I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend Read online

  Before I could stop myself I felt another giggle escape and then I started to cry. The doctor looked embarrassed and ignored me.

  ‘Tell your mistress that if there is no change by five o’clock I will have to bleed her,’ he said to Becky on the way out.

  ‘The time is up, so I can take off your backboard now, miss,’ said Becky when she came back upstairs after showing the doctor out. I have written all this in my journal since she unbuckled the backboard and went back down to the kitchen, but the tears are pouring down my face now.

  ‘Don’t worry, miss, she’ll get better.’ She looked anxious, poor Becky. I was sorry to upset her, but I can’t stop crying. When my mother was very ill a doctor bled her and it did no good at all. I remember how a vein in her arm was opened and how that very red blood dripped out into a white basin. She died two hours later.

  If Jane’s mother doesn’t come soon, I don’t know what to do. Now I will lock up my journal, hide it under my clothes in my trunk and hang the key around my neck. I should go downstairs, but I don’t feel as if I have the strength even to get off the bed. Perhaps I am tired after missing so much sleep last night. I will just get in under the blankets and try to warm up and then go downstairs.

  The voices are like the voices in a dream.

  ‘She’s asleep …’

  ‘No, she’s ill …’

  ‘She’s burning with fever …’

  ‘Tell Mrs Cawley …’

  ‘Mrs Cawley, Jenny is ill now …’

  ‘Will I get the doctor, ma’am …’

  ‘Mind your own business, girl … get on with your work. Doctors cost money, you know …’

  * * *

  And then … is it hours later?

  That loud knock, that hammering on the front door …

  Mrs Austen’s voice, high-pitched, confident …

  ‘I’ll have you know, madam …’

  A mutter from Mrs Cawley.

  ‘Never mind how I know …’

  ‘Let me see my daughter, madam …’

  ‘And where’s Jenny?’

  Another mutter from Mrs Cawley.

  ‘Rest assured, madam, that we’ll never allow my daughter or my niece to return to this place again. I am taking them both back to Steventon this very minute. Pray give instructions for hot water bottles and fresh straw to be placed in the coach …’

  Mrs Cawley’s voice — now loud and angry.

  ‘Don’t think to delay me with demands for fees, madam … You should be down on your knees praying that these two girls will recover …’

  Mrs Cawley again.

  ‘Out of my way, madam! Mr Austen, do you carry Jenny and I’ll take Jane …’

  ‘You, girl, don’t try to carry the two trunks … Surely there is someone to help this girl. Where is the manservant …?’

  ‘Mr Austen, give the girl a penny. She looks honest, poor thing. It’s not her fault that she works for such a wicked mistress.’

  Friday, 4 March 1791

  This is the first day that I have been able to write. I can’t believe that it is more than three weeks since last I wrote in my journal, more than three weeks since that terrible night when I went out into the night streets of Southampton, more than three weeks since I thought Jane was going to die. I haven’t been as ill as her, but I felt too weak to write in my journal and there was always someone in my room, either Mrs Austen, or else Jane’s sister, Cassandra, or, during the last few days, when they were sure that they would not catch my fever, my brother, Edward-John, and his wife, Augusta.

  And then there was Jane herself.

  Not ill, not muttering in a high fever.

  Just sitting beside my bed chuckling over a novel.

  And I think that made me start to get well again.

  Edward-John and Augusta came to see me this morning. I tried to talk to them, but I felt too weak to say much. I hoped they would leave me alone, but Augusta returned in the afternoon. Jane was reading and I was half asleep when we heard her footsteps on the stairs. I knew it was her immediately as Mrs Austen wears list slippers and the boys all wear boots. Augusta’s shoes clip along in a neat, tidy way, rather like herself.

