Jane And The Man Of The Cloth Part 1

Jane and the Man of the Cloth.

Stephanie Barron.

Dedicated with love to my sister Cathy, who always gave me the best books; and to my sister Jo, who taught me to read

Foreword

When Jane Austen traveled to the Dorset coastal town of Lyme Regis in the late summer of 1804, she returned to a part of England she had first visited the previous year and that she is thought to have loved. She chose Lyme and its peculiar blend of fishermen, retired naval officers, and fas.h.i.+onable pleasure seekers for a pivotal pa.s.sage in her final novel, Persuasion, Persuasion, published posthumously in 1818. Her affection for the town's steep streets and bracing Cobb (a stone breakwater encircling the harbor of the same name), the secretive wilderness called the Pinny and the high downs beyond, s.h.i.+nes through the scenes she set down on paper over ten years after the action of this memoir. published posthumously in 1818. Her affection for the town's steep streets and bracing Cobb (a stone breakwater encircling the harbor of the same name), the secretive wilderness called the Pinny and the high downs beyond, s.h.i.+nes through the scenes she set down on paper over ten years after the action of this memoir.For Jane and the Man of the Cloth is exactly that-a memoir of Austen's detective adventures in Lyme in the late summer of 1804. Austen scholars have long been frustrated by their lack of knowledge about this period in her life, since only one letter written from the town survives in the collected correspondence. In that lengthy note to Ca.s.sandra, Jane talks of many people and events that will become familiar to the reader of the present volume. We listen as she discusses Mr. Crawford, with whom she had danced the previous evening at the Thursday night a.s.sembly; the servant-man James and his lanthorn; Miss Armstrong; the Schuylers and the Honourable Barnewalis-"bold, queer-looking people, just fit to be Quality at Lyme"-and the mysterious man she names only as is exactly that-a memoir of Austen's detective adventures in Lyme in the late summer of 1804. Austen scholars have long been frustrated by their lack of knowledge about this period in her life, since only one letter written from the town survives in the collected correspondence. In that lengthy note to Ca.s.sandra, Jane talks of many people and events that will become familiar to the reader of the present volume. We listen as she discusses Mr. Crawford, with whom she had danced the previous evening at the Thursday night a.s.sembly; the servant-man James and his lanthorn; Miss Armstrong; the Schuylers and the Honourable Barnewalis-"bold, queer-looking people, just fit to be Quality at Lyme"-and the mysterious man she names only as Le Chevalier, Le Chevalier, who divided the winnings of a card game with her mother. The details are tantalizing, because they are fragmentary-and yet powerfully suggestive of the richness of the author's visit to the Dorset coast. who divided the winnings of a card game with her mother. The details are tantalizing, because they are fragmentary-and yet powerfully suggestive of the richness of the author's visit to the Dorset coast.At long last, the full story of Jane's extraordinary Lyme experiences may be shared with the world, in the form of this diary account, one of many discovered among the long-lost Austen journals currently undergoing restoration and editing in the United States.1Although the events Jane Austen describes in the following pages are surprising enough, it is possible that they serve to elucidate a personal episode in her life that has been the subject of much conjecture and debate. Years after Jane's death, Ca.s.sandra Austen, Jane's older sister and closest confidante, told her niece Caroline that the writer was involved in an unfortunate love affair with a clergyman whom she had met during a seaside holiday. The young man died or otherwise disappeared before an engagement could be formed, and since Ca.s.sandra was notoriously closemouthed regarding her sister's private life, neither the gendeman's name nor the exact history of the affair have come down to posterity. Various Austen family members recorded conflicting explanations of the episode-which Caroline Austen termed Jane's "nameless and dateless*' romance-and the facts appear to have been garbled with time. It has been suggested that the clergyman's brother was a doctor, whom Ca.s.sandra visited years after Jane's death; or that the unknown suitor was in fact the Reverend Samuel Blackall, an acquaintance of Jane's for many years previous to this period. Constance Pilgrim, in her book Dear Jane: A Biographical Study of Jane Austen Dear Jane: A Biographical Study of Jane Austen (Pentlands Press, Durham, 1971), goes so far as to suggest that the writer's mystery lover was Captain John Wordsworth, a naval officer and brother of the poet William Wordsworth, who was lost with his s.h.i.+p in 1805, and that they met in Lyme Regis as early as 1797-a theory described as "fanciful" by George Holbert Tucker, another Austen scholar. Some have a.s.serted that Jane met the unknown clergyman while traveling with her family in Dorset during the summer of 1801; others place the encounter closer to 1804. (Pentlands Press, Durham, 1971), goes so far as to suggest that the writer's mystery lover was Captain John Wordsworth, a naval officer and brother of the poet William Wordsworth, who was lost with his s.h.i.+p in 1805, and that they met in Lyme Regis as early as 1797-a theory described as "fanciful" by George Holbert Tucker, another Austen scholar. Some have a.s.serted that Jane met the unknown clergyman while traveling with her family in Dorset during the summer of 1801; others place the encounter closer to 1804.2Jane and the Man of the Cloth offers one possible answer to the debate. Austen's acquaintance with both Geoffrey Sidmouth, whom she believed to be the notorious Reverend, and Captain Percival Fielding-as well as Sidmouth's friends.h.i.+p with the medical doctor William Dagliesh, whom Ca.s.sandra knew and might well have visited in later years-make it likely that the writer's "nameless and dateless" romance occurred in Lyme in the late summer of 1804. To offer further evidence here would be to spoil the tale for the reader; so I shall allow Jane to speak for herself and leave it to the reader to determine the truth of matters. offers one possible answer to the debate. Austen's acquaintance with both Geoffrey Sidmouth, whom she believed to be the notorious Reverend, and Captain Percival Fielding-as well as Sidmouth's friends.h.i.+p with the medical doctor William Dagliesh, whom Ca.s.sandra knew and might well have visited in later years-make it likely that the writer's "nameless and dateless" romance occurred in Lyme in the late summer of 1804. To offer further evidence here would be to spoil the tale for the reader; so I shall allow Jane to speak for herself and leave it to the reader to determine the truth of matters.In editing this volume, I found that Geoffrey Morley's 1983 work, Smuggling in Hamps.h.i.+re and Dorset: iy00-1850 Smuggling in Hamps.h.i.+re and Dorset: iy00-1850 (Newbury UK: Countryside Books), was very nearly indispensable. I would offer it to readers who wish to know more about Free Trade and the Gentlemen of the Night. Novelist John Fowles, who has lived and worked in Lyme for many years, is the author of (Newbury UK: Countryside Books), was very nearly indispensable. I would offer it to readers who wish to know more about Free Trade and the Gentlemen of the Night. Novelist John Fowles, who has lived and worked in Lyme for many years, is the author of A Short History of Lyme Regis A Short History of Lyme Regis (Little, Brown (Little, Brown 8c 8c Co., 1982), a concise but thorough summary of the town and its past. Co., 1982), a concise but thorough summary of the town and its past.STEPHANIE BARRON EVERGREEN, COLORADO1 For a full account of the journals' discovery, readers are directed to the Editor's Foreword in the first volume of the Austen collection, published by Bantam Books in May 1995 under the tide For a full account of the journals' discovery, readers are directed to the Editor's Foreword in the first volume of the Austen collection, published by Bantam Books in May 1995 under the tide of Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor. of Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor.2 For an excellent survey of the "nameless and dateless" romance theories, as well as a rich portrait of Austen's milieu, see George Holbert Tucker, For an excellent survey of the "nameless and dateless" romance theories, as well as a rich portrait of Austen's milieu, see George Holbert Tucker, Jave Austen the Woman, Jave Austen the Woman, St. Martin's Press, 1994. St. Martin's Press, 1994.

