Jane Fairfax Page 8

  “Sir,” said Jane stoutly, “Rachel draws very well! Professor Kramer said so. He awarded her a gold star at our last lesson. He had never given a gold star to any of his pupils before. He said so.”

  “I rejoice to hear it,” the Colonel replied drily. “Then let Rachel apply herself to landscapes and water-colours and — and subjects appropriate to females. There — that will do, Jane; run along. And pray let me not hear Miss Winstable complain of you again.”

  “And certainly not impertinent caricatures,” she heard him mutter to himself as she left the room.

  Shortly after this interview Jane was told that she would be permitted to return to Highbury for a visit.

  She had, for some time, been making gentle but persistent demands: “Pray, sir, pray, Mrs Campbell, pray allow me to go home now; Grandmamma and Aunt Hetty must need me, I am very sure they do; they have not said so in their letters, but I cannot imagine how they can go on for so long without me to perform a hundred little tasks that need doing for them —” But on each occasion some reason against her visiting Highbury had always been found by the Colonel or Mrs Campbell. “The winter was a bad time to travel; Jane would be better in London, in a large, warm, well-aired house than in the damp, foggy country, sadly subject as she was to colds and rheumy affections of the chest and throat,” “Maria Dickons was to take the part of the Countess in The Marriage of Figaro; it would be a shocking pity to miss such an important performance and Rachel would be sorry to hear it without her friend,” “there was a concert at the Pantheon of songs by Purcell which Signor Negretti had particularly recommended,” “Colonel Campbell’s friends the Dixons, from Ireland, would be in London after Easter, and Rachel was always so much more at ease in company if she had Jane to support her.”

  All these excuses had sufficed to keep Jane in town through January, February, and March; but now April was come, and Jane became even more urgent to return to her native place. She thought of the daffodils, the green haze of honeysuckle buds over the hedges, the brooks running high with rainwater; although she had developed a true attachment to Rachel, felt towards her, indeed, as she might to a dear sister, yet she longed for home. No 12, Manchester Square certainly was not yet considered as home, though, as the Colonel had foretold, she was beginning to put down roots.

  In point of fact the long-deferred permission to revisit Highbury was intended, when it came, she strongly suspected, not in the least as a piece of indulgence but more as a lesson, a remedial exercise to remind her, by a taste of the adversities and inconveniences she had left behind, that she had a great deal to lose by failure to please her benefactors; that her presence in Manchester Square was still on sufferance, dependent on conformity and submission, revokable at any time.

  “But they cannot possibly guess,” she thought, “how very much I long to be back in Surry, or they would never suppose sending me there to be a form of discipline.” Indeed she was so overjoyed at the permission when it came, thanking the Colonel and Mrs Campbell over and over again with unfeigned delight, that she received confirmation of her suspicions by overhearing the Colonel (who was often unaware of the loudness of his own voice) remark to his wife, “I wonder if we do right in arranging this visit? Jane plainly regards it as a treat.” “And why should she not?” calmly returned Mrs Campbell. “I am convinced that she is a sensible, deserving child. She loves her relations as she ought. And she has certainly worked hard at her lessons. Rachel is devoted to her and will miss her sadly; I believe Jane will miss Rachel also.” “Humph. That may be no bad thing,” muttered the Colonel. “I daresay, at all events, that she will soon have had enough of being cooped up at Highbury.”

  Indignant at this, and wishing to advertise her presence in the conservatory (where she was sorting music) Jane thumped down the piano lid, which caused a startled silence in the next chamber, followed by the sound of hasty retreating footsteps.

  On this occasion, perhaps because she was slightly in disgrace, Jane was not escorted into Surry by the Colonel, but merely sent in charge of a servant, one of the maids, who chanced to have parents at Bookham and was not at all averse at being given the opportunity to visit them.

  Jane and Rachel had exchanged many farewell promises.

  “I shall write to you every single d-day,” vowed Rachel, wiping away tears, “And d-do you do the s-same! Then I shall give S-Signor Negretti s-seven letters to carry to you. C-Come back soon; p-pray pray, d-do not stay t-too long.”

  Jane had asked if it would not be possible for Rachel to come and pay a visit to Highbury. “I would so love to show her all my favourite places, and for her to meet Grandmamma and Aunt Hetty.”

