Miss Austen by Gill Hornby

Author:Gill Hornby
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

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“HOW MAGNIFICENT!” JANE BLEW in, untying her bonnet to reveal untidy hair and a glowing complexion. “The water is at its finest this morning. Oh, but I do like it here. So much better than insufferable Bath. Now, what have my darlings been up to? Well, you certainly look better, Cass—radiant, even. I hate to have to tell you that, despite your very best efforts, you seem to be recovering your bloom.” She took Anna’s shoulders and peered into her face. “And you, my child? Has the sea worked its magic yet? I think not! Now confess all, Anna. Where have you spent these past months—down a cave, up a chimney? Come now, spill out your wicked secrets.”

Anna giggled for the first time since her arrival. “In Steventon, Aunt Jane, I promise!”

“Then there is no accounting for your pallor.” She laid down her hat. “When your aunt Cass and I lived in the rectory, we were careful to bloom every day. Quite rigorous we were with our blooming. Back then, it was thought quite rude not to. No doubt you young people have other ideas.”

Cassy laughed with them, quite distracted now from the unsettling events of her morning. Instead she felt her heart twisting with pity for the poor child. There had been many regrets on leaving Hampshire, but the deepest was their withdrawal of daily contact with Anna. They had removed the one refuge from her troubles with Mary, which had always been difficult and, since the arrival of the blessed boy child, were now possibly intolerable. It had been a triumph to get her here for the summer. They would restore her: Cassy was sure of it. While the rest of the family besported themselves, she would bring this dear girl back to life.

“I will just go up and check on our mother,” Cassy announced, “and then we can make plans for the rest of the day.”

“Is Grandmama very poorly?” asked Anna anxiously.

“No, my dear.” Jane gathered her up. “There is no cause for concern. Your grandmother likes to take to her bed whenever we arrive somewhere new. It is her way of feeling at home. She can then test the mattress, meet the best doctors, sample the wares of the local apothecary, and know just what to expect should real illness afflict her. Which it never does, incidentally. But perhaps that is her wisdom: prevention by good preparation. Like all the best invalids, she will outlive us all.”

“Jane, that is not quite fair. Our mother has suffered from biliousness since the journey. Travel affects her—”

“Or it does not”—Jane shrugged, smiling—“and my thesis is true.”

By the time Cassy returned, her sister and niece were deep in a game—one was a pirate, the other a poor castaway damsel; both were in fits of hilarity. The new notebook lay abandoned on the hearthrug. She retrieved it, picked up her embroidery, and waited until they were done.

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