THE WATSONS
BY
JANE AUSTEN
AUTHOR OF "PRIDE AND PREJUDICE,"
"SENSE AND SENSIBILITY," ETC.
CONCLUDED
BY
L. OULTON
[Illustration: Logo]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: :: :: MCMXXIII
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PREFACE
This work was left by its author, a fragment without a name, in so
elementary a state as not even to be divided into chapters, and some
obscurities and inaccuracies of expression may be observed in it which
the author would probably have corrected. The original manuscript
is the property of my sister, Miss Austen, by whose permission it
is now published. I have called it _The Watsons_, for the sake of
having a title by which to designate it. Two questions may be asked
concerning it. When was it written? And, why was it never finished?
I was unable to answer the first question, so long as I had only the
internal evidence of the style to guide me. I felt satisfied, indeed,
that it did not belong to that early class of her writings which are
mentioned at page 46 of the _Memoir_, but rather bore marks of her
more mature style, though it had never been subjected to the filing
and polishing process by which she was accustomed to impart a high
finish to her published works. At last, on a close inspection of the
original manuscript, the water-marks of 1803 and 1804 were found in
the paper on which it was written. It is therefore probable that it
was composed at Bath, before she ceased to reside there in 1805. This
would place the date a few years later than the composition, but
earlier than the publication of _Sense and Sensibility_, and _Pride
and Prejudice_. To the second question, why was it never finished?
I can give no satisfactory answer. I think it will be generally
admitted that there is much in it which promised well; that some of
the characters are drawn with her wonted vigour, and some with a
delicate discrimination peculiarly her own; and that it is rich in her
especial power of telling the story, and bringing out the characters
by conversation rather than by description. It could not have been
broken up for the purpose of using the materials in another fabric;
for, with the exception of Mrs. Robert Watson, in whom a resemblance
to the future Mrs. Elton is very discernible, it would not be easy to
trace much resemblance between this and any of her subsequent works.
She must have felt some regret at leaving Tom Musgrave's character
incomplete; yet he never appears elsewhere. My own idea is, but it is
only a guess, that the author became aware of the evil of having placed
her heroine too low, in such a position of poverty and obscurity as,
though not necessarily connected with vulgarity, has a sad tendency to
degenerate into it; and, therefore, like a singer who has begun on too
low a note, she discontinued the strain. It was an error of which she
was likely to become more sensible, as she grew older and saw more of
Society; certainly she never repeated it by placing the heroine of any
subsequent work under circumstances likely to be unfavourable to the
refinement of a lady.
J. E. AUSTEN LEIGH
THE WATSONS
CHAPTER I
The first winter assembly in the town of D----, in Surrey, was to be
held on Tuesday, October 13th, and it was generally expected to be
a very good one. A long list of county families was confidently run
over as sure of attending, and sanguine hopes were entertained that
the Osbornes themselves would be there. The Edwards' invitation to
the Watsons followed, as a matter of course. The Edwards were people
of fortune, who lived in the town and kept their coach. The Watsons
inhabited a village about three miles distant, were poor and had no
close carriage; and ever since there had been balls in the place, the
former were accustomed to invite the latter to dress, dine, and sleep
at their house on every monthly return throughout the winter. On the
present occasion, as only two of Mr. Watson's children were at home,
and one was always necessary as companion to himself, for he was sickly
and had lost his wife, one only could profit by the kindness of their
friends. Miss Emma Watson, who was very recently returned to her family
from the care of an aunt who had brought her up, was to make her first
public appearance in the neighbourhood; and her eldest sister, whose
delight in a ball was not lessened by a ten years' enjoyment, had some
merit in cheerfully undertaking to drive her and all her finery in the
old chair to D---- on the important morning.
As they splashed along the dirty lane Miss Watson thus instructed and
cautioned her inexperienced sister.
