Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

“You thought him insincere?”

“No, Jane — merely less restrained than an Englishman might be. His grief bore every appearance of arising from the deepest sense of loss. He accepted the sympathies of the assembled mourners with becoming grace, and begged us all to take some refreshment in the house, when once the service was over.”

“He took nothing himself, however,” Henry supplied, “and said even less.”

“Did you press him, Neddie, on the subject of Mr. Grey's flight?”

“I did not,” my brother replied, “but the Comte suggested freely that he thought Grey's absence arose not from a matter of business, but from a persistent disregard for what was due to his wife — a distaste for the scandal her death had caused — and a general desire to place events behind him.”

“The Comte will return very soon to France, I suppose.”

“If Grey's wishes are consulted, I am sure the fellow would presently be at the ends of the earth! Not even Grey, however, may entirely control the disposition of forces. A fleet action in the Channel may forestall the departure of his unwelcome guest; and then we may observe how the two chessmen play.”

“Provided the one does not place the other in check,” I observed — and ran away to dress.

Friday, 23 August 1805,

very late in the evening

WE ARE ONLY JUST RETURNED FROM OUR VISIT TO Eastwell Park, and tho' it is nearly midnight now, my head is so filled with all that I have seen and heard, that I cannot sleep without setting down a few words in my little book. A roving owl calls spectrally through the darkness while the rest of the great house falls silent; monstrous shapes, born of my candle-flame, dance against the yellow walls. The maid, stifling a gape, has undone my best dinner gown and brushed out my hair. She is gone thankfully now to her bed under the airless rafters, while I sit at the dressing table in only my shift, desperate for a breeze that never comes. Another midnight I should be overwhelmed with loneliness, and dwell upon the follies of my past. But a circle of faces presently whirls before my eyes, caught in a shaft of memory; best to capture something of their outline, before it is dulled with sleep.

It was a large and stimulating party — for in addition to Mr. Finch-Hatton, Lady Elizabeth, and their five children (two of them very engaging little boys), we were treated to all the Finch-Hatton relations. This included the Miss Finches, Anne and Mary, both unmarried and as voluble as Lady Elizabeth is silent; Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton, the younger brother; and Harriet, Lady Gordon, the one Finch sister so fortunate as to achieve the wedded state. [35] George Finch (1747–1823) added “Hatton” to his name in 1764, presumably in order to inherit from a lateral family line. His sisters did not take the additional surname, but his brother Emilious did. George was a cousin of the 8th Earl of Winchelsea; upon the earl's death in 1826, George's eldest son, George (1791–1858), acceded to the title as 9th earl. His third wife, Fanny, Countess of Winchelsea, was Edward and Elizabeth Austen's granddaughter; the two families thus eventually intermarried. — Editor's note. Her husband, Sir Janison, I liked too little to cultivate; his manner was haughty, as befits a baronet, and he gave way to the temptation to sneer at the foolishness of the Miss Finches more than once. I cannot love a man who despises a spinster.

Of Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton, however, I formed a better opinion. I was so fortunate as to be seated next to him at dinner, and found him a stimulating companion — but more on that point later. [36] Austen later recounted many of the details of this visit to Eastwell Park in a letter written to Cassandra on Saturday, August 24, 1805. (See Letter #45, in Jane Austen's Letters , 3rd edition, Deirdre Le Faye, ed., Oxford University Press, 1995.) — Editor's note.

In addition to our two families, there remained a pair of bachelors: Mr. Thomas Brett, an attorney with expectations of a prettyish estate near Wye, called Spring Grove, whom I believe to be sadly in the thrall of Miss Louisa Finch-Hatton; and the remarkable Mr. Julian Sothey.

Tho' we had journeyed the four miles towards Ash-ford in expectation of a meeting with the Gendeman Improver, it was in fact several hours before he was introduced to the ladies' attention. Upon our arrival at Eastwell just after two o'clock, Lizzy and I were immediately conveyed to a pleasantly airy saloon, with French windows surmounted by an Egyptian frieze, done in quite an extraordinary plasterwork — as tho' Robert Adam had witnessed the excesses of Napoleon's campaign, and thought to reproduce all of Alexandria in a single room. The saloon's prospect gave out onto the garden, which my brothers were rapidly traversing in company with the male Finch-Hattons. They were bound for the stables and a pony-trap, in which they intended to tour the park.

Lady Elizabeth and her eldest daughter were reclining indolently on a pair of sofas, apparently overcome by the oppressive weather and the vexation of dressing for dinner; it was not in their power to rise at our entrance. The Miss Finches, in their neat, spare fashion, were industriously at work upon an extensive fringe, apparently divided between them; little George and Daniel were engaged in playing at spillikins, while Lady Gordon read aloud from a novel. (It was, alas, The Sorrows of Young Werther; and perhaps my countenance fell upon perceiving it, for the excellent woman set aside the volume directly we were announced.)

“Mrs. Austen!” Mary Finch cried.

“And Miss Jane Austen!” her sister Anne echoed.

The two ladies abandoned their work and bustled forward, ail anxiety for our comfort, as though we had arrived in the midst of a terrible storm, or were fainting from three days' hunger. In the fuss that generally ensued, the quieter salutations of the others were entirely overwhelmed.

“To think,” Miss Mary began, “—such excellent friends — travelling all this distance, and in such heat and dust! Entirely too amiable! You find us quite at home — reduced to utter stupidity by the oppressive weather — although Harriet has been so good as to amuse us with Werther — tho' perhaps amusing is not the properest word, for it is a trifle tedious in passages — Louisa was quite reduced to tears of boredom for entire chapters together, although I am sure it is very instructive. It is all the rage in Town.”

“Had we only possessed Mrs. Edgeworth's works, or even Mrs. Palmerston's,” Miss Anne added, “when Mary and I were girls — but, then, we were very fortunate to be taught so much as a syllable of French, or anything of geography, for it was hardly considered suitable to send girls to fashionable boarding establishments, such as our little Louisa has been treated to — and quite the fine miss she has returned, with such elegant taste, and her fingers so harmonious — they quite fly about the keyboard, as I am sure you will agree when she consents to play for us, after dinner. I am certain that Mr. Brett intends to teaze her on the subject of performance, blush how she might—”

“Pray allow the ladies to sit down, Mary,” Lady Elizabeth commanded in a quelling tone, “and ring for Hopkins with some punch. I trust your journey was uneventful, Mrs. Austen?”

“Entirely, Lady Elizabeth, I thank you.”

“You did not bring your eldest daughter. I had hoped she might be a companion for George.”

“How unfortunate, then, that she remained at home! She was excessively disappointed, I assure you. But Fanny's governess thought the journey too unhealthful in such heat, to permit of the treat.”