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CHAPTER XVIII

That summer, it was decreed the Knatchbulls would remove themselves to Hampshire to spend some time with the Knights. Mary was not sure how or why this decision was reached – it was her lot to be moved through life as a piece on a chess board – but still it delighted her. Almost anywhere was more amusing than Hatch with only her parents for company, but to be with dear friends was the best outcome of all.

She and Cassy travelled together, with Sir Edward and Lady Knatchbull following closely behind. Having been separated for some months, the girls passed the first part of the journey in play, gossip and shrieking, so that Booker was forced to issue sharp knocks on the window from her place on the back. But as they thundered through Surrey, travel fatigue overcame them – how Mary hated long journeys – and they slumped into quiet.

At last, the carriage turned off the turnpike, swung on to a lane and, as they came to the edge of the village, the horses fell from a gallop down into a trot.

‘And so here we are,’ Cassy announced. ‘The mad, giddy heart of the village of Chawton!’

Mary, suddenly revived, pressed up to the window; she saw a singular street but of its population there was no obvious sign. To her right was an inn, though it was possibly closed, and beside that, a modest round duck pond. There were some signs of life – if one were to count the drake with its beak under its wing or the man stretched out on the grass, face obscured by his cap. But not enough to prevent Mary stating the obvious deficiencies from the girls’ point of view. ‘Not quite the Pleasure Gardens.’

‘As if we would ever be allowed,’ Cassy pointed out. ‘I say. Imagine an evening there with Lady Knatchbull. ’ They collapsed into each other with a fit of the giggles. ‘Dear oh dear.’ Cassy collected herself. ‘But all the boys will arrive soon and, as Cakey always tells us, we must make our own entertainment. Oh, before we turn off, one more great landmark.’ She pulled Mary over and signalled to the left. ‘That is where my grandmama lives.’

‘Ah.’ Mary sprang to attention. ‘Then so does Miss Austen.’ It was a neat brick house with a porch around the door; its garden a tangle of roses and foxgloves; the bough of a plum tree rich with new fruit: modest, yet with a certain dignity and an immediate charm. As the carriage took to the right, Mary craned her neck to study it further. She was undoubtedly struck. Though the building itself could have no particular importance, still it had in its possession some unmistakeable air …

‘I must visit, of course,’ said Cassy. ‘Might you come with me, dearest? Would it be too dreary, after the dire year that you’ve had? The dear lady is frightfully old and—’

‘But of course,’ Mary cried. ‘I should love to meet Mrs Austen and spend more time with your aunt.’ Though they might joke about running wild in insalubrious places, in truth it was the last thing that either desired, being both sweet, good Christian girls. ‘And anyway, I am your sister now, pray do remember – so surely that makes her my grandmother, too.’

They were now on a lane, going away from the village, with low, ancient cottages clinging to one side and vast, green, open parkland falling away from the other.

Mary felt her heart lift. ‘But this is charming! I must fall ill more often, if this is the cure.’

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again.’ Cassy flung an arm around her neck, and held tight. ‘We cannot live without you and I hereby forbid it.’ Then a smile came into her voice. ‘Now, here we come … Wait and prepare …’

The carriage turned left from the lane, and Mary heard her own gasp. ‘So this is it.’

They took to the long, straight drive, ancient oak standing sentry; passed a small, pretty church nestled down in the dip. Their path rose up again; Mary saw barns and a stables. And then there, just below the hill’s brow, proud in its green parkland as a jewel upon velvet, she beheld the glorious vision of the Great House.

‘Oh, do look!’ Cassy was squealing. ‘Dear Ned is out there, awaiting us! How handsome he looks: soon to be master of all he surveys, with that darling hound there by his side. I rather think Chawton suits him completely.’

But Mary made no reply. What cared she for Ned, or even his dog in that moment? Her eyes were for the house only; the house alone. It was solid white stucco, softened by stone gables and harked back to the time of Elizabeth’s reign. In her fond imaginings, she could see a fair lady, bedecked in a coif, gazing back through the mullion.

This was quite unlike Hatch, or Godmersham, or any other of the houses which Mary knew well. They were all modern affairs, created to feed a desire for ostentation and luxury. The Great House was born some centuries before, and from a more serious purpose: shelter for large, long generations; the manor upon which the entire village had cause to rely. Put beside this, the product of the mere present looked flimsy; inferior.

Mary was struck by the thought that to be mistress of Chawton would be something indeed.

She looked forward to dinner with considerable interest and only some trepidation. After all, this was the first time that Sir Edward and young Mr Knight had been at the same table since that first, unfortunate occasion when her parents were newly engaged. Though a repeat of those fireworks would be more than diverting, Mary presumed that their host would be using this opportunity to make amends for the past. For surely Ned would now want to curry favour with her papa? Everyone else did, after all. By some power which she could not quite understand, Sir Edward Knatchbull was simply one of those men whom other men were desperate to please.

