extract from chapter 17
1804: Bath
On a cold morning in March, Mrs Austen was propped up in her bed in Sydney Place. The blankets were pulled up tightly around her, and only one side of the four-poster-bed was open. Her two daughters and her husband sat alongside her, straining to listen as she read out a poem with a hoarse, dry voice.
‘Says Death “I’ve been trying these three weeks or more
To seize an Old Madam here at Number 4."’
Photo: Jane Austen's House, Chawton
Her breathing was laboured, and by the time she got to the last three lines, she was barely audible. They all moved in closer to hear.
‘To the prayers of my husband whose love I possess,
To the care of my daughters, whom heaven will bless,
To the skill and attention of Bowen.’
Photo: a display in Lyme Regis Museum
She sank back from the strain of talking and closed her eyes. She had penned the poem the night before when her mind had been too active to sleep. Thoughts of Death coming after her had created a personified version of the demon in her imagination and she attributed her escape from him to the care she had received by those who had looked after her.
At breakfast, Mr Austen was so weary that he stumbled as he made his way to the table. Jane reached out to steady him. ‘You must get some rest, Papa,’ she urged. ‘You’re exhausted. We cannot have you getting ill as well.’
Mr Austen slumped in his chair. ‘That would be no more than I deserve,’ he said glumly.
Jane busied herself pouring tea, and Cassandra passed him the muffin she had been toasting over the fire. The pot of marmalade on the table was down to its last few spoons and would not now be replenished until they were gifted another from the pantry of a well-meaning friend or relative.
Author's own photo
‘I blame myself for all this,’ said Mr Austen, making a sweep of the room with his hand. ‘If I were a better provider, your mother would not have gotten so ill.’
‘How can Mama’s illness have anything to do with you?’ asked Jane.
Mr Austen listed his reasons: ‘I should have kept the house warmer. I should have made sure we had more food instead of cutting back. I should have insisted she went into town by chair rather than walk in the cold.’
Photo: Dyrham Park, Gloucestershire
Cassandra and Jane were shocked at their father’s admission of guilt, but there was some truth in his words. Compared to a year ago, their quality of life had undoubtedly diminished. Their breakfast table was sparse and a row of laundry drying in front of a pitiful fire blocked the heat from reaching their feet. The rent and cost of living in Bath had eaten away at all of Mr Austen’s savings, and his retirement income was only just enough to cover the basics.
Cassandra tried her best to reassure her father that their current situation was not his fault, but he was not to be pacified. ‘It’s Bowen’s fees that worry me the most,’ he said. ‘I have no idea how I will pay them.’ Cassandra and Jane had already wondered where the money for this would come from themselves.
‘We shall have to come up with a plan,’ said Cassandra, simply. ‘Put our minds to it.’
Photo: Formerly Bowen's Apothecary Shop. Argyle Street, Bath
Copyright Diane Jane Ball 2025