Cassandra's Sister (14 page)

“Nothing can diminish my happiness,” she said aloud, licking her fingers. “I
know
he likes me. This is what Marianne felt when that scoundrel Willoughby courted her, and Elinor when she fell in love with Edward Ferrars.”

She sat up. Should she look over the manuscript of
Elinor and Marianne
? Now it had happened to
her
, should she revise the passages about falling in love, in case the real feeling was different from the one she had described?

She lay back, nestling among the pillows, and smiled to herself. No, she would not.
Elinor and Marianne
was finished and done with. And who was to say she would have leisure enough in future to dwell on the prospects of those fictional sisters anyway? Her own prospects had suddenly begun to diverge radically from the life of an author.

In church the next day Jenny heard neither Papa's words nor the congregation's responses. Her prayers were private.
Please, please, God
, she asked,
watch over Tom Lefroy and keep him safe from harm. Do not separate us in spirit, even when we are separated by distance. And please send me the wit to make him laugh, because I cannot live without seeing his smile again
.

The Lefroys' ball would be the test of Tom Lefroy's allegiance. If he remained constant in his pursuit of her, there would be no avoiding the embarrassment of public exposure. If not, she must make certain that neither her words nor her countenance betrayed any attachment to him.

Monday went by very slowly. By Tuesday morning Jenny was on the point of asking, in desperation, if Mama had any letters for the post, or messages for anyone in the village. Taking them would be an excuse to get out of the house. Despite the cold weather, she could dawdle up the lane without having to hide her ungovernable excitement from anybody. But as she approached the drawing-room the sound of a horse made her open the front door. A footman, his boots and coat thrust hurriedly over his Ashe livery, put a letter into her hand. “Miss Austen? From Mr Lefroy. Good day to you, Miss.”

Jenny tore the letter open. Tom, in a flowing though not particularly legible hand, repeated his request for the first dance on Friday evening and added that, though they must not risk impropriety or, worse still, his aunt's all-seeing eyes, he would very much like to dance as many of the other dances with her as he possibly could.

He signed himself
Your friend
,
T. L. Lefroy
, but as Jenny pored eagerly over the words they assumed a deeper meaning. What else could he call himself but her friend? Yet, as everyone knew, friendship was the first step to love. She was sure that he was thinking of declaring his feelings at the ball. From declaration to proposal was another short step, which she could reasonably expect him to take before his return to Ireland. And then…

She replied in kind – a succinct, friendly, encouraging note – then she wrote a much longer letter to her sister. At the post office she found an equally thick one awaiting her.

Dearest Jenny
, wrote Cassandra,
Tom Lefroy is obviously perfect for you. I am wild to meet him, to see if you have indeed caught “a good 'un”, as Lord Portsmouth so quaintly put it. Meanwhile, my Tom has reached Lisbon, from where I have received assurances that he is in good health, not seasick anymore, only sunburned. Write to me immediately after the Lefroys' ball, will you not?

Jenny hid this letter, and hoped Cassandra would do the same with those she had received. She took great care not to bring Tom's name into conversation with Papa or Mama, and especially Henry, whose penetrating intelligence she did not trust to remain insensible of the powerful impression the Irishman had made.

But keeping such a secret was not easy. A casual reference to the Manydown Christmas ball would burn Jenny's ears and dry her mouth. She could not even make a suitable reply when Papa remarked one evening how numerous were these Lefroys, adding that he wondered if by the time the Revolution was over England would contain more Frenchmen than France did.

Tom Lefroy, however, appeared to be less successful than Jenny at affecting nonchalance.

“What is this we hear from Madam Lefroy?” asked Mama at dinner on Wednesday. “She tells me her ball could see the continuation of an ‘understanding', as she described it, which exists between you and one of her nephews, whose name I believe is Thomas.”

Jenny looked at her plate. She felt Papa's look; she hoped he was smiling.

