Jane Austen’s First Love (23 page)

“Ladies! It is raining, and boys will be boys.” He then moved the game to a table in the billiard room, and with pleasure joined in.

On some days, my only contact with Edward Taylor were our brief meetings with my brother, when we went over a variety of details regarding the production. To my dismay, the play, which had been my own idea, was taking time away from the one thing—the one
person
—with whom I most wished to associate. Although I had reconciled myself to the loss of playing Titania opposite Edward Taylor, I could not observe his daily rehearsals with Charlotte and all the craftsmen without discomfort, for their teasing laughter and jocularity fairly echoed throughout the house.

To make matters worse, the promise which Miss Payler showed at the first reading only blossomed. Although she was still very reserved generally, on the stage she came alive and seemed to be an entirely different person. She and Mr. Taylor performed Pyramus and Thisbe with such a mixture of romantic verve, pathos, and comedic timing, as to instill in me pangs of deep envy.
He
seemed to enjoy every rehearsal as much as she. Oh! Was it not enough that Charlotte Payler was beautiful, perfectly behaved, sweet-natured, soft-spoken, and proficient at art? Did she have to be an excellent actress as well? How I disliked her!

My feelings on this matter soon underwent a very great change.

On Thursday morning just after breakfast, I was studying my lines in the empty theatre before anyone else arrived (a time and place I had found ideally suited to such a solitary endeavour), when Miss Payler entered. Crossing deliberately to me, she said softly,

“Miss Jane, I hoped I might find you here. Pray forgive me for disturbing you, but may I have a word?”

So surprised was I to be approached by her, that I was at a loss. “Of course you may, Miss Payler.”

Sitting down in a chair beside me, she said very quietly, “There is something which I have long been wishing to say to you.”

“Oh?” I looked at her, puzzled, truly having no idea what to expect.

“Do you remember the day we met, when my mother spoke to you about—about a particular subject—a particular
gentleman—
and her future hopes for me in that regard?” Her face coloured slightly as she looked at me.

“Yes, I remember.”

“I was very embarrassed. Mamma talked on and on about my cousin. She fairly forced him to pick strawberries with me, just as she urged him to dance with me at the ball. I can only imagine what you must think of her, and of me.”

My mind raced, as I processed this information: that Edward Taylor had, according to her, felt
obliged
to do all those things—that it was her mother’s doing. I heard myself say: “Oh! You need not feel embarrassed, Miss Payler. My mother does the same thing. At times, she says things that mortify me.”

“Does she? But your mother is a truly lovely woman.”

“Do you think so? Well, so is yours.”

“Perhaps,” replied Charlotte thoughtfully, “as daughters, we are overly sensitive to the way our mothers treat us, and the way they behave. We love them so dearly, that we expect too much from them.”

It was an idea I had never considered. “Perhaps that is so.” This was the longest conversation I had ever held with Charlotte Payler; indeed, we had never exchanged more than a few words before. It was disconcerting to find her so amiable—more than amiable—so congenial and utterly sincere. “Your mother dearly loves you, Miss Payler, I can tell you that. Everything she said that morning—she was only expressing her hopes for your future happiness.”

“Yes, but—if she would only keep her hopes to herself, I would be far more content.”

Cautiously, I said: “Why? Do not you—share those same hopes, Miss Payler?”

She blushed and folded her hands in her lap, lowering her gaze before she spoke. “You mean: am I in love with my cousin Edward?”

I nodded, afraid to breathe.

“I am,” admitted she softly, “and have been for a long while. My heart is entirely his; to marry him would be my dearest dream. But I cannot be sure he returns my feelings.” She raised her eyes to mine, and with gentle honesty said: “I envy you, you know.”

“You envy
me
?”

“You are everything that I am not, Miss Jane. I am too quiet, whereas you are so lively. I am cautious by nature, and you are impulsive, like
he
is—he told me about the time you walked the wall. He talks about you all the time. He says you are so intelligent and well-read—you have studied all the subjects which interest Edward, subjects I have barely even heard about.” She shook her head with a little, self-deprecating sigh. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned forward, adding, “I do believe that he is half in love with you.”

Just then, several members of our acting company entered the room, and Charlotte, smiling softly, retreated to a corner to study her copy of the play. For some long minutes I sat in my chair as the room began to fill, unable to move, hardly daring to believe what she had said.

He talks about you all the time. I do believe that he is half in love with you.

