Dancing With Mr. Darcy: Stories Inspired by Jane Austen and Chawton House Library Read Free

and the gluttony of Dr Grant nothing short of contemptible. But neither gentleman lays charges against her. Is it really worth coming to court for the sake of Miss Austen’s teasing?’
    ‘But—’ all six accusers rose protesting and Lady Catherine’s voice carried through the court. ‘Do not trifle with us, sir. You would not say such things if you were a woman.’
    With a sigh, he subsided, but no sooner had he leant back than Jane found his colleague in the middle of the dais addressing her.
    ‘Well, Miss Austen, you’ve heard the prosecution’s evidence. What have you to say?’
    These ladies – their bodies either stiff inside their corseting or else fleshy and sagging under their righteous fury – ought to make her laugh, not tremble, but when she rose to reply she found her knees were not quite steady and she had to grasp the dock’s wooden surround to stop her hands from twisting together in alarm. Taking a deep breath, she made herself speak slowly as though she were calm.
    ‘Ladies, your indignation is great indeed. You accuse me of having defamed you. But I repudiate your charge. When I wrote Emma, did I not take my impetuous heroine to task for her thoughtless behaviour? When my Mr Knightley asserts that Miss Bates’s age and indigence should arouse Emma’s compassion, not her flippancy, do I not speak out on behalf of every old woman who has ever found herself a target for youth’s barbs?’
    ‘Not so, dear.’ Lady Russell had risen. ‘For the fact is, your creations enjoy a more vigorous life than the sentiments they utter. We all admire Mr Knightley’s integrity, but actions speak louder than words. In preparing to come to court, I had to remind myself of what he says that day on Box Hill. My memory requires no such prompting to recall how my friend Mrs Norris refuses to let Fanny have a fire to warm that chill East Room. Further, I cannot set eyes on a green baize surface without recalling Mrs Norris’s effrontery in appropriating the curtain intended for the Mansfield theatricals. You may claim that respect is our due, but so often you show us forfeiting it by our conduct.’
    ‘Is this assertion true even of Mrs Jennings?’ Despite the deep breaths, her question came out in a gasp.
    ‘Mrs Jennings who pours heartbroken Marianne Dashwood a glass of Constantia wine because it helps soothe colicky gout? Now really, that is as much a blending of the good and the ridiculous as anything you achieve with Miss Bates. Mrs Jennings doesn’t help you at all.’ Lady Russell’s voice became stern. ‘When, in the future,’ she asserted, ‘Mr D. W. Harding of London University will come to join us here, he will seek to convince you that in your heart you hated – his word, dear, not mine – your society and that in order to make your life bearable, you regulated your hatred by turning it to ridicule. Now, none of us much cares to be made to look ridiculous. That is why we press our charge and ask the judges of the dead to punish you by consigning your books, your letters and all evidence of your writing to Lethe. When everything is forgotten, we shall consider ourselves vindicated.’
    Forgotten? When those works were so dear to her? Even if she could not refute the charge, surely she might frame some plea in her own mitigation? If she might only return to earth once more, she would create an elderly woman who combined such benevolence and sagacity that the whole world would love her and long to be as old and as clever and as kind as she. Jane opened her mouth to speak.
    ‘Silence,’ announced both the usher and the court clerk in the same second, and the judge at the left-hand end of the dais rose with upheld hand.
    ‘Before the bench pronounces judgement,’ he said, ‘it behoves us to consider our powers. To suppress these books through all eternity when they stand published by Mr John Murray in elegant demi-octavos and when some of them have attracted the favourable opinions of