Read The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen Online
Authors: Syrie James
The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (31 page)
“I pray that it has good effect.”
“Thank you. What brings
you
to Bath? I hope your father is well?”
“He is. We are not here for the waters. We have come to—to visit a distant cousin, Mr. Newgate and his wife.” Rebecca pointed out Mrs. Newgate, who was still chattering with another lady at the front of the shop, and now turned slightly, allowing her countenance to be viewed from a better angle.
Miss Clifton’s eyes grew wide, and she smiled. “It is a small world, Miss Stanhope. I am well acquainted with Mrs. Newgate, and the lady with whom she is speaking is my mother.”
The new friends made their acquaintanceship known to their elders, who shared their delight in the circumstance. Rebecca recognised Mrs. Clifton from the few occasions when they had met at Claremont Park. A good-looking woman, she was as gracious and agreeable as her daughter. The two parties then assembled to share opinions and advice as they completed their purchases—two gowns for Rebecca (one plain white muslin, one pink silk) and one for Miss Clifton (in sprigged yellow)—after which they made their way, under cover of umbrellas, to several nearby shops, where Rebecca had the pleasure of four (sometimes conflicting) views to guide her selections of a new hat, gloves, slippers, and shawl.
At last, finished with their shopping, they all stopped for buns and tea; and a very merry party it was. While Mrs. Newgate and Mrs. Clifton conducted their own conversation, the younger ladies became better acquainted. Miss Russell was intelligent and refined, although too vain for Rebecca’s taste. From a wealthy family, she had travelled a great deal, had been to the Continent many times, had studied with the best masters of music and the arts, and was apparently (an opinion generously echoed by her friend) the very best at every pursuit, despite demonstrating not an ounce of genuine affection for any of it.
With Miss Clifton, Rebecca felt more on a par; for they discovered they shared many interests, including a deep love of reading (and of novels in particular); a real taste for music; a disinclination for needlework and riding on horseback; and a great enthusiasm for walking.
“There are so many wonderful walks, both in and outside of Bath,” said Miss Clifton. “Have you seen all the great buildings yet—the Circus and the Crescent?”
Rebecca admitted that she had not had a chance to see much of any thing beyond the pump-room and the shops; nor had she had an opportunity to venture beyond the city limits.
“We must rectify that immediately. What do you think, Laura? Shall we take a long walk tomorrow, and shew Miss Stanhope the sights?”
“We must, indeed,” replied Miss Russell. “I am quite an authority on all the best walks in Bath.”
“May I bring my father?” asked Rebecca. “He enjoys walking, and I know he would appreciate a knowledgeable guide.”
Her friends agreed that they would be pleased to have Mr. Stanhope join them. They parted company with promises, on the part of the young ladies, to meet the next morning, if it did not rain.
That night, as Rebecca lay in bed on the verge of sleep, she hugged her pillow to herself with a happy smile. She could not recall the last time she had experienced a day quite so fulfilling or exhilarating, or enjoyed the society of a woman so like-minded as Miss Clifton. In Elm Grove, once her sister moved away, Rebecca had been starved for friends her own age. In Medford, she had enjoyed the companionship of both Sarah and Amelia; and now, to have three new friends! For Mrs. Newgate was kindness and generosity itself. Miss Russell, despite her self-important airs,
was
very interesting. And Miss Clifton was both sweet and sincere, and of an even, unaffected temperament which Rebecca found extremely pleasing. By comparison, Amelia now seemed disingenuous and a bit pretentious; she had often expressed exaggerated feelings, from ecstatic delight to extreme vexation, over the most trivial matters, which Rebecca had tried to overlook, but which in truth had become a bit tiresome.
These negative thoughts filled Rebecca with guilt and remorse, for she believed that one ought not to judge people against the merits of others. She reminded herself of how good Amelia had been to her, how very
fond
she was of Amelia, and how much she missed her. At the same time, she could not ignore the deep satisfaction she felt in the new, meaningful connections she had just made.
How pleasant Bath seemed to her, now that she had friends here!
C
HAPTER
X
Great Pulteney Street, Bath—Monday
My dearest Sarah,
Thank you for your letter. Please pardon me for not writing again sooner; I have barely had a minute to myself all week. As we are passing a rare, quiet evening at home, I have given myself permission to sit down by the fire and fulfill my duty as a proper correspondent. A great deal has happened since I wrote last. Forgive my penmanship. To prevent this missive costing you the earth, I shall be obliged to write in my smallest hand. At one of the shops on Milsom Street on Thursday, I made two new friends. You will hardly believe it when I tell you the identity of one of them: it is Miss Catherine Clifton, the youngest sister of Mr. Philip Clifton! She is here with her mother and father, and a beautiful but conceited creature called Miss Laura Russell, who I am trying to like, without much success.
You will be happy to hear that Miss Clifton is nothing like her brother. She is sweet, sensible, intelligent, gentle, useful, and well-informed; and she is a great walker! The young ladies, on two succeeding (and quite exhausting) days, have shewn me and my father all the major sights and buildings of Bath proper, from the River Avon and High Street to Marlborough buildings, and the Paragon to St. James’s Square, and every thing of interest in between. Did you know that Bath, like Rome, was built on seven hills? Hence it affords a variety of remarkable prospects if one is strong enough to attempt its steep slopes. To describe it all is beyond my power; you must wait until we next see each other; and even then, to appreciate it truly, you and Charles must make the trip here yourselves. Papa is particularly enamoured of the Circus, Camden Place, and the Crescent (the masterpiece of John Wood the younger, said to be the
most beautiful terrace of houses in all of Europe), edifices which are constructed in a circular, quarter moon, or half-moon shape—truly magnificent—although he found the walks to the latter tedious, for they involved steep climbs.