"I daresay it will be a very good ball, and among so many officers
you will hardly want partners. You will find Mrs. Edwards' maid very
willing to help you, and I would advise you to ask Mary Edwards'
opinion if you are at all at a loss, for she has a very good taste. If
Mr. Edwards does not lose his money at cards you will stay as late as
you can wish for; if he does he will hurry you home perhaps--but you
are sure of some comfortable soup. I hope you will be in good looks. I
should not be surprised if you were to be thought one of the prettiest
girls in the room, there is a great deal in novelty. Perhaps Tom
Musgrave may take notice of you, but I would advise you by all means
not to give him any encouragement. He generally pays attention to every
new girl, but he is a great flirt, and never means anything serious."
"I think I have heard you speak of him before," said Emma. "Who is he?"
"A young man of very good fortune, quite independent, and remarkably
agreeable, an universal favourite wherever he goes. Most of the girls
hereabouts are in love with him, or have been. I believe I am the only
one among them that have escaped with a whole heart; and yet I was the
first he paid attention to when he came into this country six years
ago; and very great attention did he pay me. Some people say that he
has never seemed to like any girl so well since, though he is always
behaving in a particular way to one or another."
"And how came _your_ heart to be the only cold one?" asked Emma,
smiling.
"There was a reason for that," replied Miss Watson, changing colour.
"I have not been very well used among them, Emma. I hope you will have
better luck."
"Dear sister, I beg your pardon, if I have unthinkingly given you pain."
"When we first knew Tom Musgrave," continued Miss Watson, without
seeming to hear her, "I was very much attached to a young man of the
name of Purvis, a particular friend of Robert's, who used to be with us
a great deal. Everybody thought it would have been a match."
A sigh accompanied these words, which Emma respected in silence. But
her sister, after a short pause, went on.
"You will naturally ask why it did not take place, and why he is
married to another woman, while I am still single. But you must ask
him--not me--you must ask Penelope. Yes, Emma, Penelope was at the
bottom of it all. She thinks everything fair for a husband. I trusted
her: she set him against me, with a view of gaining him herself, and
it ended in his discontinuing his visits, and, soon after, marrying
somebody else. Penelope makes light of her conduct, but _I_ think such
treachery very bad. It has been the ruin of my happiness. I shall never
love any man as I loved Purvis. I do not think Tom Musgrave should be
named with him in the same day."
"You quite shock me by what you say of Penelope," said Emma. "Could a
sister do such a thing? Rivalry, treachery between sisters! I shall
be afraid of being acquainted with her. But I hope it was not so;
appearances were against her."
"You do not know Penelope. There is nothing she would not do to get
married. She would as good as tell you so herself. Do not trust her
with any secrets of your own, take warning by me, do not trust her; she
has her good qualities, but she has no faith, no honour, no scruples,
if she can promote her own advantage. I wish with all my heart she was
well married. I declare I had rather have her well married than myself."
"Than yourself! Yes, I can suppose so. A heart wounded like yours can
have little inclination for matrimony."
"Not much, indeed--but you know we must marry."
"I could do very well single for my own part."
"A little company, and a pleasant ball now and then, would be enough
for me, if one could be young for ever; but my father cannot provide
for us, and it is very bad to grow old and be poor and laughed at. I
have lost Purvis, it is true; but very few people marry their first
loves. I should not refuse a man because he was not Purvis. Not that I
can ever quite forgive Penelope."
Emma shook her head in acquiescence.
"Penelope, however, has had her troubles," continued Miss Watson. "She
was sadly disappointed in Tom Musgrave, who afterwards transferred
his attentions from me to her, and whom she was very fond of, but he
never means anything serious, and when he had trifled with her long
enough, he began to slight her for Margaret, and poor Penelope was very
wretched. And since then she has been trying to make some match at
Chichester--she won't tell us with whom, but I believe it is a rich old
Dr. Harding, uncle to the friend she goes to see; and she has taken a
vast deal of trouble about him, and given up a great deal of time to no
purpose as yet. When she went away the other day, she said it should be
the last time. I suppose you did not know what her particular business
was at Chichester, nor guess at the object which could take her away
from Stanton just as you were coming home after so many years' absence."
"No, indeed, I had not the smallest suspicion of it. I considered her
engagement to Mrs. Shaw just at that time as very unfortunate for me.
