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CHAPTER XXII

Having been lucky enough to enjoy a few winters in Town, Mary now understood that numbers worked a little differently in Kent. In her first winter in London, the short month of February had sped past in a flash, a whirl of arcades and outings. This year, all thanks to that new baby, she was stuck out at Hatch and the same twenty-eight days dragged like a decade. No doubt even the thought would be taken as yet further evidence against her true piety, yet Mary was convinced of it: God created the Capital to spare one the trials of an over-long winter.

To add to the misery, it seemed that everyone was up there while Mary was not. Kind Mr Austen Knight had taken his three unmarried daughters to an hotel, from which Cassy wrote often. She reported that Ned had, typically, emerged unscathed from recent events; George was also often around, despite the great pressure of Chambers; and with the House now in session, even Sir Edward was enjoying himself in Portland Place with dear Lady Banks. Meanwhile, Mary stayed alone, with the Mother, her child and multiple nurses. Could life get any worse?

Apparently so. For, as a bluebottle drawn to the fresh corpse of poor Mary’s joy, Dr Knatchbull landed at Hatch.

One afternoon, somewhere in the long middle of that eternal, short month, Mary returned from a solitary walk to find the new guest was arrived.

‘Sir.’ She dropped into a modest curtsey, and made for a chair in the hope of being ignored. Only to find that he leaped to his feet, grasped her cold hand and, rather dramatically, kissed it.

‘Madam.’ The bow was extreme: too long and too low. ‘I had very much hoped to find you in residence, having wished to deepen our acquaintance since that dance in Ashford. Was it not the most pleasant of evenings?’

There was something a little over-moist about the mouth when he spoke. A certain dampness hung in the air between them. Mary waited politely, issued a suggestive stare at the hand still trapped in his. At last, she was free to sit down and take tea.

‘Dr Knatchbull was just saying that he hopes to stay with us through to the summer, while works are done on his rectory at Smeeth.’ Fanny fussed around with a teapot and cakes. ‘Is that not excellent news? I fear poor Mary has found it very quiet here lately, sir, with no other young …’

Mary looked across at the tall, sombre, learned clergyman and tried to guess at his age, but it was not obvious. Though he might still be young, he could just as equally pass as a septuagenarian. She put him down as one of those poor unfortunates, rather like the Mama, who had simply been old since the womb.

‘Then perhaps I might try to entertain you a little?’ the gentleman simpered. ‘I was most encouraged by the interest you showed in my subject – the Ancients and Arabic , as I am sure you recall. It is my dearest hope that these long months together will afford much opportunity for us to explore things in greater depth . I hereby attest there is nothing else in the world that could bring me such intense pleasure .’

Mary stared at her plate in horror. This was all her own fault. That minor flirtation had been taken as major encouragement. And now … was there not something unseemly about his delivery? The man was Sir Edward’s half-brother. He was her very own uncle! Surely, the Mama must be shocked and appalled. Someone must put a stop to it.

Instead: ‘What a splendid idea,’ Fanny exclaimed. ‘ Exactly the diversion required!’

Though Mary still felt every right to expect some sort of protection from this awful oppressor, it gradually dawned that he and Fanny had in fact formed some alliance. What on earth could explain it? Mary had no idea. But it was clear that the next weeks would be very delicate.

When not under attack from one quarter – ‘Now this, though perhaps a bit long, I accept, should have all you need to know on Ptolemy. If you find it a struggle, then pray, do call for guidance. I should be only too happy’ – Mary was in skirmish with the other. Biographical facts struck her like bullets: ‘Though he did have an arrangement with a lady, that is in the past and, one gathers, all to the best,’ Fanny explained, ever helpful. ‘There was even a rumour she hailed from Surrey , but that may have been malice. People can be so cruel, Mary.’

Details of Dr Knatchbull’s property rained down on her head: ‘It is, as I say, an exceptional house of its type . Do you think you might like a rectory, dear? It appeals to me as a rather romantic life. Do you know, my own grandfather was also a Man of the Church? Of course, one might lose in comfort, yet there is also so much to be said for good, plain respectability .’

