Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend (30 page)

Edward-John and Augusta sat down side by side on the sofa, facing their two aunts, who were sitting bolt upright on upholstered chairs. Jane crossed the room and perched on the window seat. I
almost joined her, but thought that would be cowardly. In the end I went and sat beside my brother on the sofa.

Mrs Leigh-Perrot was the first to speak, and I was glad of that as Mrs Austen was a bit blunt and had already quarrelled with Augusta and Edward-John.

‘Obviously you want the best for Jenny,’ she began, speaking quite mildly and looking enquiringly at them when no answer seemed to be coming.

‘Obviously,’ said Edward-John after a glance at Augusta.

‘Your uncles and aunts all feel that this match with Captain Thomas Williams is a good one,’ went on Mrs Leigh-Perrot. ‘He is a fine young man, with a good career, a house of
his own, a certain fortune and well connected. Who knows what the admiral will do for him! I have made enquiries, and he and his sister are the admiral’s only near relations.’

‘That’s all very well . . .’ began Augusta and then stopped. Jane had got up from her window seat sauntered over to the fireplace and picked up a two-handled pitcher in
exquisite ruby-coloured glass. She held it up admiringly to the window, thoughtfully running her finger over the two large, ear-like handles, just as her mother did when checking that Sukey had
done the dusting. I was glad that Eliza was not there as I would not have been able to stop myself giggling if I had met her glance and seen her lips form the words: ‘
Little pitchers have
big ears.
‘

‘You were saying, Mrs Cooper . . . ?’ Mrs Leigh-Perrot seemed a little bewildered, though Mrs Austen’s glance had sharpened. Jane put the glass pitcher back on the mantelpiece
and went to sit beside her father on the chaise longue.

‘Oh, nothing, nothing; nobody wants to listen to me! I’m sure that I don’t wish to interfere. Mr Cooper can make up his own mind about his sister’s future.’

And then Augusta rose from the sofa, shook her elaborately trimmed gown, adjusted the lace at her neck and flounced out of the room.

There was a dead silence when the door closed behind her. I moved a little closer to my brother. I felt sorry for him with five pairs of eyes pointing in his direction.

In the end he handled it with dignity. He turned towards me, took my hand in his and said awkwardly, ‘What do you feel about it, Jenny? We only want the best for you.’

‘I am very much in love with Thomas and my happiness lies in marrying him.’ I spoke just to him and did not once look at anyone else in the room. When I had finished he said nothing
for half a minute, but then nodded and said quietly, ‘In that case, I give my permission.’

And then everyone was hugging and kissing me.

And Mrs Leigh-Perrot started to discuss wedding presents . . .

And Mrs Austen declared that I had to be married at Steventon and began to plan a great whitewashing of all the rooms in the house before Christmas . . .

And Mr Austen told me that even if the Archbishop of Canterbury himself wanted to marry us he would insist on performing the service himself . . .

And Jane started to plan how she would decorate the church for the occasion . . .

When eventually we came out of the parlour, Augusta had just emerged from her room, with her bandbox in her hand. Behind her in the bedroom, I could see Rosalie busily packing gowns into the
large trunk that they had brought with them.

‘Dear Aunt and Uncle, we must, alas, leave you. We have recollected an urgent appointment, but did not like to spoil your pleasure last night by telling of our departure,’ said
Augusta. She did not look at me, but kept a false smile carefully pinned to her face as everyone bustled around, Mr Leigh-Perrot sending Franklin for a chaise to take them to the post-inn, Mrs
Leigh-Perrot offering her lavender drops for the journey, Mr Austen falling over himself to assure Edward-John how much he valued his present of some sermons. Mrs Austen did not take much part in
this, but rolled up her sleeves and set to work to assist Rosalie. Jane and I were called into the bedroom to help and I was glad to go, because I hated to see the look on my brother’s face
as he tried to pretend that he had known all about this sudden departure.

And now I have written to Thomas.

This is my first effort – full of crossings-outs and blots . . . I’m just so excited that I can’t concentrate . . . can’t think straight . . . I keep laughing and crying
. . . Jane has already put on her bonnet and is telling me to stop writing and to hurry up – I think she can’t wait to tell Eliza the whole story.

(She says that she has been like ‘Patience on a monument’ (Shakespeare) – she told me to be sure to write ‘Shakespeare’ in my journal.)

And now the house is quiet. Mr and Mrs Leigh-Perrot have taken the Austens sightseeing to visit a cathedral. Jane and I escaped by Jane’s quick wits in recollecting an
appointment with Eliza. When I have delivered my letter to the admiral so that it can be sent to Thomas’s ship, we will walk to Queen’s Square, get Eliza out of bed and tell her the
whole story.

Jane and I are running down the Paragon, along George Street, then hurtling down the steep incline of Gay Street and into Queen’s Square.

We are going so fast that we almost crash into Harry, who is standing quite still in the middle of the pavement, his hat clasped against his broad chest, his blond hair shining in the sunshine
and a tender smile on his lips as he watches Jane flying along, clutching at her bonnet.

‘Come with us, Harry,’ gasps Jane. ‘We’re going down to York Street to see whether Elinor Williams will come for a walk with us.’

‘No, you two wait here,’ I say hastily. ‘I’ll just give my letter to the admiral and then ask Elinor if she would like to come with us. She probably won’t, but
I’ll ask anyway. I’ll be back in five minutes.’ There is something about the way Harry is looking at Jane and Jane is looking at Harry that makes me feel they would like a few
minutes together.