  I could hear her talking to Mrs Austen about her new gown when they were standing outside my door. ‘How do you like my gown, dear madam?’ she was saying to Mrs Austen. ‘Handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it is over-trimmed. I have the greatest dislike to being over-trimmed …’

  ‘I agree with you, ma’am,’ said Jane beside me as the door opened and the two came in. Jane’s face was solemn and she made little effort to lower her voice. ‘There is nothing worse than an over-trimmed gown … all that lace and flounces — so very vulgar …’ And her expression was all innocence as she surveyed the flounces of Augusta’s lace-trimmed gown which bounced along in front of her.

  I quickly pulled up the blanket to hide my mouth and I saw Mrs Austen glance sharply at Jane, who just gave a wicked grin. Augusta, however, wasn’t listening to Jane. She was still talking over her shoulder to Mrs Austen and she was in full flow.

  ‘I said to my caro sposo — that’s what I call my dear Edward-John. It’s Italian for dear husband,’ she said kindly, glancing across at Jane, who nodded gravely. ‘I said to him, just this very morning —

  Jenny will confirm, won’t you, Jenny — “Tell me, dear,” I said to him, “is my gown over-trimmed?” And he said to me, oh Lord, I blush to tell you what he said—’

  ‘How are you feeling this afternoon, Jenny?’ interrupted Mrs Austen. She looked as though she was getting sick of Augusta and her gowns.

  ‘Much better, thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘Of course she is well; you just lie quietly, Jenny, while we chat.’ Augusta, as usual, talked non-stop and I felt my head beginning to ache as I tried to pay attention. Jane had gone over to sit on the window seat and was busy scribbling away on a piece of paper while Augusta went on and on about how popular she is in Bristol and what people said to her and said about her. After about ten minutes of this, I felt my eyes beginning to close. Augusta didn’t seem to notice, but went on talking. A minute later, I heard Jane’s light shoes crossing the room.

  ‘She’s very weak, Mama,’ I heard her say in a solemn tone of voice. ‘I think she needs to rest now, don’t you?’ I didn’t dare look at Jane in case she made me laugh.

  ‘We’d better go.’ Mrs Austen’s chair scraped back and she was on her feet so quickly that I reckon that she had been dying to get away for the last ten minutes. She had no interest in Augusta’s tales about her social life in Bristol.

  After they had gone, I asked Jane whether she had been writing a story and she told me that she was thinking of starting a novel where Augusta would be a clergyman’s wife with a very high opinion of herself, but most of the other people in her town would dislike her immensely. Apparently she was writing down some of Augusta’s statements so that she could use them when she started the book.

  ‘Here, stick that into your journal for me and then it won’t get lost.’ Jane handed me a piece of paper. I read it through and laughed. Augusta hadn’t exactly said things quite as outrageous as that, but it definitely was in her style.

  My dear old beau – he’s quite a titled person, you know – he thinks so highly of me – he even leaves the other men to their port after dinner and comes to join me – I wish you could hear all of his gallant speeches – Lord, I mustn’t tell you what he said – but I can assure you that my husband would be quite jealous – but what’s a woman to do? I can’t help it if he admires me -

  I carefully glued it into my journal. Then, when Jane had gone downstairs for her tea, I lay back on the pillow and began to think about Augusta. Why could I not just laugh at her as Jane did?

  I’m less frightened of Augusta than I used to be before I went to school and became friends with Jane, but I still have a horrible feeling that she might do me some terrible harm. It’s hard to explain it, but deep down I think that she hates me and wishes t
hat I were not part of her husband’s family. The problem is that my mother left Edward-John the responsibility for me when she died, and Augusta is always whispering to her friends about what a terrible imposition this was on a young man. It makes me very uncomfortable, but there is nothing that I can do about it. I don’t suppose that I will get married either as I have a very small fortune — only fifty pounds a year. In any case, I don’t think that I would be very attractive to men. I remember overhearing Augusta telling one of her friends that Edward-John was sending me to boarding school so that I would be educated to become a governess, and when her friend suggested that I might get married Augusta gave one of her horse-like laughs and said — it’s funny how I still remember the words: ‘My dear! With that low stature and that kitchen maid’s nose! — Who on earth would ever marry her?’

