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CHAPTER XXV

That autumn of 1825 was especially clement, as if the weather were blessing them, so that each day, before breakfast, Mary was able to ride out of the stables, cross the low fields still shrouded with mist, head for the high ground of the vast Kentish Downs and trust there to find a sharp, blue-golden morning, full sparkling with promise.

In the first week or two, she had taken good care to stick to the paths around the Knatchbull estate – the edge of the woods or the far side of the lake: the places where she might reasonably expect to be found, should someone come looking. But as that someone did come, every day – without failing her once – Mary grew ever more daring. Her routes became random, confusing: a puzzle to solve, the course of a hunt. But, though she might cast herself as the quarry, still – oh! – how she longed every day to be caught.

One Thursday, towards the close of October, Mary was halfway to Brabourne and beginning to worry that, this time, she might have gone just a little too far. But Ned Knight was a true sportsman and Lord Byron a fine hound. They would brook no defeat and suddenly – from a soundless approach – he was right there beside her, tilting his hat while the dog barked out their victory. Though she concealed it, joy flooded her breast; pleasure danced in his eyes, but he made no pretty speech. Instead, as they did every morning, both of them laughed: he at his triumph in finding her, she with the pleasure of being, once again, found.

Without any discussion, they turned away from the busy village towards wide, empty country, settled into an easy pace and a comfortable silence. This was not unusual. Some mornings they talked, joked, amused one another with foolish games – for all his masculine swagger, Mr Knight could be as restlessly playful as a seven-year-old boy. On others, though, barely a word was exchanged and, curiously, Mary treasured the quiet encounters as much as the other. Having become so used to forced, social intercourse and stupid flirtation, she found the release from those evils a revelation indeed. They were now climbing to the ridge, where the pale moon weakly loitered as a marmalade sun rose. And while her companion hummed with a peaceful contentment, Mary marvelled at how composed she could be while in his dear company.

Of course, she well understood that it was all due to Mr Knight’s extraordinary confidence. That quality, lately despised by Sir Edward, was what Mary so richly admired. And such was its strength, was it not even contagious? Up to this moment, she had been too easily influenced by the behaviour of others: allowed the edges of her character to be buffeted by the strong winds of personalities bigger than her own. So she could be quietly pious when met by her father, plain sullen when Fanny was present, frankly silly with Cassy – when, in truth, she was none of those things. Now at last, out in the country with Ned by her side – whether they spoke perfectly frankly or spoke not at all – Mary Knatchbull could take her first, hesitant steps on the path to discovery of her own natural self.

‘Oh, do look!’ she exclaimed now as they came to an old beech upon which was stretched a great canopy of lace from the bough to the trunk. Shafts of sun turned the dewdrops to diamonds. ‘I know we must love the summer, but is not this in fact the loveliest season of them all?’

‘A pretty enough sight, I will grant you. But as for the autumn, I cannot agree.’ Already he was riding on past it, head set firmly forward. The air was quite still, yet about him was turbulence. Mary studied his back, mystified. Surely her observation was perfectly harmless. How could Ned, of all people, have taken offence?

In the past, or if out with another, Mary might have held back, stewed in mortification and let the incident go unremarked. This time, she galloped to reach him and demanded he explain.

‘Forgive me.’ He sighed. ‘I am not, as I hope you now know, one troubled by mere mood . Emotion, on the other hand …’ He slackened the reins then, and fixed his eyes on the distance. ‘ Emotion I am slave to. It was in this very month, back in 1808, that our dear mother was taken and, though it does not speak well of me, I find myself unable to forgive it. That October still dares to flaunt itself, year upon year – revive its great beauty while hers remains lost – strikes me as a heartless parade of—’

‘I quite understand,’ Mary cut in and, without any rehearsal, heard herself add: ‘I do wish I had known the pleasure of meeting your mother, sir.’

Ned stopped his horse then. Mary, a few paces ahead, did the same, turned and saw that he stared at her now with a new depth of expression. In fact, was that a tear in his eye?

‘What a – that is—’ He gathered himself, cleared his throat and began anew. ‘I am so moved to hear it, Miss Knatchbull. And may I ask why?’