Chapter 1 - The Perils of Travelling Post.

3 September 1804 at High Down Grange, on the Lyme road *

IT IS? TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED, THAT THE EXPECTATION of pleasure is generally preferred to its eventual attainment-the attainment being marred, at its close, by the resumption of quotidian routine made onerous by the very diversions so lately enjoyed. But as I gaze upon the tortured aspect of my dearest sister, her head bound round in a makes.h.i.+ft bandage, her pallor extreme, and her features overlaid with suffering, I must declare all such nice distinctions the indulgence of a frivolous mind. For how much more melancholy still, to find pleasure usurped entirely by the advent of disaster! To have no chance of mourning the of pleasure is generally preferred to its eventual attainment-the attainment being marred, at its close, by the resumption of quotidian routine made onerous by the very diversions so lately enjoyed. But as I gaze upon the tortured aspect of my dearest sister, her head bound round in a makes.h.i.+ft bandage, her pallor extreme, and her features overlaid with suffering, I must declare all such nice distinctions the indulgence of a frivolous mind. For how much more melancholy still, to find pleasure usurped entirely by the advent of disaster! To have no chance of mourning the end end of good times, by observing them waylaid and truly routed before they had even of good times, by observing them waylaid and truly routed before they had even begun! begun! And Ca.s.sandra's is the sort of misfortune one never antic.i.p.ates, being met in unhappy accident-the chance of a moment decided it; and the course of our long-awaited pleasure trip to Lyme is thrown utterly to the winds. And Ca.s.sandra's is the sort of misfortune one never antic.i.p.ates, being met in unhappy accident-the chance of a moment decided it; and the course of our long-awaited pleasure trip to Lyme is thrown utterly to the winds.

