Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

“I await your worst, madam,” he replied, with an inclination of the head, “for it cannot be more severe than Buonaparte's cannon — and I have steeled myself to those , you know, these two years and more.”

“Perhaps we should establish Miss Austen at the headlands at Deal,” Edward Bridges suggested, “with a sword in one hand and a martial light in her eye, the better to forestall invasion — for a whole company of French cavalry could hardly ignore such loveliness. It must halt them in their tracks, and preserve the nation inviolate.”

At my failure to reply, Mr. Bridges threw out his most engaging smile. “I might rescue you then in a dashing manner, my dear Miss Austen, and the both of us be celebrated throughout the country.”

The determined silliness of these remarks was entirely in keeping with Mr. Bridges's character; but I adopted a tragic air, as befit a noble heroine. “Not even the prospect of rescue by yourself, sir, shall be deemed too great a sacrifice for my country. But tell me: How does my dearest sister in your wretched hands?”

“Miss Cassandra Austen, when last I had the pleasure of meeting her over the breakfast table, was in excellent looks — tho' entirely cast down at the loss of this race-meeting. She was to remain at the Farm, you know, in attendance upon my sister Harriot, who cannot abide horses in any guise. I offered to smuggle Cassandra out of the house in my curricle, but she affected the vapours at the mere notion of such a scheme, and quitted the breakfast parlour directly.”

I could not suppress a laugh at this telling picture.

“You are in wine again, Edward, I am sure of it,” Lizzy said in mock exasperation. “Have you led him astray, Captain Woodford?”

“I? Astray? Quite the reverse, I assure you.”

“Mamma! Mamma! Only look — there is Mrs. Grey!”

The Commodore momentarily forgotten, Fanny had jumped up from her seat and was craning for a view of the rail.

“Sit dawn , Fanny,” Miss Sharpe whispered shrilly, with one hand on her charge's sash. “You will make of yourself a spectacle, child.”

“Do observe, Mamma,” Fanny persisted, “she has gone quite forward in all the bustle, and intends to o'erlook the race. There is her scarlet habit, not far from Papa and my uncle.”

I followed my niece's outflung arm and saw again the dashing figure, late of the perch phaeton. Mrs. Grey had abandoned her equipage and secured a place of advantage quite close to the rail. She was mounted, as though she meant to follow the heat on horseback. [7] It was customary in Austen 's time for spectators to gallop alongside the competing horses in the final lengths of a race. Though commonplace, the practice was highly dangerous and often led to mishap — either for the mounted spectator or the racehorses themselves, more than one of whom was denied a victory by the interference of an overzealous fan. — Editor's note. Extraordinary! She should be the only lady in the midst of the crush, and exposed to every sort of coarse behaviour— for a race-meeting is hardly the most select, being at liberty to the common labourer as readily as a lord.

But at least she displayed a little sense, in adopting a veil, the better to shield her countenance from the impertinent. Or perhaps the better to invite their gaze — for the black illusion netting, however suited to the disguise of her features, hung jauntily enough from the tricorn hat. Hers was a tall, womanly figure astride the mettlesome beast — the jet-black gelding I had last seen tied to the phaeton. However unseemly her behaviour, however determined her flaunting of convention, I could not fail to admire Mrs. Grey. And pity her, too. Such an one must be very rich, indeed — or very unhappy. Only the most extreme sense of liberty, or the utter depths of misery, could give spur to the sort of recklessness she displayed.

“Come, Mr. Bridges,” Captain Woodford said, “we must bid the ladies adieu , or be denied our place at the rail.”

These words had scarce fallen from his lips, when the blowing of a horn announced the horses arrived at the starter's mark, and a murmur of expectation arose from the assembled throng. Mr. Bridges surged forward towards the rail, Captain Woodford in pursuit; Fanny clambered onto the barouche box next to the coachman, Pratt; and even Lizzy gained something in animation.

“They are off!” Fanny cried, “but I can see nothing — only a sea of hats, and the flash of horses' heads. Oh, you darling Commodore!”

Despite myself, I caught something of the clamour of the moment, and rose to my feet, swaying slightly with the springs of the coach and Fanny's determined energy. A cloud of dust, turned gold in the August sun, announced the vanguard of the horses — they were fast upon our portion of the rail, and I thought that even my disinterested gaze might discern the Commodore's narrow Arab head vying for pride of place with a bay mare. Then, in a flash of scarlet, Mrs. Grey leapt the rail on her fleet black horse.

A cry of “Mrs. Grey!” and “Huzzah!” seemed to break from an hundred throats, and that suddenly, every man in possession of a mount had thrust his way onto the course behind the lady. Like a company of mounted cavalry, top hats blown backwards by the wind, they pounded in the wake of the racing pack — and disappeared around the course's bend.

“Good God!” ejaculated Miss Sharpe.

I turned from the course to see the governess pale and trembling, her hazel eyes fixed on the dust-clouded rail. Presumably she was unaccustomed to such exploits.

“More than one unfortunate shall be unhorsed, Miss Sharpe, depend upon it,” I told her. “But do not trouble yourself on a fool's account. They are all very nearly insensible with drink, and shall not mind the bruising.”

“Mrs. Grey shall keep her seat, never fear,” said Lizzy drily. “She will be safely home and established upon a sofa before the half of them have circled the field.”

But Miss Sharpe seemed not to have attended to either of us. Her gaze was still fixed on the course, where the distant splash of scarlet proclaimed the sole woman at the head of the cavalcade. To discern much else was impossible; the Commodore, Josephine, and their competitors in the heat, were swallowed entire in a cloud of dust.

“Are you quite well, Miss Sharpe?” I enquired gently. “You have grown too pale. Perhaps the heat has overcome you. It is well that we are very near to ending so tiresome an amusement — I am sure we should all prefer to be at home.”

She sank back down into her seat, and drew a kerchief from her reticule. “Forgive me. A trifling unsteadiness

The unmounted spectators, like my brothers, had commenced to run along the rail in pursuit of the pack; an idiot's errand, for the pack itself had very soon rounded the final bend of the course, and was bearing down upon the starter's mark. Our heads turned as one— the pounding of hooves announced the approaching triumph — and the bay mare Josephine swept foaming across the finish, with the Commodore hard on her heels.

“Ohhh!” cried Fanny in disappointment.

“Thank God it is over at last,” murmured her mother.

And from the trembling Miss Sharpe, came something like a sob.

IT WAS A CHASTENED AND DESPONDENT HENRY WHO rejoined the Godmersham party a half-hour later.

“I am sure that some great mischief has befallen the poor beast.” He sagged against the seat cushions and accepted a glass of ginger beer. “He looked off in the near hind. Perhaps the weights—”

“He looked off for the duration of the heat, my dear brother,” said Neddie sourly. He was quite winded, and much put out at the devil's chase he had run. “Although I confess my position was too poor to permit of a good view. We should better have gone mounted, like Mrs. Grey.”