  Mrs Campbell seemed inclined to listen favourably to these suggestions. The fresh country air would certainly be good for Rachel; she had always been well and happy when they were scampering about on foreign mountainsides. But the Colonel pointed out to her, privately, that this indulgence would undermine all his disciplinary intentions. “Let the pair of them be parted for a while. Then they will learn the results of disrespect and selfwill.”

  It was, therefore, arranged that Jane should remain with her Highbury friends for a month. Then, perhaps, depending on a number of contingencies unnamed but understood pretty well by all parties, Rachel might be permitted to accompany her father when he came to fetch Jane.

  “Oh, I do hope so much that you may! For then you can meet all the people that I love; and perhaps there might be time to go to Donwell Abbey and see Mr Knightley …”

  The promised interchange of letters commenced at once; Jane kept a copious daily memoir of her simple life at Highbury; and Signor Negretti, on his visits to Hartfield, was able to hand over a fat bundle of correspondence from Rachel, who wrote a remarkably adult hand, with very few crossings-out or spelling errors, embellishing her epistles with tiny skilful sketches; and was able to tell her best, her dearest, most cherished Jane that the Dixons had arrived from Ireland (where Colonel Campbell had originally met them while on military duty in that country); that the parents, Major and Mrs Dixon, were lively, friendly, and well-bred, whereas the two boys, Matt and Sam, were a shocking pair of hobble-de-hoys, from having been permitted to run wild and consort with ragged Irish peasant boys, their language at times was almost incomprehensible; but still they were very friendly and good natured and could at times, she must admit, be extremely entertaining. Colonel Campbell was wholly scandalized at their uncouth manners, and the advantage of this was that Rachel’s own defects, for once, paled into insignificance and were often overlooked. “But just the same I miss you every hour, every minute! Come back very soon, my dear, dearest Jennie. And, meanwhile, give me all the intelligence of Highbury: Sig. Negretti informs me that you have returned to lessons and practise at Hartfield. How is the horrid Emma? Is she still as horrid as ever? I almost hope so, for if you were to become great friends, I should be so jealous! And how is kind, handsome Mr Knightley? Is he still as kind and heroic as ever? Does he take you riding? — The Churchills are back in town and Mrs Churchill brought Frank a-calling. She and my Papa fell out about the slave-trade and she gave him a great set-down. Frank C is grown handsome and by his air and manner makes the Dixon boys seem like wild savages. Here are drawings of them all three: Matt is the one with the wild shaggy black hair. Papa tells Matt and Sam that they should take Frank C for an example, which makes them die of laughing for they think he is a coxcomb. — Your deeply attached, loving faithful friend Rachel Campbell.”

  Jane wrote back, via the Signor: “Darling Rachel, your letters are a joy. I laugh and cry over them and can see Manchester Square, your house, and all the people in it as I read every line. I miss you so very much! But I am glad that you have so much company to amuse you, and that the terrible Dixon boys divert your Papa’s severities from you. — About your Papa, my grandmother, who is the wisest person I know, said a curious thing. I had been telling her about your troubles (I know you will not mind my having done so, for I love you both so very dearly) and s
he said, ‘Rachel ought to ask the Holy Ghost to help her.’ I said, ‘Why the Holy Ghost, Grandmamma?’ She said, ‘Frederick (that was my grandpa, you know, who used to be vicar of Highbury) Frederick always used to say that when a person was in trouble or embarrassment, or sudden danger, the Holy Ghost was the most convenient Authority to apply to for help.’ ‘Why so, Grannie?’ ‘Well, you see, my child, God the Father and Jesus are so very much occupied with all the great, terrible troubles of the world. They may be too busy to come at once. But the Holy Ghost is like a Curate, always ready to attend to the needs of small people.’ She assured me that the Holy Ghost had very often helped her. ‘Tell your friend Rachel this, and she will soon find that I am right.’ So here I am telling you, and hope from the bottom of my heart that her advice will be useful.

