Cassandra's Sister by Veronica Bennett Page A

kingdom. James hates it too, do you not, James?”
    â€œIt is not my favourite place, I confess.” James’s approach to differences of opinion between his mother and sisters was always diplomatic. “But it has some advantages, not least the number of balls held there. And do not deny you like balls, Jenny.”
    â€œThere you are, miss!” cried Mama. “And even if you do not go to Bath or Kent, we have plenty of balls nearer home for you to attend. The Biggs will hold a Christmas ball at Manydown this year, as they always do.”
    â€œChristmas! Mama, it is only September.”
    â€œChristmas will come soon enough,” said Mama. “Which reminds me, I must pick those last raspberries tomorrow, before the birds have them all, and Travers and I can make jam. You can help us, Jenny, while Cass is away.”
    Anne brought the glass of water; Mama’s weak stomach was placated; James read from a book of sermons; they played with Anna before she went to bed. Walking home in the calm, cooling air, with the scents of berry bushes, grass and horse-manure all around, Jenny sensed her sister’s pensive mood and took her arm.
    â€œWhat shall I do for five weeks without you, Cass?” she asked softly.
    â€œSurvive perfectly well, you little goose.”
    Jenny was quite prepared to spill her feelings in letters, but letters were no substitute for the security of her sister’s presence and her good advice. The puzzle of William Heathcote had not seemed so complicated to Cass. She had concluded something entirely reasonable and communicated it to Jenny in well-chosen words, soothing her sister’s fevered emotions.
    My sensibility
, thought Jenny,
and Cassandra’s sense
.
    While Cass was making ready for bed, Jenny sat at the writing desk. Under the blotter lay the manuscript she had been so secretive about. “A reflection of ourselves,” she had told Cassandra. In her mind she had the story of two sisters, whose different dispositions led them into interesting situations. She even had their names, the prettiest she knew. But not until this moment had it been clear which of them was which, and why they were so different. Now, she knew.
    Taking the pen, she dipped it into the ink and wrote upon a fresh sheet:
Elinor – sense. Marianne – sensibility
. Satisfied, she laid down the pen. Tomorrow she would start
Elinor and Marianne
in earnest.

Henry
    A s Mama had forecast, Christmas came soon enough. Jenny’s nineteenth birthday was followed by a yuletide season so cold that Steventon Rectory became Cassandra and Jenny’s prison. The sisters were overjoyed that both Henry and Frank, their naval officer brother, had obtained leave for Christmas. But the snow was too deep for the carriage to get to Manydown House for the Biggs’ traditional Christmas ball, and neither the sisters nor their brothers could go.
    It was partly this disappointment which prompted Mama and Papa to procure a spring invitation from Edward and Elizabeth in Kent. But Jenny was not to stay there alone; she was to be accompanied by Cassandra and Henry.
Patience
,
Jenny
, she told herself.
Only two more years until you are of age
.
    Much as she had looked forward to the Biggs’ ball, Jenny’s enthusiasm had been dampened by the possibility that William Heathcote would be there. Elizabeth Bigg had kept the neighbourhood on tenterhooks for the past few months by maintaining a ladylike silence on the subject of the handsome clergyman. To Jenny, Cass, Martha and Mary she had confided, with tears, that now he had taken orders and had obtained a living even further away than Winchester. Moreover, her father was not sure that he was a wealthy enough suitor for her.
    â€œBut he is the son of a baronet!” Mary had protested.
    â€œThat is true, my dear Mary, but he is the
younger
son. He will inherit neither the title nor the land. And he may have forgotten all about me by