The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (14 page)

Grafton Hall

“That is odd,” said Sarah, frowning. “She invites—or rather,
commands
—us to call this morning, and just the two of us. I thought we should all be asked to dinner.”

Charles said, “I am in no hurry to dine again at Grafton Hall. We have been there twice this month already.”

Rebecca turned to her father, conflicted. “I have no wish to leave you, papa. If we were to go, what should you do to-day?”

“Do not worry about me,” replied Mr. Stanhope. “I have had my eye on several books in Charles’s study, and I mean to sit in a corner and read all day, if there is no objection.”

“None whatsoever,” replied Charles.

“In that case, I should love to accept,” said Rebecca, “but
must
we go by carriage? How far is it, to Grafton Hall?”

“On foot, taking my usual shortcut, it is not a mile and a half,” answered Charles.

“That is nothing. On such a fine day, I should much rather walk.”

Sarah agreed, and a note was sent to that effect. But at noon, as the sisters were putting on their bonnets, Sarah began to feel ill again and was obliged to lie down. Making her apologies to Rebecca, she said she could not go after all.

“Shall I call the surgeon?” asked Rebecca.

“No, it is only a recurrence of the mild complaint I felt yesterday. This heat does not agree with me. A little rest is all I require, and I have Mary to attend me.
You
must go, however—you must not disappoint Miss Davenport and Mrs. Harcourt, they are expecting us.” Calling out to Charles, she added, “Will you accompany her, Charles dear, and show her the way?”

Charles agreed that he would, determining to make the walk do double duty by calling on several of the cottagers who were ailing or in want of company on his way back. Rebecca took her parasol, and the two set out. The walk was lovely. She enjoyed witnessing the activity in the village as
they passed through, but was particularly entranced once they had left the main road and entered the country-side. Walking was one of Rebecca’s favourite pursuits; crossing field after field, climbing over stiles, and strolling past scattered dwellings and farms, were to her, one of life’s chief delights. All around her was fragrant beauty, brilliant and alive in the summer sunshine; and as she admired the col ourful, waving flowers in the foreground, and the high green hills in the distance, Rebecca recalled similar sights in Elm Grove with a little, heartfelt sigh. Although she missed home, for the first time in many weeks, she was not at all unhappy; and she determined that to-day she should
be
happy, if she possibly could.

“Charles,” said Rebecca, “I have only the vaguest of memories of Mrs. Harcourt, from the one time she came to visit the Mountagues at Claremont Park in my youth. Over the years, you and Sarah have painted very different pictures of her. Sarah finds her amiable and wise, while you seem to have no great affection for her. What shall I expect?”

“Well,” replied he with a smile, “from the first moment of your appearance, you shall surely be treated to her latest affliction and complaint. You shall be criticised and given the benefit of her
lifetime of knowledge
, as she puts it, about something or other. Over the course of your visit, she will no doubt say one or two things very offensive; but have courage, for in the next moment, she will be kindness and charity itself, and so sympathetic, that you cannot help but forgive her, aware that every thing was said with the very best of intentions.”

“An interesting description indeed,” said Rebecca; and she looked forward to the meeting.

C
HAPTER
VII

Rebecca and Charles parted at the main gate. A long, shaded lane brought her to the house, which was indeed the very estate they had passed on their journey to Medford. It was, Rebecca noticed with equanimity, equally as grand as Claremont Park, and nearly the same size, yet with even more windows.

She ascended the steps and was admitted to an ornate entrance hall of fine proportions. Immediately, the servants ushered her to the rear of the house, whence she was taken outside to a wide brick veranda overlooking a landscaped garden which bordered an immense green lawn. At a table in the shade of a large, canvas shelter, sat Miss Davenport and Mrs. Harcourt. They were both attired in dark-coloured silk gowns, which although expensive-looking and attractive, appeared too warm for the season.

Rebecca was presented. Mrs. Harcourt (whose strong features bore some resemblance to her brother, Sir Percival) stood and received her with dignity. Rebecca had remembered her as being tall; but clearly that had been a little girl’s impression, for the woman before her was but of moderate height, and now several inches shorter than Rebecca herself.

Miss Davenport more enthusiastically cried, “Miss Stanhope, how delighted I am to see you again!”

“Where is Mrs. Morris?” declared Mrs. Harcourt, resuming her seat, and indicating with a gesture that the young ladies should do the same.

“Please accept my sister’s apologies. Sarah was most appreciative of your invitation, but at the last moment she felt ill, and thought it best to remain at home.”

“What is her complaint?” enquired Mrs. Harcourt with interest. “Is she feverish? Does she suffer a sore throat? Only two weeks past, I was stricken with a fever and a very bad sore throat; several of my tenants have complained of it. I feared it should be of the putrid infectious sort, or worse yet, quinsy, and that if I lived, I should be laid low for the remainder of the summer. I was obliged to take several very expensive medicines. Thankfully, as you see, I have fully recovered.”

“I am very glad to hear it, madam.” Rebecca smiled to herself, thinking how accurately this speech met with Charles’s prediction. “Sarah’s throat is fine, however, and she has no fever. It is only a touch of fatigue and dyspepsia.”

“Fatigue and dyspepsia? Well.” In a lowered tone, Mrs. Harcourt added confidentially, “We know what
that
means in a woman of Mrs. Morris’s age and circumstance, do not we? I cannot say I am surprised. Her youngest is how old now—eighteen months?”