  “Yes, I have seen the horrid Emma! She is not near so plump as she used to be, and has grown quite handsome. But I felt equal to her just the same because, for the first time in our lives, I was able to face her wearing nice new clothes of my own (for which I am abundantly, eternally grateful to dear Mrs Campbell) instead of being rigged out in used clothes of Emma’s. ‘Well, and so, how are you, Jane?’ says she, looking me up and down. ‘Do you enjoy life in town?’ ‘Oh yes, pretty well,’ said I, and told her such tales of going to Concerts, Astley’s, seeing the King and Queen driving in the park, and Lord Elgin’s carvings, that she was quite silenced for a moment. Then she said that she had rather have seen the Rosetta Stone and the royal princesses, and was it true that fashionable persons now always wore a green eye-shade? I felt — believe it or not — almost sorry for her; there she is, confined to Hartfield and its grounds (for even with Miss Taylor she seldom ventures outside) while I am now acquainted with so many more people than she is, and have witnessed so many more agreeable and varied scenes. Imagine it! she has never even been as far as Kingston, for Mr Woodhouse is now such a sad Invalid.

  “Yes, I have seen dear, dear Mr Knightley! He took me for a ride (not on Ginger who, to my grief, has been sold, but on his little mare Doucette, who is a treasure). We rode over Highbury Common and had a glorious gallop — it has been the greatest joy of my visit so far, apart from the continual happiness of being with Grannie and Aunt Hetty.

  “Mr Knightley told me that his brother John has at last proposed for the hand of Isabella Woodhouse — which everybody knew that he would do, sooner or later. This has thrown poor old Mr Woodhouse into a sad turmoil; he cannot bear the idea of Isabella leaving Hartfield and going to reside in London, where Mr John now practises Law. It will take years, Mr George Knightley believes, before Mr Woodhouse can be brought to consent. — Emma had not mentioned this to me, but Aunt Hetty spoke of it also. I daresay it makes Emma, too, very unhappy, for Isa has always been a kind elder sister to her.

  “Do the Dixons still remain with you? I am very curious to see them, I must confess! And does Frank Churchill stay in town with his aunt and uncle? His father’s new house is being built and goes on slowly; Mr Weston has called here several times and kindly offers to bring me back to London; but that must depend upon your Parents’ consent. We have walked out once or twice on fine days to see the house, which is to be called Randalls, for it is built on land belonging to Farmer Randall; Mr Weston is busy laying out pleasure-grounds and planting fir, mountain ash, acacia, and Lombardy poplars to screen the offices. But it will never be the equal of Donwell Abbey, where Mr Knightley lives. — This comes with my strong and enduring affection, dearest Rachel …”

  When Jane stated that the ride with Mr Knightley had been her happiest time at Highbury so far, she spoke no more than the truth. Mr Knightley had always appeared to her the best, handsomest, most intelligent, kindly and upright adult of her acquaintance (apart of course from dear Grannie and Aunt Hetty) and now, in comparison with the irascible, erratic Colonel Campbell, he appeared even more an example of kindness, good judgment, and probity. To be sure, Colonel Campbell meant very well, had excellent intentions, but he often proved so fallible, whereas Mr Knightley had never been known to deviate from the path of sovereign intelligence and benignity. Happy would be she whom he invited to preside over his establishment at Donwell Abbey. — That is, supposing he ever took such a step; Aunt Hetty held the opinion that he would never marry, for who in the world was good enough for him?

  One aspect of her present sojourn at Highbury troubled Jane deeply. This was that, contrary to expectation, and distressingly fulfilling Colonel Campbell’s prediction, she did not, in fact, find herself so unfailingly happy as she had expected to be. The village was just as delightful, familiar, and welcoming, as anticipated; every tree, leaf, window, chimneypot, thatched roof, every smiling neighbour, every clump of daffodils had the expected charm. And Grannie and Aunt Hetty were overflowing with love and expressive joy at the return of their nurseling. Also, thank heaven, they seemed well; the winter without Jane had not adversely affected their health; neighbours had been unremittingly kind; they had never lacked for company or help when they had required it. But, Jane was obliged to admit to herself after a few days, she now found existence in Highbury more than a little monotonous, more than a little confining; she could go out from the house and walk about the village, of course, but that meant unkindly deserting the two who set such store by her company; and then, the three rooms were so very dark and tiny, airless and crammed with furniture; it was queer that she had never noticed this before. And there were no books. And Aunt Hetty did talk such a great deal! Detesting herself, tortured by unhappy feelings of guilt, Jane could not help a decided hankering for the large sparsely furnished rooms (for Mrs Campbell, as soon as there was a barely adequate supply of chairs, tables, and beds, had quite lost interest in improving her establishment, and immersed herself in philanthropy) at Manchester Square. Jane longed for the large, airy schoolroom, for Rachel’s clever, sympathetic company, for all their books and occupations, for Mrs Campbell’s occasional shrewd, pithy observations, even for Colonel Campbell who, when in affable mood, could be both entertaining and instructive about such issues as the Peace of Amiens, what Buonaparte might do next, and the relations between the King and the Prince of Wales. — Whereas conversation at home seldom related to anything farther afield than the story that some pigs had escaped from the Abbey Farm and done great damage to Mr Perry’s cabbage beds, or the rumour that Mr Pryor, finding the work of the parish grow too much for him, was to provide himself with a curate.