“I could neither confirm nor deny Madam Lefroy's report,” continued Mama, “because I have heard nothing about it from my own daughter. She, however, has seen plenty in the demeanour of her nephew to indicate an attachment. What do you say, Miss Jenny?”

“Peace, my dear,” said Papa to Mama. “Jenny met Mr Lefroy last Friday for the first time. He is surely no more than an acquaintance.”

Jenny signalled her gratitude by pressing his foot with hers under the table. But Mama was not to be denied.

“An acquaintance?” she said pointedly. “An acquaintance would not sit out with Jenny for
four
dances, leaving other young ladies short of a partner.
And
looking like a man who has lost sixpence and found a sovereign, according to Madam Lefroy's account.”

“Which may be questionable,” observed Papa.

Jenny knew she must speak. “I do like him, Mama,” she said, blushing. “He is very gentlemanly and pleasant.”

“And handsome, his aunt says,” said Mama, her eyes watching Jenny keenly, alert to any clue.

“Anyone would say that about their own nephew, however plain he actually was,” declared Papa.

“He
is
handsome, Papa,” said Jenny. “But it is not his features which make him so; it is his expression.” She turned to her mother. “You never saw such kind eyes, and so merry a smile.”

Her parents exchanged looks. “Thank Providence that Henry is not here,” said Papa dryly. “He would not forbear to quiz you more closely than your mama, you may be sure.”

“So am I to conclude that you have hopes of this Mr Thomas Lefroy?” inquired Mama seriously.

Jenny nodded, half embarrassed, half relieved.

“Then we had better get out that pink gown Cassandra had for her first ball at Godmersham,” said Mama. “Kitty can sponge and press it, and as you are a little taller than your sister I shall sew on new trim.” With a glance at her husband, she added, “And I think, Miss
Jane
, you are old enough now to wear my wedding pearls, which will handsomely set off the pink silk and your brown hair.”

Steventon, 16 January

Dearest, dearest Cass
,

Oh, how I wish you were here! When do you intend to return? I am glad of Tom F's good health, but I must confess to a certain difficulty at present in thinking about any man other than Tom L
.

His attentions to me last night at the ball left me in no doubt that he entertains a serious attachment to me, though he did not
absolutely
declare. As for me, I suspected when we sat out at Manydown that I might grow to love him, but now I know, Cass, that I do love him, very dearly. There! I have written it. If you are wondering what to do with this letter when you have read it, here is my recommendation: if I never see Tom again after he quits Ashe on Thursday, burn it and never remind me of it. But if I settle in Ireland as Mrs Tom Lefroy I give you permission to keep it, and let me read it again when we are old ladies (and the Two Toms are old gentlemen)
.

Did you feel like this when you fell in love? I do not remember your betrayal of any excitement, or joy, though I am sure you must have felt it. You are so expert at hiding your feelings, I am persuaded that even that paragon of patience, Miss Elinor Dashwood, cannot outdo you
.

You ask me what I intend to do with
Elinor and Marianne
; the answer is that I do not know. How does one go about finding out whether one's work is suitable for publication? So far, having shown the book only to you, and read part of it aloud to Papa and Mama, I have only my family's unreliable praise to rely on. Furthermore, whenever I finish a story I am impatient to be writing another, rendering the previous one unimportant. So you see I am lost in confusion, and would far rather gain pleasure from writing than money from publishing
.

Please, please write to me when you next have leisure to do so, and tell me how a well-bred young lady behaves when she is in love. Each day until Thursday I shall be expecting a visit from him. He must come to take his leave of me on Wednesday evening, must he not, out of common politeness? Will he declare then, do you suppose? Will he ask to see Papa in his study? Oh, Cass! If he does not, quite frankly, I fear I shall die. In which case, my dear sister, I bequeath the fate of our friends Elinor and Marianne to your capable administration
.

Meanwhile, I remain your wretched sister, who will spend the next five days loitering near doors and windows, straining to catch sight of my Irish friend coming down the lane. You may picture me, if you care to, and laugh
.

