Cassandra's Sister (8 page)

“Who?” asked Jenny, utterly bewildered. “Mr Harwood? But—”

“Do not pretend you are unaware, Jenny, it is too cruel.”

“Cruel?”
Jenny was astonished. “But Elizabeth—”

“You danced with him. I saw you, so do not deny it. And I had to put up with John Lyford! But now he has asked me to dance the last with him.”

“Are you speaking of Mr
Heathcote
?” asked Jenny. But he had engaged
her
, much earlier in the evening, for the last dance! Elizabeth had accused her of cruelty, but what could she, Jenny, accuse
him
of? Forgetfulness, or worse?

“Yes, Mr Heathcote!” cried Elizabeth. “Is he not the most perfect man you have ever seen? I have been speaking to him for the last half hour, in the supper room while the servants were clearing it. He did not mind sitting among the crumbs, because all he wanted to do was look at
me
. Oh, Jenny, when he takes my hand in the cotillion, and everyone is looking at him and thinking how handsome he is, why, I don't know how I shall stop myself shouting with joy!”

“But what about Mr Harwood?” asked Jenny faintly.

“Oh, I have had some dances with him. But, you know, he is not an accomplished dancer, and stepped repeatedly upon my gown. Oh, do not tell me Mr Heathcote dances clumsily! I cannot bear to hear it!”

Jenny's feelings hovered between disappointment for herself, greater disappointment for Mr Harwood, and happiness for Elizabeth, who clearly considered herself to have captured the affections of handsome Mr Heathcote. For his part, the vision of loveliness he saw across the leftovers must have obliterated the memory of the younger, less striking girl who was faithfully saving the last dance for him.

“He dances very well, Elizabeth,” Jenny assured her. “And I am quite sure you and he will attract the attention of the whole room.”

Elizabeth embraced her impetuously. “What a good friend you are, Jenny! And is it not strange that everything can be going along quite normally, with John This and John That all in their usual places, and then the world stands on its head because a William Somebody has arrived!”

“Most strange,” said Jenny, feeling suddenly hot.

The lines were forming for the final dance. Jenny stood alone, struggling for composure. Then three things happened. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John Harwood quit the room, wearing his hat. John Portal led Martha to the set. And Jenny found herself approached by John Lyford. “Are you not engaged for this dance, Miss Austen? I would be honoured if you would bestow—”

“No,” she interrupted. “No, I am not engaged, but I do not wish to dance. I thank you, Mr Lyford, but I am very tired, and wish to sit down.”

It was not so difficult to refuse after all. Mr Lyford retreated, and Jenny took a seat beside Mrs Bigg. The expression on Jenny's face silenced any questions that lady might have had. With a heavy heart, Jenny watched the flying coat-tails and swirling skirts, the shiny foreheads and blotched cheeks which signified the end of an enjoyable evening. Cass, her hair escaping in tendrils at the nape of her neck, looked extremely pretty as she paraded up the set with Mr Blackall. Mary Lloyd was again dancing with Mr Lefroy, and Catherine with his nephew Ben.

But like everybody in the room, Jenny looked mostly at William Heathcote and Elizabeth Bigg. Though it pained her to think of his conduct towards herself and Elizabeth's towards John Harwood, there was no doubt that they
did
look very beautiful, and very happy, together. Poor John might have arrived at the ball with high hopes of securing a prize, but it was now very publicly clear that he would leave empty-handed.

“Well, Jenny,” observed Cass, reappearing during the applause which followed the dance, “I do not recall when I have enjoyed a ball more. If only Tom were here!” She sat down beside Jenny, fanning herself enthusiastically. Then she seized the candle-holder on the table, and drew it nearer her sister's face. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Jenny…”

“I want to go home,” declared Jenny. “Could you encourage Mrs Bigg and the others to make haste? I will tell you all about it tomorrow. Now, I beg you, leave me be.”

Cassandra obeyed. But Jenny was aware all the way home in the carriage, while Elizabeth chattered on about William Heathcote, that she was not quite the same Jenny who had left Steventon Rectory earlier that day. She was not at all sure she liked it, but she had taken one more step into whatever it was that lay beyond her cherished childhood world.

T
he morning after the ball was reserved for discussing it.

“How can a gentleman behave in such an ungentlemanly fashion?” Jenny asked Cass after she had told her sister the story of William Heathcote's defection.

“Quite easily,” returned Cass, “if he is not a gentleman at all.”

“Do not be so logical! I want an explanation for his behaviour, or, failing that, some words of comfort.”

They had slept late, and were taking breakfast upstairs at the little table that usually held their workboxes. Jenny was using her workbox, which had been placed on the floor, as a foot-rest. “You are my older sister and are supposed to be wise about everything that can happen between your age and mine,” she said, biting into a slice of toast. “Why did he use me so ill, Cass?”

“I think that sometime after dancing with you, he fell in love with Elizabeth, and everything else went out of his head.”

“But he could not possibly have forgotten he had engaged me for the last dance!” Jenny had to put her hand over her mouth to stop pieces of toast falling out in her indignation.

“He
did
,” laughed Cass. “And if he could see you now, with butter all over your chin, he would probably congratulate himself on his lucky escape.”

“Do not tease, Cass, I am not in the humour for it.”

Cassandra took her teacup and went to the window seat. She was wearing her second-best dressing robe, the good one having already been cleaned and packed for Godmersham. “Try not to blame him too much,” she advised her sister. “They left the supper room so late, the cotillion was his last chance to dance with Elizabeth. He did not know when he would see her again. Perhaps he never will.”

“But what about my prior claim?” protested Jenny.

