Jane turned the haggard leather bound diary over in her hands, contemplating it closely. It felt heavy now, carrying with it her heart, as it did. She’d not read it in years, but knew its passages well. It carried the story of her true life; a story of love and its awakening. And not the story of a life lived in poverty, shuttling between family homes and living off benevolence, when it became apparent to all that marriage of any sort was out of reach for her.
Jane cared little of that now, having made her own way, after a fashion, yet still beholden to the men in her life. First her father, then, upon his death, her eldest brother. Despite them all she’d taken her own path, as short as it may have proven to be, she thought. At long last she’d made her own money with her words and could claim some semblance of an independent life, such as it was.
There was little time left. The looking glass on her bedside table told her so, when she dared look at the face it contained.
Opening the diary, she passed through the trifling events that marked her days of innocence leading up to her twenty-first summer, four years on from her coming out.
The day everything changed began like any other on the ancient and dilapidated country farm that was her childhood home. Those uncomplicated days came and went without notice so they were difficult to tell them apart, save for those she recorded.
Until the change, time and life stood still. Afterward it sparkled with a vibrance hitherto unknown, to Jane at least. The days that separated her before from her after were few, as if an awakening had transpired in an instant.
An awakening full of promise and of love.
Finding the page, Jane drew a deep breath and closed her eyes to once again see the sun’s rays play in the undergrowth’s shadows.
June 19th, 1796 — Faeries in the wood
Steventon —
I dare not know what to make of it even still, hours since, being set upon as I was by such fervour of mind and body. Scarcely moving, yet edging closer, I had not been overtaken by fright, but enchantment held me there, staring without understanding. Never had I beheld such a thing as I witnessed. Intriguing, pale, rhythmic, the creature moaned as it in pain but displaying no signs of it. An otherwordly scene as Mr. Shakespeare himself could not envisage. My loss for words was palpable in the moment, and even now I struggle to find them; words of such weight my pen threatens to impale the page I now mark. I dare not write them, but just as I could not look away, I cannot now trust my memory from fallowing as the rhythmic couplet dancing still in my mind’s eye, fades.
It would be easiest to begin from the start of this bewildering day. It was not long for breakfast’s end when a note announced the parson would call in the late forenoon to take luncheon. I was chilled by the words.
Contriving immediately to make myself scarce, lest mama stranded me with the sanctimonious man in the parlour whilst she feigned a crisis of her own design elsewhere. My sister would have to do for mama’s folly.
By rights it was she who should wait for me to marry, having come out three seasons after me, but I was willing to make this one sacrifice. Her countenance would suffer the buffoon for all a living of £100 per annum could offer. I, on the other hand, would whither under his pugnacious manner. For all his supercilious airs, his ignorance shone in a way no number of turns through Oxford could right.
About half an hour or three-quarters before the parson’s carriage was due, I passed through the kitchen, absconding with a small roll and hank of cheese fit for a field mouse, as I went, having found little more than that, so as not to draw attention to myself, carrying my watercolor box, as I was. Slipping out the garden gate was simplicity itself once mama began beasting our lone manservant-come-footman over the dining room silver; an event which could, were she in the right frame of mind, last a lifetime.
Against my better judgement, and knowing it would reveal my plot, were I caught in a way I couldn’t ignore, I cast a backward glance as I crossed under the canopy of St. Jean Wood. As if conjuring him through sheer force of thought,papa was staring back at me from the hen house not 20 yards hence, with the bemused countenance he reserves for those moments mama’s best laid plans are in imminent threat of disaster. His turn back to the hens without gesture or word was his implicit permission encouraging me to scurry into the cool soft shadows falling before a still climbing sun, with my meagre repast and paint box in hand.
Meaning to catch the midday sun’s rays as they played in the waterfall’s spray, I walked down the path with a slight spring in my step, more than pleased at having thwarted mama, the mouse outwitting the cat at its own game, once again. Perhaps the parson was her way of signalling the game’s end with a lesson in humility, but alas, those lessons did not suit me.