Though her arsenal was limited and weapons but few, Mary employed all she could in self-protection. Good works got her out of the house, although the wretched short days of darkness meant she could not stay out late. On the other hand, the season did bring with it an excellent array of possible illnesses, and she claimed to fall victim to one after the other. In some other household, this poor pattern of health might have raised some suspicion. After all, did not Mary ail only when Dr Knatchbull was in residence? When he was called to Oxford or Smeeth, was she not, by some miracle, suddenly well? It went without notice, and Mary stayed, calm but alone, in her room. Even the leeches seemed but a small price to pay. Better to lose blood than the soul.

Of course, there were still dinners – terrible dinners à trois – which she simply had to attend, but there she drew her smallest stiletto. Mary had discovered, quite by chance, that if she addressed him as ‘ My uncle ’, then both enemies flinched. It was as devastating as the pause on ‘… Mama .’ Once learned, she pursued it with vigour.

And come the day when she simply had to break free or risk losing her sanity, Mary slipped through the front door, crawled beneath all the windows and dashed to the stables.

‘Af’noon, miss.’ Daniel the coachman was scrubbing her father’s large bay. ‘But if you’re after a ride, I’m afeared you’re to be disappointed.’ He cocked his head at the shining, huge carriage which had been rashly purchased without the requisite increase of staff to support it. ‘Be no more time for trotting out with you, miss.’

‘Then I could go alone …’

‘And have Sir Edward find out?’ He shook his head, and went back to the flank. ‘More than my life’s worth.’

‘And more than mine’s worth to stay.’ Mary grabbed at his sleeve. ‘Daniel, I beg you … Or I shall simply die of the boredom .’

Within minutes, she was out and alone in quite open country. For the first time in weeks, a sense of living returned to her, thrumming through her limbs. And did not Nature feel the same way? Locked away in her apartment, Mary had no notion of spring, but now she saw hedgerows heavy with catkins, shining primrose beneath. She smiled, turned her face to the watery light and relished the prospect of the happiness ahead. Soon her friends would return. The Knight boys would flock back for the summer. How had Miss Cassandra Austen put it? A new world of green.

The pale sun was now slipping; the horizon glowed pink. With a start, Mary realised the hour, looked around to see where she was. And – oh! – was not that the castle at Chilham? The crenellations, the flagpole … Then, quite without meaning it – by no sort of design – had she not travelled almost to Godmersham …?

With a pull on the reins, she brought the horse to a stop before heading home; she raised her eyes to the vista: saw the silhouette of a dog on the brow of the hill. One could not mistake it: that was Lord Byron! And only then did she notice the human figure beside him. How very odd of young Mr Knight to be here now, when he could be in London. So, still the singular kingfisher, then. Mary smiled to herself, heard the dog bark, as if calling her name. And, with her heart in her throat, turned the horse around and rode back to Hatch at great speed.

Cassy returned to Kent the following week, and rode over to Hatch at the first opportunity.

‘ Darling! ’ she shrieked as the two girls embraced. ‘I came the minute I could. Did you near die without me?’

‘Oh, it has been perfectly hideous. You can have no idea, how—’ Mary pulled back and took a good look at her friend. ‘I can see London agreed with you, madam.’ Ever a pretty girl, Cassy was suddenly a young woman at the peak of her bloom.

‘Not without its diversions, I must confess. So much to share —’

With his own, impeccable timing, Dr Knatchbull came into the drawing room and launched into a detailed report of the improvements at Smeeth. ‘Though the addition of an orangery may seem an expense, however—’

‘Sir, do forgive me but I feel rather faint. Do you mind—?’ Mary grabbed Cassy’s hand and pulled her out of the house to the air.

‘Phew.’ Her whole being seemed to sigh with relief. ‘Here at least we can talk. Catholics have the confessional; Knatchbulls the gravel. This is where my parents come when there are things to discuss.’

They linked arms and began a tour of the circle.

‘And so who was that, pray?’

‘Oh, Cass . Where to begin?’ Mary had not dared to mention Dr Knatchbull in her letters – suppose Fanny had learned of it? Only now could she recount the whole, hideous saga. ‘And the worst thing is – really, I struggle but I swear it is true – I believe they mean me to marry him . Uncle as husband ! Is that not a scandal?’