Cass smiled. “If he thought of it at all, dearest, which I doubt, he probably assumed you would understand.”

“Understand? What
can
you mean?”

Cass was still smiling. “However little men know about women, one thing they
do
know is that we tell each other things, especially about them. Usually, he would not have regarded this as an advantage, but last night it was. He knew Elizabeth would tell you that he had secured her for the last dance, and you would be too well-bred to mention that he had done the same with you. Which, you have to admit, you were.”

Jenny pondered. “In that case I think his behaviour doubly reprehensible. Not only did he change his mind, but he was too cowardly to admit it to my face.”

“Cowardly or clever?” observed Cass. “Anyway, perhaps this morning he feels remorse. Watch the post for the next few days.” She put her empty cup back on its saucer. “There. Have I discharged my sisterly duties adequately?”

“More than adequately,” said Jenny. “And if he does not write I can blame my disappointment on you, for putting the idea into my head that he might do so.”

“But in two days I shall be gone into Kent and will escape your censure.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Jenny finished her toast and drank her tea; Cass examined a place on her sleeve where she had mended her robe. Neither girl's thoughts were on what she was doing, but it was Jenny who voiced hers.

“Is it not the case that falling in love has but two outcomes?”

Cassandra's small frown passed over her forehead. Jenny was familiar enough with the small frown to know that her sister's mystification was entirely artless. Cass was incapable of the dissembling and subterfuge Jenny herself indulged in every day. She never dismissed Jenny's hypothesizing, however odd she might secretly consider it. She willingly listened, understood, reasoned and was satisfied.

“The first outcome is that the man does not care for you,” continued Jenny. “Result: your heart is broken. The second outcome is that your love is returned. Result: he declares, families are consulted, a marriage takes place, and a life of child-bearing and preserve-making follows.”

Cassandra looked at Jenny in surprise. “But what of the
joy
of love? Is it not the most exquisite human experience, which bestows nobility upon even the lowest-minded of individuals?”

Jenny could not help but laugh. “Observe how I am immediately defeated! You see the best in everyone and everything, while I look upon life with a jaded eye.”

“Oh, but there is no need,” retorted Cassandra with confidence. “Somewhere your future husband waits patiently for you. When you meet him, I predict that every jaded notion you ever had will fly away.”

Jenny's affection for her sister rose up. “Dearest Cass, I know you will find great happiness with your Tom. But last night has shown me how powerful falling in love can be. How suddenly it can happen – and how swiftly a woman, or a man, can switch their allegiance. The joy of love, as you so eloquently describe it, is an exquisite human experience, but a precarious one. And we women go through all its passions and problems, thinking of nothing else for years and years of our lives … for what? For a man who may or may not love us after our youth and beauty have faded away.”

“You only say this because you have never been in love,” insisted Cass. “You will change your mind, I promise.”

“And if I do not succeed in making anyone fall in love with me,” went on Jenny, “I shall end an old maid. That is an indisputable fact. But, unlike most old maids, I can at least indulge my habit of writing stories as an alternative to the endless hours of glove-knitting that await me.”

“Which reminds me,” said Cass, brightening, “we are expected at James's this afternoon. Apparently he and Anne have a gift for me which I am not supposed to know about. Knitted gloves aside, what do you think they have got me which I could possibly want?”

When Mrs Lloyd and her daughters had moved to a small house in the village of Ibthorpe several miles away, the living at Deane had been granted to James. The Lloyds' old house, Deane Parsonage, was larger than the cottage James and Anne had lived in before, with a well-kept garden Jenny had always loved. But Mama considered sitting outdoors, even in early September, detrimental to one's health, so Jenny, her mother and sister, and James and Anne themselves, with baby Anna clinging to her mother's knees, gathered in the parlour. In the Lloyds' day this had been a bright, uncluttered room, always full of flowers. But Anne, who shared her mother-in-law's distrust of fresh air, had closed the windows against it. The room was stifling.

Anne and James were interested to hear an edited description of the previous evening's ball. “I have not been to the Rooms for many years,” Anne observed. “James, we must stir ourselves to join the company there again soon.”

“Yes, my dear, we must,” replied her husband. “Personally, I enjoy dancing.”

Jenny saw him gesticulate to Anne, while at the same time pretending he had not done so. When she made no response, he nodded his head towards a cupboard to the side of the chimney breast.

“Oh!” Anne jumped up, surprising little Anna, who sat down unexpectedly hard on the stone floor. The child set up a loud wail. “Cassandra,” said Anne, “we have a gift for you. Now, Anna, you are not hurt.” Picking her daughter up, she went to the cupboard and removed something wrapped in the sort of paper in which draper's goods came. Shyly, she presented it to her sister-in-law, whose pretence of utter astonishment impressed Jenny.

“What can it be?” wondered Cass, fumbling a little as she opened it. “Oh, a shawl! How beautiful!”

It
was
beautiful. Folded, the shawl took up no more space than a pocket-handkerchief. Opened out, the delicate, silken-fringed material spread to the size of a tablecloth. Cass fingered the impeccably stitched embroidery. “Anne, you are far, far too kind,” she gasped.

“James bought the shawl in London,” Anne explained, “but it was plain, except for the fringe. I embroidered it with things you like, Cass. See, here are your lavender plants, and roses, and your beloved pink ribbons.”

Cass was moved. “But why…” she began, then hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

James proceeded for her. “We originally thought of it as a wedding gift,” he explained, “but when we heard you were to meet Tom at Godmersham, Anne suggested we give it to you now, so that you can wear it while you are there. It is a long time since you have had a new shawl, our mother informs me, and I know that neither you nor Jenny ever asks for anything.”