Jane Austen’s First Love (14 page)

Ire spread through me. I met Cassandra’s eye in the looking-glass; she returned a sympathetic glance.

“I am sorry, Jane; it is Mamma’s rule, not mine.”

I sat in stony silence until the maid finished my hair, and had wound around it a blue satin ribbon which complemented my gown. On any other night, I would have thought I looked quite nice; but to-night was different. I thanked her; she nodded graciously, then beckoned to my sister to sit down again at the dressing-table, where she draped a long cloth around her shoulders in preparation for the application of pomatum and powder.

Having no desire to observe a ritual in which I could not take part, I left the chamber. As I emerged into the passage, Louisa and Harriot appeared, attired in their new gowns, their hair elegantly styled with supplementary hair pieces, and fully powdered in bluish gray—the very image of all the fashionable ladies of the age whom I had so long admired.

I had never seen girls so young attired in such a manner except in old paintings, and the picture they presented was very striking; it made an unexpected impression, which I could not quite identify. As, at that moment, I was feeling rather sorry for myself, I deduced the emotion to be envy.

The young girls skipped up to me.

“Do not we look magnificent?” cried Harriot, beaming, as she paused to twirl in all her finery.

“You both look fit to be presented to the queen,” replied I sincerely, to which the girls broke out into giggles and ran off.

I stood still for half a minute, steeped in misery, listening to the laughter from behind the closed doors along the passage, wherein the other young ladies were dressing. Lining the corridor were various ancestral pictures of regal men and ladies, all of them wearing wigs or with powdered hair. I yearned with all my heart to look just like them. My melancholy and despair grew to such a height, that I could no longer bear it. Tears started in my eyes; and, sobbing, I ran down the hall to the bedroom which I knew to be newly occupied by my mother. I rapped urgently on the door, identifying myself; she bid me to come in.

“What is the matter, Jane?” exclaimed my mother from the chair where she was reading. She was fully dressed in her best russet gown and white fichu, her curly hair already powdered beneath her white cap. “What do these tears signify?”

“Oh! Mamma! You cannot mean to humiliate me like this!” I flew to her side and kneeled before her, taking one of her hands in mine, as my tears flowed.

She set down her book. “How have I humiliated you?”

In between sobs, I told her about Louisa and Harriot. My mother looked surprised.

“I have wanted this for such a long time, Mamma. It is my only opportunity to feel what it is to be truly grown-up. Will not you consider and relent? Otherwise, I am to be the only person at the ball to-night with natural hair! I will be laughed at!”

My mother was silent for a moment; then she patted my back distractedly. “Well, well, we cannot have
that
, can we? We are not at Steventon now. If those are the rules of
this
house—if little Harriot Bridges, at age ten, is to have powdered hair—well!”

I glanced up at her, hope rising. “Do you mean—”

“I have been here but a few hours, Jane, but already I have sized up Lady Bridges. That woman has her nose so high up in the air, it is a wonder she can take a step without falling on her face! We cannot have
her
looking down on us! Why, her daughters are all so beautiful and accomplished, nobody else’s daughters can hope to hold a candle to
them
!
Even her strawberries are the best in the land, or so
she
claims, and her precious roses won a prize at some fair or other; well! My own roses are equally as fine, I assure you, for all that they have not been judged and won ribbons! You are a young lady now, Jane! Even if you are not yet
out
, we cannot have Lady Bridges or any of her ilk looking at you like a child!”

“Oh! Thank you, Mamma!” I threw my arms around her, so filled with relief and happiness that I thought I might burst.

“There, there, Jane,” said my mother, “you will ruin my
ensemble.
Now dry your tears, and go get your hair powdered. Mind you, this indulgence will apply this one night only.”

“I understand.”

“One thing further: remember what I said, you are not to dance to-night with any strange men, only your brothers or your cousins.”

“Only brothers and cousins?” cried I, distressed once again. “But Mamma, there are but a handful of young men who meet that description! I have been here some days already. I have become good friends with some of the Bridgeses’s friends, and in particular with their cousin, Edward Taylor. He is a remarkable young man, Mamma. I would give anything to dance with him.”

“Edward Taylor?” She pursed her lips. “Is he the young man just come back from abroad, who is heir to that big house down the road, what is it called?”

“Bifrons. Yes. That is he.”