But I write entirely of outcomes, and am quite heedless of causes; a testament to the discomposure of my mind. I shall step back, the better to govern the tumult of my reason, and endure again the horror of those moments that left my dear one insensible in a stranger's bed.

BATH BEING UNBEARABLY HOT THIS AUGUST, AND MY FATHER'S health indifferent, we determined to exchange our rooms in Town for more salubrious ones along the coast. We had little inclination to try the bustle and vulgarity of Rams-gate, health indifferent, we determined to exchange our rooms in Town for more salubrious ones along the coast. We had little inclination to try the bustle and vulgarity of Rams-gate,1 though my brother Edward though my brother Edward would would take a large establishment there; Brighton was not even to be spoken of; and so to Dorsets.h.i.+re we would go, and to Lyme Regis in particular, having made a several-weeks' trial of its delights the previous autumn. No coaching inn should be good enough accommodation on the present occasion, however; none of your Three Cups or Golden Lions would do for us-no, the Austens of Bath should travel in style, and take furnished lodgings. A cottage on the water, where my mother might gaze at the sea, and consider her Naval sons, and my father might indulge his pa.s.sion for botany in walks along the s.h.i.+ngle, should do very well. Ca.s.sandra and I meant to be happy with frequent turns about the Cobb, take a large establishment there; Brighton was not even to be spoken of; and so to Dorsets.h.i.+re we would go, and to Lyme Regis in particular, having made a several-weeks' trial of its delights the previous autumn. No coaching inn should be good enough accommodation on the present occasion, however; none of your Three Cups or Golden Lions would do for us-no, the Austens of Bath should travel in style, and take furnished lodgings. A cottage on the water, where my mother might gaze at the sea, and consider her Naval sons, and my father might indulge his pa.s.sion for botany in walks along the s.h.i.+ngle, should do very well. Ca.s.sandra and I meant to be happy with frequent turns about the Cobb,2 and even more frequent dances in the town's pretty little a.s.sembly Rooms; our memories of the place were so cheerful, in fact, that the plan met with immediate approval. Bath was forgotten; Ramsgate consigned to those of little sense or taste; and Lyme became the object of all our fondest hopes. and even more frequent dances in the town's pretty little a.s.sembly Rooms; our memories of the place were so cheerful, in fact, that the plan met with immediate approval. Bath was forgotten; Ramsgate consigned to those of little sense or taste; and Lyme became the object of all our fondest hopes.

Being possessed of a fortune that no longer admits of a private carriage, but finding ourselves above the meaner conveyance of mail coach and stage-the former being adjudged too swift and precarious for my father's temper, and the latter too crowded and vulgar for my mother's- we were forced to adopt the only alternative, a post chaise initiating in Bath, with horses changed daily en route. en route. Having descended towards the southern coast by way of Shepton Mallet, Somerton, and Crewkerne, as recommended by Having descended towards the southern coast by way of Shepton Mallet, Somerton, and Crewkerne, as recommended by Paterson's Paterson's3 we were even yet embarked today upon the final stage of our journey, with a new postboy, hailing from Lyme, mounted before; when the appearance of a murkiness upon the horizon gave rise to general alarm. Our fears were rewarded, as such fears generally are, with the sudden convergence of a gale above our heads; and the fierceness of the wind and rain that then ensued was indescribable. we were even yet embarked today upon the final stage of our journey, with a new postboy, hailing from Lyme, mounted before; when the appearance of a murkiness upon the horizon gave rise to general alarm. Our fears were rewarded, as such fears generally are, with the sudden convergence of a gale above our heads; and the fierceness of the wind and rain that then ensued was indescribable.

Though it was not much beyond six o'clock, the light had failed utterly, leaving the interior of our coach in a grey dimness through which the faces of my sister and mother, seated opposite, shone palely. Ca.s.sandra, who is ever indisposed by the motion of a carriage, and who, after long days of travel, was at the last extremity of her endurance, was in very ill looks; and her temper could hardly be improved by the proximity of my mother, whose general alarm at the fearful neighs of the horses as the storm built wrathfully above our heads, and the postboy's resultant curses, had taught her to seek comfort in a fierce pinching of Ca.s.sandra's hand within her own. I observed the whitened knuckles of her grip, and silently thanked the force of chance that had placed me beside my father.

