place as my spirits were so low at the time. We stayed but a fortnight.’
‘Mr Austen and I love Bath,’ said my aunt. ‘We speak often of spending our retirement there.’
‘The Comte found it excessively diverting, but of course he was often distracted by business in France.’
‘And he was called away suddenly was he not?’
‘Why yes, he was told by friends that if he did not return immediately he might be designated as an émigré, barred from ever returning, and all his property would be forfeit, so naturally he had to go back.’
‘When shall you see him again?’ asked Jane.
‘I know not. Perhaps if things grow calmer there, when I am stronger I might perhaps—’
My uncle interrupted: ‘My dear you must not think of it at present. You must keep yourself and the child as safe as possible.’
My uncle looked thoughtful, and I expected he was congratulating himself on refusing to transfer my capital to France. He would not want to see it confiscated and, to confess the truth, neither would I.
‘We shall have a fine time while you are here. Our young men are mostly gone, but Jane has been scribbling mightily and you will be well entertained.’
I had been too bound up with all my distress lately to read much of Jane’s latest work, but I know that she has indeed been ’scribbling mightily’ and look forward to enjoying the new work.
‘Now where do you advise me to begin Jane?’ I said.
‘Well, there is ‘Lesley Castle’—that is the one I dedicated to Henry—and ‘Frederick and Elfreda’—that one is for our friend Martha. Or you might start with ‘Sir William Montague.’ There is a good murder in that one and I am sending it to Charles.’
‘Oh yes, poor little Charles is gone away to sea like his brother Frank is he not?’
‘Yes,’ said my uncle, ‘and no longer poor little Charles, but midshipman C. Austen at Royal Naval Academy at Portsmouth. He will be at sea before his fourteenth birthday and plans to become an admiral!’
‘Depending upon how long you are to stay with us,’ said Jane, smiling, ‘I may have something longer to show you. I am pondering on how a novel may be made from correspondence.’
I did not know how long I would stay; I knew only that Steventon was at this moment the most comfortable place I could imagine and settled down to read.
ELEVEN
Jane Austen, Steventon
1793
I f Henry came only to quarrel with Eliza, I wonder that he bothered to come home from Oxford at all. He is, after all, well established there now, a respected scholar and far from the callow schoolboy who was so besotted with her a few years ago. But none of us was surprised that when he heard she was to stay with us for a prolonged period after her sad bereavement, it did not take him long to decide that urgent business called him home. Just what this urgent business was we never discovered, since he seems to have time aplenty to walk and ride with Eliza. I often accompany them—it is a great pleasure to have her carriage at our disposal that we might call on our friends as we wish without waiting for the roads to be clear enough of mud to be able to walk.
We are especially grateful to be able to see Martha and Mary Lloyd more frequently. As James was to be married, the parsonage they had previously lived in was his now and they had to remove to Ibthorpe, a greater distance away.
I remarked to Eliza that I had noticed how married people were able to take precedence over single ones in so many ways and this was but one example.
‘Yes indeed, dear Jane, never forget that marriage is all to a woman of small fortune, so try to ensure that you are not left an old maid.’
‘But how shall I do that?’
‘Why, with your pretty face and your wit, you should be able to make a good match and, you know, it is as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.’
‘How shall I know when I am in love?’ I asked. It was a matter I had often discussed with my sister.
‘Now
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