Jane in Love

in. A strange mood descended on the home for the first time in years: happiness. Henry sent everyone into fits of laughter with stories of the characters he dealt with at his bank. Eliza played the pianoforte, and Revered Austen, normally crippled with shyness, even joined in the singing, to Jane’s surprise and joy. Mama’s excitement seemed to radiate from her body in little breaths and gasps, her cheeks rosy from the wine.
Jane had never realized how dull and sad the house was before; she had caused this change in them, or her luck in love had. She swallowed, nervous at the weight of the emotion, at how the ease of her parents depended on her marital status. She excused herself.
Henry found her on the stairs. He embraced her again. “I am truly so happy for you, Jane,” he told her.
“Henry, this is all so sudden—” she protested.
Henry interrupted her. “Stop this now, Jane. I know Old Man Withers; I have done business with him. He is a sensible man. Sister, the time has come. This man would be a fool to let you go. You are going to be happy, I’m afraid. Time to get used to the concept.” He flashed her a giant smile. Henry had a happy nature; he always smiled.
Jane nodded and allowed herself to be silenced.
When Mrs. Austen suggested a walk, which they used to do as a family back in Hampshire, everyone agreed happily. They donned their coats and boots and stepped out into the cool evening air.
Henry and Eliza walked ahead, arm in arm. Mrs. Austen left her husband’s arm and joined Jane, who walked alone. As they strolled away from Sydney Place, Mrs. Austen attacked Jane with schemes for romantic scenarios to best engineer a proposal. If Jane fell into the Avon or perhaps a bear pit, suggested Mrs. Austen, Charles Withers would have to rescue and then marry her. Jane said she knew of no bear pits in Somerset, which did not deter Mrs. Austen. She also provided Jane with a script of sweet things to whisper at the man’s ear and a selection of unachievable styles in which to wear her hair. Where Jane normally protested, now she smiled and praised every plan, her mind elsewhere, allowing Henry’s conclusion of the situation to at last sink in.
“There is Miss Harwood. Let us pay our respects,” her mother said as they stepped into Cheap Street. A small woman with gray hair and mended gloves waved to them from her doorway.
“Please, Mama, no more well wishes,” Jane said. But her mother had already turned toward the woman’s house and bade her good evening.
“I did not witness your approach,” said Miss Harwood. “I have been much engaged all night, though I suppose I could brew a pot and rustle up some cake.” She made to go inside.
“Thank you, no, Miss Harwood,” Jane’s mother replied. “We must get home. We have merely stopped to inquire after your supplies of coal.”
Miss Harwood smiled. “My level of coal is excellent, madam. I have no need for a fire, in any case.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“You have no fire?” Mrs. Austen said. “The ground frosted yesterday and will do so again tonight.”
Henry and Eliza looked over from their position by the bridge. Miss Harwood lowered her voice and looked down. “I do not waste coal when it is but me inside.”
“How much coal do you have, Miss Harwood?”
“Three.”
“Three bags of coal? Why, that’s plenty.”
“No, three,” she said.
“What, three . . . lumps?” Jane said.
“I thought your brother came last week?” said Mrs. Austen.
“Samuel is an important man, madam. Many appointments.” Miss Harwood raised her chin.
“Come by Sydney House and Margaret will fix you four bags of coal,” Mrs. Austen said. “I will require one of your paintings as a payment,” she added.
“I already have the idea,” Miss Harwood cried in a relieved tone. “A landscape of Pulteney Bridge.”
Jane’s mother praised the woman on the originality of the concept. “But please do not exhaust your hands,” she added.
Miss Harwood looked to Jane and their eyes met. She looked away. “Would you inspect my hearth, Mrs. Austen?” Miss Harwood said. “The chimney may possess a blockage.”
“Of course, Miss Harwood,” Jane’s mother replied. She ducked under the door arch.
Once Mrs. Austen had disappeared inside, Miss Harwood grabbed Jane by the arm. “You are due at the Pump Room tomorrow, I heard. If all does not come to pass, seek me out,” she whispered, and pulled Jane closer. Jane drew away. The words so shook her with their strangeness, she thought she had misheard.
“Excuse me. Of what are you talking, Miss Harwood?” Jane said. She peered around the street and hoped no one had seen them.
“This is not the only path,” Miss Harwood said. She shook Jane’s arm with such force that had she not possessed roughly the dimensions of a sparrow, she might have loosened the bone from its socket.
“You do hurt my arm, Miss Harwood.”
“You think me a pathetic soul. Pitiable and ridiculous.”
“I do not,” Jane lied.
“We must stick together, ladies like you and me.” Jane searched the older woman’s face. Miss Harwood’s eyes darted left and right. A strand of wild gray hair escaped from her bonnet. She blew it from her face with a spit of breath. “Promise you will come to see me,” Miss Harwood demanded. Jane agreed, and the strangeness of the promise rang in her ears as she and her family returned home, crossing the River Avon at the bridge Miss Harwood had threatened to paint for her bags of coal.

Chapter Five
The next morning, as Jane came downstairs and the family admired her new dress, the doorbell rang, surprising them all.
“Who could that be?” exclaimed Mrs. Austen. “And at this crucial hour. Our entire acquaintance has been informed we are off to the Pump Room.”
Margaret answered the front door and announced the caller. “If you please, ma’am,” said the housemaid, “Lady Johnstone.”
The Austen family looked and shrugged at each other,