Without giving them any time to voice objections I go on down the street without even looking back. I will probably take longer than five minutes as I am sure that the admiral will want to chat.
That will be good. I will ask for him as soon as the manservant opens the door, I decide.

But when I knock at the lodgings in York Street it is the governess who opens the door. She snatches it open the second my hand leaves the knocker – almost as though she has been standing
just behind it.

‘Where’s Elinor?’ she gasps.

‘Elinor?’ I’m puzzled. Miss Taylor’s face is white and her eyes large and protruding.

‘I thought she was with you.’ Her voice is low, not much more than a whisper, and she looks over her shoulder in a worried way.

‘Why?’ I’m still puzzled.

‘George said he saw her in the Greyhound Inn yard. She told him she was waiting for you – for Miss Cooper; he’s sure she said that.’ Miss Taylor’s face changes. Her
eyes look past me and she snaps, ‘Thank you, George, that will be all,’ at a manservant who had just emerged from a door beyond the staircase. She takes my arm, walks out through the
hall door with me and shuts it behind us. We are outside. In the bright sunlight I see that her eyes are full of tears.

‘Miss Taylor, what’s wrong?’

‘I’m afraid that she might be with Sir Walter Montmorency,’ she whispers. ‘She was supposed to be practising her music, but when I didn’t hear the piano for ten
minutes I came downstairs and found that she was gone. I started to search the house, to look for her. And then George came back from an errand and told me that he met Miss Williams outside the
Greyhound Inn and she told him that she was waiting for you. You didn’t...’ Miss Taylor stops. She can see from my face how surprised I am. She knows now that there was no arrangement
between Elinor and me. ‘I don’t know what the admiral will say!’ She sounds despairing and her eyes dart here and there, looking at the crowds of people in York Street.

‘You go back inside. Give this letter to the admiral.’ I’m thinking rapidly. Above all, the admiral must not suspect anything. ‘Tell him that Elinor and I, and my cousin,
Miss Jane Austen, escorted by Mr Harry Digweed, have gone for a walk. Don’t worry. We will bring her back.’

Quickly I thrust my letter into Miss Taylor’s hand and start to run as quickly as I can, back uphill, towards Queen’s Square.

Harry and Jane are sitting on a bench laughing. Even in the middle of my worries about Elinor, I think that they look very nice together.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jane sees me first.

I tell them about Elinor and they are both on their feet before I finish explaining.

‘That fellow!’ Harry is walking so fast that Jane and I have to run to keep up with him.

‘They must be inside – I hope they are not in his bedroom,’ Jane whispers when we reach the Greyhound Inn. The yard in front of it is quite empty except for a man grooming one
of the horses.

‘Have you seen Sir Walter Montmorency, John?’ asks Harry. He seems to be well known here. The innkeeper’s wife has just given a friendly wave at him from an upstairs
window.

‘Sir Walter has just left, Mr Digweed,’ says John.

‘By himself, or with friends?’ Harry is no actor, and John gives him a sharp look.

‘Just the young lady, Mr Digweed,’ he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the horse’s glossy back.

‘Have your fastest horses put to a chaise. I won’t need a post boy. You’ll trust me, won’t you? I’ll bring it back safe to you. Fast as you can, John,
please.’

‘Why did they go off without us?’ Jane is doing her best and her air is very casual. ‘It was a blonde young lady, about my age, wasn’t it?’ she asks John, and he
nods immediately.

‘Yes, miss; Admiral Williams’s niece,’ he says obligingly, making a sign to the stableman.

‘Which way did they go, John?’ Harry’s voice is grim.

‘The Bristol road, sir, through Bristol, changing horses at Falfield, then going on to Gloucester; that’s where the chaise is booked for,’ says John, pocketing the piece of
silver that Harry produces from his pocket. ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll harness up Dasher and his brother Dancer. They’re the fastest horses in the stable. Much quicker than that showy
Greylord and Greydawn that Sir Walter insisted on having. They’ve had a good fifteen minutes start on you though, and it won’t be easy to make speed on the road to Bristol...’

Jane’s eyes meet mine and she mouths, ‘
Gretna Green
.’ I fear that she is right. I’m not very good at geography, but I know that London would have been the wrong
way for Scotland. Gloucester is probably quite in line with Gretna Green.

‘Be back in one minute,’ says Harry, sprinting towards the door of the inn. We hear his boots clattering up the stairs.

John has everything ready by the time Harry is back. He stops at the sight of both of us sitting in the chaise, Jane looking innocently into the distance as if admiring the view.

‘You’re not going,’ says Harry firmly.

‘Yes, we are,’ says Jane, and as he climbs up she hisses in his ear, ‘We’re chaperones. You can’t bring Elinor back without a chaperone. She would be
ruined!’

Harry’s look of firm purpose melts and he looks indecisive. John shouts to a stable boy to open the gates a bit wider, Harry gathers up the reins, and then we shoot off through the gates
and up Monmouth Street without another word.

‘He’s probably got a pistol in his pocket,’ whispers Jane, nudging me. She looks blissfully happy and very excited. I don’t reply. I feel so anxious about everything.
What happens if we can’t find Elinor and Sir Walter? How far will we have to follow them? Will someone miss us?

‘Don’t worry, Jenny; no one will miss us. They won’t be back from Wells Cathedral until the evening – and Franklin will think that we are with cousin Eliza.’ Jane
has read my expression. She speaks in her normal voice. The wheels on the cobbled street are rumbling so loudly that no one but I could hear her.

Harry is a superb driver. The chaise swings around corners without slackening speed. Dasher and his brother Dancer are living up to their names, hardly breaking into a sweat as we thunder along,
avoiding all the gigs and carts on the road.