The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (36 page)

C
HAPTER
II

At eight precisely, Dr. Watkins arrived. This time, Rebecca was prepared for him. When he walked into the drawing-room, bowed and smiled, and enquired where he might find her father, she replied,

“He is upstairs, sir. However, before you speak to him, there is a matter of great importance which you and I must discuss first.”

“Oh?”

“It concerns a letter I received to-day from Amelia Davenport.”

His smile fled. Cautiously, he said, “What—did Miss Davenport have to say?”

Rebecca calmly informed him of the contents of the letter, as they pertained to him. He blanched, with an expression of mingled shame and mortification; then, leaning against the mantelpiece, he stared into the fire for a full minute without speaking. When Rebecca could stand the silence no longer, she said,

“Well? Is it true?”

In a quiet voice, tense with irritation, he replied, “This is not the manner in which I intended—”

“A simple yes or no will do.”

He let out an exasperated breath as he turned back in her direction. “Hang it all! Fine. Have it your way. What is the point in keeping it from you
now
? Yes!
Yes
, I
did
have—
do
have—a private—
understanding
with that young lady, but we are not
engaged
. I fully intend to break it off with her at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“Oh!” cried Rebecca, his admission vanquishing the hope that he might have any thing to say which could redeem him. “You villain! How can you speak so coolly about a matter which will break another’s heart? Amelia is in love with you!”

“She will get over it, and as for myself—I am not to blame.” His gaze met hers across the divide between them. “One cannot predict or control the direction in which our affections will tend.”

“Sir,” replied Rebecca warmly, “you seem to transfer your affections from one party to another as lightly and effortlessly as a feather, and with as little emotional attachment.”

“I do nothing of the kind. I assure you, Miss Stanhope, my offer to you this morning came from the depths of my heart. I said I love you; and I do.”

“I would relish an explanation as to how a man who is promised to one woman, can find it in
the depths of his heart
to proclaim his love and propose to another.”

“I will explain—gladly. I
intended
to tell you all myself, in any case, once every thing was settled between us—I am truly sorry you heard of this first from Miss Davenport. Blast it all! This is so very like her!” Taking a breath to compose
himself, he went on: “The facts are these: while at university, I often visited my mother and father in Medford. We were frequently invited to Grafton Hall, and I became acquainted with Miss Davenport. It soon became evident to me that she was becoming—enamoured of me. I cannot explain what I saw in her. I suppose I was bewitched by her beauty; and she made me laugh. But looking back, I think I became more captivated by the idea of
being
loved by her—
worshipped
is more the word—than any thing I felt for the young lady herself. Admittedly—I am not proud of this—there was the added attraction of her money. One day, when Miss Davenport inherited her aunt’s wealth and property, she would be very rich; if I married her, it would all be mine. I should not be obliged to be a physician after all; I should not have to work hard all my life as my father has, dispensing prescriptions and catering to ridiculous valetudinarians. I could be a gentleman of leisure, and devote my time to drawing and painting, as I have always dreamt of doing. I suppose I had all this in mind when we discussed marriage last year;—but Miss Davenport insisted that her aunt would never approve, so it was best to wait.”

His brazen, unashamed account filled Rebecca with disgust. “Wait for what? For Mrs. Harcourt to die?”

“No! No! What sort of monster do you take me for? I am a man of honour, integrity, and feeling, Miss Stanhope. I do not
wish
for Mrs. Harcourt to die! It is true: she is sickly. Miss Davenport did mention once or twice that it might not be long until she passed on, which would clear the way for us to marry;—but from the start,
I
only waited in the hopes that Mrs. Harcourt’s opinion of me would improve. I continued my education; as a physician, I knew I would be admitted
to her circle. To my chagrin, however, it made no difference.” Bitterly, he added, “I know
now
that she will never take kindly to her niece’s affiliation with any one whose family history of land and property does not go back at least several generations.”

“Yet knowing this, you still maintained your secret engagement.”

“I insist, there was no
engagement
—”

“A promise is the same as an engagement, sir, to any man of honour. Did you think to elope?”

“Of course not.”

“So you
are
waiting for Mrs. Harcourt to die.”

His face grew red. He did not reply.

“And while I was at Medford,” continued Rebecca, “you feigned a dislike for Amelia and flirted with
me
, to keep Mrs. Harcourt from guessing your intentions.”

His blush deepened further still. His eyes, when they returned to hers, were full of feeling. “What began as a harmless flirtation, turned into something very different. I did not understand what true love was, Miss Stanhope, until I met you. I think Miss Davenport guessed, at the last, that my affections might be changing, for she became incredibly jealous. At the ball at Grafton Hall, she did every thing in her power to keep me at her side—I cannot even be certain her ankle was truly injured. She told me that if I danced so much as one dance with you, our understanding was at an end. I should have jumped at the opportunity to bow out of a situation which was no longer tenable; but I was not prepared, that night, to make so final a decision. I went away to London because I required some time alone to think it through.”

“To think it through?
Not
to open your new practice?”

“No—I have put off making those arrangements, in case—”

“In case Mrs. Harcourt died, and there was no need?”

He sighed with frustration. “It has been a difficult struggle. Were you and I to marry, I knew I was giving up any hope of a landed gentleman’s life, and should be compelled to earn my own living as a physician in the city. Could I do it? I asked myself. At last, I decided that I could and
would
.” Crossing the room, he sat down on the chair beside Rebecca and leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “What I once felt for Miss Davenport is nothing compared to what I feel for you, Miss Stanhope. If I have wronged her, I regret it, but you are, to me, the shining example of all that womanhood should be. Our future is ahead of us. Do tell me that you can forget what is in the past; that you can forgive me; and that you will do me the honour of consenting to be my wife.”