"We shall be overturned! I am sure of it! Overturned, Mr. Austen!" my mother cried.

"Now, my dearest," my father said, in a tone ofgende reproof, "you must not give way to womanly fears. The Lord looks after His own."

"Then He must be looking after them in Town," my mother replied, in some exasperation, "for He is a.s.suredly not not along the Lyme road at present. We shall be overturned, and all of us killed, and I should like to know what you will say along the Lyme road at present. We shall be overturned, and all of us killed, and I should like to know what you will say then, then, Mr. Austen. I am sure you shall be very sorry you did not listen to your wife!" Mr. Austen. I am sure you shall be very sorry you did not listen to your wife!"

"Now, my dear," my father said again, and took up once more his book.

A fearsome jolt then occurring, I was thrown abruptly against the coach window, and seized my chance to gaze out upon a storm-tossed world. The pitted road, but poorly maintained in the best of times, was awash in muddy water; the adjacent trees lashed into silvery indistinctness by the combined effects of wind and rain; and no relief apparent in the lowering density of cloud. I drew back to the relative comfort of the coach's interior, and attempted to calculate the distance remaining. We were some hours removed from Crewkerne, where we had spent the previous day and evening, not being p.r.o.ne to Sunday travel;4 and should even now be breasting the long hill into Up Lyme. Was not the carriage rising? But as this very thought struck, a yet more bone-rattling shudder seized the coach's frame, as though a great beast had taken us up in its jaws and tossed us about for sport. I cried out, and was rewarded with a look of terror from my mother and a squeak of pain from Ca.s.sandra, whose hand was no doubt suffering under the effects of her companion's anxiety. and should even now be breasting the long hill into Up Lyme. Was not the carriage rising? But as this very thought struck, a yet more bone-rattling shudder seized the coach's frame, as though a great beast had taken us up in its jaws and tossed us about for sport. I cried out, and was rewarded with a look of terror from my mother and a squeak of pain from Ca.s.sandra, whose hand was no doubt suffering under the effects of her companion's anxiety.

"Overturned, Mr. Austen!" the good woman cried, and half-stood as though to throw herself upon her husband's breast.

A great crash from the road ahead, and a lurching of the carriage; then the screaming of horses, and a tumult that could only be due to chaos within the traces. For the world to revolve an hundred degrees, was required but a moment; and when I found the courage to open my eyes, the floor was become the coach's ceiling. A most ludicrous position, particularly when viewed through a quant.i.ty of muslin, the result of one's skirts being tipped over one's head. I lay an instant in utter silence, feeling the rapid patter of my heart and the laboured nature of my breathing; and was relieved to find that both continued in force.

A grunt from my father roused me.

"Sir!" I cried, endeavouring to secure him amidst the murk and confusion. "May I be of a.s.sistance?"

At that, the coach's nether door was seized and opened-by the postboy, no doubt-and my father, whose main support the door had been, tumbled from the vehicle. Hardly a dignified antic for a clergyman of three-and-seventy, but followed by the still less-seemly exit of his younger daughter, her skirts in a tangle about her knees. The relief, however, at being freed from such a world gone topsy-turvy, was beyond every indecorous attempt to achieve it; I drew a shaky breath and tested my limbs, heedless of the fierce rain that pelted my cap. My father, having been helped to his feet by the postboy (a burly fellow of some five-and-thirty, one Hibbs by name), was seized with a coughing fit. The poor man's senses were little a.s.sisted when Hibbs thought to pound upon his back, and I hastened to intervene.

"Father," I said, taking him by the arm, "I trust you are not injured in any way?"

"Only in complaisance, my dear," he replied, with the ghost of a smile, "and that has been decidedly shaken. I shall be forced to attend your mother's every warning, by and by-a triumph, I fear, that she shall not know how to sustain."

My mother! I turned in an instant, and peered back within the carriage's depths-and oh! What a scene I then descried!

My beloved sister lay wan and lifeless, in a heap of crushed muslin against the coach's farthest wall-the wall that had received all the force of impact in the conveyance's upheaval. My mother was attempting to s.h.i.+ft Ca.s.sandra towards the open door-which, given the tossing of the coach, was well above her head; but the poor woman lacked the strength for it, and was reduced to tears as a consequence.

"Stay, madam," I cried, and leapt for the postboy.

The man Hibbs saw the necessity in a moment; and lifted Ca.s.sandra to safety so swiftly and gently that I was all but struck speechless; the condition of the poor sufferer being of paramount importance, however, I offered broken thanks and turned to her comfort, overcome by nameless dread. So much lively beauty, reduced to deathly silence! It was not to be borne. My beloved sister was carried to the shelter of a tree, and my father's cloak propped on a few sticks above her, in an ineffectual attempt to s.h.i.+eld her from the rain.

