Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

Mr. Edward Taylor advanced upon us with arms outstretched, as befits a very old acquaintance. Those dark eyes I had so long ago celebrated, and mourned upon his betrothal to another, were alight with anticipation and scandal; little else of his former self could be traced in the present figure. Age will take its toll, even among the wealthy of Kent; and the object of my girlhood dreams was become florid and balding. But his ample waistcoat was a testament to the excellent management of his household at Bifrons Park — and so I judged Edward Taylor happy, and excused his fall from grace.

“You have had us all on tenterhooks, man! Thank God that you did not forgo the Assembly.” Mr. Taylor seized my brother Neddie's arm. “Is the fellow Collingforth laid by the heels? The matter quite resolved already? Or shall you have recourse to the authorities in London?”

“Don't look so dull and stupid, my dear,” Lizzy murmured in Neddie's ear. “He is enquiring about the Grey woman's murder.”

“I had perceived that much, Lizzy,” Neddie returned, and bowed to Mr. Taylor with careless grace. “You astonish me, Edward. I had hoped that at least you — who care nothing for horseflesh, and never venture farther than your own spring in such heated weather — might have escaped the tide of Race Week gossip. But if even Mr. Taylor is not immune, I must resign myself to being the object of every eye.”

“So that's the way of it, is it?” Mr. Taylor rejoined, not to be deterred. “You intend to tell us nothing?”

“The ways of Justice, like the secrets of the marriage bed, are best enshrouded in silence,” Neddie intoned.

Mr. Taylor merely snorted at this, while Lizzy laid a hand caressingly on my brother's shoulder. “Poor lamb,” she crooned, “you shall be led to the slaughter. I give you a quarter-hour, my dear, at the hands of your dearest friends — and then we shall see how enshrouded your tongue may be. Come along, Jane.”

And so I fled in Lizzy's bewitching train, bobbing and nodding to a multitude on either side, to take up a position just below the musicians, where we might observe the gathering company. I expected my sister Cassandra, and Harriot Bridges, among them; and was impatient to converse at long last with the former.

Lizzy snapped open her ivory fan — a gift from my brother Charles, when Endymion was in the Mediterranean — and began to waft a humid air about our faces. I do not believe there is a lady living who can carry off dark grey silk so becomingly as Lizzy. The new gown — so long expected from her modiste — had been ordered a month previous, during a flying visit to London; and with its cap sleeves, fitted bodice, and extraordinary turban of jet and feathers, it looked admirably suited to the wardrobe of a queen. Lizzy is in the last days of mourning for her eldest sister, Fanny Cage, who departed this life in May; but her dark colouring makes even the dusky shades of grief appear to advantage.

“Good God, it is hot,” she murmured. “Every sensible young lady will be slipping into the garden for a turn in the moonlight before the hour is out. How unfortunate that such a recourse is denied to me. You, however, might avail yourself — having neither a husband to detain you, nor an anxious regard for your reputation.”

“And with whom would you have me take a turn, Lizzy?”

“Anyone might do for a little moonlight,” she said, shrugging carelessly. “It conceals a host of sins, and lends an aura of grandeur to the most common physiognomy. Take my brother, Mr. Bridges, for instance — he can look quite well-made with a little shadow to lend him substance.”

“I understood from your sister Harriot that Mr. Bridges was indisposed. But perhaps it has passed off, if he truly intends the ball this evening.”

“My brother is nothing if not inconstant. He considers it as chief among his charms — being of a turn to mistake an unpardonable weakness for an amiable disposition.”

“You are severe upon him.”

“The Reverend Brook-Edward Bridges is the sort of man I cannot help but despise,” she rejoined sharply. “He believes the world exists to sustain his follies, and ask nothing of him in return. My brother was spoilt as a youth, and age has merely made him indolent. He sponges on my mother and my husband for the relief of his debts, and is foolish enough to believe that he might prevail upon an excellent woman to make his fortune in marriage. Yes, Jane, I am severe upon him — for he has disappointed me these fifteen years at least.”

I smiled, catching at but a part of her diatribe. “And which lady is so fortunate as to deserve the honour of Mr. Bridges's attentions? She cannot possess less than ten thousand pounds, I daresay — tho' as the son of a baronet, he might endeavour to look still higher.”

“Oh, Jane — have you not seen? Have you not understood?” Lizzy was too well-bred to cry out in exasperation, but the murmured words carried a singular vehemence. “My brother intends that either you or Cassandra shall be his bride. If Cassandra's visit to Goodnestone fails of the desired result, you shall be sent for next week, as a second string to his fiddle. It matters not to Edward which of your hearts he engages; it merely suffices to secure one or the other.”

I could not reply for fully five seconds. My heart pounded in my chest with indignation, and the blood rose to my heated cheeks, while speech was left entirely at bay. Lizzy, for her part, retained the serenity of her air — I imagine she might as easily plot regicide behind that extraordinary countenance — and murmured a greeting to a passing acquaintance.

“There is Lady Elizabeth Finch-Hatton,” she observed, “shockingly underdressed as usual. I cannot think what she finds to admire in the spectacle of her own bosom. Her husband certainly does not — he will already be settled at whist. And there is her daughter, the feckless Louisa — a not unpretty sort of girl, but distressingly wanting in understanding. I expect them to descend upon Godmersham tomorrow — did I mention as much? They always take us in on their return to East-well Park; it has become quite the Race Week custom. I shall have to order a good dinner, regardless of the threat of the French.”

“You cannot have spoken seriously just now, Lizzy,” I muttered purposefully in her ear. “You can only have intended it as a poor sort of jest.”

“—You would refer to my brother's hopes? I should never sport with those , my dearest Jane. I find them too tedious to provide of much wit. But I suspect I have distressed you. I did not intend it. I thought that one of your penetration would have marked Edward out long ago.”

“Mr. Bridges is certainly a gallant gentleman,” I managed, “but as for having the slightest pretension to the affections of either Cassandra or myself—”

“I must confess that in making you both his object, my brother has not simply consulted himself. The alliance is my mother's dearest wish — and this has, in great measure, served to guide him.”

“Lady Bridges desires the match?”

Lizzy's superb green eyes glanced at me sidelong. “I perceive that you are all astonishment, Jane. But you must know that as to fortune, my mother is hardly particular. Her anxiety is all for Edward's welfare. She fears he will end by fleeing to the Continent, pursued by his numerous creditors, does he fail to secure a sensible wife. Lady Bridges is aware that, however slim their resources, the Austens have always been possessed of sense. She could not fashion a better helpmeet out of whole cloth, did she even possess the power, than yourself or Cassandra.”

“But we have barely a pound to spare between us!” I protested. “How can we be expected to secure Mr. Bridges's fortunes?”