This time, Mary thought before speaking; she wondered, had she plunged in too far? Perhaps there were still places their conversation was not ready to go. Well, if so, then when better to test it? ‘I think of her sometimes,’ she said simply. ‘I did not know the lady, have heard little about her and yet she does come into my mind.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘I suppose there can be but one explanation. That is: she brought into the world many excellent children whom I now hold very dear.’

He raised his brows in enquiry; Mary dropped her eyes to the saddle, felt herself blush. This could only end in something close to flirtation, which she had vowed to avoid. So instead, she mumbled about Cassy, Marianne and George; even – this was desperation! – Fanny’s name found its way on to the list. And when finally she faced Ned again, she was blessed with the sweet, crooked smile that reached into her heart.

Not a soul knew of these morning meetings, save Daniel the coachman and he could be trusted – were Sir Edward even to suspect any collusion, the poor man would face certain dismissal. Fanny was entirely taken up with her precious firstborn and had already started another. The stepchildren, whom she had always found to be more trial than pleasure, were now almost forgotten. So when Mary breezed down to the hall early on the following Tuesday, it was a shock to find Lady Knatchbull up, dressed and firmly positioned in front of the door.

‘Good morning …’ In her absolute fury, Mary hit out with a rest the entire length of a semibreve in the slowest pavane. ‘… Ma- ma .’

‘There will be no riding today.’ Fanny was pale, plump and thoroughly bad-tempered. ‘It is truly outrageous to take up all Daniel’s time. He has plenty of work with the new coach-and-four which, as you well know , is your dear father’s proudest possession. It must not be compromised, Mary. I shall not have it.’

‘But of course,’ Mary replied, without any edge of apology. ‘The conveyance must come first at all times, I completely agree.’ She moved as if to take off her cloak, and sighed. ‘And pray do not worry, Mama. I am quite sure my health will not suffer unduly. Perhaps you have noticed that I have not taken ill even once this autumn? Booker puts it entirely down to the riding … Still, we will just have to trust it to continue, I suppose. Certainly, it would pain me to cause you any more inconvenience, dearest Mama, with you being indifferent—’

‘Oh very well.’ Lady Knatchbull was starting to look rather green. ‘See if Norton will take you. I am returning to bed.’

‘I say, but you ladies have the hell of a life,’ Norton grumbled, quite amiably, as they trotted towards Brook a half-hour later. ‘It’s quite the revelation. All these years of hateful separation and it turns out I don’t know the first thing about you, old girl. Look at the seat on you! Had no idea. Is this what you were doing all day, while I was locked up in that prison in fear of my life?’

‘Come, come, dear, ’ Mary laughed. ‘I refuse to believe that Winchester College was so very bad. You seem to have survived it.’

‘By the skin of my teeth. Thank God it’s now over. Enemies the lot of them – boys on the one flank, dons on the other. They were all out to get me, you know.’

‘ Really? Yet, at the same time, they seemed quite keen to see the back of you. Did not the Master write to Papa and beg that you not be returned?’

Norton roared at her then – he was turning into Sir Edward – lunged at her shoulder and made her horse bolt. Screaming with laughter, Mary charged around the wood with her brother in hot pursuit. At which point, Ned made his appearance.

‘Good morning, sir!’ Norton sharply drew up his horse. ‘A pleasure and, what’s more, a coincidence! You are some miles from Godmersham. Might you be calling on our mother? I fear she is not at her best …’

Mr Knight had kept the promise he had made to Mary all those long years ago, and kept a kindly eye on her brother throughout his unhappy schooldays. His reward was that Norton now worshipped him as a hero, and in meeting him now could hardly contain himself. He started to jabber, nineteen to the dozen, about shooting and hunting and his new glorious freedom, until Mary felt it only humane to put the boy out of his misery. Politely, she cleared her throat.

‘Do forgive me!’ Norton finally collected himself. ‘I am sure, sir, you must know my sister – but of course you must – what can I be thinking?’

There was nothing else for it, so the couple just laughed.

‘Oh!’ said Norton; then, as he looked from one to the other: ‘ Oh? ’ he repeated, before letting his mouth hang wide open.