My mother's wails declared her incapable of use; my father was consigned to comfort her; and 1 turned to Ca.s.sandra to see what ill I might find.

A great bruise overspread her temple, and in feeling about her scalp, I was rewarded by a grimace of pain flitting across her countenance, and a warm trickle of blood upon my fingertips. I chafed her wrists, and called her name; implored her, in desperation, to awake; but she continued insensible, lying at the verge of the road like so much cast-off clothing. The horror that seized me then! I shudder to recall it. I was the closest to despair 1 have been in all my life-and so resolved upon action. To do, do, when one is very nearly past hope, is the sole means of relief. I turned from Ca.s.sandra and looked for the postboy. when one is very nearly past hope, is the sole means of relief. I turned from Ca.s.sandra and looked for the postboy.

"Hibbs!" I shouted. The tumult of the storm continued unabated, making all attempt at conversation a dubious affair.

"Yes, miss," the man rejoined, turning from the wreckage of his rig.

"My sister cannot remain here"

"Don't know as she 'as much choice, beggin' yer pardon, miss. The horses be gone, and the coach a fair ruin. Then there's the matter o' that there tree," he said, tossing a look over his shoulder.

I regained my feet and peered ahead into the tempest A ma.s.sive trunk indeed lay full across the road, barring further pa.s.sage. How unfortunate that it should be before before us, rather than behind. But I comprehended, now, the reason for the horses' terror and flight. We were any of us fortunate to be alive. us, rather than behind. But I comprehended, now, the reason for the horses' terror and flight. We were any of us fortunate to be alive.

"We cannot hope to s.h.i.+ft it?"

Hibbs shook his head in reply. "And with the nags run off-"

"Then we must fetch a.s.sistance from some neighbouring farm," I said with authority, and cast about me into the gloom. Misfortune could not have chosen a more desolate place to befall us. As far as the gaze might reach, the high downs roiled unimpeded to the sea. But wait- "Is not that a light, away there in the distance?"

The postboy shrugged, and his brows lowered. "Happen it is. But you'll not be finding help for the young lady at the Grange."

"And why ever not?"

"They're queer folk."

"Queer or no, they cannot refuse to help a lady in such distress," I replied firmly, and turned to my father. Heedless of the rain that had completely soaked his hat, he stood at a little distance from my mother, who was bent over Ca.s.sandra in an att.i.tude of despair. My sister's condition, I saw at a glance, was unchanged. With such burdens of infirmity and age parcelled out among them, they should none of them be left too long in darkness and storm.

"Sir," I called, crossing to my father, "the postboy and I intend to seek aid from the farm whose lights you espy at a little distance. We shall hasten to return."

"But, Jane-my dear-had not /better go?" my father enquired doubtfully, and when I would insist, he added in a lowered tone, "For it cannot be proper to send you off into the night in the company of such a man. A complete stranger, and a hapless one, 1 fear; only look to what an impa.s.se he has brought us!"

"But thankfully, Father, he calls this country home; and may be of service in appealing to the inhabitants of the farm. And as to going yourself-would you leave three women alone and unprotected, on such a road, in such a state? Better that you should stand with my mother, and comfort her when you may."

I turned from him before he could reply-for, in truth, help should be long in coming, did my father go in search of it. He is an elderly gentleman whose pace is slow on the smoothest of roads, and in the best of light; and I paled to think of him attempting the downs in the present hour.

"Come along, Hibbs," 1 called to the postboy, who stood muttering under his breath over the ruin of his harness. 'To the Grange it is, as fast as our feet may carry us."

I SHALL Pa.s.s OVER IN SILENCE THE RIGOURS OF THAT DAMPENING walk; how endless it seemed, the lights of the Grange receding ever before us through the rain; how our ankles were turned, and our clothes snagged, and our legs thoroughly wearied, well before we came to the narrow track through the meadow that led to a neat gate, and a stone pathway running up to a ma.s.sive oak door, lit only by a smoking lanthorn. High Down Grange-for so, I have learnt, is its full name-was at one time a modest farmhouse, though now turned country manor; the home of a gendeman, by all appearances, while maintaining still its purpose as a center of agricultural endeavour. The house was wrapt in quiet, despite the storm, the fierceness of which had driven all sensible folk within doors; and my relief was so great, upon gaining the stoop, that I nearly sank to my knees in grat.i.tude.