Could it be true? To think that the sentiment had been spoken by the very young lady I considered my rival! It was incredible to think that all this time, I had envied Charlotte Payler, while she had envied me! How very noble and gracious of her to reveal her heart to me in this way, considering what her own feelings were! I had regarded her with such dislike; I saw now that those thoughts and feelings had been uncharitable. All my former animosity melted away. I should think of Charlotte Payler very differently in future.

It was difficult to concentrate all the rest of the day; when I saw Edward Taylor across the room or watched him perform in a scene, my heart alternately caught in my throat or did a little dance. Was Charlotte Payler’s assessment of his feelings for me accurate, or merely a reflection of her own deep desires? I had no way of knowing.

That evening, we were treated to a welcome brightening of the skies. Everybody cheered; having spent so many days cooped up inside, we looked forward to a chance to get out of doors.

As we all sat down to dinner, I was thrilled when Edward Taylor took the seat immediately beside me. He whispered in my ear, “It seems ages since you and I have had a real conversation, about anything not related to the play.”

I nodded in mutual frustration, encouraged by the warmth in his gaze.

“I aim to change that.” Turning to my brother, he announced emphatically, “We have rehearsed every day since Sunday, Austen, and made excellent progress with the play. We still have a week before the performance. I think we have earned a day off.”

“I have no objection to taking a respite from rehearsals tomorrow or Saturday,” replied my brother, “if everyone wishes it.”

This idea met with enthusiastic approval. The Payler boys and Frederic Fielding immediately said they should like to go home for a day.

Mr. Deedes expressed his desire to visit Bifrons. “Sir Brook has been telling me about the improvements your father made to your house,” said he to Edward Taylor. “It sounds quite remarkable.”

“It is!” cried Sir Brook. “Anyone who knew that house five-and-twenty years ago would not recognise the place today. I never saw a place so altered in my life!”

“So people tell me,” replied Edward Taylor with a shrug. “The improvements were begun before I was born, and finished when I was very young. My only reference of what it
used
to look like is an old painting which hangs in the great hall—and I must admit, I liked it better
before
.”

“Before?” cried Sir Brook. “Oh, no, no; it was very old-fashioned before, an immense red-brick building from Elizabeth’s time. Your father did it up right, Edward, with an entirely new front in the modern style, and all new windows, gables, roof, chimneys, a lovely glass conservatory, and the grounds laid out in the newest style—you can be proud of it, for it is quite a sight to see.”

“I suppose I should be proud,” admitted Edward Taylor, “and I might better appreciate the result, had my father not impoverished himself in the act of building it.” This remark was met with a brief, uncomfortable silence, which the speaker put an end to by smiling and adding lightly, “Of course, I cannot begrudge my father’s action, for I have had the benefit of it. It obliged us to emigrate, thus granting me the pleasure of an incomparable childhood travelling the Continent.”

“Frederic cannot begrudge it either, I think,” remarked I, “for he and his family have all the benefit of living in the house, without having had to go to any of the trouble or expense in its improvements.”

Everyone laughed; even my mother seemed to appreciate the levity in my remark, and with good humour restored in the room, I added:

“I should love to see Bifrons, and to view all these improvements for myself. On our way here, I was only able to catch the merest glimpse of the house, hidden beyond the trees.”

“Would you really like to see it?” said Edward Taylor.

“I would—and might have been there already, had not Mrs. Fielding’s concert been cancelled.”

Cassandra and Charles admitted that they should be most interested in visiting the place as well, an opinion echoed by Mr. Cage.

“I would be very happy to take you there,” said Edward Taylor, “if the Admiral and Mrs. Fielding are amenable to such a visit. Perhaps we could apply to them, and ask.”

“Even if they do agree to such a plan,” remarked Mr. Cage, “Bifrons is five miles distant. After so many days of rain, the roads will be too muddy for a carriage.”

“We can go on horseback,” suggested Mr. Deedes. “Most of us have our own mounts. As for the Austens—” (to Sir Brook) “If you have any horses to spare, sir, and could see your way clear to lending them a pair of docile animals for the day—”

Sir Brook graciously replied that his stable was at his guests’ disposal.

This idea gave me a moment of concern. I knew Charles to be proficient on horseback, but my sister and I were not expert riders by any means. I gave her a silent look which signified,
Do we dare attempt such a ride?
Cassandra squeezed my hand under the table and whispered,

“I feel certain we can do it.”