‘Why don’t you take out that new gun of yours, old chap?’ Ned put a friendly hand on his arm. ‘I was just over at Hinxhill. Knee deep in rabbits. Excellent practice.’

Norton hesitated; turned back to his sister.

‘Darling, don’t look so worried!’ Mary reassured him with a smile. ‘This isn’t a kidnapping. Mr Knight has very kindly been – er – helping with my riding. But still, Norton, you wouldn’t …?’

‘What, tell ’em?’ Norton retorted. ‘Course not.’ And with a comradely wink to the gentleman, he rode away and they were alone.

Since the subject was first breached, their late mothers came often into their conversation and – as if the poor ladies themselves were the keys to two secret chambers – their relationship deepened accordingly. That morning – prompted by the appearance of Norton, and Ned’s concerned enquiries for how he had suffered back in his boyhood – they at last came to discuss the awesome moments of loss.

At several intervals, Mr Knight’s voice broke as he described how he was at Winchester when the tragedy occurred. That he had entirely missed his precious mother’s last month on this earth was still the cause of great bitterness. And as for the moment at which an uncle appeared to deliver the news: the reins trembled in his hands as he recalled it.

Mary, whose own experience was quite strikingly similar, could not help but be deeply moved. ‘And then you were brought back to Godmersham.’ This was more statement than question, for surely a family such as his must have done the right thing.

‘At the time, that was not thought to be practical and, in fact, for that I can hold no resentment. Instead, I had the great fortune of being taken in for some days by my Grandmother Austen and younger aunt. I shall never forget the sympathy, love … and really rather remarkable intelligence they brought to the awkward business of my terrible grief.’

‘Ah,’ Mary exclaimed, with something quite close to envy, though that was hardly appropriate. ‘Fortune indeed! Having met one of those ladies, I can imagine no better company in circumstances so vile. As for the other, I presume here you talk of your late aunt – she who wrote the delightful novels?’

Thus far – despite the beauty of the Weald all about them; the crisp clarity of that particular day – they had proceeded buried beneath a cloak of dull and dark misery. Now, as if the identity of Jane Austen were the spell in a magic trick, that was quite ripped away.

‘You are an admirer then, madam?’ Ned turned to her sharply, damp eyes now bright, face pink with pleasure.

‘But of course!’ Mary laughed, for who on this earth would not be? ‘I have read every one and return to them often. It was my old governess who first introduced me – perhaps you remember Miss Atkinson?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Ned shook his head. ‘Poor Miss Atkinson. That was another bad business. I remember thinking at the time that had my Aunt Jane been still with us then, she might have shown the lady a little more sympathy than our combined families …’ He sighed, paused – as if in solemn remembrance of the fallen – before, with the ease of one so at home in his own present, snapping back into life. ‘And I can have no doubt that Lady Knatchbull, too, has encouraged that particular literary interest?’

‘Oh.’ How very odd. ‘In fact, she has not.’ The omission had not struck Mary before. ‘Indeed, I had no idea of any connection between you until Cassy claimed the lady as your own.’

Ned stopped his horse and seemed stunned, in sheer disbelief. ‘ Fanny had no cause to mention it? That I struggle to— Of course, you speak only the truth, but then is that not bizarre ? I have a very clear memory that she and my aunt were particularly close.’

Now, Mary too was surprised. Having formed such a strong image of the writer , it was hard to imagine that she might find much in Lady Knatchbull to please her.

‘Your mother does read with you, though, surely?’ He started to ride again. ‘By the fireside, in the evening – the family circle: that is an established Austen tradition.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Mary conceded, while her eyes followed the sway of the horse. ‘I cannot say that many novels could ever meet with my dear father’s approval, but in his long absences, then your sister ’ – the word ‘mother’ felt quite inappropriate, in so many ways – ‘then your sister will reach for a book. Lately, we have been enjoying Discipline – do not laugh! It is not quite as dull as it sounds. Otherwise, she is particularly fond of the works of Sir Walter Scott.’

‘Humph,’ Ned expostulated, before adding, ‘well, well. Scott above Austen, eh? That is not without its significance.’ He turned around a sapling bent down by the breeze. ‘Marriage, Miss Knatchbull, ’tis an extraordinary stuff. Some thrive within it completely intact, while others are utterly changed. We must take good care, you and I both. Good care, indeed.’