The baying of a dog-nay, several dogs-announced our arrival, and then the beasts themselves rounded the corner of the house like a pack of wolves, slavering for our throats. I confess that I screamed, and clutched at poor Hibbs, who thrust me behind him and menaced the curs with a stout cudgel-taken up some time past as a walking stick, but performing now a dearer service.

"Jasper! Fang! You there, Beelzebub! Heel! Heel, Heel, I say!" I say!"

The commanding voice came from the doorway, now streaming with light as the st.u.r.dy oak was unbarred. A lanthorn held high revealed a gendeman's face-though a countenance most harshly-drawn, under a windswept mop of black hair. The master of High Down, I presumed; and masterly enough with his dark brows heavy and knit, his eyes glowing and fierce, and his nose as sharply hooked as a bird of prey's. A man of middlish age, perhaps five-and-thirty, arrayed in knee breeches and a white s.h.i.+rt quite open at the collar, his stock being put aside as though he were in the act of retiring. His countenance was suffused with a most ungentlemanly rage-the violence of his great dogs, it seemed, being mirrored in the spirits of their master.

"Who the Devil are you?" he cried, with a glower for the beasts, now cowering at his feet, and a glower for ourselves-and so Hibbs and I were welcomed to High Down Grange.

"Miss Jane Austen, of Bath," I replied, in a tone that betrayed a quaver.

"Miss Jane Austen of Bath, and her merry man," our host said caustically, with a look for poor Hibbs. "And what in G.o.d's name brings you out on such a night? Some unholy pilgrimage?"5 "A gentleman of better breeding and greater charity might have saved such questions for the comfort of his drawing-room," I retorted, my patience thoroughly spent. The rain, though diminished to a fine drizzle, was still as wet; and its continued descent upon my drenched cap and shawl did nothing to improve my temper. "We are clearly driven to your door by the utmost extremity, sir, and if any alternative served, should never have troubled you longer-for you are undoubtedly lacking in the sensibilities of a true gentleman, and the a.s.sistance of a common labourer should be given with greater goodwill, I am sure."

"Undoubtedly," he said, and though his lip curled cynically at the word, my tart rebuke appeared to soften him a little. His choler drained away, and I thought him about to speak in a more measured tone, when a small sound caused him to turn, and the rings of light emanating from the lamp he held s.h.i.+fted and welled like a tide of water across the darkened courtyard. I turned, and started in fright, and reached again for Hibbs's arm; for we were held at bay by the business end of a very imposing blunderbuss, levelled in the hands of a stable boy-of malevolent intent, to judge by his aspect.

'Put up the gun, Toby," the master of High Down said gendy. "You need not be threatening a bedraggled woman. She looks harmless enough."

"She ain't no woman, Mr. Sidmouth, sir. She's a lady lady to you." Hibbs's hands were clenching and unclenching at his belt. That he kept a pistol there, for fear of highwaymen, I well knew; and that he had left it with my father, the better to safeguard the ladies, I surmised he very much regretted. to you." Hibbs's hands were clenching and unclenching at his belt. That he kept a pistol there, for fear of highwaymen, I well knew; and that he had left it with my father, the better to safeguard the ladies, I surmised he very much regretted.

"Be off wi' ye,' the boy said menacingly; but he lowered the blunderbuss, with evident mistrust. "'re no more in a pack o' spies, ye are. Be off, 'fore I blows ye down the lane!"

"Toby!" Mr. Sidmouth-for so I a.s.sumed him to be, as Hibbs had named him-strode swiftly from the doorway to the boy's side, with nary a glance for ourselves. He pried the gun from Toby's hands and turned him towards the back of the house, from whence he had appeared. "Tell Mary we've company, and then fetch Miss Sera-phine, there's a good fellow."

"Run 'em off, Mr. Sid," the boy said, by way of reply. "They're here as 'formers, I'll lay my soul on't."

A sound bussing on the bottom was his only answer, and the master of High Down turned once more to face us. "My apologies," he told us. "The boy has yet to learn his manners."

"You astonish me." My tone was dry. "And with such a paragon as yourself for instruction?"

In the lamp's glow, Sidmouth's mouth tightened, and the black brows lowered over his eyes. I felt sure that in a moment he should drive us down the hill with the b.u.t.t of the gun, but instead, he drew breath and managed a smile. "Your reproof is well-placed, Miss Jane Austen of Bath," he said. "I fear I have shown myself to disadvantage upon first meeting. Do not, I beg of you, take the instant for a portrait of the man. And now, I trust, you will do me the honour of entering High Down Grange? For it rains"-at this, he cast a look towards the heavens-"undoubtedly it rains." There was an air of immense satisfaction about the man, that I was at a loss to understand; but mindful of my sister's plight I wasted not another thought upon Mr. Sidmouth and his mysteries, and followed him into the house.