“Well, Lady Bridges has her cap in a twist about
that
young gentleman; she seems to perceive anyone who is musical, well-educated, or well-travelled as a threat to her own precious progeny. Let us give her something else to fret about, Jane! He is, in any case, soon to be our cousin through marriage, is not he? You have my permission, my dear; you may dance with him—and I suppose with anyone else you call a
friend.
But I still say: no strangers.”

“Thank you!” cried I again, kissing her cheek with relief; and I flew from the chamber.

I returned to my own room, where the scent of lavender hung heavy in the air, and I found that my sister had been transformed into a regal beauty.

“You look stunning,” cried I, and without pausing added, “and you will never guess what has happened! Mamma has just given her consent for me to powder my hair! And to dance with any friends I like!”

“Has she?” replied Cassandra. “I am happy for you, Jane.”

“Well done, miss,” said Sally, beaming.

I resumed my seat at the dressing-table, my heart drumming with anticipation, as Sally covered my shoulders and upper body with a protective drape; she then applied pomatum to my hair, and liberally added the fragrant, bluish gray starch with a puff. Very quickly, powder filled the air and got up my nose and into my mouth, causing me to choke and sneeze. When she had finished and removed the drape, I was so enveloped by the flowery aroma, I felt slightly ill.

Cassandra, who had been watching from a chair by the hearth, said:

“There, you have achieved your goal. Are you content?”

“I am not sure.” Coughing and brushing off the excess powder from my gown, I added, “I did not realise it was such a messy business.”

“I tried to tell you.” She smiled. “You look very elegant, Jane.”

“Do I?” Turning and glancing in the mirror again, I viewed my reflection with a start. “I hope so. For in truth, I do not recognise myself.”

F
anny and Elizabeth waited until the last moment to make their entrances before dinner. When at last they came down the stairs—Fanny stunning in violet satin, and Elizabeth very striking in a yellow silk gown with white lace trimmings, each adorned with a ribbon of matching silk tied round her powdered curly head, each beaming with supreme self-confidence as if certain she deserved all attention to be focused on herself—everyone turned as one to smile and comment with admiration. Mr. Cage looked proud; my brother Edward stood absolutely riveted; and when Elizabeth took his arm to enter the dining-room, he could look at nothing else.

Dinner was a hurried affair, as everyone’s spirits were too high to eat more than a few morsels. Fanny and Elizabeth were particularly animated, for their engagements were to be officially announced that evening, and they were to lead the first two sets. All the ladies were resplendent in their gaily-coloured gowns, with their hair stylishly dressed; the boys and the gentlemen looked equally well in their finery. Gazing about me at all the powdered heads—and catching my mother’s private, gently approving smile—I felt a part of something very grand.

In the half-hour that followed I was in a fever of anticipation, knowing that Edward Taylor would soon arrive; thinking about him, going over our previous conversations in my mind, and anticipating the evening’s events to come, made me flush with pleasure. I knew that Charlotte Payler would be in attendance, as well as many other young ladies from the neighbourhood whom I had not met; but even with so many partners to choose from—considering the manner in which he had deliberately sought me out at the strawberry-picking party—surely on this special evening, he would ask me to dance.

The gentlemen soon joined us in the drawing-room, where we awaited the arrival of the guests. Mr. Cage stood by the door, conversing with Mr. Deedes. I sat down upon a sofa beside Fanny and told her how well she looked; she matter-of-factly returned the compliment. Wishing to get to know her better, I commented:

“How elegant Mr. Cage appears to-night. His jacket and waistcoat are beautifully embellished.”

She glanced briefly at him, as if noticing him for the first time. “They are indeed.”

“It must be thrilling to be engaged to such a fine man, and to know that you have found your one, true love.”

My statement had been well-meant; I had expected it to encourage from her a modest smile, or perhaps a yearning sigh; to my dismay it induced instead a heavy exhalation, accompanied by a frown. “What makes you think that Mr. Cage is my one true love?”

I stared at her. “But—is not he? You are to marry him! Surely you must love him?”

She leaned towards me and lowered her voice. “If I share something with you in confidence, do you promise you will not repeat it?”

“I promise.”

“Mr. Cage loves
me
, of that I am certain; but how could I love
him
? He is thirty years old!”

So surprised was I by her remark that I had no ready or proper response; indeed, I was completely at a loss, for thirty
did
seem rather ancient to me, and I knew Mr. Cage to be ten years older than Fanny. At length I replied with some hesitation, “Is not your father many years your mother’s senior?”