Apart from walking, we have kept very busy—there is so much of interest to see and do. Shopping, and looking in shopwindows, is a great entertainment. Saturday night, we went to the Theatre Royal—my first time at a real theatre, and I cannot describe how exciting it was! The auditorium is perfectly rectangular, and lined with boxes which all have a good view of the stage. For 3s each we saw Charles Dibden’s
The Birthday,
with Bluebeard as an afterpiece—a long evening that proved to be both shocking and entertaining. I have the highest respect for the company, who play here on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and at Bristol the other three days of the week. Think what an exhausting routine it must be for the actors, to move between neighbouring cities—particularly as a different pair of plays is performed on each night of the week! We went to church twice on Sunday at Laura Chapel, a neat and commodious building very conveniently located, and after evening service, walked for a little while in Crescent fields, a wide green slope in front of the Royal Crescent, which was very crowded. I mean to say that the slope was crowded, not the Crescent. The Newgates, who regularly enjoy the parade, were delivered thither by carriage, of which my father took advantage; I preferred to walk.
This morning, my father and Mr. and Mrs. Newgate and I attended the public breakfast at Sydney Gardens. What a magnificent place. Again, I fear that words cannot do it justice, for it is, I am told, not surpassed by any garden in the kingdom. I shall, however, attempt to describe it as best I can. The gardens are large, about sixteen acres, and conveniently located on flat ground East of Bath, at the termination of Great Pulteney Street, very close to where we reside. The whole is laid out with lovely serpentine
walks, waterfalls, grottos, and shady bowers. The Kennet and Avon Canal passes right through, over which are two elegant cast iron bridges, after the manner of the Chinese. There are also bowling greens and an enormous labyrinth, which is said to be twice as large as Hampton Court’s, with classical pavilions and swings. I would surely have lost my way, had not the Newgates been there to guide us, with a little map. The breakfast is held once a week, outside in especially designed dining booths, and offers an excellent repast of cold meats, cheeses, eggs, buns, and tea cakes. As it was a warm and sunny day, we afterwards enjoyed a pleasurable stroll through the gardens. Every amusement costs money, of course; my father paid a month’s subscription for us at 2s 6d each. If only I could share the delights of the place with you, I should be truly content. I mean to return again, and often.
Mrs. Newgate says that, before attending a ball, I must wait for my new gowns. The first is to be brought over on Wednesday morning; it will be a round gown of white muslin, with short sleeves and a handsome lace around the neck and hem. The other is to be a pink silk, very elegant. Tomorrow, weather permitting, Miss Clifton and Miss Russell and I intend to take a walk into the country-side outside of Bath, to Beechen Cliff, which is apparently famous for its view. Wednesday, papa and I attend a concert with the Newgates. I am all anticipation. Have you heard any news of Dr. Watkins? I wonder how he progresses with his new practice in town. I love and miss you. Hugs & kisses to Charles and the children.
—Yours very affectionately, your sister, R.S.
The next morning, Mr. Stanhope excused himself from the outing to Beechen Cliff, having been warned by Mr. and Mrs. Newgate that the climb was so very steep, as to recommend itself only to the young and stout, or the most robust
of walkers. The party was reduced even further when Miss Clifton arrived at Great Pulteney Street, and explained that Miss Russell was laid up with the headache. Rebecca, although sorry to hear of any one’s being ill, was not dismayed to find that Miss Clifton was to be her only company, for it would give them a chance to have a real tête-à-tête.
It was a beautiful day. Beechen Cliff, with its green, overhanging, wooded precipice, rising sharply and immediately to the south of the River Avon, could be seen from almost every vantage point in Bath. It was so striking, as to have been the object of Rebecca’s interest and admiration ever since her arrival in the city. As she and Miss Clifton left behind the white pavements and tall buildings, and exchanged them for the quiet openness of a path and green meadows, Rebecca gave a sigh of relief and contentment.
“How I love a walk in the country,” said she, breathing in the familiar, pleasant scents of fresh earth and grass, and smiling at the sounds of the insects and bleating sheep.
Miss Clifton was of the same opinion. While both had come to enjoy and appreciate the pleasures of the city, they could never compare with the beauty and tranquillity of the country-side. As they walked, Rebecca found her mind and body recovering a sense of peace, which she had not even been aware was missing.
Their exertion in climbing the steep hill made conversation difficult, so it was put off until they reached the summit, where they found a dry, grassy expanse upon which to sit, rest, and admire the view.
“I have been to Bath half a dozen times, and I always make sure to take this walk,” said Miss Clifton, smiling as she looked out over the city below, and the surrounding verdant country-side. “Laura finds fault with it—she compares it
to prospects in Italy and Switzerland she has witnessed, which she insists are far more beautiful and expansive. I should love, one day, to see those places which she describes; but even if I never do, I am quite content with this.”
“It
is
lovely,” concurred Rebecca with enthusiasm, “and worth every step.” As she drank in the view, she said slowly, “Do you know, I am beginning to realise that my life before this was very small indeed.”
“Small? What do you mean?”
“I have travelled so little. I had never been anywhere, really, until—until my father’s retirement. I was averse to leaving Elm Grove;—I dreaded any alteration in my daily routine. I do miss home dreadfully, every day—but to my surprise, I find that I cannot entirely regret our removal. My stay at Medford, although different from the life to which I had been accustomed, proved to be most gratifying. And Bath, in pictures and by report, can be only an idea in one’s mind—even the most vivid imagination cannot conjure the true aspect of all its wonders. One must experience the city in person fully to appreciate and comprehend it.” Rebecca plucked a blade of grass and twirled it in her fingers, as she gazed at the scene before her. “It is the same for this view. I used to get such contentment every morning gazing through the window of the rectory at our own green slope—but it is nothing compared to this! How much I was missing!”