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CHAPTER XXXVIII

They all left the mansion together – out through the great, thick oak door, down the flagstone steps worn to a shine by the forebears of centuries – then the couple bade Cassandra goodbye and took the path to the stables. She allowed herself a small moment to stand in the carriage sweep with the Great House to her back, the green glory of Hampshire around her, and watch them go.

As usual, Ned moved at the pace of one in competition with time. Mary, her hand in his, skipped along by his side. Was she yet fully aware that she had married a man who could not sit still? Cassandra smiled as she wondered. Even as their distance increased, their laughter could still clearly be heard. This evident companionship – nay, intimacy – was not unintriguing. The family reports and, in particular, the letters from Fanny had given Cassandra the impression that the couple were virtually strangers; that their declarations, and certainly their marriage, were somehow unserious; that this was no more than a manifestation of Ned’s sorry, impetuous nature.

Yet to look on them now was to witness a love not only deep, but longstanding and tested. How could that be? How could two dutiful parents have missed that which was right under their noses? Cassandra shook her head, proceeded down the slope to the church and, instead of coming to judgement, allowed herself a frisson of pleasure at how the morning had passed.

Thank heavens she had chosen to take the friendly approach! Had she joined in with the mass disapprobation, then how much would she have lost? At the start of the year, her mother had suffered an unfortunate episode that had left her quite bedridden. The doctors agreed that she was not long for this world and so, after many long years of daughterly devotion, Cassandra would soon be alone. Some kind friends did try to suggest that, when the sad moment finally came, her daughter would at last know freedom: a life untrammelled by duty! In her own mind, it loomed more like a demotion.

She had been dreading the want of a purpose. So how very kind of the Good Lord to deliver her this: a nephew close by who loved her – she was perfectly aware that most struggled to go beyond merest respect – with a dear wife who showed every promise of becoming a friend; a house in need of attention. And might one entertain the hope of the arrival of babies? There was certainly a large nursery to fill.

Cassandra came to the small, parish church in the dip between hills; stopped at the white fence and looked over the graveyard. On an ordinary day, she might approach it and pay her respects to forebears and friends, but on this, she resisted. Scent wafted up from the camomile lawn; a cuckoo cried out its delight from the heights of an old elm. Preferring to dwell on her pleasure, she began her ascent through the park.

Cassandra was rather looking forward to the evening. It was her experience that, having attained some significant years, ladies could always find plenty to talk about. Life had thrown down its challenges; they had been met with and survived and, suddenly, one’s station and origins diminished in consequence. Age was a leveller.

So when she happened to catch the sight of the liveried coach on its way to the manor – not that she was glued to that particular window; merely that it offered the best light for her mending – she was not unduly put off. What mattered a gold crest on the door – and goodness – was that really six horses? Her thought still held true: once nearer to the end, we can only have more in common than not.

But the evening was set to begin in the most curious fashion. It was clear that the august visitor had not expected Miss Austen’s presence, nor did she welcome it. And it seemed that Lady Banks saw this as no ordinary dinner, but instead more a contest of aunts in which she was determined upon her own victory.

On being introduced, she was politely unfriendly. Though the taller by far, Cassandra formed the distinct impression that she was being looked down upon. But what bothered her more was the evidence that, despite the grandeur of her conveyance, Lady Banks could not afford the right clothes to fit her. The strain in the stitches was enough to cause her to wince. Were they better acquainted, she might offer to let out the seams.

‘My attachment to Mary is more than well known.’ Lady Banks issued her first challenge over the soup. ‘I may be but a gr-r-reat -aunt, but I am also her godmother. ’

‘Then that is a position of great honour,’ Cassandra conceded at once. ‘And one that brings even more weight to your already gracious decision to bless this young couple with your presence, so soon after the shock of—’

‘Ha!’ Sharp eyes, buried like pins in the vast, plump cushion of face, flashed then with triumph. Victory was already hers. ‘Oh, Miss Austen.’ Her jowls shook with the pity of the conqueror for the recently conquered. ‘It was no shock to me , I assure you. For I knew all about it!’

‘Indeed?’ Cassandra tried to hide her surprise. Acceptance was one thing – she herself had found it with remarkable ease – but collusion another matter entirely. ‘You knew of the plan?’ Her manner remained mild, as if she sought only to clarify, and not to accuse.

‘Not quite!’ Ned cut in gallantly. He had the sense to see that, by her boasting, the lady could bring damage to her own reputation. ‘But as for the principle – Lady Banks was aware that we were considering the possibility, and was kind enough not to discourage us. And for that’ – he bestowed a smile of the particular sort that was a crest-holder’s due – ‘we will forever be grateful.’

Lady Banks purred and preened, while Cassandra’s mind boggled at all this intelligence. Again, Fanny had given the impression of a young couple taking sudden leave of their senses and Mary, in particular, acting quite out of character. Either the Knatchbulls did not know the half, or those letters were not worth the paper they were written on.

In contrast to the visitor, Cassandra held no power whatsoever and had long ago learned that any criticism from her would only be heard if it came dressed as a compliment. ‘Then, Lady Banks, allow me to commend you for your courageous position. It cannot have been easy for – as with so many others – are you not also famously close to Sir Edward?’

‘Quite so!’ Lady Banks exclaimed, as if her position brought with it no moral conflict. ‘Since the moment he lost his own mother, back in his boyhood, I have devoted myself to his welfare and, even as a man, he has had the good fortune to live much under my influence.’

‘Ah,’ said Cassandra. ‘I see.’

She spoke with a great sense of meaning, which Lady Banks quite misunderstood.

‘But I did not begrudge it!’ she cried. ‘We aunts , Miss Austen, must never shy at our duties! My reward has been to watch his continued success. And in his first wife – Mary’s dear late mama – I had a fine ally. Oh, she was a fine person, whose skill for controlling his extremes of emotion equalled even my own. We agreed on most everything. But since the arrival of the other …’ Suddenly mindful of the company, she let the thought trail away.

‘So I did try at the time to convince him to accept the excellent offer from this most estimable gentleman.’ Though she had no real lashes to speak of, she batted the few stubs that remained towards Ned.

In that moment, Cassandra saw that she had once been a beautiful woman, sure of her powers, and had yet to catch up with the fact that she now was very much not.

‘But would he heed me? R-r-really ,’ Lady Banks declared, with some considerable pomp, ‘he can be so pompous .’

‘Although, of course, a father must do his duty as he thinks fit,’ Cassandra mused. ‘And the law as it currently stands puts its trust in his opinion over the—’

‘But this father is mistaken !’ Lady Banks seemed to erupt. It was almost as if the unfortunate temperament was a family condition. ‘And I took the opinion – based on my own sound judgement and the wisdom of years – that it was high time someone taught him a lesson!’ Her voice was a roar. ‘Only when faced with a fait accompli could one such as Sir Edward be made to accept that he has committed an injustice.’ She brought the flat of her hand down on the table.

Cassandra jumped half out of her chair, but both Mary and Ned sat up to attention. After all, the whole point of this visit was to report on Sir Edward’s current position, and only now did it seem they were near.

Mary reached out to her husband, gripped his hand and – sweet almond eyes full of hope – asked in a trembling voice: ‘Pray tell us, dear Aunt, how did you find him? Has my father come close to acceptance?’

Lady Banks seemed to deflate, as if all that hot air had suddenly flown out from her person. She shuffled in her seat, sunk into despondence, and was forced then to admit that – despite all her strong words and wisest possible counsel – Sir Edward’s position remained completely unchanged.