“Yes; and you see how happy
they
are,” replied she sarcastically. “A day does not go by when my father does not bite my mother’s head off, or vice versa.”

I floundered: “That may be so; yet I am sure they love each other. Many other such matches, although unequal in age, are also happy. As I understand it, Mr. Cage comes from a good family, and he seems a most amiable man.”

“His lineage is excellent: there I have no complaints. As to amiability, at times, he is so accommodating that he is tiresome. He does go
on and on
about books; sometimes I have no idea what he is talking about.” In an even more hushed tone she added, “And he is very plain.”

Her attitude astonished me. “Mr. Cage may not be handsome in the classical sense, but he has a genteel figure and a sensible-looking face.”

“How cleverly you speak. I will agree with you: he has a
sensible
-looking face. But what beauty wishes to be paired with a sensible-looking man, when she could have a handsome one? For I am a beauty, everyone says so.”

“Fanny,” said I, aghast, “if you do not like Mr. Cage, and do not even like to look at him, why are you marrying him?”

“I did not say that I do not
like
him. I like him well enough; I just do not
love
him.”

“But to marry without affection!” I could think of nothing worse.

“You are very young, Jane; but one day you will find out: there are many reasons for marrying, and love does not always enter into it.” With eyebrows raised, Fanny added softly: “Do you know how rich he is?”

I could formulate no reply.

“Do not look so shocked, Jane. Money is the best reason I know for marrying, and one of the best recipes for happiness. I could not let Elizabeth marry before
me
, and I could not let anyone
else
get him, could I? I will have my own coach, all the hats and gowns I could wish for, the family jewels—which I understand are quite sensational—and an estate every bit as grand as Goodnestone. I promise you, I will be very happy.”

I felt such disgust, that I could stomach the conversation no longer.

“I do hope that you achieve the happiness that you deserve, Fanny,” was my reply, as I stood and crossed the room. To conceive of living forever with a person one could neither respect nor admire! It seemed to me a crime against morality and humanity. I shuddered to think of the misery Mr. Cage should endure, by chaining himself for life to a woman who could not even pretend to care for him. I felt sorry for him. At the same time, although I had never truly
liked
Fanny (and liked her
now
even less than before), I found that I felt sorry for her as well. She appeared to me misguided; perhaps her upbringing, with a mother whose primary concerns were societal and centered on appearances, had prepared her very ill for making the most important decision in her life. Despite her protests, surely she could never be content in such a marriage.

I wished that I could talk to Cassandra about all this, to hear her opinions and vent my feelings; but I had been sworn to secrecy. Just then, to my relief, I heard a carriage drawing up in the sweep, signalling the arrival of the first guests; and the matter was, for the time being, swept from my mind.

In short order, the room was full of people. Those whom I had already met at the strawberry-picking party comprised but a modest proportion of the guests, and the sight of so many strangers filled me with a sense of disquiet. Where was Edward Taylor? The first circle were grave and formal, their manners matched by Sir Brook and Lady Bridges, as they accepted congratulations on behalf of the engaged couples, and discussed the advantages of the unions. Our hosts were too busy with their acquaintances to remember the presence of any guests who were unknown to the general company; but through the thoughtful perceptiveness of Sophia and Marianne, my sister and I were introduced to various persons who feigned an interest in us, and whose names I would not remember the next morning.

Mr. Deedes secured Sophia for the first two dances, and Marianne accepted an offer from one of the Paylers’ sons, a sixteen-year-old called Harry. To my dismay, I noticed Frederic Fielding gazing at me in a penetrating manner, which seemed to convey his desire for a similar connection; I quickly moved away so as not to encourage him. Observing my brother Edward and Elizabeth, who stood intimately conversing beside a nearby window, brought back to mind my recent success in repairing that relationship. How agreeable it was, I thought, that a love-letter I had written had made such a contribution to their happiness! If only I could prove of such use to another couple—how delightful that would be!

In my cursory glance around the crowded drawing-room, I saw Charlotte Payler standing silently with her brothers Christopher (a handsome lad of eighteen) and Thomas. She looked beautiful in an absolutely elegant gown, which I thought put my own to shame. Thomas Payler kept darting intermittent, longing glances at Cassandra. Clearly he wished to be with her—perhaps was considering asking her to dance at this very moment—but he seemed to lack the courage to bring it about. Cassandra liked
him
; I felt certain of it. Oh! Why did he not simply cross the room and ask her?

