In Search of Jane Austen Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter-1

  Chapter-2

  Chapter-3

  Chapter-4

  Chapter-5

  Chapter-6

  Chapter-7

  Chapter-8

  Chapter-9

  Chapter-10

  Chapter-11

  Chapter-12

  Chapter-13

  Chapter-14

  Chapter-15

  Chapter-16

  Chapter-17

  Chapter-18

  Chapter-19

  Chapter-20

  Chapter-21

  Chapter-22

  Chapter-23

  Chapter-24

  Chapter-25

  Chapter-26

  Author's Note

  Publisher's Note

  Other Books by Ken Methold

  About the Author

  In Search of Jane Austen: An Investigation of a Life

  Copyright © 2019

  Published by AIA Publishing, Australia

  ABN: 32736122056

  http://www.aiapublishing.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, audio, visual or otherwise, without prior permission of the copyright owner. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-6484171-9-4

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-6485130-0-1

  Cover design by Velvet Wings Media

  Dedication

  This little book is dedicated to my ever-patient wife, Sheila, who put up with me for over a year while I lived, if only in my mind, in Regency England.

  Chapter-1

  One late spring morning in 1818, Sarah Kedron took delivery of a letter from the Reverend John Stainer Clarke, Librarian, Carlton House, St James, London. The address was that of the London residence of the Prince Regent, The Prince of Wales, the eldest son and heir of the mentally ill King George III.

  The contents of the letter surprised her. Revd Clarke was inviting her to call at her convenience at Carlton House to discuss a matter he described as ‘pertaining to the literary history of the nation.’

  Sarah had never met nor heard of the Revd Clarke. She was also neither a scholar nor a university don; she was a former actress, now a successful playwright whose works had been performed at The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, London’s premier drama theatre. She had no idea what the librarian could want from her. As the daughter of Matthew Kedron—the author of Corruption Discovered and the publisher of The Informer, the Weekly Police2 News, and the Monthly Inquirer—and an occasional book and theatre reviewer for the Monthly Inquirer, a highly regarded political and literary journal, Sarah presumed that the librarian thought she had an interest in the nation’s literary history, and that she would be interested in something he wished to show her. Perhaps a recently discovered manuscript by a famous, long-dead author. Whatever the reason for the invitation, Carlton House had one of the finest libraries in the country, and an opportunity to visit it was not to be ignored lightly. However, she decided to discuss it with her father before responding.

  That evening, therefore, over dinner with Matthew and his chief editor, James Brewster, who lived with them, she raised the subject. James was not only her father’s most valued employee, he’d also become a family friend and frequently dined with them.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said jokingly, ‘he intends presenting you to the Prince Regent. He is more than likely to be an admirer of your plays. He is often at the theatre with his mistress of the day.’

  ‘The lady in question,’ Mathew said, ‘is the Marchioness Lady Hertford, and may or may not be his mistress. She is well into her fifties. And the prince’s health is hardly robust these days. Excess of every kind has taken its toll. I think, therefore, that her attractions are probably more intellectual than anything. She is known to be a highly intelligent woman.’

  ‘She is certainly believed to be a close friend,’ James added, ‘and highly influential at court.’

  ‘That’s all very interesting,’ Sarah said, ‘but it does not answer my question. Should I accept the invitation?’

  ‘If it comes, even indirectly, from the Prince Regent,’ James pointed out, ‘it should be considered as a tactfully expressed royal command.’

  ‘A good point, James,’ Matthew agreed. ‘And apart from that, Sarah, can you think of any reason why you should not go?’

  ‘Not really. Though I have a lot on at present with my new play about to go into rehearsal. But I’m curious. If I don’t go, I’ll wonder for ever if I have missed out on something important, or at the very least, something interesting.’

  ‘Then go,’ her father said. ‘Take the carriage and a footman to present your card. You don’t want to stand at the front door waiting to be invited in by some minor flunky. Arrive in style.’

  ‘Very well. I shall go tomorrow. If I’m not home for dinner,’ she added with a laugh, ‘send the Bow Street Runners to rescue me from the clutches of His Royal Highness.’

  And thus, on the following day, at eleven in the morning, Sarah found herself in the library of Carlton House. The room itself was surprisingly cheerful with large windows opening out into a walled garden. The books were kept in floor-to-ceiling shelving which lined the room. As Sarah was shown in, the Revd Clarke appeared as if from nowhere and greeted her with a bow. A short, thin, bewigged man in his fifties, he dressed gloomily in clerical black. He wore a pince-nez half way down his nose and slightly pursed his thin lips. He struck Sarah as being the kind of clergyman whose favourite reading would be sermons against sin.

  ‘I am greatly obliged to you, Miss Kedron, for your response to my invitation,’ he said with a voice as thin as the rest of him. ‘I hope you will not think I am wasting your time.’

  ‘That is what I am here to establish, sir,’ Sarah said with a smile.

  ‘Quite. Shall we sit?’ He indicated two chairs near the window. ‘The weather is fine and reasonably warm, and the garden is a pleasure to look at.’