Turning down the lesser travelled path towards the far side of the pond, I chose it for the vantage it would give me over my subject, tho it came at a cost of time as I pressed through the ever-dense thicket.
The sun was warm on my skin and I took in the beauty that surrounded me. Butterflies danced through the air, their wings catching the sunlight like fireflies in a jar. The forest seemed to hum with life as I walked along its winding paths.
Hearing the falls, I pushed deliberately on, but with care not to catch my light summer dress I’d been expressly told to change in favour of a more memorable frock, as if that oaf needed reminding of how fortunate he’d be to entrap a wife such as I.
It had been ages since I’d been back here, but it felt like coming home again. I found myself wondering what adventures lay ahead of me, and couldn’t wait to find out, now that I was free.
As I made my way through the lush undergrowth, a sudden noise caught my attention. I paused to listen for it again, but there was nothing.
“What is it?” I whispered quietly to no one.
I continued walking up an incline which opened out onto a small shaded clearing next to a short falls in the stream. When the noise came again, I followed it until she found its source.
It was a salamander with blue-green scales and bright yellow eyes climbing through a bush. It crawled around unconcerned by my presence, peering at me as if curious about what I might be doing there. I crouched down on one knee and we came face to face.
“Hello there,” she said softly, “Do you live here?”
The salamander looked at me for a moment before bobbing its tiny head and scurrying away. I smiled back at it and noticed the leaves of the bush shaking above it. Something else was hiding in there, too! I poked the branches with my finger and out came a small snake. A harmless garter snake, but it still sent a thrill of excitement through me.
Then, I heard the noise again, coming from beyond the shaded pool, where I could just discern a figure, a deer perhaps, standing back from the water? A fairy? It was as if the forest had come alive with creatures from a fairy tale.
My thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound, that stood me still my tracks. A low moan emanated from the nearest eddy before the falls, and then it came a second time. It was no animal I’d heard before, but I was drawn to its guttural sounds.
Creeping forward, still concealed by the thicket, I peered through undergrowth until I saw the beast at long last. At first, I thought it to be a faerie I’d spied, but as none I’d ever imagined, for it had four arms, and far from a lithe figure, she appeared not quite stout, but curvaceous and full bodied a way I’d not expected a faery to look. As I watched her four arms passed over her body in the most improbable and curious ways all of which seeming coincidental with her throaty song, if it could be described thusly.
Drawing nearer still to decern the nature of the pale creature I was enchanted by its sound. Her four hands roved her body, now covering and tugging at her breasts, now traveling over her belly, now rests over the darkly covered notch between her legs. Mesmerized at her alluring dance, it was some time before I perceived a third, then a forth leg, which perplexed my still swimming mind as my eyes I drank in all I could from my still obscured vantage point.
Then, in an instant, I distinguished not one, but two creatures through the thicket, a circumstance that put the number of arms and legs to right, but in what was to me now a strange embrace. Limbs entwined, the foremost seemingly the more buxom of the two, completely bare to the world. I could not make out their visages, but I saw the creature behind had rested its head as if to nestled on the shoulder of the other, as its arms wrapped around the woman in the fore whilst fondling her lasciviously.
Now more confused, I silently drew nearer as the pair continued their dance, until flushed in a heat of embarrassment, though I could not retreat as I’d hitherto expected I might. I crouched, staring as if all humility had abandoned me.
It was Sarah, the chamber maid to the rear, with our milkmaid Bess. Bess the picture of a country girl and lithe Sarah, both as pale as fresh milk, Sarah’s flaxen hair tumbled down her front, while Bess’ dark tresses, almost raven black, fell behind as she titled her head skyward.
It was from Bess the noise I’d heard emitted as Sarah leaned in and caressed Bess’ exposed breast and pulled at her taught nipple, as if to milk Bess as she teased the nipple. Sarah’s other hand ventured south to Bess’ thighs and disappeared into her dense patch of dark curly nether hair. Plunging her fingers deep, she massaged Bess slowly in narrow circles that were reflected in Bess’ heaving breath and soft moans. Whatever was found under the hair, and the touch of it, had possessed Bess.