I had hoped to find all my sisters at home, to be able to make an
immediate friend of each."
"I suspect the Doctor to have had an attack of the asthma, and that she
was hurried away on that account. The Shaws are quite on her side--at
least I believe so; but she tells me nothing. She professes to keep her
own counsel; she says, and truly enough, that 'Too many cooks spoil the
broth.'"
"I am sorry for her anxieties," said Emma, "but I do not like her plans
or her opinions. I shall be afraid of her. She must have too masculine
and bold a temper. To be so bent on marriage--to pursue a man merely
for the sake of situation, is a sort of thing that shocks me; I cannot
understand it. Poverty is a great evil; but to a woman of education and
feeling it ought not, it cannot be, the greatest. I would rather be
teacher at a school--and I can think of nothing worse--than marry a man
I did not like."
"I would rather do anything than be teacher at a school," said her
sister. "_I_ have been at school, Emma, and know what a life they
lead; _you_ never have. I should not like marrying a disagreeable
man any more than yourself, but I do not think there _are_ many very
disagreeable men; I think I could like any good-humoured man with
a comfortable income. I suppose my aunt brought you up to be rather
refined."
"Indeed, I do not know. My conduct must tell you how I have been
brought up. I am no judge of it myself. I cannot compare my aunt's
method with any other person's, because I know no other."
"But I can see in a great many things that you are very refined. I have
observed it ever since you came home, and I am afraid it will not be
for your happiness. Penelope will laugh at you very much."
"That will not be for my happiness, I am sure. If my opinions are wrong
I must correct them; if they are above my situation, I must endeavour
to conceal them; but I doubt whether ridicule--has Penelope much wit?"
"Yes, she has great spirit, and never cares what she says."
"Margaret is more gentle, I imagine?"
"Yes, especially in company; she is all gentleness and mildness
when anybody is by. But she is a little fretful and perverse among
ourselves. Poor creature! She is possessed with the notion of Tom
Musgrave's being more seriously in love with her than he ever was with
anybody else, and is always expecting him to come to the point. This
is the second time within this twelvemonth that she has gone to spend
a month with Robert and Jane on purpose to egg him on by her absence;
but I am sure she is mistaken, and that he will no more follow her to
Croydon now than he did last March. He will never marry unless he can
marry somebody very great; Miss Osborne, perhaps, or somebody in that
style."
"Your account of this Tom Musgrave, Elizabeth, gives me very little
inclination for his acquaintance."
"You are afraid of him; I do not wonder at you."
"No, indeed, I dislike and despise him."
"Dislike and despise Tom Musgrave! No, _that_ you never can. I defy you
not to be delighted with him if he takes notice of you. I hope he will
dance with you, and I daresay he will, unless the Osbornes come with a
large party, and then he will not speak to anybody else."
"He seems to have most engaging manners!" said Emma. "Well, we shall
see how irresistible Mr. Tom Musgrave and I find each other. I suppose
I shall know him as soon as I enter the ball-room: he _must_ carry some
of his charms in his face."
"You will not find him in the ball-room, I can tell you; you will go
early, that Mrs. Edwards may get a good place by the fire, and he
never comes till late; if the Osbornes are coming, he will wait in the
passage and come in with them. I should like to look in upon you, Emma.
If it was but a good day with my father, I would wrap myself up, and
James should drive me over as soon as I had made tea for him, and I
should be with you by the time the dancing began."
"What! Would you come late at night in this chair?"
"To be sure I would. There, I said you were very refined, and that's an
instance of it."
Emma for a moment made no answer. At last she said--
"I wish, Elizabeth, you had not made a point of my going to this ball;
I wish you were going instead of me. Your pleasure would be greater
than mine. I am a stranger here, and know nobody but the Edwards; my
enjoyment, therefore, must be very doubtful. Yours, among all your
acquaintances, would be certain. It is not too late to change. Very
little apology would be requisite to the Edwards, who must be more
glad of your company than of mine; and I should most readily return
to my father, and should not be at all afraid to drive this quiet old
creature home. Your clothes I would undertake to find means of sending
to you."