  When they were both seated, Clarke said, ‘I will come to the point. Your time is precious; I am sure. The subject of my concern is the author now known to be Jane Austen.’

  ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ Sarah said. ‘A wonderful book. Unique really.’

  ‘Quite. And of five other titles.’

  Clarke picked up a piece of paper from the small table between the chairs, likely placed there in readiness for their meeting. The librarian had obviously been confident that she would call.

  ‘In 1811, Sense and Sensibility was published with the authorship attributed anonymously to “By a Lady.” A copy was sent to His Royal Highness by our usual bookseller. He presumably assumed that it would be welcomed as it was published by Thomas Egerton, who specialises in military history, one of His Highness’s main interests.’

  ‘Curious,’ Sarah said, as much as for something to say as anything. ‘Did Egerton usually publish fiction?’

  ‘No. Sense and Sensibility in 1811, Pride and Prejudice, two years later, and then Mansfield Park the following year, are his only novels. At the time, the author was not known to be Miss Jane Austen.’

  ‘Did the Prince Regent read them all?’

  ‘I do not know. I know only that he definitely read Pride and Prejudice and enjoyed it greatly. Indeed, he was so impressed that he instructed me to inform the author through her publisher that he would not be displeased if she dedicated her next novel to him. As instructed, therefore, I appr
oached Mr Egerton only to be informed that he had not been offered the next novel. Entitled Emma, it was to be published by Mr John Murray, one of our most prestigious publishing houses. You may not be aware of the fact, Miss Kedron, but John Murray is the publisher of Lord Byron. It beggars belief, madam, but Miss Austen, as we now know her to be, not only insisted on remaining anonymous but also had to be persuaded by the publisher to dedicate the book to His Highness.’

  He paused and picked up a copy of Emma from the little table. He opened it at the title page.

  ‘May I read you the dedication?’

  ‘Please do.’

  Clarke read aloud the following: ‘To His Royal Highness, The Prince Regent; this work is by His Royal Highness’s permission, most respectably dedicated by His Royal Highness’s dutiful, and obedient humble servant. The Author.’

  When he finished reading, he said, ‘I cannot think of a less effusive dedication. It is almost as if it were written under duress.’

  ‘Perhaps she felt it was,’ Sarah said. ‘What did His Highness think of it?’

  ‘He was not impressed. And he felt especially insulted by the author insisting on remaining anonymous. It was if she did not want to be associated with him in any way.’

  Sarah thought it highly likely that this was exactly what Miss Austen had felt. The Prince Regent was widely despised for his extravagance and debauchery. Tactfully ignoring the likely reason for Jane Austen’s behaviour, she said, ‘Anonymity is fairly common with the first book of a female author, and even the second, usually for social reasons; they do not want to risk being associated with a book that is badly reviewed or a failure in other ways. Neither do they wish to be thought to need money. However, I have to agree that to remain anonymous for so long is unusual, especially one so amazingly productive. Four novels in four years is a remarkable achievement.’

  ‘What is even more remarkable—though perhaps inexplicable is a more exact word—is that Miss Austen rejected out of hand what could have been the invaluable patronage of His Highness. Had the dedication pleased him, I believe it is possible, even likely, that he would have offered to head the subscription list for her next novel. For obvious reasons, everyone who wished to be noticed as a supporter of His Highness’s literary tastes would also have subscribed. The publication would have made a substantial profit even on its first printing.’

  Sarah knew this would have been the case. Although subscription publishing was no longer as popular as it had been for the simple reason that it had become difficult to obtain sufficient subscribers to guarantee a publication against loss. Any title, on any subject, with the Prince Regent as the first subscriber could hardly fail.

  ‘Did you have an opportunity to meet Miss Austen and explain to her the value of the Prince Regent’s patronage?’ she asked.

  ‘We corresponded on the matter, and Mr Murray arranged a meeting at his office. I regret to say that Miss Austen did not favourably impress me. She expressed no interest in his Highness’s high regard for her work and …’—the librarian paused and paled at the recollection of the insult he felt he had personally suffered—‘and when I suggested that she might consider writing a novel based on my experiences as a court official, she was, well, frankly abrupt to the point of brusqueness. And then when I attempted to inquire what her plans were for future books, she simply shrugged and brought the meeting to an end. I did not enjoy a favourable impression of the lady.’

  Replacing the copy of Emma on the table, he said, ‘There are two further items I wish to bring to your attention. Last year, John Murray published two further novels, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. They finally revealed the author to be Jane Austen. By then she was deceased. Attached to the novels was a brief biography of the author written by her brother, Henry Austen. In this, he has little to say about his sister’s literary output. He contents himself by listing some titles without any comment and concerns himself almost wholly with such matters as her sweetness of character, her piety and how greatly she was loved and so on by her family. His only other reference to the works is to insist that they were of little importance to her and that she had no interest in any financial benefits to be enjoyed from their sales. He also insists that she had no interest in achieving fame of any kind and had demanded that her name should not be associated with any of her books during her lifetime.’

