“Mrs. Austen!” Mary Finch cried.

“And Miss Jane Austen!” her sister Anne echoed.

The two ladies abandoned their work and bustled forward, ail anxiety for our comfort, as though we had arrived in the midst of a terrible storm, or were fainting from three days' hunger. In the fuss that generally ensued, the quieter salutations of the others were entirely overwhelmed.

“To think,” Miss Mary began, “—such excellent friends — travelling all this distance, and in such heat and dust! Entirely too amiable! You find us quite at home — reduced to utter stupidity by the oppressive weather — although Harriet has been so good as to amuse us with Werther — tho' perhaps amusing is not the properest word, for it is a trifle tedious in passages — Louisa was quite reduced to tears of boredom for entire chapters together, although I am sure it is very instructive. It is all the rage in Town.”

“Had we only possessed Mrs. Edgeworth's works, or even Mrs. Palmerston's,” Miss Anne added, “when Mary and I were girls — but, then, we were very fortunate to be taught so much as a syllable of French, or anything of geography, for it was hardly considered suitable to send girls to fashionable boarding establishments, such as our little Louisa has been treated to — and quite the fine miss she has returned, with such elegant taste, and her fingers so harmonious — they quite fly about the keyboard, as I am sure you will agree when she consents to play for us, after dinner. I am certain that Mr. Brett intends to teaze her on the subject of performance, blush how she might—”

“Pray allow the ladies to sit down, Mary,” Lady Elizabeth commanded in a quelling tone, “and ring for Hopkins with some punch. I trust your journey was uneventful, Mrs. Austen?”

“Entirely, Lady Elizabeth, I thank you.”

“You did not bring your eldest daughter. I had hoped she might be a companion for George.”

“How unfortunate, then, that she remained at home! She was excessively disappointed, I assure you. But Fanny's governess thought the journey too unhealthful in such heat, to permit of the treat.”

Lady Elizabeth inclined her head, and returned to fanning herself with a rush paddle; from Louisa we received not a word. She appeared engaged in studying the prospect of the garden — or perhaps she was hoping for a glimpse of its improver.

“Pray tell me, Miss Austen, how your lovely sister Cassandra does?” Miss Mary Finch cried. “We had hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her at Eastwell. It has been some months since we were so fortunate. Like yourself, I suppose, she yet retains the single state?”

“She does, ma'am,” I managed without loss of countenance. “Her recent period of mourning for my father rendered any change in domestic situation abhorrent.”

Miss Mary's expression turned so anxious at this, that I feared she might suffer a fit. “But of course — your excellent father — any change would be entirely out of the question for either of you girls — nothing so ideally suited to the comfort of a widow, as to have her children about her — I had entirely forgotten — that is, not forgotten, exactly, for who could ignore the loss of so admirable a soul, as the Reverend George? But, then, you are yourself no longer in mourning, Miss Austen, and I confess that your blooming looks put all thought of the dear departed quite out of my head. A charming man — and your brothers so very much like him — we shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Henry Austen, I hope, tho' my brother has quite stolen him away for the nonce. You will not take my little enquiry regarding your sister in an unamiable light, I hope?”

“Miss Austen is from Godmersham at present, I believe?” Miss Anne interjected, with a conscious look for her sister.

And so I related how Cassandra had gone to Harriot Bridges, with a view to assisting in the care of the invalid Bridges sister, Marianne; how she was expected at Godmersham on Monday, and appeared to be suffering herself from a return of the head-ache complaint that had troubled her ever since her unfortunate carriage accident in Lyme.[37]

“So Miss Cassandra Austen went to Goodnestone Farm!” Miss Anne exclaimed. “That is very good of her, to be sure, when she must deny herself all the superior pleasures that your brother's estate may offer. But I shall hope that she has not found her time there entirely devoid of interest.”

“I believe my brother Edward intended to make her visit as stimulating as possible,” Lizzy remarked, without even the hint of a smile. “He is quite a slave to Cassandra's enjoyment, and shall presently turn his devotion to Jane. Jane is to make her own visit, you know, upon Cassandra's departure.”

In such asides, punctuated by strenuous Finch monologues and virtual silence from the other ladies in the room, nearly an hour and a half were suffered to pass away, before a nuncheon of cheese and fruit materialised upon a tray. After this was consumed, I gave way to the entreaties of the litde boys, and joined them in the establishment of cribbage. Daniel and I had just succeeded in winning several hands from Miss Mary and his elder brother, when an exclamation from the languorous Louisa alerted all our attention.

“Mamma! They are coming across the odious ha-ha! I see Mr. Sothey to the fore.”

She rose and crossed to the pier-glass, surveying her reflection critically; then with a complete absence of consciousness, plucked at her golden curls and bit some colour into her full lips. Lady Gordon nearly choked on what might have been a giggle, and I observed the Miss Finches to exchange a significant look — but forbore from betraying my amusement. Lizzy, as ever, was a study in cultivated indifference; and so the Austens acquitted themselves more nobly than Miss Louisa's dearest relations.

A turmoil in the entry announced the gentlemen arrived; a hubbub of voices, and the tramp of feet — and the door was thrown open by one who was a stranger to me, and yet not entirely a stranger at all. I felt in an instant that this must be Julian Sothey, a gentleman of whom I had known nothing but a week before; and yet his face was hauntingly familiar. I studied his figure in vain for a hint as to the scene, the moment of our meeting, and found memory elusive.

Slight, narrow-shouldered, and lithe in all his movements, he conveyed an immediate impression of grace, like a superlative dancing master; but his coat of superfine wool, in a respectable shade of blue, was too well-made to permit of such an impertinence. His reddish hair fell unbound to his shoulders; his wide grey eyes were keen, and heavily-lashed; and a droll expression, as of inward laughter at some private joke, played about his lips. He seemed entirely easy at Eastwell Park — so very easy with his position and circumstance, as to precede his host into the saloon. This must argue a degree of self-importance that could not but be repugnant; but I am prone to form a hasty view on very little knowledge, and urged myself to reserve judgement in the case. Mr. Sothey, after all, was the son of Lady Elizabeth's oldest friend — and must be claimed almost as one of the family.

He was followed immediately by Mr. Brett, an acquaintance of Neddie's of many years standing, and then by my two brothers. The Finch-Hatton gentlemen brought up the rear.

“Julian!” Louisa Finch-Hatton cried breathlessly. “You have been an age in the garden, I declare! And I longed to finish my portrait today!”

She appeared an ill-bred and disappointed child, with her lower lip protruding dangerously, but Mr. Sothey chose to disregard Miss Louisa's manner, and approached her directly.

“You know, my dear Miss Finch-Hatton,” he said with a bow, “that I move at your father's whim. I exist at East-well only to serve him, and true pleasure must await the disposition of his needs. But you have been amply engaged in amusement, I am sure — with such interesting friends about you! Might I beg an introduction?”