I think your sisters have drunk too much of the orange wine.
You can bring your sister. And your mother.
Miss Austen... Uh, Jane,
would you marry me and be mistress of Manydown?
Yes, Harris.
I will.
Oh, I couldn't be happier! Jane!
I'll go and tell Father.
Jane.
Are you sure?
Tell me I have done the right thing.
Tell me I was right to change my mind.
Dear God, let me never regret this day.
Oh, I'm all fingers and thumbs with these ribbons today.
It's not your fault.
This poor old bonnet has breathed its last.
My dearest Fanny,
nothing could be more intriguing than your latest letter.
Such a description of your queer little heart.
This new young man you adore, is he the one?
If we could only see into the future
and know in advance if our choices will turn out to be wise.
Alas, you face the most momentous decision of your life
with only your Aunt Jane to advise you.
Come to your cousin's wedding prepared to discuss every delicious detail.
...look mercifully upon these, thy servants,
that this woman may be loving and amiable,
faithful and obedient to her husband.
O Lord, bless them both.
Aunt Jane, you've got to help me decide because I can't.
I must meet your darling Mr Plumptre as a matter of the greatest urgency.
Plumptre, Plumptre.
- Mrs Plumptre! - Shh! Stop it! Everyone will hear.
Such a plump and prosperous name, I fear you'll find him hard to resist.
Come home with us, Aunt Jane.
Father. Father. Tell Aunt Jane she's got to come to Kent.
Please. I'm dying to know what you think of him.
There may be an aunt who could resist such an invitation,
but I am not that aunt.
Just don't think you've got any chance of beating me to the altar.
- I'm expecting a proposal at any moment. - That's such a silly old joke.
Learn from me, Fanny.
All any gentleman needs is an opportunity.
- Mr Papillon. - Miss Austen.
Lovely service.
Miss Austen, how kind you are. How very kind.
My humble effort's no match for your intellect, I'm sure.
- Surprisingly romantic. - Romantic? Dear me, no.
I would have everyone marry if they could. Don't you agree?
St Paul himself tells us it's better to marry than burn.
Who could resist?
I'm convinced, Mr Papillon, that there's not a single freeborn English lady,
even the most unlikely spinster, who could fail to find happiness
if only our English gentlemen would seize the moment.
Any moment, really.
Oh, very clever, I'm sure.
- What a lovely service. - Lovely!
Good day to you, ladies.
Jane!
Silenced by the force of his passion.
You shouldn't torment the poor fellow.
Like a cat with a mouse. And it's cruel!
Mr Papillon is such a dry old stick. I'm sure he doesn't notice.
Anyway, I'm a vicar's daughter.
Why shouldn't I make a charming vicar's wife?
And you set a bad example to our niece.
The child is delightful.
To think of her married to an ordinary gentleman from Kent...
Everyone from Kent is always quite agreeable.
I don't want people to be very agreeable.
It saves me the trouble of liking them.
Are you going to have time for that in Kent?
I'll make time.
Help me, Cass. I'll be late.
Write to me every day.
Think of all the new people she might meet.
Mother.
You, you turned your face to the wall years ago:
But Jane, you're not going to tell me she's not interested in gentlemen.
- She's met all the gentlemen in Kent. - You girls!
What if there's someone better?
What if I marry Mr Plumptre and I never meet him?
Someone better, I mean.
What if I pass him on the street and I never know that he was the one?
And what if you do meet him and he doesn't have any money?
But if I loved him then nothing else would matter.
In heaven's name, what gave you that idea?
Well, it says so in all of your books.
If that's what you think they say, my dear,
perhaps you should read them again.
What's worse, do you think?
To marry the wrong man or to die a lonely old maid?
There are worse things to die of. You're not old.
I shall soon be 40! That's almost old enough to boast about.
Well, we must look for a wealthy old widower with six children.
Mmm, very attractive.
I bet you had hundreds of proposals when you were my age.
Thousands!
I bet every young man in the vicinity pined with longing.
- Alas, not for me. - You must've been asked.
I never was, my dear. I'm simply a mistress of all the theory.
And despite the shame of being old, I'm quite happy to be so.
- It's much less messy. - Were you really never in love?
The truth is, Fanny, and this must be our secret,
you must never tell anyone.
The truth is, I am she that loved and lost.
Who was he? Tell me.
I loved and lost and pined and yearned.
And then swore myself to solitude
and the consolations of writing about it instead.
Did you really?
You read far too many novels.
Stop for a moment, please.
BoY: The coach is here!
Hello!
Nerve-wracking the idea she might make the wrong choice of husband.
Alas, for fond fathers everywhere,
the days of arranged marriages are long gone.
Mmm. It's hard for the poor child without a mother to guide her.
You know, she will accept him if he has your blessing.
The responsibilities of an aunt are bottomless.
What do you think? Will he adore me?
Coloured petticoats and flounces now.
- They've had flounces for ages. - It's quite short.
Well, if yours is too long, I'll take my scissors to it.
Don't you dare.
oh, I'll just die on the spot if you don't like Mr Plumptre.
I'm weak with adoration already.
Please don't expect a Mr Darcy.
My darling girl, this is the real world.
The only way to get a man like Mr Darcy is to make him up.