"My dearest Emma," cried Elizabeth, warmly. "Do you think I would do
such a thing? Not for the universe! But I shall never forget your
good-nature in proposing it. You must have a sweet temper indeed! I
never met anything like it! And would you really give up the ball that
I might be able to go to it? Believe me, Emma, I am not so selfish as
that comes to. No; though I am nine years older than you are, I would
not be the means of keeping you from being seen. You are very pretty,
and it would be very hard that you should not have as fair a chance as
we have all had to make your fortune. No, Emma; whoever stays at home
this winter, it shan't be you. I am sure I should never have forgiven
the person who kept me from a ball at nineteen."
Emma expressed her gratitude, and for a few minutes they jogged on in
silence. Elizabeth first spoke--
"You will take notice who Mary Edwards dances with?"
"I will remember her partners, if I can; but you know they will be all
strangers to me."
"Only observe whether she dances with Captain Hunter more than once--I
have my fears in that quarter. Not that her father or mother like
officers; but if she does, you know, it is all over with poor Sam. And
I have promised to write him word who she dances with."
"Is Sam attached to Miss Edwards?"
"Did not you know _that_?"
"How should I know it? How should I know in Shropshire what is passing
of that nature in Surrey? It is not likely that circumstances of such
delicacy should have made any part of the scanty communication which
passed between you and me for the last fourteen years."
"I wonder I never mentioned it when I wrote. Since you have been at
home, I have been so busy with my poor father, and our great wash, that
I have had no leisure to tell you anything; but, indeed, I concluded
you knew it all. He has been very much in love with her these two
years, and it is a great disappointment to him that he cannot always
get away to our balls; but Mr. Curtis won't often spare him, and just
now it is a sickly time at Guildford."
"Do you suppose Miss Edwards inclined to like him?"
"I am afraid not; you know, she is an only child, and will have at
least ten thousand pounds."
"But, still, she may like our brother."
"Oh, no! The Edwards look much higher. Her father and mother would
never consent to it. Sam is only a surgeon, you know. Sometimes I think
she does like him. But Mary Edwards is rather prim and reserved; I do
not always know what she would be at."
"Unless Sam feels on sure grounds with the lady herself, it seems a
pity to me that he should be encouraged to think of her at all."
"A young man must think of somebody," said Elizabeth; "and why should
not he be as lucky as Robert, who has got a good wife and six thousand
pounds?"
"We must not all expect to be individually lucky," replied Emma. "The
luck of one member of a family is luck to all."
"Mine is all to come, I am sure," said Elizabeth, giving another sigh
to the remembrance of Purvis. "I have been unlucky enough, and I cannot
say much for you, as my aunt married again so foolishly. Well, you
will have a good ball, I daresay. The next turning will bring us to
the turnpike; you may see the church-tower over the hedge, and the
'White Hart' is close by it. I shall long to know what you think of Tom
Musgrave."
Such were the last audible sounds of Miss Watson's voice, before they
passed through the turnpike-gate and entered on the pitching of the
town, the jumbling and noise of which made further conversation most
thoroughly undesirable. The old mare trotted heavily on, wanting no
direction of the reins to take a right turning; and making only one
blunder, in proposing to stop at the milliner's, before she drew up
towards Mr. Edwards' door. Mr. Edwards lived in the best house in the
street, and the best in the place; if Mr. Tomlinson, the banker, might
be indulged in calling his newly-erected house at the end of the town,
with a shrubbery and sweep, in the country.
Mr. Edwards' house was higher than most of its neighbours, with four
windows on each side the door; the windows guarded by posts and chains,
and the door approached by a flight of stone steps.
"Here we are," said Elizabeth, as the carriage ceased moving, "safely
arrived; and by the market clock we have been only five-and-thirty
minutes coming; which, I think, is doing pretty well, though it would
be nothing for Penelope. Is not it a nice town? The Edwards have a
noble house, you see, and they live quite in style. The door will be
opened by a man in livery, with a powdered head, I can tell you."