  And then I think about Captain Williams and how kind he was to his sister …

  Saturday, 5 March 1791

  My brother and his wife went back to Bristol this morning. Now that I am well again, they said that they were happy to leave me in the good care of my Aunt Austen. Augusta was especially keen on my staying with the Austens. She feels that the country air of Hampshire will be better for me than the city air of Bristol. When I am quite strong enough Jane and I may perhaps go for a holiday to Bristol. Jane thinks that will be exciting, but I have a guilty feeling that I would prefer to stay at Steventon. I think that I will have much more fun here. This house is full of shouts and noisy laughs. Jane’s brothers and Mr Austen’s pupils seem to spend a lot of their time calling jokes down the stairs or teasing each other.

  ‘We have decided that you won’t go back to that school in Southampton again,’ my sister-in-law said before she left. ‘Mrs Thorpe tells me that there is a very good boarding school at Reading. Her daughter went there. I shall make some more enquiries, but it won’t be worth enrolling you until after Easter.’

  ‘Don’t you think I’m getting a little old for school?’ I tried to make my voice sound grown-up and sensible when I said that. ‘Jane and I found that we learned very little when we were at school. We could study better at home. There were hardly any books there, only a few novels from the lending library. Mrs Cawley couldn’t even speak French, and the grammar she gave us to study was too easy. All we did was learn some spellings and do needlework.’ I didn’t tell her that Jane had already suggested to her mother that we both be allowed to join the boys in their lessons with Mr Austen. Mrs Austen was so shocked at that suggestion that she pretended to feel faint. Mrs Austen is a little too tough for fainting, but I think that Augusta, who is very proper, really would faint; the suggestion that we should study by ourselves was a possible one though.

  Edward-John was nodding solemnly, but I could see by Augusta’s face that she wasn’t sure so I said very quickly: ‘And of course you would save thirty-five pounds a year by allowing me to study here with Jane. Mrs Austen thinks it would be a good idea.’ I kept it to myself that it was really Mr Austen who thought it was a good idea and that Mrs Austen had sighed and said, ‘Jenny will never get any work done with Jane distracting her.’ She had added though, ‘Still, it would be lovely to keep you, Jenny dear,’ and I thought that was nice of her.

  Edward-John and Augusta looked at each other. Then she nodded her head and said, ‘What do you think, Mr C.? I am of the opinion that it would be better, in view of Jenny’s health, if she stays here in the country air.’

  ‘Perhaps we might engage a drawing master at some stage,’ suggested Edward-John. ‘Mama thought Jenny’s drawings very talented.’ He shot a quick look at Augusta’s protruding green eyes and pursed-up mouth and then said hastily, ‘Well, we can think about it when Jenny is quite well again.’

  I would have loved to ask for a singing master. I remembered the drawing room that I had seen on that terrible night in Southampton where the young lady was singing and playing, and the expression on the faces of the men who stood around the piano listening to her. However, I also took a look at Augusta’s face and knew that it would be ridiculous to expect that she would allow Edward-John to spend an unnecessary penny on me.

  ‘I promise that I’ll work hard and give no trouble to Mrs Austen.’ I knew by their expressions that I had said the right thing, but inside I felt worried. How long would the Austens, with their big family and their pupils, want to keep me?

  After they had gone, Jane came into my bedroom to tell me the news that her brother Frank had bought a new pony for himself from the money he had got when he was on board his ship.

  I told her that I got all her brothers muddled up, and she suggested that she help me to draw little pictures of them in my journal and then I would know them all as I met them.

  I will start a new page so that as we draw she cannot see what I have written about her! Jane says I must write exactly as she describes so as to capture her brothers most accurately:

  James — the eldest. He is ten years older than Jane — he has blond hair and grey eyes, and his nose and chin are quite neat. Jane says that I have captured his fussy, fidgety look just right.

  Edward — adopted by rich relations in Kent. Jane has given me a miniature of Edward to copy, which he gave her as a gift last Christmas. She says he wears a wig to show how rich and splendid he is.