My own body flushed again heat as I realized they were coupling. I was agog, astonished as I’d never thought it possible that two women would do such for seemingly no reason or purpose, but here before my eyes it was. Feeling the heat pooling between my legs instinctively knelt and set my paints aside.
My own hands, now free of their burden roamed under the muslin of my summer gown, one seeking my womanhood and the slick wetness gathering there, as my breath now grew ragged at the lustful sight. The other squeezing my own breasts as Sarah had done to Bess. My hands were driven by an unseen force, touching my sex in a pleasing way as if to admit watching without feeling was unbearable.
Overcome by desire, Bess turned to face Sarah, pulled her close in a deep kiss all the while backing her to a large oak nearby, once afore which Bess knelt, pressing her face between Sarah’s slender thighs, Sarah resting a leg on an exposed root to better dispose herself to Bess’ ministrations below. Sarah firmly gripped Bess’ locks, holding her close by, her own head thrown back, emitting deep moans and gasps in turn, Sarah’s chest heaved as Bess devoured her.
Caressing my inner folds to draw out the pressure within, I stared intently as Sarah pushed Bess down to the mossy bed, laying her on her back, Sarah straddled her head, now riding her as if Bess’ tongue were a galloping stud. Once sure of her mount, Sarah lowered herself down to Bess’ notch, to be welcomed by spread legs from whence Bess gave Sarah a better purchase on her sex.
It was then I was spotted. Frozen like a rabbit as Sarah beheld me, my fingers remained inside me as I gazed back over the not more than twenty yards separating us. Sarah, immediately apprehending what I was about, she smiled impishly then deliberately lowered her mouth to Bess’ opening, of which I had clear view, with a renewed sort of energy seemingly for my benefit.
I watched them writhe as the minutes passed, devouring each other until a crescendo of moans simultaneously escalated to soft yet emphatic utterances of the pleasure I to was now feeling. Their ecstasy passed over them in waves as I basked in the reflected glow of their lovemaking.
Then an exalted silence.
Sarah collapsed onto her friend as Bess’ undulating stilled. A moment, or perhaps two passed, then Bess slowly rolled Sarah off from below, drawing her up to a kiss once more, tho tenderly this time.
Taking this as my cue to depart, I reluctantly withdrew my hand, gathered up my kit, retreating in silence to leave the lovers in their peace. No painting was to be had that day, but I evaded the parson, which was indeed the goal of my foray into the wood, so in all, it was a success.
Closing her diary, Jane reflected how the images of Sarah and Bess evolved from fantasy to the more earthy and tender display of love she witnessed. What also stood out was as innocent as her salad days were, Jane noted there was no air of repulsion in her writing. Though her diary remarked on both her confusion and the apparent sin, judgement and condemnation was absent.
Until that day, Jane had not thought much of either sex in terms of attraction, other than in marriageability. It had not occurred to Jane that in having found no man suitable that the issue may lay with men themselves. Neither had it occurred to her that she could see a woman in that way, as the idea had never entered her thought, until it did.
This is chapter one in a five part series about Jane Austen’s coming of age in the Regency period. Set in Summer and Fall of 1796, it shows a 21 year old Jane finding love for the first time. Jane Austen never married and there is little of her personal accounts in letters that would suggest a love interest. It is know that her family did burn some of Jane’s letters to preserve her image, however two letters survived. One to her sister Cassandra, and another to her niece Fanny. In both a Miss. Anne Sharp is mentioned as a particular friend of Jane’s, though little is known about her other than she had been Fanny’s governess — learn more from this third party link regarding Anne Sharp.
I haven’t decided where I’ll publish the next four chapters, but let’s see how this one does first!
Did you like that? Check out Chapter Two here —
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