Free Dearest Cousin Jane by Jill Pitkeathley

our custom in the country. But to tell the truth, I did not want to offend her again as I felt I had done last Christmas when I had been invited to join her at my aunt and uncle’s at Steventon. I know she thought I refused to go because I disapproved of the acting they were all so keen to undertake. True, I do disapprove of ladies appearing in public in such productions as were proposed and I was, as I told Eliza at the time, concerned about leaving my mother unattended during the Christmas season, but the real reason I refused was because I felt there would be no comfort and little privacy at the rectory. Indeed, Aunt Cassandra promised me ‘only a place to hide your head’ so that I was not even sure I would have a bed, let alone a bedroom, and also made it quite clear I would not be welcome if I did not act.
    I knew that Uncle George and Aunt Cassandra were to visit Orchard Street later in the year, so I felt that if I showed I was willingto visit Eliza this might by a means of patching up any feelings that had been ruffled and enable me to do it in the comfort of what Eliza had assured me was a spacious and comfortable lodging.
    In that she was right—the house in which she and Aunt Philla live in great style is large and even luxurious and they are kind and affectionate to me. But I cannot much longer tolerate the pace at which they live their lives. Our mornings are spent in ridiculous calls from one door to another without ever being let in, our afternoons in drinking tea with affable and lively company, our evenings at theatres, balls, and concerts. They are constantly trying to do things for my pleasure and the coach with the coronet emblem is ever at my disposal, but oh! how I long for a simple walk in Kensington Gardens, which I can only occasionally prevail on them to allow.
    I confess though that it was splendid to be able to write to Mama and relate our visit to St James’s and to tell her that we had been invited to a party given by the Duchess of Cumberland.
    Of course, Eliza has some very fine apparel, which nothing of mine is equal to. She was able to lend me one of her dresses with an embroidered bodice and a skirt so large and heavy that I thought I should have toppled over. Rosalie, my cousin’s maid, had to add some lace at the hem as Eliza is so much shorter than me, and I had to tuck more lace at the neck, else I should have been ashamed to be seen in anything cut so low.
    I had great enjoyment in one of our outings, though its cause was a sad one. Eliza’s godfather, the great Warren Hastings, is brought to trial in Westminster Hall and we attended one day from ten o’clock in the morning until four in the afternoon. It was very exhausting, but I had the satisfaction of hearing the great orators of whom I had only heard tell—Sheridan and Burke and Fox—the latter with a most dark and saturnine countenance. I was very struck by Sheridan’s eloquence and by the long queues which formed to hear him, as thoughthis were an entertainment. Hastings himself looked pale, and I was most amazed by how small in stature he is. He is impeached and tales of his corruption abound. Of course, Eliza and my aunt refuse to believe any of the accusations and defend him violently whenever his name is mentioned. Clearly they believe his defence that his actions, however cruel or unjust they may have seemed, were entirely necessary in the situation in which he operated.
    ‘You simply must realise my dear,’ said Aunt Hancock, ‘that India is not England, nor anything like.’
    ‘Nor even France, nor anywhere in Europe,’ Eliza joined in. ‘In India, arbitrary powers without any restraint are quite normal, and it is the only thing that the natives understand.’
    I did not say so to them, but it is my belief that even natives understand oppression and injustice, and I can scarce believe that charges as serious as ‘high crimes and misdemeanours’ would have been brought if there were no evidence. I heard