Whilst the maids tended to the cleaning of the baby and the changing of the bed, Mr Austen used the time to write to Susannah and inform her of his latest arrival. He dutifully asked if there was any news from Jamaica and passed on a message about a ploughing match to his half-brother.

He was used to writing family announcements by now, and the birth of another daughter no longer commanded the cost of a letter all to itself. He sealed the paper with wax and handed it to his servant to take to the post. Then, as was his custom with all his children, he collected the bottle of holy water which he kept locked away in his study, and returned upstairs to his wife.

The days and weeks that followed brought the worst winter storms for years. The whole family was trapped indoors by dangerous snowdrifts and the rectory was colder and draughtier than ever, even with blankets covering all the windows and fires lit in every grate. All the homes in the village were the same, with thick plumes of black smoke wafting up from every chimney in the neighbourhood. Outside, the biting air caused ponds to freeze and milk in the dairy to turn to ice. In the attics of the rectory, the water in the wash basins froze every morning and Mr Austen had to go out several times each day to break the ice in the animals’ water troughs with a pickaxe. It seemed to take forever for the ice to finally thaw and the roads to clear.