They had begun their descent back to Hatch and their breakfast.

‘We must not have that happening to us when it is our turn to be settled.’

Norton relished his part in the young couple’s secret. He thought of Hatch not as a home – he had spent too little time there for that – but rather as the scene of an unending battle between children and parents. So on those terms, when he escorted his sister out every morning – enabling her escape – he was in his mind engaged in some great act of valour.

Some days her brother stayed with them; their outings were vigorous and sporting and amused them all equally. For the rest, though, he was content to politely withdraw and then, in relief, they were free to talk more.

‘So you, too, were at school when your own mother was taken? And yet so many years younger than I!’ Ned ran an agitated hand through his already wild hair and ruffled it yet further. ‘Then, madam, your suffering was more acute still … I take it, though, that you were brought home at once?’

Mary had to think deeply before she replied. It was vital that she present the facts in the best possible light – not only to save her good father from any unfair opprobrium, but also to spare herself. She had only rarely before discussed the subject, and each time the listener’s pity had made her feel oddly pathetic – as if she were no more than a victim of Sir Edward’s cruelty, rather than the great light of his life, which was the image she rather preferred.

So she proceeded to convey, with the most earnest sympathy, her father’s great love for her mother and the difficulties he faced, with six, then sadly five, motherless infants, and – unlike the Austens – no loving family to help and support him. ‘He would have thought me to be safe there at school, with its solid routine and my sweet little friends …’ Now almost adrift from the truth, Mary found she could no longer continue and took refuge in silence.

A fine rain started falling; dark clouds threatened worse. For protection, Ned guided her into the woods where once-bright morning was now gloaming like dusk.

‘You are very loyal to Sir Edward.’ Hooves clipped over acorns which cracked furiously at their weight, but Ned’s voice was gentle.

‘He is my only parent! How could I be otherwise?’ Mary refused to be pitied! She would not allow it! ‘It is my duty to love and support him.’

‘And his to you, I dare say?’ Ned plucked the fruit from a horse chestnut and lobbed it into a far bough. A twig fell to the ground.

‘But of course. I am his firstborn! His only daught—’ She shrugged then, suddenly helpless. ‘That is, I was for many long years.’

‘He is clearly a gentleman who demands – no, that is unfair – perhaps inspires loyalty in others. We have all noticed that with our dear Lady Knatchbull. Mind you, Fan always did have it in her – the best of us, in her way – but still, it does sometimes occur to one she can be loyal to a fault.’

Mary was tiring of this conversation. Defending herself was one thing; to mount a defence of the Mother was a whole new experience. Still, she was out on a limb now, and so she said wearily: ‘He is her husband! What would you expect?’

Though the trees were still dripping, it seemed that the rain had abated. They started to head through the wood to the village beyond.

‘I think,’ Ned announced as they came to the clearing, ‘when I am wed, I should prefer to aim for something more like equality.’

‘Oh, Mr Knight!’ All discomfort forgotten, Mary now laughed aloud. She might be bedazzled, but she was far from a fool. ‘A fine word, that: equality . I have heard gentlemen use it before even at my own father’s table. But how can he or you – or any man of your sex and your class – even begin to imagine what it might entail?’ Ned began to protest, but she held up her hand to forbid it. ‘We ladies talk of it too, by the way. Are we not the ones who might have more to gain? Yet, for us as for you, we might as well be discussing the topography of the Heavenly Kingdom itself … We have no earthly idea.’

‘Still,’ Ned insisted. For all the talk of equality, Mary saw that he did not enjoy being challenged. ‘I should like to think that I might be permitted the ambition at least. To be a fair husband and a kind, loving father: these are not trifles, Miss Knatchbull, whatever experience may have taught you. To my mind, there is the very foundation of a good Christian life. The qualities by which Our Lord Almighty will one day come to judge us, when we reach that very place.’

They had emerged by the blacksmith’s and it was time now to part. Despite the tone of their meeting – their first almost-dispute – Mary found she was smiling as she rode back to the stables. For was it her own, soft imagining or had his words not sounded almost as if he was drafting a contract?

If only she had thought to bring with her a pen.