As they all took to their seats in the ancient, oak-panelled room, charged their plates and turned to their food, Ned began his remarks in expected fashion. ‘It is an honour and a pleasure to have you all here at the Great House.’

Dull pleasantries were exchanged, Mary’s interest in the diners started to wane, and she directed it instead at the cracked portraits in oil lining the walls. Who were all those subjects? Had they, too, once suffered tedium at this very table? If so, she wondered how they had borne it … And just then, Ned picked up all caution as if it were a cricket ball and hurled it away, high and long, into the close, dining room air.

‘Indeed, Sir Edward, you were in my thoughts only last week when, strangely enough, I happened to find myself in your house on Great George Street.’

‘What on earth —?’ Fanny exclaimed, dropping her fork. ‘But we have not been there for some months!’

Sir Edward said nothing, though Mary could not help but notice his face had turned purple.

‘Did you not know, Fan?’ Ned asked cheerily. ‘Lord Byron was lying in state, as they rather grandly termed it, in your very drawing room!’ Before adding, for clarity: ‘The late, great poet that is – not my good friend.’ He reached down to the dog – who, to popular surprise, was also invited to dinner – and stroked him. ‘Imagine the loss of this noble beast! Too tragic to—’

‘Sir Edward ?’ Fanny turned to her husband in shock. ‘Surely my brother must be mistaken .’

‘Forgive me, my dear.’ Though he spoke to his wife with a voice under control, his eyes were on Ned. And Mary could see all the familiar signs of his fury. ‘I felt no need to bother you with this most trifling affair. It was no more than a commercial arrangement made with a highly respectable contact of mine.’

‘And one that stands greatly to your credit, Sir Edward.’ Ned supped at his wine. ‘In his lifetime, the famed nobleman was one of the most coveted guests in any society household. And to think: yours is the only one which can claim the great honour of having hosted the corpse .’

Fanny placed a hand on her bosom. ‘I shudder to think …’ She turned to Sir Edward. ‘That wicked creature! And I take it that this is common knowledge?’

Ned answered for him. ‘I should say so, old girl. You had half of London tramping through your front door. The queue snaked down right to the Park.’

Sir Edward glowered; Fanny paled. Mary and Cassy shared a look of astonishment. Of course they adored Lord Byron! How could they not? Dearest Miss Atkinson, their much-loved once-governess, had worshipped both the man and his verse. Naturally, the girls had no choice but to copy her.

‘To think, darling!’ Cassy whispered. ‘ We have been in the same room !’

‘I can hardly believe it.’ A shiver shot down Mary’s spine.

Unfortunately, their hushed words came at a time of no conversation and, instead of ignoring them, Ned chose to reply.

‘And you may find, girls, that when you next go there, he is lingering still. After all, he died some months ago, then had to be carried by sea from Greece. So by the time he came to call at Number Twenty Great George Street’ – Ned put a finger beneath his aquiline nose and burst into laughter – ‘our national hero was not quite at his best.’

The next day, Sir Edward was, sadly, called away on some ‘business’ – though on the exact details of said business he was, oddly, vague. And whenever her husband was absent and she was back in the bosom of her own family, Fanny took the opportunity to relax her normally assiduous performance of the maternal role. All of which meant that Mary was able to run free, in the company of her Knight friends and within the confines of that lovely estate.

She and Cassy, her favourite playmate, were joined by George and William Knight. And her own brother, Norton, was out of school for the holidays, though the younger ones were off staying with cousins. Mary missed them, of course. She did not see them as often as she would like, but the Mother was known to find all five stepchildren together a little de trop .

For the whole time of their stay, Ned Knight was a whirlwind. If the weather was fine, he organised games and sports out in the grounds; when conditions allowed, he took all the brothers out with their guns. On top of all that, there was his duty of management of the land and the men. And, owing to some concern for the harvest, he was away from the house on this particularly dull morning in the first week of their stay, when the party of young people decided on a game of Hide and Seek.

George Knight, down in the hall, counting in his deep, lawyerly boom, made Mary smile. How men did like to be boys when they got half a chance! Apart from her own papa, of course … But there was no time to ponder that anomaly now. Instead, she scampered up the stairs, past the maid on her knees with the beeswax – slipped on the new gleam – and came out on the landing. Known to the family as the Haunted Gallery, it was not her preferred Chawton location. There had been verified sightings , they said … She quailed; dithered about which way to turn; heard George bellow: ‘Coming!’ and, in a panic, climbed on to the seat at the long mullioned window, drew the heavy crewel curtain and hid.

Hugging her knees, heart thumping at ribs, Mary tried to keep herself calm by gazing out at the vista. The little flint church of St Nicholas, squat in its graveyard, she decided must be among the most charming in England and thought that if one really must die – and she would much rather not – it would be a fine place to rest in eternity. Though, for the living , was it not a little too close to the house? Suppose one or two of the spirits were not peaceful but actually restless?