Fanny, who had been listening to this conversation with indifference, on perceiving the interest of the others, said: “It has been a long while since I was at Bifrons. Why should only
a few
of us go? We should make a party of it!”

Sophia and Charlotte admitted that, if a party was being formed, they should also like to go, the former adding:

“If the weather remains clear, as we hope it shall, we could all return in time for a late dinner here, or stay longer and dine at Bifrons; for as I recall, the full moon is tomorrow.”

After further discussion, it was agreed that Frederic would ride home the following morning and present the idea to his mother and father. If they said yes, he would send an invitation for a visit on Saturday; if they were not so inclined, he would return himself, and rehearsals could proceed as usual the next morning.

The weather cooperated. At three o’clock on Friday, a note was delivered from Mrs. Fielding expressing her delight in the proposed excursion, and an invitation to anybody who wished to come, to do so on the following day.

The visit to Bifrons was a settled thing. Thomas Payler added himself to the party at the last minute; and the affectionate looks he gave my sister when he thought nobody was looking made me smile; I knew where
his
inclinations lay, and although my sister, in her usual reserved style, remained quiet on the subject, I could only hope that she felt the same. The other Payler boys were happy to take advantage of the break in rehearsals, to return home to Ileden for a day and night.

Before we retired that evening, Edward Taylor stopped me in the passage and said how much he looked forward to our day off. My night was suffused with pleasant dreams of the delightful time which I anticipated we would spend together.

S
aturday was thankfully fine; and soon after breakfast, the horses were brought round from the stables. Those who had elected to make the journey were happy and animated with chatter. I was eager to see Bifrons, for all that it represented as the family home of Edward Taylor; at the same time, I could not help but think of the day ahead without some calculation.

“Fanny,” said I, when that young lady appeared, looking very fine in her riding clothes, “as the ride to Bifrons is substantial, ought we to make use of the time by rehearsing our lines along the way with our scene partners?”

Fanny deemed this to be an excellent idea, and had no sooner mounted, than she repeated it to Mr. Deedes.

He, astride his horse and engaged in smiling conversation with Sophia, was reluctant: “Of course he had no objection to riding with Fanny, but he had thought it was to be a day off from rehearsing, &c.” But Fanny was insistent, and Mr. Deedes acquiesced.

Sophia momentarily looked troubled, which I suspected was due to a concern for her sister’s avid solicitation as a riding partner, of a gentleman other than the one to whom she was betrothed. I was considering how best to smooth this over, when I was saved from such action by Mr. Cage riding up to Sophia and inviting her to ride alongside
him
, so that they might go over their lines in a similar manner. She gracefully accepted.

I silently congratulated myself on the effortless manner in which these pairings had been accomplished. It was shaping up to be a truly marvellous day! I had now only to pair myself with the young man whom I preferred.

As I mounted the animal which had been provided for me (the groom assuring me that she was a gentle creature), Edward Taylor rode over to me with a smile. My pulse leapt; I was all anticipation. His raised eyebrows and the look in his eyes signalled an invitation. He wished to be my riding partner! He was on the point of speaking when Charles trotted up and paused beside me, saying:

“Jane! Will you ride with me?”

I hesitated, truly dismayed, but not wanting my brother to know it. The idea of riding with Charles had not even occurred to me; indeed, since our arrival at Goodnestone, we had both been so busy, we had seen very little of each other. Although I wanted very much to ride with Mr. Taylor, Charles was one of the dearest people in the world to me; I had no wish to hurt him or let him down. Edward Taylor caught my gaze and we silently communicated our mutual disappointment and all the awkwardness of the moment; he then nodded in understanding, and turned his horse away.

I made every effort to shew my brother the affection and delight in the circumstance which he deserved. “I would be happy to ride with you, Charles. It has been some time since
we
had an opportunity to be alone together.”

“It certainly has,” agreed Charles.

Charlotte, who had been waiting quietly at the road-side, naturally fell in beside Edward Taylor as the twosome rode to the top of the line. Glancing back, he inquired as to whether all were ready; upon receiving an affirmative reply, the ten of us moved forward in the pairs formed, with Charles and I the last in line.

Our road was through a pleasant country, which I had only traversed once before in the opposite direction. This approach opened up new vistas which I was pleased to observe and admire. The roads were very dirty, and for the first few miles, we plodded along at a tranquil tempo. Discovering the groom’s description of my mare to be true, I was soon reasonably at ease in the saddle.

