I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend by Cora Harrison

Author:Cora Harrison [Harrison, Cora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89753-5
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2010-09-28T04:00:00+00:00

‘We love each other.’ Cassandra was braver than I would have been. She faced her mother without going red. She wasn’t crying either.

I took two steps backwards, very gently. I would try to escape while they were occupied with each other. It would be terribly awkward if one of them chanced to see me standing there listening to their private conversation.

‘Nonsense!’ I heard Mrs Austen say as I reached the second laurel bush.

‘He wants to marry me.’ I had reached the third laurel bush when Cassandra said that. Her voice was defiant and quite loud. A movement from overhead took my attention and I saw Jane up there. She was sitting on the window seat of our bedroom and the window was slightly ajar. She must have finished her piano practise and gone upstairs to air the room before breakfast. She would be listening to everything with great interest.

‘Cassandra, just you listen to me,’ screeched Mrs Austen. Her voice was so loud that even the hens seemed to be impressed, and they gathered around her as though she were preaching a sermon to them — or else perhaps they thought she was calling them for a second meal. I moved to the fourth laurel bush. I would go in by the front door, I planned; I would just steal along the side of the house and keep on the moss beside the wall so that my feet didn’t touch the gravel.

I couldn’t help overhearing though. Mrs Austen’s voice was getting louder by the minute. The whole house must be hearing the words.

‘No money … no prospects … What will you live on? … after all I have said to you … ashamed of yourself …’

Cassandra tried to say something about love, but her mother interrupted her.

‘Love!’ she said scornfully. ‘I tell you this, Miss Cassandra, love will vanish pretty quickly when you have ten children in a couple of pokey rooms. That boy is going to be a clergyman. It’s his only future. He can’t marry for at least ten years, not until he makes a position for himself, finds a patron, gets a parish. And where will you be in ten years’ time? Answer me that, pray. You’ll be an old maid, a very poor old maid. Your father can do nothing for you; nothing, do you understand? You must marry money.’

And now I was at the kitchen door. The cook was frying eggs for breakfast; the spluttering of the hot fat had probably prevented her from hearing anything, but the parlourmaid and the kitchen maid were whispering and giggling in the corner by the scullery. I brushed past them and rinsed my hands under the tap there and then slipped into the breakfast parlour. Jane was already there, looking demure, but her hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement.

Cassandra didn’t come in to breakfast. Mr Austen asked where she was and Mrs Austen told him that Cassandra had a headache. I saw the boys look at each other; Tom Fowle turned red, and Jane nudged my foot under the table.

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