  ‘Extraordinary.’ Sarah slowly moved her head from side to side in surprise. Jane Austen seemed to have behaved like no author she had ever met or of whom she had heard. Invariably they all sought, usually unrealistically, a degree of fame and fortune.

  The librarian continued. ‘Miss Austen died on 17 July 1817 and is interred in Winchester Cathedral. I am reliably informed that her gravestone makes no reference to her authorship. It is as if her family, for one reason or another, are determined to disassociate themselves from her writing.’

  Sarah fell silent for a few moments while she considered this. Then she asked, ‘Do you have a possible explanation?’

  Clarke nodded. ‘Lady Hertford, who is a great reader of novels of all kinds, is of the opinion that the novels attributed to Miss Austen may not have all been written by her. Lady Hertford is especially adamant that Pride and Prejudice and, perhaps, Sense and Sensibility were not written by the same person as the other four books.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Sarah exclaimed. ‘That is a most serious allegation. Apart from possible legal implications, there are other issues.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘You are suggesting, if I understand you correctly, sir, that Miss Austen and her family possess information about her writing that she—and they—wished to conceal.’

  ‘I can think of no other explanation.’

  Sarah remained silent for a moment or two. Then she said, ‘I am not at all sure what I should or could do about such a situation if, indeed, it exists.’

  ‘You contribute articles to The Informer, of which I understand your father is the proprietor. Perhaps you could raise the matter in an article.’

  ‘I would need a great deal more evidence before I could even consider writing about Miss Austen’s possible plagiarism or worse,’ Sarah said. ‘The Informer is not a scandal sheet.’

  ‘I appreciate your hesitation, Miss Kedron, and it is one of the reasons I have approached you instead of, shall we say, the editor of The Gentleman’s Magazine. I understand from Lady Hertford that his Royal Highness would like the matter to be thoroughly investigated. They are both of the opinion that the first two published novels and Emma, are of such quality that they may well become increasingly popular, perhaps even classics of their kind and as widely regarded as the works of Mr Samuel Richardson or Miss Maria Edgeworth. They think it important that the correct authorship should be attributed to them.’

  Clarke stood up. ‘Miss Kedron, I am most obliged to you for coming here today and listening to what I have to say. The matter is now in your hands to pursue or not as you consider appropriate.’

  Sarah also rose. She offered Clarke her hand which he somewhat gingerly took as if he expected it to lead him into all kinds of debauchery.

  ‘I will discuss everything you have told me with my father.’ She inclined her head slightly. ‘Good day, sir.’

  Clarke bowed, and Sarah left Carlton House for home, deeply concerned by what she had been told. If, she thought, Jane Austen was not the author of the six books in question, especially of the brilliant Pride and Prejudice, then who and why had she—or perhaps he—allowed the book to be appropriated by another person? Such a mystery, she thought, might be worth trying to solve.

  Chapter-2

  Sarah’s carriage waited to take her home, but she told the groom to go to Chancery Lane instead. As it was almost midday, Sarah supposed that her father might be lunching with James at their favourite chophouse, an establishment that not only provided the best meat but also the most up-to-date legal and financial gossip. Once there, she sent the carriage back to its mews stabling behind their home and off
ice.

  In anticipation that she would want to give them a detailed account of her visit to Carlton House, her father had saved her a place at their table. He raised a hand in greeting as she hurried across the crowded, noisy room to the alcove where they sat. As soon as she sat down, a pot boy rushed up with her personal pewter mug of ale. She thanked him and drank gratefully. Then she relaxed against the back of the tall chair.

  ‘Well,’ she exclaimed ‘you will never guess what it was all about.’

  ‘Did you meet the prince?’

  ‘No, thankfully. Only his librarian. The Reverend John Stainer Clarke. A rather pompous self-important little man. He … or, if he is to be believed, the Prince Regent … is concerned that the six novels claimed to be authored by the late Miss Jane Austen may not actually have been written by her.’

  ‘Bless my soul,’ Mathew declared, ‘what an extraordinary thing to summon you to Carlton House about.’

  ‘There is more,’ Sarah said and described the Reverend Clarke’s other concerns: the author’s reluctance to reveal her plans for future books or enhance her writing career with a novel based on his experiences as a court official. Sarah concluded by saying, ‘It all adds up to nothing, of course. Yet the woman’s behaviour is, at the very least, rather odd. As is her brother’s.’

  ‘Do you intend making any inquiries?’ James asked. ‘If you do, I can give you introductions to the publishers Thomas Egerton and John Murray. They are both anxious to be considered favourably by our literary editor. Hardly a week passes when we don’t get at least one book from them for review.’

  Matthew said, ‘Surely there isn’t really enough information about Miss Austen to justify your spending time on it.’

  ‘You’re right. There isn’t,’ Sarah agreed. ‘And yet … well, let’s just say that I’m intrigued. And it is probably a good time for The Inquirer to publish an article about her. She died only a few months ago and is buried in Winchester Cathedral. That in itself says something interesting about her.’