But to Mary’s astonishment, Cassy showed no surprise. Instead, she said simply: ‘So that is the gentleman. In which case, oh dear.’

‘You knew ?’

‘Don’t shriek! They’ll hear.’ Cass looked at the house and dragged Mary away from it. ‘I shall tell all, but in turn you must promise me not to hate Fan. She’s a good sort deep down, you know, and wants only the best for you.’

So even a friendship such as theirs could not compete with the Family. In that moment, Mary was returned to her childhood. Once again, she was completely alone.

‘I gather it’s come out of all that flirting with George. I mean, dear sister and all that but she does rather err on the side of the cautious. Seems she was watching – eyes in the back of her head, Cakey says – and rather took fright. Scared you might turn into one of those dangerous women .’

‘Me?’ Mary was stunned. ‘She cannot possibly think … We heard her say it ourselves: I have not once in her hearing said boo to a goose.’

‘Darling, you are positively angelic . But the poor woman lives in terror of that husband of hers – forgive me, your dearest papa and all that, but still – she just wants you all tucked up and settled, out of harm’s way.’

Mary stopped walking and stared at her friend. ‘This is pure insanity and yet you report it as a matter of fact. Am I to think you approve?’

Cassy cried out with a smile: ‘Pray, allow me to finish!’ and grabbed Mary’s arm as she took back to walking. ‘Having now met said Romeo, I quite accept your learned opinion that good Lady Knatchbull has gone quite staring mad. Of course you cannot marry him ! Heaven forfend! I hereby forbid it. We pledged once, remember? I shall carry you off with me to Ireland, if I must.’

‘Ireland? Well, that would be drastic.’ Mary laughed, faith returned. ‘You are funny, dear.’ Then she stopped again, and turned with eyes stretched to their limits. ‘Ireland … Lord George Hill lives in … Cassy? ’

‘He asked! Darling, he actually asked . And Papa has consented.’

Reunited in happiness, they clung to each other and sobbed.

In the highest of spirits, Mary swung down to breakfast. ‘Good morning, Mama,’ she trilled.

Lady Knatchbull sighed into the letter she was reading. ‘I am glad someone is cheerful.’

After two excellent weeks of parties and sport, Mary was very cheerful indeed. Dr Knatchbull had gone away, fun was returned and with the start of yet another fine day, she was at the top of her tree. Still, one moment with the Mother and she was now thoroughly squashed.

‘It seems you are not.’ She went to the side and filled up her plate. ‘I am sorry to hear it – Ma- ma .’

Fanny emitted a longer, even heavier sigh, dropped the paper and turned to her tea. ‘More bad news, I’m afraid. Still, I will not blame myself. My father was in charge, after all. No doubt, had I been there, this might not have happened but one cannot do everything , Mary. Not with a baby . The precious must be my priority. One’s hands are quite full enough.’

‘May I ask—’

‘Hmm?’ Fanny met her eyes for the first time that morning. ‘I suppose you shall hear, in the end. The arrangement between Cassy and Lord George Hill. It’s all over. Not our side, of course. Oh, no! Yet again, we Knights are found wanting. “All charms, and no money,” or so says his mother . Though it pains me to admit, the fear begins to take root: we are struggling to marry even one of them off. At this rate—’

But she was addressing a quite empty room.

Daniel did not even argue it now. One glance at Mary and he handed over the horse; watched with some horror as they bolted out of the stable.

Once clear of the house, she stopped to bunch up her skirts. There was no time for side-saddle. She must get to her friend. Oh, poor darling Cassy! That sweet heart must surely break now.

She flew over hedges, thundered across fields and fury – burning, white hot – built in her chest. The names of other such ladies swam into her mind. A roll call of war dead: Marianne, Miss Atkinson; even, there was cause to suspect, Lady Elizabeth Bligh. All of them bewitched and then thwarted. So then can none ever hope to marry for love? Or must they all just surrender to duty, like Fanny?

Iron now entered into her soul.

Mary came to the castle but sailed on straight past. The same silhouette appeared on the brow of the hill at the limit of the Knight estate. Again, he had seen her. Again, he waved and Lord Byron barked out her name.

And this time, she charged straight towards them.