could you pick up my inkpot and quill from under the bed, Becky? Put them on the cupboard too. I want to practise my handwriting.’

  And then Becky was off. I don’t know how long ago that was. I don’t have a timepiece. There is no sound from downstairs. The young ladies, as Mrs Cawley calls them, will all be in the schoolroom, practising their handwriting or listening to a teacher droning on and on, or spending hours getting in and out of an old sedan chair that Mrs Cawley keeps outside the back door so that her pupils can learn how to do this gracefully, without showing our ankles at all — which according to Mrs Cawley would ruin our marriage prospects forever.

  I almost feel like crying when I think now of Jane and her jokes. She has such courage and she can even stand up to Mrs Cawley and mock her openly. I resolve never to be so shy and so worried in the future. Last night, when I went out in the streets of Southampton, I did something that I never thought I would be able to do. I am already becoming braver — perhaps too brave!

  When I am married I would like to have lots of children — I would like a family like Jane’s, with five boys and two girls. I would allow my daughters to play with their brothers, to play cricket and running races just like Jane is allowed. I remember how shocked I was when she told me about rolling down the green bank behind Steventon parsonage with the boys in her father’s school, but perhaps that is why she is so full of courage now, and I am such a miserable worrier.

  The doctor has just been in to see Jane. I managed to cover the inkpot with a handkerchief, and my journal is hidden under the blankets. I needn’t have bothered though. Mrs Cawley did not come with him, only Becky. He seems worried about Jane. He muttered something about asking Mrs Cawley and I saw his eyes go with an air of horror to the huge fungus on the wall. He must have thought that I was feeble-minded, because when I saw him looking at it I couldn’t stop myself giving a little giggle, remembering how Jane had said that it looked as if it were a poisonous ingredient for the wicked potions of the villain in the story The Castle of the Necromancer.