  Henry — four years older than Jane. He looks just like her, with hazel eyes and dark curly hair. Jane says Henry is tremendously handsome and all the girls love him!

  Cassandra (Jane says I must draw her too). I have seen her quite a few times so I know what she looks like, but Jane says I must give her a dreamy look as she is in love with Tom Fowle, one of Mr Austen’s pupils. I’m not sure how I should draw someone in love, so I hope I have it right.

  Frank — a year older than Jane (the same age as me) and a midshipman — I did my best with Frank’s collar, but Jane had to sketch it for me. I don’t think I have ever seen a midshipman, though I have seen a captain and I’m sure I could sketch a captain’s uniform.

  Charles, whom I’ve met — he’s only eleven and quite like Frank but with a rounder face. He’s hoping to go to naval college next year.

  I told Jane I thought she was very lucky to have five brothers.

  Jane laughed. ‘Five … well.’ There was something odd about her expression and a sort of dryness in her voice.

  I just turned back to the page where I have drawn Captain Thomas Williams. My journal opened automatically at that page and I could see that the corner of the page was a bit dog-eared. I don’t think Jane saw …

  Sunday, 6 March 1791

  Jane’s brother Frank came in to see me today. He is on shore leave from his ship, where he is a midshipman. He looked quite like the picture that I had drawn of him, but his hair was even curlier. He is my age and the nearest in the family to Jane.

  He was quite like Jane, very chatty and very funny. He just came into my room, sat on the bed and asked me how I was and then started doing imitations of the first lieutenant, who was a silly numbskull according to Frank, and of the captain, who was as old as the hills. Frank stumped around the room to show us what the captain was like on deck when a wind was blowing and how once he stumbled when his legs got tangled in a sail and he lay stretched out on the deck until the mate pulled him to his feet. Frank found that very funny, but said that all the sailors had to pretend not to notice in case they would be flogged for insubordination. Then Frank did a good imitation of the captain lying stretched out on the floor, thrashing about with his legs, trying to dislodge the heavy sail.

  ‘And the helmsman at the wheel was staring out to sea like this.’ And Frank blew his cheeks out and tightened his lips so much that the cords on his very brown neck stood out. His face was very brown too, I noticed, and he had nice dark eyes.

  ‘It’s a hard life,’ he said, but I thought he looked well on it, and very cheerful.

  ‘Not as hard as school,’ said Jane promptly. ‘We were starved there.’

  ‘Bet you didn’t have to eat ship’s bi
scuit,’ said Frank, his mouth filled with a slice of cake his mother had sent up to tempt my appetite.

  ‘We had worse! Tell him, Jenny!’

  ‘Fish heads for dinner,’ I said. ‘And fish tails.’

  ‘And it smelt bad!’

  ‘Tell him about the stinking fish of Southampton, Jane,’ I said. I was enjoying Frank’s visit. It seems strange, but I have hardly ever spoken to a boy before except my brother, Edward-John.

  ‘Well, Mrs Cawley was reading out from a book where a woman is giving advice to her daughter …’

  ‘And she was reading it in a very deep, solemn tone of voice.’ I put this in so that Frank could imagine the scene.

  ‘And then she came to this bit — it was priceless … She said, “Belinda, beware the dissipations of London, the idle luxuries of Bath and —’ ”

  ‘Let me tell! Frank, listen to this … and then Jane said, very quickly, just when Mrs Cawley paused to take a breath, she said: “And beware the stinking fish of Southampton.” All the girls started to laugh so much that Mrs Cawley sent Jane out of the room.’

  ‘If she were on a ship, she would be flogged with a cat-o’-nine-tails,’ said Frank.

  I don’t think he found Jane’s joke as funny as I did. Perhaps boys like broad jokes like people slipping and falling and girls think jokes in word form are funnier.

  Frank didn’t seem to want to hear any more stories from our school. He produced a pack of cards from his pocket. ‘Let’s have a game of pontoon,’ he said.