With warmest regards
,

     
J. A
.

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday passed with no visit. Jenny decided that family matters had kept Tom too busy to call, and she would have to settle for a note. Her head began to ache from the strain of listening for a cantering horse and a knock on the door. On Tuesday night her dreams were filled with visions of Tom Lefroy riding down the Ashe road wearing a footman's livery with his coat and boots over it.

Wednesday arrived, but Tom Lefroy did not. On Thursday Jenny dressed herself more than usually carefully and sat down with her sewing in the inglenook. Kitty brought the letters at midday; nothing from Ashe. The afternoon passed; no visitors. By bedtime, Jenny's light-hearted prophecy that if Tom did not declare she would die had darkened into sinful thoughts. She heartily wished herself dead.

If only Papa and Mama, and the entire Lefroy family, even Ben and George, were not aware of her disappointment! She could have borne it better in secret. But at the Ashe ball, Tom's preference for Jenny had undoubtedly been noticed. The first and the last dance, and several in between, had belonged to him. Between dances, and at supper, they had sat together. And when he had helped her into the carriage at the end of the evening he had brushed her hand with his lips so affectingly that she could not suppress her agitation all the way home. Madam Lefroy, who had been wishing guests goodnight close by, had seen this.

To have her parents pity her was almost more than she could countenance. Their efforts to raise Jenny's spirits, kindly meant, met with failure. And to make everything worse, at the very moment when she most needed her sister, Cass was not there.

No letter came from Ireland. After two weeks, Jenny ceased to look for one. Each day she rose and stood before the looking-glass, regarding solemnly her pale face and swollen eyelids. She bathed her face in cold water and tried her best to cultivate an inscrutable demeanour. She smiled as she went about the village with pattens over her shoes as usual. If anyone had pressed her, she might have admitted that she was avoiding visiting Ashe or Manydown for the time being, especially since the weather was so inclement. But nobody did.

The name of Tom Lefroy passed Papa's lips only when he told Jenny that a chance meeting with Reverend Lefroy in Basingstoke High Street had confirmed that Tom had indeed arrived back in Ireland, and was not expected back at Ashe for some time. Mama did not mention him at all. Even James, who had been present at both balls, seemed to have forgotten Tom's existence, while Henry, the greatest gossip in Hampshire, was back in Petersfield and oblivious to everything.

But Jenny could not forget Tom's laughter, and the sincerity in his soft Irish voice. How could she discount his bashful efforts to secure the first dance, the note brought by the footman, his interest in her writing, his admiration of her eyes? Given his own choice, even if he was not ready to declare his intentions at the Ashe ball, he would have visited her the next day, written to her again, taken a tender leave of her when he returned to Ireland. In short, he would have wooed her.

She was sure, she was
absolutely sure
that he had been prevented from pursuing her by outside forces. As the only son in a wealthy family, the responsibility of making an advantageous marriage lay upon Tom Lefroy as much as upon his sisters. Unlike Jenny's brothers, he was not expected to make his way in the world in order to support a wife and family. He must finance his future by means of a union with another landowning family. Jenny remembered how his family situation was the very first thing he had told her about himself, and his questions to her had been on the subject of her own. Money had been uppermost in his mind even then.

My stupidity is second only to my vanity
, Jenny confessed bitterly to herself.
How could I have imagined that he might forego his obligations for the daughter of a clergyman? I know Eliza's words about money conquering love to be true, so why did I let Tom Lefroy's smile drive them from my head?

She had learnt a hard lesson. In the middle of yet another tearful night, she made the decision to leave real-life love alone for a while and go back to fictional love, over which she had control. As she had confided to Tom during that dizzying first conversation, she could not help writing any more than she could help breathing. And when she was writing, she could not think about Tom's smile.

January passed. The beech twigs that tapped Jenny's window became studded with buds, then the bright spring leaves unfurled. Each day she bent over the writing desk. By the time Cassandra came back from Berkshire with a letter from the West Indies in her pocket, and Eliza arrived for her first visit to Steventon since the death of her husband, the bones of a new book lay in the drawer.