Fragments of Shakespearean verse drifted back to me from Fanny and Mr. Cage, and from Sophia and Mr. Deedes. Thomas and Cassandra were talking too quietly for me to guess the content of their dialogue, but both appeared to be in good humour. It did my heart good to see all three couples so properly aligned! Even the sight of Edward Taylor and Charlotte riding side by side could not dismay me. He had
wished
to ride with me; that was all that mattered.

As Charles and I did not share any scenes in the play, we could not use the time to practise our lines, so we talked of other things: of Goodnestone, the people we had met there, what we had enjoyed most (and least), and our expectations for the weeks ahead. Before long, the conversation took a different and more serious bent. I was honoured to find Charles confiding in me, in an open manner, and from the depths of his heart, with all the gravity of a boy not quite twelve, all his hopes and fears for the new life which lay ahead of him, as he prepared to enter the navy. The time was drawing very near; a week after we returned to Steventon, he was to go to Portsmouth to be entered at the Naval Academy.

“I hope to do well,” said he, “both at the academy and afterwards, on board ship. I do not want to let my mother and father down.”

“I am sure you will distinguish yourself, Charles,” replied I sincerely.

“I know the profession is filled with hardships and dangers, and that I could die at sea, but I do not like to think of it.”

“Then do
not
think of it, for that is highly unlikely to occur. Think only of the good things which you will experience and accomplish. You will see the world! I am envious. It is something I can never hope to do.”

“I
do
look forward to the travelling. It will be exciting to be at sea. But I will miss you and Cassandra and my mother and father terribly. I hate to think of being so far away from you and from Steventon, perhaps for many long years.”

I was deeply affected by this discourse. Naturally, I felt every one of my brother’s fears; although selfishly, I saw that I had only considered them from my
own
perspective, and had not really thought what
he
must be feeling. I said all I could think of to allay his dread, while attempting to soften the blow which must eventually come when we would be truly parted.

“Let us make the most of every moment we have together
now
,” said I, “so that we might create a pleasant memory to look back on in future.”

These words cheered us both somewhat, and we resolved to be as happy as we could in the weeks which remained to us; but I could not help feeling, as we rode, how very
little
my brother seemed, and how hard it was for a boy to be expected to leave home forever, and enter such a dangerous profession at such a young age.

It suddenly struck me that his birthday, the day he was to turn twelve, was only five days hence, on 23 June—Midsummer’s Eve—the very day that we were to perform our theatrical. I silently chastised myself that, in the excitement of preparing for the play, those members of his family who
should
have been thinking of Charles, and the importance which the day must hold for him, had made no plans whatsoever for his birthday! I determined, then and there, to do something about it, the moment we returned to Goodnestone.

My thoughts were interrupted when Edward Taylor called over his shoulder:

“The road is drier here. Let us pick up the pace a bit.”

So saying, he and Charlotte took off at a run, and the Bridges sisters and their riding companions immediately followed suit. Cassandra expressed a reluctance to ride too fast, but Thomas Payler assured her that they should keep it to a slow trot; and exchanging a word with Charles, who revealed his fear of being left behind, we urged our horses on to a swifter speed.

Moving so quickly over the rough road proved to be less than comfortable, and at three separate intervals I was truly afraid I might fall off; but I persevered, and we did our best to keep up with the others. The six experienced riders at the head of the line were clearly enjoying the ride, with no concern as to the ability or safety of those left behind; and they moved out of sight at times, which was even more disquieting.

“Do not worry if they should disappear,” said Thomas Payler. “I know the way perfectly well.”

As we neared our destination, we found the party ahead resting their horses and waiting for us. There was a fine burst of country, and we moved slowly together again as we traversed a bridge over a narrow stream; but when we passed a sturdy and respectable house, where Edward Taylor said the steward lived, he urged us to ride more quickly, saying:

“Mr. Forrester is not happy with me. I tried to explain about the play, but he says I have been spending far too much time at Goodnestone of late, and neglecting that instruction here at Bifrons which my father deems so necessary.”

We soon came to the lodge gates. My eyes eagerly took in everything we passed during the remaining half-mile through the park, for there was some very fine timber, and the coolness of the woods was delightful. The lane was wide enough here that we could ride four abreast; soon the trees opened up and gave way to an immense lawn, from whence we had our first full view of the manor house.