It is a simple-enough affair, rather reminiscent, at first glance, of dear Steventon,6 in its exposed beams and whitewashed walls. I imagined the upstairs rooms would have sloping floors, and dormer eaves, and all the comfort of age and use to recommend them-and as I sit here now, writing by the light of a single candle, in one such a room, I find my conjecture immediately proved. It is a house made for laughter and song and the fresh-blown scent of roses in the doorway, and that it is sadly lacking in all such delights, I readily discerned. For High Down Grange has been subject to decided neglect-the result, perhaps, of having no mistress. Geoffrey Sidmouth is a single man, p.r.o.ne, as are all such fellows, to thoughtlessness with regard to his surroundings, and to an overactive benevolence towards his hounds, his horses, and his hunting. Or so I surmise. in its exposed beams and whitewashed walls. I imagined the upstairs rooms would have sloping floors, and dormer eaves, and all the comfort of age and use to recommend them-and as I sit here now, writing by the light of a single candle, in one such a room, I find my conjecture immediately proved. It is a house made for laughter and song and the fresh-blown scent of roses in the doorway, and that it is sadly lacking in all such delights, I readily discerned. For High Down Grange has been subject to decided neglect-the result, perhaps, of having no mistress. Geoffrey Sidmouth is a single man, p.r.o.ne, as are all such fellows, to thoughtlessness with regard to his surroundings, and to an overactive benevolence towards his hounds, his horses, and his hunting. Or so I surmise.

The drawing-room eloquendy bespoke the want of a lady's attention, in its shabby fittings and dusty aspect, and I wondered, as I stood uneasy upon the hearth, at the aforementioned Mary-was she cook, or housekeeper, or merely a slovenly attempt at both? And who should Miss Seraphine Miss Seraphine be? be?

"Allow me to introduce myself," Sidmouth said, in closing the door and crossing to the fire. "I am Geoffrey Sidmouth, and High Down Grange is my home-at present. I take it from Hibbs being your attendant, Miss Austen, that you are a traveller in these parts; and that his regrettably poor driving has unhorsed your equipage."

Hibbs glowered from his place near the doorway, all the anger of his outraged reputation hot upon his lips; but Sidmouth silenced him with a glance. "I have reason to regret that driving myself," he mused. "I am surprised you have the courage to show your face here, man." With that, the master's eyes found the postboy's and their gazes locked for an inscrutable instant; an instant that ended in Hibbs hanging his head.

"Go to the kitchen until we have need of you," Sidmouth said; and Hibbs quitted the room without another word.

The master of High Down motioned me to a worn chair by the fire, and as I hesitated, surveying the soaking fabric of my gown, and certain it should leave a mark, he made a gesture of impatience and took me by the arm in a most forward manner. I had begun to regret poor Hibbs, when Sidmouth thrust me abrupdy towards the seat. "Forget the matter of your dress," he said, not un-gentiy. "It shall be changed as soon as possible for another. Now, tell me of your affairs. You travel alone? From Bath to Lyme is a great distance for a lady, and without even her maid."

"Indeed, sir, I do not," I said, all the memory of my recent trouble rus.h.i.+ng full upon my mind. "I travel with those dearest to me in the world-and overcome, like myself, by a great misfortune. Having changed horses at Crewkerne, and acquired Hibbs as postboy, we thought to make Lyme this very e'en-and should have done so, but for the storm. We were, as you have surmised, overturned; and I fear my beloved sister is injured as a result She lies even now upon the verge of the road, and I am come to beg your a.s.sistance; for she cannot remain there. We are lost without your aid, Mr. Sidmouth, and every minute must be precious in such a cause."

To his credit, Sidmouth made for the door with alacrity, crying harshly for the stable boy Toby as he did; and I was allowed the sensation of exquisite relief, in having accomplished my mission without further enquiry, and in being able to enjoy the comforts of the chair by the fire, despite my sodden dress and aching feet In an instant the master of High Down had returned, followed by the unfortunate Hibbs.

"I am sending this fellow and Toby in search of your sister immediately, Miss Austen, with the instruction that they are to convey her hither. There were others in your party, I believe?"

"My father and mother, sir, of advanced years."

"I fear you shall none of you make Lyme tonight Hibbs tells me of a great tree, to which he credits the chaos of his horses, that lies across the road and bars all pa.s.sage." The curl in Sidmouth's lip as he spoke these words, told all his opinion of Hibbs's excuses, "four family shall be borne to High Down, and the hospitality of this house extended gladly to all."