Rebecca, blushing, caught Mrs. Harcourt’s meaning—the idea of which had not occurred to her before. She was so astonished at Mrs. Harcourt’s mentioning such a delicate and private subject, particularly on so short an acquaintance, that she could not immediately reply; however, a response was apparently not required, for her hostess continued,

“Young women breed entirely too often. A few young ones can be a fine thing, but you so often find families of eleven or twelve to-day. It is not healthy to have so many children.”

Although Rebecca found these remarks equally astonishing, she could not help but admit that in private moments, she had often thought the same thing herself. “I am certain my sister and brother will welcome another child,” replied
Rebecca earnestly. “A large family can be a source of much happiness and comfort.”

“Yes, but at what risk to the mother? Not to mention the financial burden imposed on the father. Had my darling children lived,
I
should have taken care to stop at three.” Glancing at her niece, she added, “Amelia, pour our guest some lemonade.”

“Yes, aunt.”

A few minutes were devoted to the serving and consuming of refreshments, and remarking upon their quality, of which Mrs. Harcourt was very proud. The ham had just been cured, the fruit, the last of the season, came from her own orchards, and as every one of taste knew, her cook, Mrs. Graham, made the best lemonade and lemon cake in the country. Rebecca found every thing to be delicious, and pronounced it so.

As she sipped her beverage, Mrs. Harcourt surveyed Rebecca critically. “You are very flushed, Miss Stanhope. Are you ill yourself?”

“I am quite well, Mrs. Harcourt. If I am flushed, it is only the result of my exertion, in my walk from the vicarage.”

“Do you mean to say that you
walked
all the way hither, in this hot weather?”

“I did.”

Mrs. Harcourt was astonished. “Amelia, I said very expressly that you were to send the carriage.”

“I made the offer, Aunt Harcourt,” replied Miss Davenport quickly, “but Miss Stanhope graciously declined. Do forgive me if I neglected to mention it.”

“Thank you for the offer,” said Rebecca, “but I prefer to walk when I can. Your country-side is very picturesque, and I enjoyed the exercise.”

“You did not walk alone, I hope?”

“No. My brother accompanied me. He had other, urgent business to attend to, or he would have stopped in.”

“Well, I always say a little exercise is beneficial to one’s health—I myself
always
take a turn about the garden in fine weather,” said Mrs. Harcourt, setting down her glass, “but to walk all that way, in this sun and heat? Never! Too much sun is not good for any body. If you are not careful, you will come out all over with freckles. I once fainted dead away at a party held out of doors, where insufficient shade was provided. I remained in a stupour for three days entire. Dr. Watkins feared I might never recover.”

“And yet you did,” said Amelia with a smile.

“Do you refer to Dr. Watkins junior, or senior?” enquired Rebecca.

“Are you acquainted with them?” asked Mrs. Harcourt.

“I have met Dr. Jack Watkins.”

“Oh? Where did you meet him?” asked Miss Davenport curiously.

“At Barlow’s Store, yesterday—just before we saw you. My sister was unwell, and Dr. Watkins took charge of the situation most capably. He is—we are—very obliged to him. He was every bit the gentleman.”

“A gentleman?” Mrs. Harcourt frowned. “No, on that score, I beg to differ, Miss Stanhope. I can never think of a physician as a
gentleman
.”

“Why not?”

“What is a physician?” responded Mrs. Harcourt with a shrug of her shoulders. “He is not a landholder, he has no title, and no family connections whatsoever. He is but one tiny step above the surgeon and the apothecary, who are held very low, and with good reason; for the apothecary is
nothing but a merchant, and it is not so long since
surgeons
were formally linked with
barbers
in the guilds.”

“Certainly your judgment with regard to surgeons and apothecaries is sound,” replied Rebecca, “but is not a physician different, and more respectable? He has gone to university, after all.”

“Any one with means to-day can advance his station through education,” replied Mrs. Harcourt, “but it does not make him a gentleman.”

“After meeting Dr. Jack Watkins, I must say that I found him to be as much a gentleman—if not more—as any one I have ever known who was born to that designation,” replied Rebecca boldly.

“I feel exactly the same!” cried Miss Davenport warmly. “Aunt Harcourt, you always say that Dr. Samuel Watkins is a sensible man. I have heard you state on innumerable occasions that you do not know
what
you should do without him—and that the son will take after his father. I do wish you would think better of them.”

“I admit, I
like
Dr. Samuel Watkins,” replied Mrs. Harcourt. “He is an excellent practitioner, and a cheerful, independent character with a fine, active mind;—and his son does seem to shew good natural sense. But no matter how many colleges he attends or licences he acquires, the physician will always be no more than an educated tradesman to me. Why it is considered appropriate to-day to accept men of that breed into our circle, is beyond my comprehension;—however,” added she with a sigh, “it is every where done now.”

Rebecca determined it best to remain silent.

“We shall never agree on this subject, aunt.”

“Let us move on to a new topic, then. Miss Stanhope, I remember you as a very thin, ordinary-looking child, but
I am pleased to observe that you have filled out. Your deportment and air are very good, and you have grown up into a handsome young woman.”

“Thank you,” replied Rebecca, somewhat taken aback, yet suppressing a laugh.

“I know your mother died some time ago, and you do not have her to guide you. I hope you will not be offended if I offer advice with regard to your apparel?”

“My apparel?”

“I have a lifetime of acquired knowledge on many subjects, and I feel that my duty in life now is to educate others whenever I can. When it comes to ladies’ fashions, I am particularly discerning—both my gown and Amelia’s were made up from my own design—and yours, I am afraid, is too plain and not at all practical.”