  Jane could not help, from time to time, recalling Emma’s words: “You live in those three dark rooms where there is hardly space to walk about — and your grandmother is so very old — and your aunt talks all the time — how can you bear it?”

  She loved Highbury deeply, and always would, but she knew now, with anguish, that it could not supply with her with all she needed. — Ungratefully, she sometimes wished that the Campbells had never taken her away to teach her this lesson.

  Nor could she avoid sometimes recalling the conversation with Colonel Campbell in which he had outlined the different futures lying ahead for her and Rachel.

  “Your friends have chosen for you the useful and not disagreeable profession of teaching … But, for Rachel, it is otherwise; she must learn to please a man.”

  Why, thought Jane, because we have the ill-luck to be born girls, why are these the only two choices open to us? Boys can elect for the army, the navy, the church, the law, or medicine, or politics; they can write histories, or become painters or musicians; but girls, it seems, can only be mothers of families, or teach; those are the only futures allowed to them. Or they remain spinsters, like Aunt Hetty; and what in the world will become of Aunt Hetty when Grandmamma dies? Her future does not bear thinking about. I only hope that by that time I shall have become governess to some grand family, so that I can let her have a portion of my earnings. Jane shivered a little at the prospect. She thought of Miss Taylor with the Woodhouse family, Miss Winstable with the Campbells. Miss Taylor was used well, treated in every way as one of the family;
but there was no blinking the fact that the Campbells regarded Miss Winstable as being of small account, hardly rated on a level with the family or their friends. “And that is only fair,” thought Jane, “for she is a stupid woman; her only skills are embroidery and the ability to make filigree baskets; and besides that she is malicious and a tale-bearer. But then, what chance has she ever been given to learn anything more? She has spent her entire existence in charge of other people’s children, probably spoiled, peevish, indulged children. Is she what I shall have become in thirty years’ time?”

  The thought was enough to cast her into deep depression.

  “But then, on the other hand, will Rachel’s lot be any better? She must learn to please a man. But what sort of man? A clever, well-informed kind person like Mr Knightley? Or a touchy, unreasonable, uneven-tempered man like Colonel Campbell? And how can poor Rachel ever hope to please any man when she begins to stammer, or breaks into a nosebleed, at the very thought of talking to one of them?”

  Chapter 5

  “There has, here, been a most unexpected Occurrence, my dearest Jenny,” wrote Rachel after Jane had been at Highbury for a couple of weeks. “My Grandmamma Fitzroy has come to live with us. Neither Papa nor Mamma were aware that she had any such intention; so far as we all knew she was comfortably established in Bath. But it seems that she has had reverses in her investments (or something that I do not fully comprehend). At all events she arrived three days ago with all her trunks and bandboxes and some furniture and a shrieking parrot in a cage and her French maid Fleury, and the two of them have already contrived to throw the whole household into disorder. The Dixons were obliged to cut short their visit, for which I am sorry, as I had come to deal very comfortably with Matt and Sam; their queer English, which made me laugh, had begun to improve, and we were practising a number of Irish ballads, for both have good voices and are very fond of music. But, even if there had been sufficient room in the house, they would not have wished to remain here with Grandma Fitzroy. They have removed to friends in Chester and will then return to Ireland, much to my disappointment. I so much wanted you to meet them.