And just then, Mary heard footsteps – slow; tread heavy – cross the floor of the attic over her head. She shrank into the panelling. The boots descended the stairs, and began their slow plod along the – yes! – along the Haunted Gallery. She covered her face to stifle her screams. The curtain was torn back. She was exposed! Mary’s heart stopped.

It was Ned. How shy she had been on their first solo encounter in Godmersham. Now, such was Mary’s relief that he was not, after all, some unfortunate Tudor in want of a head, she simply laughed.

‘Found her!’ Ned called over his shoulder, while looking down upon her with a crinkling smile. ‘Good work, Miss Knatchbull. You discovered the best nook in the house – the one I always use, as it happens. The others are nowhere near brave enough. Now you have proved both your courage and skill, I shall be honoured to share it with you in the future.

‘But for now’ – he did not take her hand, but stepped back and gestured that she should come out – ‘sad to say, your revels are ended .’

She stared up, wide-eyed.

‘Lady Knatchbull awaits you down in the parlour.’

It was a relief to discover that the Mama only wanted Mary and Cassy to join her in paying a visit.

‘Well, this is a pleasure.’ Miss Cassandra Austen gathered up her darning, hid it under her armchair and rose up to greet them. ‘You are so kind to call on we poor ladies, in our little cottage.’

She kissed Fanny and Cassy, and smiled upon Mary, who at once fell into her best curtsey.

‘ Mother, dear? ’ At the top of her voice, Miss Austen was addressing the sofa, upon which sat a bundle of black clothing with a white cap balanced on its top. Old Mrs Austen, whose hearing was obviously poor, jerked awake and gazed round. ‘ Do look who has come .’

The grandmother accordingly looked. Though it was clear that she also had struggles with her sight, those clouded old eyes still had a twinkle. ‘Well I never did! Lady Knatchbull come at last, is it? This is an honour, indeed. We barely see you these days, my dear.’

‘Really, Mama,’ Miss Austen chided, while straightening the older lady’s cap. ‘We can hardly expect it. Fanny is now a married lady , and to a gentleman of great consequence . She has her hands full.’ And then raised her voice again: ‘ I said, her hands are quite— ’

‘Oh, I do not doubt.’ Mrs Austen gave a knowing smile, and patted the space by her side. ‘Well, now you are here, do sit for a moment and tell me all about your new, interesting life.’

Mary was intrigued to observe Fanny obey with an impeccable politeness, combined with a marked reluctance. Why would she not be pleased to see her own grandmother? Mary was sure that if she had one of her own, she would thrill at the prospect. Meanwhile, Miss Austen went to the kitchen to order refreshments before settling down with the two girls. She quizzed them both on their stay – enjoyed the stories of fun and games – before becoming impatient at the maid’s failure to appear with the tray.

‘You stay here, Aunt.’ Cassy grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her upstanding. ‘Let us go and see.’

They helped the one maid in the clean, simple kitchen and were on their way back – in the little vestibule outside the parlour – when, as was their habit, the girls stopped to listen to the conversation inside.

‘I do like your Mary, my dear.’ Miss Austen was speaking to Fanny. ‘ I was just saying, Mother .’ Yet again, she was forced to raise her voice, which was becoming increasingly strained. ‘ I do like this little Mary Dorothea. ’

Cassy shot Mary a look of wide-eyed pride and delight. And Mary herself could not but feel pleased.

‘ Do you, Aunt?’ they heard Fanny reply. Mary could tell from the note of surprise in her tone that her face had that familiar, quizzical expression. Cassy looked cross.

‘Oh, very much indeed.’ Miss Austen was emphatic. ‘I was particularly struck by her instantaneous affinity with our beloved Chawton. It is not to everybody’s taste. Indeed, I remember the first visit made by your beloved late mama, God rest her soul. Sad to say, the Great House was not to her liking, yet Miss Knatchbull loves it at once.’

‘ Does she?’ Still, Fanny seemed rather puzzled.

Mary nodded at Cassy with vigour.

‘And furthermore,’ Miss Austen went on, ‘she is so taken with our beloved Knights, which I do love to see. Miss Knatchbull is very fond of your grandchildren, Mama! ’

Mary blew a silent kiss towards Cassy, who placed a hand to her own heart.

‘And they her, if I am not mistaken. She certainly seems to have caught our George’s eye. George, Mother! I was just saying he SEEMS RATHER KEEN … ’

Cassy was now doubled up, and clutching her sides. Mary bade her hush, desperate to hear the Mother’s reply:

‘Aunt, pray forgive me.’ Fanny sounded sharp now, and firm. ‘But I think you must be mistaken. Mary is such a timid, plain little thing.’

Cassy clamped a hand to her mouth to stop the scream of amused outrage.

‘The poor girl can hardly say boo to a goose, let alone flirt with a gentleman .’ She gave a shrill, confident laugh. ‘And as her mama, I do keep her under quite tight control.

‘So no, my dear Aunt. There is nothing like that going on and nor will it ever. Of that I am perfectly sure.’