Impatience rose within me, and with it, a solution to this romantic dilemma. Here, I realised, was the very opportunity I had been hoping for! Deciding that simplicity was best, I strode up to him and his brother deliberately.

“Good evening, Mr. Payler, Mr. Payler.”

They both bowed and returned the greeting. Thomas Payler said, “I almost did not recognise you, Miss Jane, with your hair all done up.”

“Oh? Is that why you have not yet spoken to my sister? Perhaps you did not recognise her, either?”

“No; I saw her.” He coloured, his eyes finding Cassandra across the room.

“Well, I was not supposed to tell you this, but—” Confidentially, I added, “She is very much hoping that you will ask her to dance with you.”

“Is she?” He seemed astonished.

“She told me so herself.”

“Oh! I see—thank you.” He blushed even more violently.

Christopher Payler punched his older brother in the arm. “You have talked of nothing else for three days, Thomas! Go on, ask her! What are you waiting for?”

Still, Thomas Payler gave no indication of impending action.

“You had better hurry,” insisted I, “before somebody else engages her for the first dance. I will take you to her!”

I gestured for him to accompany me. Hesitantly he took a step, then two more, and soon was threading his way through the crowd with me, until we reached Cassandra’s side. She turned and seemed about to ask me something, when she noticed Mr. Payler and paused.

He stood before her, tongue-tied. Fearing that in another moment he might lose his nerve, I gave him a silent, vigorously encouraging look, filled with meaning.

He immediately blurted—the words issuing from his mouth as if shot from a cannon—

“Miss Austen, would you do me the honour of dancing the first set with me?”

Cassandra curtseyed. “I would be delighted, sir.”

To say that Mr. Payler was overjoyed by her response would be an understatement. With a curious look in my direction, my sister took Mr. Payler’s gloved hand, and they joined the procession which was just then removing into the entry hall, and from there into the ball-room beyond. I watched them go with absolute delight. It was only a set of dances to be sure, but it was a step in the right direction—and I had helped to bring it about! What might not be the end of it?

It was only when the drawing-room had partially emptied, that it began to dawn on me that I did not have a partner for the first dance myself; worse yet, the one person whom I most wished to see had not yet made his appearance. I waited with some anxiety, feeling entirely alone although in a room still filled with people. Was I truly to sit out the first two dances? How mortifying that would be! And where, oh where, was Edward Taylor?

Just then I saw him, walking confidently into the room, in the opposite direction of all those who were withdrawing. He looked very handsome in his green coat and embroidered waistcoat, which shewed his fine figure to great advantage. His shoes were adorned with gleaming buckles, his white neckcloth was perfectly tied, and his hair—
his hair
! With a cold shock I saw that he wore his hair as usual, the gleaming natural chestnut waves brushed back from his face.

Edward Taylor, alone of all the people in the house, had not even a hint of powder in his hair! I could not account for it. My first thought was: how very odd. Could it be that he had forgotten this was a formal ball? If so, he should be mortified! Indeed, several people looked at him askance as they walked by, and I observed two ladies exchanging remarks behind their fans. But Edward Taylor took no notice, greeting people and shaking hands with his customary self-assurance.

Soon he looked my way, and I saw his eyes widen—with what emotion, I could not determine—then he moved through the thinning crowd to meet me, and we bid each other good evening.

I could not help glancing at his hair; should I mention it? I did not wish to offend him. “Good evening, sir. What a pleasure to see you again.” With a sweeping gesture, I made a dramatic curtsey, which I deemed appropriate to the occasion and my style of dress.

“It is a great pleasure to see you, Miss Jane.” He bowed, and seemed to weigh his words as he added: “What a pretty gown. You look very—
noble
—to-night.”

“Noble?” There was something in his tone and expression when he pronounced the word, which—although delivered with good humour, a raised eyebrow, and a smile—indicated a hint of something like mild disgust. Greatly puzzled, I wished to pursue the subject further, but at that moment Mrs. Watkinson Payler rushed up behind him and cried:

“Edward! There you are!” Taking him by the arm, she continued, “I
know
you would not wish Charlotte to be without a partner for the first set. Now come! She is waiting for you, and Sir Brook is about to speak!”

With a bow to me, Edward Taylor declared: “Forgive me. I shall see you inside?”

“Yes,” faltered I; and with a heavy heart, I followed them into the ball-room.