Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

Lady Elizabeth inclined her head, and returned to fanning herself with a rush paddle; from Louisa we received not a word. She appeared engaged in studying the prospect of the garden — or perhaps she was hoping for a glimpse of its improver.

“Pray tell me, Miss Austen, how your lovely sister Cassandra does?” Miss Mary Finch cried. “We had hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her at Eastwell. It has been some months since we were so fortunate. Like yourself, I suppose, she yet retains the single state?”

“She does, ma'am,” I managed without loss of countenance. “Her recent period of mourning for my father rendered any change in domestic situation abhorrent.”

Miss Mary's expression turned so anxious at this, that I feared she might suffer a fit. “But of course — your excellent father — any change would be entirely out of the question for either of you girls — nothing so ideally suited to the comfort of a widow, as to have her children about her — I had entirely forgotten — that is, not forgotten , exactly, for who could ignore the loss of so admirable a soul, as the Reverend George? But, then, you are yourself no longer in mourning, Miss Austen, and I confess that your blooming looks put all thought of the dear departed quite out of my head. A charming man — and your brothers so very much like him — we shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Henry Austen, I hope, tho' my brother has quite stolen him away for the nonce. You will not take my little enquiry regarding your sister in an unamiable light, I hope?”

“Miss Austen is from Godmersham at present, I believe?” Miss Anne interjected, with a conscious look for her sister.

And so I related how Cassandra had gone to Harriot Bridges, with a view to assisting in the care of the invalid Bridges sister, Marianne; how she was expected at Godmersham on Monday, and appeared to be suffering herself from a return of the head-ache complaint that had troubled her ever since her unfortunate carriage accident in Lyme. [37] Jane here refers to events related in the second of the recently discovered journal manuscripts, published under the title of Jane and the Man of the Cloth (Bantam Books, 1997). — Editor's note.

“So Miss Cassandra Austen went to Goodnestone Farm!” Miss Anne exclaimed. “That is very good of her, to be sure, when she must deny herself all the superior pleasures that your brother's estate may offer. But I shall hope that she has not found her time there entirely devoid of interest.”

“I believe my brother Edward intended to make her visit as stimulating as possible,” Lizzy remarked, without even the hint of a smile. “He is quite a slave to Cassandra's enjoyment, and shall presently turn his devotion to Jane. Jane is to make her own visit, you know, upon Cassandra's departure.”

In such asides, punctuated by strenuous Finch monologues and virtual silence from the other ladies in the room, nearly an hour and a half were suffered to pass away, before a nuncheon of cheese and fruit materialised upon a tray. After this was consumed, I gave way to the entreaties of the litde boys, and joined them in the establishment of cribbage. Daniel and I had just succeeded in winning several hands from Miss Mary and his elder brother, when an exclamation from the languorous Louisa alerted all our attention.

“Mamma! They are coming across the odious ha-ha! I see Mr. Sothey to the fore.”

She rose and crossed to the pier-glass, surveying her reflection critically; then with a complete absence of consciousness, plucked at her golden curls and bit some colour into her full lips. Lady Gordon nearly choked on what might have been a giggle, and I observed the Miss Finches to exchange a significant look — but forbore from betraying my amusement. Lizzy, as ever, was a study in cultivated indifference; and so the Austens acquitted themselves more nobly than Miss Louisa's dearest relations.

A turmoil in the entry announced the gentlemen arrived; a hubbub of voices, and the tramp of feet — and the door was thrown open by one who was a stranger to me, and yet not entirely a stranger at all. I felt in an instant that this must be Julian Sothey, a gentleman of whom I had known nothing but a week before; and yet his face was hauntingly familiar. I studied his figure in vain for a hint as to the scene, the moment of our meeting, and found memory elusive.

Slight, narrow-shouldered, and lithe in all his movements, he conveyed an immediate impression of grace, like a superlative dancing master; but his coat of superfine wool, in a respectable shade of blue, was too well-made to permit of such an impertinence. His reddish hair fell unbound to his shoulders; his wide grey eyes were keen, and heavily-lashed; and a droll expression, as of inward laughter at some private joke, played about his lips. He seemed entirely easy at Eastwell Park — so very easy with his position and circumstance, as to precede his host into the saloon. This must argue a degree of self-importance that could not but be repugnant; but I am prone to form a hasty view on very little knowledge, and urged myself to reserve judgement in the case. Mr. Sothey, after all, was the son of Lady Elizabeth's oldest friend — and must be claimed almost as one of the family.

He was followed immediately by Mr. Brett, an acquaintance of Neddie's of many years standing, and then by my two brothers. The Finch-Hatton gentlemen brought up the rear.

“Julian!” Louisa Finch-Hatton cried breathlessly. “You have been an age in the garden, I declare! And I longed to finish my portrait today!”

She appeared an ill-bred and disappointed child, with her lower lip protruding dangerously, but Mr. Sothey chose to disregard Miss Louisa's manner, and approached her directly.

“You know, my dear Miss Finch-Hatton,” he said with a bow, “that I move at your father's whim. I exist at East-well only to serve him, and true pleasure must await the disposition of his needs. But you have been amply engaged in amusement, I am sure — with such interesting friends about you! Might I beg an introduction?”

This last was directed at Lizzy and myself; and recovering her pretty ways, Miss Louisa performed the office of making Mr. Julian Sothey known to the Austens. The unfortunate Mr. Brett — a tall, gawkish gentleman with sparse fair hair and dull blue eyes — hovered like a shade at Sothey's rear, unable to yield the hope of Louisa Finch-Hatton's favour. I saw in an instant that it was heavy work, and pitied him.

“I had the very great pleasure of engaging Mr. Henry and Mr. Edward Austen in conversation, ma'am,” Sothey told my sister easily, “while we toured the grounds of the park; and I must rejoice at the chance to further my acquaintance with the rest of the family.”

Lizzy inclined her head coolly. “I am to learn in a moment, I suppose, that Mr. Austen has contracted the fever for improvement — and that all of Godmersham is to be thrown in an uproar.”

“I cannot conceive that a place which has served as your home for so many years, could require any further embellishment of taste or beauty,” Mr. Sothey replied. “And certainly none that was within my power to achieve.”

My sister looked at him archly.

“I am only sorry that we are denied the pleasure of meeting your children,” Mr. Sothey added. “Lady Elizabeth was quite determined upon that point — that at least the eldest should accompany you, along with a lady whom I believe is her governess. The child is not indisposed, I trust?”

“How very kind in you to enquire. Fanny is entirely well, I thank you. She enjoys the most robust constitution. I am afraid Miss Sharpe is hardly equal to her.”

“Miss Sharpe?”

“The governess. A charming young woman. It was at her suggestion that we denied Fanny the expedition; she feared the state of the roads, and the present uncertainty in the weather, might prove too much for her; and I could not disagree.”