Extract from chapter 2
1764: Deane
Deane was as different to Bath as a boot is to a slipper and the new Mrs Austen was struck by the contrast immediately. The higgledy-piggledy rooms of her little rectory were a far cry from the smartly decorated chambers she had been accustomed to.
Throughout her youth, time management had been the backbone of her society. She had eaten at a respectable time, paid visits when predicted and received callers as etiquette dictated.
Photo: 1 Royal Crescent Museum, Bath
Here, in this friendly little neighbourhood, people stuck to no rules whatsoever. They called when they wished or simply because they were passing. In Deane, folk were ruled by the land and the seasons, not by convention or the clock.
Photo: Newark Park, Wotton-Under-Edge, Gloucestershire.
The acquisition of an elegant young couple into the neighbourhood was a novelty. Eager to make them feel at home, the locals came by the rectory every day to offer presents of rabbits, eggs, preserves and handmade gifts.
Photo: 1 Royal Crescent Museum, Bath
“What am I to do with all these handkerchiefs?” laughed Mrs Austen when yet another farmer’s wife left a lovingly embroidered bestowal at her door. “I must have ten now … at least.”
“I’m sure they will come in useful, my love.” Mr Austen held the latest addition up to the light to admire it; an intricate flower had been sewn into one corner by a very capable hand. “I think you will be exceedingly glad of them all in this rural wilderness.” He smiled tenderly at his wife. “It’s their way of welcoming you, my love. They want you to know that they like you.”
Mrs Austen decided this unfamiliar fuzzy feeling must be contentment and she hummed a tune to herself whilst she folded up her latest lace-trimmed offering and placed it neatly in a drawer on top of the rest.
Photo: 1 Royal Crescent Museum, Bath
Whenever the couple walked around the lanes they were followed by curious children or watched by old maids twitching at the curtains of their cottages.
“Can I carry your basket, Ma’am?”
“Let me help you over that ditch, Mrs Austen.”
“My mother says to tell you she will call by later to bring some more butter.”
Author's own photo.
Photo: St Nicholas' Church, Steventon, Hampshire
Mr Austen’s good looks drew plenty of admiring glances when he gave his sermons and Mrs Austen noticed the young women lingering over the small talk he always made at the church door at the end of a service. Some found it hard to draw their gaze away from his large bright eyes: pear-green with flecks of brown scattered about them like magic dust.
The family that owned the most land and property around Deane was the Harwood family of Deane House. Mr Austen was working alongside some villagers in the rectory grounds when Mr Harwood strolled up.
“Good day to you.”
“Ah! Mr Harwood. Welcome.” Mr Austen stood up and mopped his brow to wipe away the sweat of his toils.
Photo: Public road, Deane, Hampshire
“Excellent work, I see here. You have made so many improvements already in the short time you have been amongst us.”
“Yes, Sir. Lots to do, but it’s coming along well.”
“You are an asset to our community, Mr Austen. We are very lucky to have you.”
Author's own photo.
“I’m thrilled to be here,” affirmed the young rector. “Although I cannot take all the glory for myself. If it were not for these fine men helping me out every day, I would never manage half of it. And Mr Bond here is a true marvel.”
Mr Austen placed his arm around the shoulder of the man closest to him - John Bond, his trusty bailiff and the fount of all knowledge in the workings of the countryside. The two were becoming firm friends.
Copyright Diane Jane Ball 2023