If Rebecca had been amazed at his audacity before, she was even more astonished now. “If you thought to flatter me with these declarations, sir, I regret to inform you that you have failed entirely. How can you imagine me to think well of your proposal, after all that you have just said? You call yourself a man of honour; yet you have deliberately deceived me and many others in so many ways, that I should be ashamed to recount them. You call yourself a man of in tegrity; yet you have maintained a secret attachment in the expectation—the hope—that a good woman would die, and you would profit from it. You call yourself a man of feeling; yet you stand before me and declare your love, with no thought for the young lady to whom you are already promised—a lady whom you are callous enough to cast off without a second thought. You insist that it was a struggle to choose between a life with me, and a life with another, based
primarily on the status and level of leisure you might attain with each. Can this be love? I think not.”

He was taken aback, and did not immediately reply. “Miss Stanhope, you are angry with me. That is understandable. Given the circumstances, I deserve nothing less. But pray, do not allow that anger to blind you to your own feelings. You do not comprehend your own heart. I know you love me—I have seen it in your gaze, and heard it in your voice—and where true love lies, there must be forgiveness.”

“You are mistaken, sir. I may have entertained feelings for you at one time, but I do no longer; and they never amounted to love. Your lack of compassion astounds me; your lack of remorse disgusts me. I am, however, grateful for having had this opportunity to gain insight into your true character.” She stood. “And now, this interview is at an end.”

Dr. Watkins rose and stared at her in consternation, all affection fleeing from his countenance, instantly replaced by anger and resentment. For some moments, he appeared to search for some reply; but, failing, he at last replaced his hat on his head, calmly walked to the door, and left without another word.

Rebecca sat for some minutes alone in the room, reflecting on what had just passed with great emotion, and feeling that she had made a very fortunate escape. Imagine if she had been foolish enough actually to marry Dr. Watkins, without learning the truth behind the affair! At length, the sound of approaching footsteps made her realise how unequal she was to making any explanation of the preceding events; and, with a brief apology to her startled father and the Newgates, she hurried out of the room and up the stairs.

She lay awake long into the night in very agitating reflections. When she awoke to find sunlight filtering in through
the shutters, the clock in the passage was striking eleven. Still troubled by all that had occurred the previous evening, Rebecca rose and dressed, all the while struggling to prepare that elucidation which would be expected by Mr. Stanhope and the Newgates.

However, no such illumination proved to be required, for—as she was soon to discover—in the intervening hours, events had transpired which would alter her and her father’s circumstances in a most catastrophic manner.

C
HAPTER
III

Having risen too late to partake of breakfast, Rebecca ventured down to the drawing-room, where she heard sharp voices issuing from within. As she entered, instead of the kindly greetings she was accustomed to receiving, she was met by a strange and uncomfortable silence. Her father sat in a chair by the fireplace, with a bleak expression on his countenance. Mr. Newgate’s eyes were cold and harsh; and his wife, who sat on the sofa engaged in needlework, appeared both furious and mortified.

“Papa!” cried Rebecca, hurrying to his side, all thoughts of the previous evening’s events eclipsed. “Are you ill?”

Mr. Stanhope shook his head wordlessly, and looked away.

“What is wrong?” persisted Rebecca, turning to her hosts. “What has happened?”

“We have just come from the pump-room,” answered Mr. Newgate, as he rattled his newspaper closed.

“We heard news of the most
distressing
nature,” added Mrs. Newgate in a clipped tone.

“What news?”

“It has come to our attention,” replied Mr. Newgate, “that you and your father have not been forthright with us regarding your true reason for leaving Elm Grove, and coming to Bath.”

“Indeed, you have most gravely misled us!” cried Mrs. Newgate. “We are mortified beyond expression!”

“I do not understand,” said Rebecca haltingly, growing very alarmed.

“In your father’s first correspondence,” alleged Mr. Newgate, “he claimed that he was dismissed for having
lost
a sum of money belonging to his church—an hundred and fifty pounds, that was the aforementioned amount. I was led to believe that he was, at best, the victim of a theft, and at worst, at fault for somehow mislaying the funds.”

Rebecca’s face grew hot; she could not speak. Could it be that they had somehow discovered the truth about what happened at the inn at Leatherhead?

“There! Do you see how she blushes?” exclaimed Mrs. Newgate. “She knows of his guilt! All along, she was party to the evil!” Casting a scathing look at Mr. Stanhope, she continued, “How could you think to take advantage of my husband’s good nature by representing yourself as you did?”

“To seek
me
out in particular—a very distant cousin, who could not be privy to the facts!”

“And then to impose so shamelessly upon our charity!” (To Rebecca) “When I think of all the clothes and things I bought you!”

“To discover that I opened my heart and my home to a common thief!”

“A thief?” Rebecca was bewildered. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, do not play the innocent with me, my dear,” said Mr. Newgate.

“You thought the truth would never reach us; but we are now fully acquainted with what occurred: your father
stole
five hundred pounds from church funds which had been raised to build a school!”

Rebecca’s astonishment on hearing this was very great. “Five hundred pounds! But—where on earth did you hear such a report?”

“From Lady Ellington,” replied Mr. Newgate.

“Lady Ellington!”

“Her maid received the intelligence early this morning from her brother,” replied Mr. Newgate, “who works at the White Hart Inn, who heard it last night from the valet of a prominent London physician who was staying there—” (turning to his wife) “what was his name?”