"Thank you, sir," I said, with a bow of my head. "You are very kind, and we are much obliged to your goodness."

"Think nothing of it I would that I could do more.

And now, my man,"he said to Hibbs, as we heard the sound of a carriage being brought round to the door, "be off. Do everything to a.s.sure the Austens' comfort, since you have already a.s.sured their distress. There are lap robes and warm bricks in the carriage/'

"It may be that a waggon should serve better," I broke in. "It might more easily cross the downs, should the road hither prove impa.s.sable. And, too, when I left my sister, she was as yet insensible from a blow to the head. She may be incapable of mounting the carriage steps, and my father is no longer strong enough to lift her."

"The carriage will have to do," Sidmouth said shortly. "There is not a waggon to be had tonight. Hibbs must serve, should any lifting be necessary."

I wondered at such words, and at the obligations which could engage a farm's waggons in such darkness and rain; and wondered still more at Sidmouth's failure to go to my sister himself, when necessity pled so powerful a cause. But he turned away from me, and paced before the fire, seemingly lost in contemplation of the flames.

"Cannot we send to Lyme for a surgeon, Mr Sidmouth?" I enquired anxiously, as a new thought struck me. "My sister, I fear, is gravely injured; no care should be spared, that might prove her salvation."

"A surgeon is utterly impossible."

"But why?" I was astounded. "I know that a tree bars the way into town, but could not a single horse pa.s.s where a larger conveyance might not?"

"Did we send for the surgeon the entire night through, Miss Austen, we should a.s.suredly find him already called out."

"But you cannot know this for a certainty!"

"I fear that 1 can. I fear that I do" do" At that, Sidmouth braced himself against the mantel as though overcome by some powerful emotion, and I was utterly silenced. At that, Sidmouth braced himself against the mantel as though overcome by some powerful emotion, and I was utterly silenced.

The painful pause in our discourse was broken by the turning of the doork.n.o.b, and the silent entrance of a woman so beautiful, that had I not heard the name Sera-phine spoken already by Sidmouth himself, I am certain it should have sprung unbidden to my lips. There was that that of the angel about her, in the graceful movement of her carriage, and her liquid gaze, and the unbound glory of her golden hair, that inspired one to imagine wings fluttering in the shadows to her back. And of a certainty, her appearance was not quite of this world-for though her face bore the lines of n.o.bility, her clothing proclaimed her neither housemaid nor lady, but a common labourer of the fields. She was arrayed in a simple gown of nankeen, such as a milkmaid might wear; stout boots that had seen much use; and a flowing red cloak. An unlit lant-horn of a curious design-tall and cylindrical, and possessed of a spout-was in her right hand. of the angel about her, in the graceful movement of her carriage, and her liquid gaze, and the unbound glory of her golden hair, that inspired one to imagine wings fluttering in the shadows to her back. And of a certainty, her appearance was not quite of this world-for though her face bore the lines of n.o.bility, her clothing proclaimed her neither housemaid nor lady, but a common labourer of the fields. She was arrayed in a simple gown of nankeen, such as a milkmaid might wear; stout boots that had seen much use; and a flowing red cloak. An unlit lant-horn of a curious design-tall and cylindrical, and possessed of a spout-was in her right hand.

"There you are at last," Sidmouth said, with a touch of impatience.

The angel made no reply, but awaited his command.

'This is Miss Jane Austen."

Her gaze turned my way, as cold as the breath of a sepulchre. Then she looked her enquiry to Sidmouth. To my surprise, he broke into a torrent of French, a language with which I am somewhat familiar; but the rapidity of his speech left me quickly behind. A few words only I caught-dogs, and and the bay, the bay, and perhaps and perhaps the men; the men; and then Seraphine was gesturing towards me, her lovely face overcome with suspicion, and Sidmouth abrupdy silencing her with a word. That it was an incomprehensible one to me- and then Seraphine was gesturing towards me, her lovely face overcome with suspicion, and Sidmouth abrupdy silencing her with a word. That it was an incomprehensible one to me-lascargon-made no difference to the angel. She turned on her heel in a swirl of red wool, and was as swiftly gone; and I drew a deep breath, and looked for an explanation to Sidmouth-who clearly intended to offer me none. His face was once more to the fire, and his hands clasped behind. As if sensible of my gaze, he roused himself, and met my eyes with a single long look; then he bowed, and made for the door.

"Mr. Sidmouthr I cried.

"Yes, Miss Austen?" He halted in the. very act of exiting, and offered a lifted eyebrow.

"This is a very singular household indeed," I burst out.