Chapter 14

An Unexpected Blow

Monday,

17 December 1804

MY HEART IS HEAVY, INDEED, AS I TAKE UP MY FAITHFUL pen, the better to comprehend the intelligence received so suddenly this morning — an intelligence at which my whole mind revolts. Madam Lefroy is dead.

She was suffered to depart this life on the very anniversary of my birth. And I was not at hand to comfort her, or to take a final leave.

We learned the news of my brother James, by express — in all the clatter of a horse’s hoofs too hastily reined-in before the door of Green Park Buildings, and the apprehension of ill-tidings devoutly wished upon others. But it could not be put off; the letter was for ourselves; and the express desired to wait for an answer. Some injury to James we feared, or to Mary and the children, our remembrance of sudden death in that household being as yet too present.[67]

But it was of Ashe he wrote to us — and of my own dear Anne.

James had met with her on the Saturday, in the neighbouring village of Overton, intent upon her shopping with a servant in tow. Madam remarked in passing that her horse was so stupid and lazy, she could barely make him stir; and so they had parted, with kind wishes on both sides. With what horror, then, did brother James learn later that the horse in question had bolted at the top of Overton Hill! The servant missing his grip upon the bridle, Anne Lefroy careened away in utter chaos; and perhaps from fear, or from an unsteadiness in riding side-saddle, she fell to the ground with bruising force. A concussion was sustained; she remained insensible throughout Saturday evening, and slipped away quietly at three o’clock Sunday morning.[68]

Why did not the presentiment of her passing strike me hard in that dreadful hour? Why were the clocks not suffered to stop, and the rain to cease to fall, and the world entire fall hideously rapt, in acknowledgement of its loss. Anne, Anne! — Such goodness and worth as yours, shall not meet with again.

I have laboured and laboured to comprehend — to reconcile with her death; but still I cannot. Far beyond the usual repugnance and denial with which the human heart must meet such events, there is the outrage of my reason. For Anne Lefroy was an accomplished horsewoman — from the tenderest years she had mastered her mounts. It was a point of pride that she sat so neatly, and jumped so well, and feared neither hedgerow nor fence paling. She is the very last woman I should expect to be completely run away with; and my heart will whisper that all is not as it seems. For a horse may be frighted any number of ways, by malice or intent.

Is it too absurd? It must, it cannot be other, than the fevered conjectures of my brain, quite overpowered by the sudden loss. And so I will put down my pen, and make an end to activity, in the hope that silence may be as balm, and isolation relieve despair.

Tuesday,

18 December 1804

A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, AND A TEDIOUS MORNING HAVE FAILED to bring relief; and tho’ I thrust myself out-of-doors to trudge the Gravel Walk with Cassandra as silent companion, in brooding contemplation of mortality, no comfort could I find in exercise. I engaged in the melancholy review of my entire history with Madam Lefroy — the pleasant hours of companionship, in reading silently together in the library at Ashe; her delight in forming a sort of schoolroom, for the improvement of the poorer children in the parish, that they might with time learn their sums and letters; her ecstasy in conversation, and news of the world.

One episode only in our mutual acquaintance has still the power to cause me pain — and that is the part that Madam played in my ruined hopes of her nephew. Though at twenty Tom Lefroy was full young to fall in love, having neither profession nor fortune to recommend him, at nearly twenty-nine he now possesses both, and a wife into the bargain. Had Madam not interfered where interference was not wanted, I might have been happy these nine years at least; and I have never been disposed to consider her actions as anything but officious. Prudence, in matters of love, is all very well where character is lacking; but when two young people of sense and ability are truly attached, I cannot think it wise to speak only of fortune in the disposition of their hopes.

But Tom was sent away, and I was left to the derision of the neighbourhood, for having shewn too clearly my preference for his regard, and for having encouraged it on so little means as the twenty pounds per annum I may consider my own.

I have wondered, often, what the present Mrs. Tom Lefroy is like — how she looks, and behaves, and cares for her husband. But it does not do to dwell upon such things. There cannot have been too much affection on Tom Lefroy’s side, or he should not have forgot me so soon — for he married Miss Mary Paul barely three years after he might have married me. That is ever the difference of sex, however — men have their professions and pursuits, to divert their minds from sorrows of the heart; but we sit at home, quiet and confined, and our feelings prey upon us.[69]

My appetite is quite gone, and I find the enforced society of the household insupportable. I do not pretend to suffer these emotions alone — Anne Lefroy was as dear as family to all the Austens — but I may claim a particular intimacy with the lady, a commonality of spirit, that makes her loss decidedly cruel. I suspect my father to suffer from a similar sensibility. His turn of humour, and his love of wit, found always a ready ear in Madam Lefroy; and so he is grown too silent, and looks the burden of his age. Does his indifferent health permit, my father has very nearly determined to journey into Hampshire for the funeral, which James is to perform this Friday; but such activity being beyond the female members of the household, little of a cheerful nature may be derived from the event.[70]

We returned from our walk, and Cassandra retired to her room for a period of silent reflection. I commenced to pace before the sitting-room fire like a caged beast, but at length my mother’s exclamations, and my father’s look of distress, urged me to adopt a chair, and open once more my journal for the recording of these thoughts.

THE CLOCK HAD STRUCK TWO, AND CASSANDRA HAD emerged from her solitary melancholy, when my mother bethought herself of her brother, Mr. Leigh-Perrot, and his formidable wife. The Leigh-Perrots have been acquainted with Madam Lefroy these twenty years at least, and should certainly wish the earliest intelligence of her untimely end; my mother was horrified at the notion of their learning it from anyone but herself; and between reproaches at having formed no thought of them, in the earliest hours of her misery, and the acutest anxiety to be with them directly, she would not be satisfied until we were bundled out-of-doors, and intent upon the Perrots’ lodgings in Paragon Buildings.

The brilliance of the sun stunned my eyes, while my ears were battered by the shouts of chairmen and the clatter of horses’ hoofs, as yet greater parties of gay young men and ladies rolled into town for the celebration of Christmastide. I was as open as a fresh wound to this assault upon my senses — the wound being in my heart, and of Anne Lefroy’s making. I could not free my thoughts of her; like an angel or a ghost, she shimmered just beyond the range of sight.