It was truly magnificent. An enormous building with a white stone façade and two elegant wings, Bifrons was configured with every modern improvement. A central, half-domed entry porch was flanked by three tall, gabled windows on each side, and a long row of perfectly symmetrical windows on the floor above. A multitude of gabled attic windows made up the top floor and adorned the roof, above which stood a great many chimneys.

“Oh!” cried Charles. “It is every bit as grand as Sir Brook described!”

All expressed their avid admiration for the house.

“It was certainly the most significant house in the area when it was
originally
built, in 1634,” admitted Edward Taylor indifferently.

I wondered at his attitude, which indicated a lack of real interest in or affection for the property. Perhaps, I thought, he is
affecting
indifference, because it feels strange to be at his own house as a
visitor
, while it is occupied by others. But then, recalling what he had told me regarding his feelings for the aristocracy, I wondered if there might be a very different reason.

“Why is the house called Bifrons?” asked Mr. Cage.

“It means ‘two fronts,’” replied Edward Taylor, “and refers to the two large wings on either side.”

We rode up to the front sweep, where we were met by a flurry of grooms and Frederic Fielding at the door. Our party was welcomed and ushered into the drawing-room, where the Admiral and Mrs. Fielding were happy to receive us. I marvelled at the space, for it was beautifully appointed and embellished by high ceilings, carved plasterwork, fine draperies, and a large and elegantly carved mantel.

The business of arriving took some minutes, after which we were admitted to the dining-parlour, where an abundant collation was served and enjoyed by all. The admiral then excused himself, in his quiet and officious manner, and repaired to his study. The next object of the day was now discussed, as all of us shared our eagerness to see the rest of the house and grounds.

Mrs. Fielding, conscious of having Edward Taylor as a visitor, asked very thoughtfully if
he
might like to shew the place. “The admiral and I, and our Frederic, are very pleased with the house; it is very comfortable, and we are delighted and proud to live here; but it does not really belong to
us
. I cannot take credit even for the furnishings, for Frederic and I used to live in a much smaller place, and when the admiral retired, we leased the house with everything in it. It would be more appropriate, I think, if the true owner of the house—the
future
owner, I should say—were to shew you all around.”

Edward Taylor bowed but graciously declined. “I am happy to let you do the honours, Mrs. Fielding. It is your house as long as you occupy it. Today I am merely a visitor, and am content to follow along with the others.”

This declaration was warmly received. The whole party rose, and under Mrs. Fielding’s guidance, we were shewn through a great many rooms on both the ground floor and the floor above, all of them lofty and handsomely furnished. We reached a picture gallery hung with innumerable family portraits, several of which dated back to Elizabethan times, which meant nothing to the Fieldings. Here we relied on Edward Taylor for an explanation of the family history, which he was able to relate with some knowledge.

“I am told that my ancestor, John Taylor, purchased Bifrons and other estates in Kent in 1694. I am of the sixth generation of Taylors here.”

“Does not
our
family’s connection with
yours
go back even further than that?” inquired Sophia.

“It does. My family were originally from Whitchurch, in Shropshire; in the 1500s they spelt
Taylour
with an
o-u
.
Nathaniel Taylour, Esquire—who I understand represented the county Bedford in Parliament, and was also recorder of Colshester in Essex during the usurpation of Cromwell—
he
married the daughter of Colonel Bridges, of Wallingford, in Essex—ancestor of
your
father; that is how far back the relationship goes. They had eighteen children, and his eldest son, John Taylor, is the one who purchased Bifrons.”

Sophia smiled and acknowledged that, no matter how distantly they were related, Edward Taylor should always be a cousin to her, a sentiment he warmly returned.

We now came upon the painting of Bifrons which had been done in 1700, a large and beautifully rendered effort, in a gilded frame as tall as myself. Edward Taylor gave a brief explanation of the work, and we all studied it with pleasure. The painting featured a hunting party in the foreground, who from a hill top, overlooked a prospect of the house and property as it had been nearly a hundred years before
,
in all its red-brick, Elizabethan grandeur. The building was fronted by a large, walled, cultivated garden, surrounded by fields, and backed by abundant woods.

“It is extraordinary, to think that this is the same house!” cried Mr. Deedes. “Although I recognise the setting in a general sense, the building and approach are so vastly different, that if you did not tell me it was Bifrons, I should not know where I was.”

“Your father is truly a visionary,” said Cassandra to Edward Taylor, “for he has worked wonders here.”