and not at all fitting for the son of a count.
I worry too that dear cousin James, who has been urged so persistently by me to travel to France, will now arrive to find me departed.
One thing only brings comfort to me and to Mama. Our great benefactor, my godfather, is returned to England at last and has undertaken the task of finding us suitable lodgings. I am immensely grateful for this, for Lord knows the dear man has troubles enough with those dreadful Whigs in Parliament seeking his conviction for heinous crimes of which I know he cannot be guilty. He has been known throughout the subcontinent for his kindness and consideration for the people of India. My father always said he was the most generous of men and that has been amply felt by me and Mama. That he has been working all these years to ‘feather his own nest’ as The Times has put it is an outrageous falsehood. Would that I were able to give evidence at his trial, for I am sure I could convince the gentlemen of England of the goodness of his heart. Though only his goddaughter, I feel for him the love of a daughter, but on that matter it is as well to be silent perhaps.
London, June 1786
I am brought to bed of a fine son. He is to be called Hastings François Louis Henry Eugene. How I long to know that his papa has received the news with as much joy as I feel.
SIX
Jane Austen at Steventon Rectory
December 1786
O h it is so exciting! Cousin Eliza is to be with us for the Christmas holidays! She is to be accompanied by Aunt Philla, of course, but best of all by her little baby. How young he is to have so many grand names, some of them of kings, but what credit his mother pays to her famous godfather by making Hastings his first name. It is rather shocking that he is six months old and as yet unchristened, but Eliza’s charming letter to Papa explained that she wanted so much to have ‘dear uncle George’ perform the ceremony and had been putting off the christening in the hope that the Comte would be able to join them. Alas, the Comte is still too occupied with his land in France to come, and we shall miss James, too, as he has gone to France himself—at least we hope he has reached the Comte by now, as the last letter from him told us he was marooned in Jersey by high winds and treacherous seas.
‘How romantic that sounds.’ I said to Cassandra. ‘Imagine, to be marooned on a small island, what an adventure! I wonder if they speak English there?’
My sister, ever practical, replied: ‘You would not find sailing over rough seas very agreeable I am sure. Did you not feel indisposed by the motion of the carriage when we last went to Monk Sherborne?And that is not above six miles away. And anyway, even if they do not speak English I imagine James could make himself understood in French or even Latin—a man about to go to Oxford could be relied upon for that surely.’
‘But Cassy, do you not wish that we, too, could go to visit the Comte? What he is doing with clearing the land sounds so courageous and perhaps we could help?’
My sister laughed: ‘What, dig with picks and shovels like the French peasants?’
‘No, no, but perhaps seeing plans for how it will be planted with grass and trees and what animals they may later keep?’
‘Jane, we cannot even go into the lanes hereabouts in winter when they are muddy, as ladies’ shoes are not robust enough. Do not let your imagination run on so—or if you do, put it into your stories.’
‘Perhaps I may, but I do not know enough about France to set a story there—indeed I know nothing of anywhere except our village.’
‘Well, talk to Eliza when she is here; she will tell you tales I am sure. My mother says she is a lady who has a vivid imagination, just like you.’
‘I know Mama does not like me to scribble as I do, but she encourages the boys and she herself composes rhymes and odes, so why am I in the wrong?’
Cassandra soothed me as usual: ‘You are not in the wrong dearest, but
I worry too that dear cousin James, who has been urged so persistently by me to travel to France, will now arrive to find me departed.
One thing only brings comfort to me and to Mama. Our great benefactor, my godfather, is returned to England at last and has undertaken the task of finding us suitable lodgings. I am immensely grateful for this, for Lord knows the dear man has troubles enough with those dreadful Whigs in Parliament seeking his conviction for heinous crimes of which I know he cannot be guilty. He has been known throughout the subcontinent for his kindness and consideration for the people of India. My father always said he was the most generous of men and that has been amply felt by me and Mama. That he has been working all these years to ‘feather his own nest’ as The Times has put it is an outrageous falsehood. Would that I were able to give evidence at his trial, for I am sure I could convince the gentlemen of England of the goodness of his heart. Though only his goddaughter, I feel for him the love of a daughter, but on that matter it is as well to be silent perhaps.
London, June 1786
I am brought to bed of a fine son. He is to be called Hastings François Louis Henry Eugene. How I long to know that his papa has received the news with as much joy as I feel.
SIX
Jane Austen at Steventon Rectory
December 1786
O h it is so exciting! Cousin Eliza is to be with us for the Christmas holidays! She is to be accompanied by Aunt Philla, of course, but best of all by her little baby. How young he is to have so many grand names, some of them of kings, but what credit his mother pays to her famous godfather by making Hastings his first name. It is rather shocking that he is six months old and as yet unchristened, but Eliza’s charming letter to Papa explained that she wanted so much to have ‘dear uncle George’ perform the ceremony and had been putting off the christening in the hope that the Comte would be able to join them. Alas, the Comte is still too occupied with his land in France to come, and we shall miss James, too, as he has gone to France himself—at least we hope he has reached the Comte by now, as the last letter from him told us he was marooned in Jersey by high winds and treacherous seas.
‘How romantic that sounds.’ I said to Cassandra. ‘Imagine, to be marooned on a small island, what an adventure! I wonder if they speak English there?’
My sister, ever practical, replied: ‘You would not find sailing over rough seas very agreeable I am sure. Did you not feel indisposed by the motion of the carriage when we last went to Monk Sherborne?And that is not above six miles away. And anyway, even if they do not speak English I imagine James could make himself understood in French or even Latin—a man about to go to Oxford could be relied upon for that surely.’
‘But Cassy, do you not wish that we, too, could go to visit the Comte? What he is doing with clearing the land sounds so courageous and perhaps we could help?’
My sister laughed: ‘What, dig with picks and shovels like the French peasants?’
‘No, no, but perhaps seeing plans for how it will be planted with grass and trees and what animals they may later keep?’
‘Jane, we cannot even go into the lanes hereabouts in winter when they are muddy, as ladies’ shoes are not robust enough. Do not let your imagination run on so—or if you do, put it into your stories.’
‘Perhaps I may, but I do not know enough about France to set a story there—indeed I know nothing of anywhere except our village.’
‘Well, talk to Eliza when she is here; she will tell you tales I am sure. My mother says she is a lady who has a vivid imagination, just like you.’
‘I know Mama does not like me to scribble as I do, but she encourages the boys and she herself composes rhymes and odes, so why am I in the wrong?’
Cassandra soothed me as usual: ‘You are not in the wrong dearest, but
Similar Books