I do long for the day when every one of us on earth
can turn away from shallow worldly desires,
believing, rejoicing, that our Lord will reward us in heaven.
- In the meantime, however... - In the meantime,
a writer like yourself is in such a powerful position to encourage people
to be virtuous and that is why, please don't be offended, Miss Austen,
why it worries me that so many of your men of religion are figures of fun.
My mother...
My mother loves my foolish vicars.
- But I thought your father... - A vicar?
Yes. A real vicar. Whereas my foolish vicars are...
Are all made up.
Do you see? They're just stories.
"A clergyman has nothing to do but be slovenly and selfish.
"Read the newspaper, watch the weather and quarrel with his wife. "
Mansfield Park?
Have mercy on him, Fanny.
Do not oblige poor Mr Plumptre to listen to any more of my ramblings.
- I could write a book. - Please, feel free to do so.
And I will put myself on the sofa by the fire and drink as much wine as I want.
Well, he's handsome, isn't he?
And his religious faith is a point in his favour.
I like his quiet gentleman-like manners.
Sensible rather than brilliant.
There is nobody brilliant nowadays.
Will you recommend him?
Good Lord. What do I know about any of it?
Precisely. Nevertheless...
Girls of 20 are so desperate to be in love.
It's so hard to tell if it's real.
Everyone should have the chance to marry once for love.
If they can.
Edward?
Anything wrong?
Fanny and I must visit our neighbours.
Don't worry, you don't have to come.
My darling Cassandra, do not imagine
I have any real objection to Mr Plumptre.
I have rather taken a fancy to him than not.
Now, however, I am all alone. What happiness.
At this present time, I have five tables,
eight and twenty chairs and two fires all to myself.
I am mistress of all I survey.
So where shall I begin?
Which of my important nothings shall I tell you first?
Hello?
Edward?
Good Lord!
Miss Austen.
Mr Bridges. What a lovely surprise.
Were we expecting you?
I'm late, probably, or early.
I was just on my way back to Ramsgate.
Then I can see exactly why you might want to delay your arrival
as long as is decent.
It's my wife. Her health's not strong. She needs the sea air.
Then... Then Ramsgate's just the place.
Fanny and Edward will be back in time for dinner.
Oh, till then, don't let me disturb your writing.
Oh, no, it's just a letter to my sister.
I can finish it later, by which time, thanks to your appearance,
its contents will be far more interesting to her.
You haven't changed at all.
No, it's true, Ramsgate is not the most elegant of seaside towns.
But Harriet finds the air suits her.
My advice for a happy stay in Ramsgate is to keep your face firmly south
towards the sea and your back therefore...
North towards Ramsgate, keeping my life where I can't see it.
I might find services rather difficult to conduct.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God
and a howling gale from France.
Are you happy in Ramsgate, Mr Bridges?
Yes.
Are you happy in Hampshire, Miss Austen?
Yes.
I was surprised to hear that you had left Bath.
Dreadful multitude of ugly women in Bath.
And as for the men...
Mr Bridges, I barely wrote a useful word in ten years.
Then we walked into the cottage in Hampshire
and I knew we'd never leave.
I knew my mother would be happy and my sister would be comfortable.
You've left someone out.
And I would be free to write.
Things always turn out for the best. Don't you agree?
Perhaps.
Shall I say yes to him, then, if he asks me?
- Has he asked? - No, but when he does.
Because, Aunt Jane, the worst thing of all
is that we'll have to wait absolutely years till he finishes his studies.
So you like him well enough to marry him, but not enough to wait?
- Well, no. - Makes perfect sense to me.
- Are you in love with him? - Of course.
Because if you're not, that's an awful lot of breath we've both been wasting.
There, you just admitted it, love is the most important thing.
- But not the only important thing. - There's money and position and family.
And friendship and passion and shared purpose.
Fanny, do anything but marry without affection.
Stop!
There.
Now you can turn down all the marriageable men in Kent.
I shall be as polite to them as their bad breath will allow.
- Fanny, my dear. So grown up! - Mr Lushington.
My sister, Miss Austen.
Jane, may I present Mr Stephen Lushington.
Member of Parliament for Canterbury.
I'm thrilled to find you as charming in person
as you are on the page, Miss Austen.
I haven't said anything yet.
Discerning elements at the Palace of Westminster
queue up for the chance of meeting you.
Shall I be stared at like a wild beast in a zoo?
A wild beast, caught in my net, right here in this library.
Just where you belong.
Surrounded and supported by the wisdom of the ancients.
"With awe, around these silent walks I tread
"These are the lasting mansions of the dead. "
You like George Crabbe?
I always keep a copy of Crabbe in my pocket
for when the House of Commons becomes too tedious.
- I hope you mean Crabbe in one pocket. - Pride and Prejudice in the other.
Mansfield Park beneath my hat.
Sense and Sensibility tucked under my arm.
Oh!
And where are you going to put my Emma?
A new heroine.
My dear Miss Austen, you must allow me to monopolise your attention shamelessly
till the end of dinner.
And beyond.
But it's Saturday night.
It's gone midnight, it's Sunday, the Lord's day.
Please, Fanny, it's past the time for dancing.
Your sisters are dancing, showing their thick ankles.
Rescue poor Aunt Jane.
It doesn't look to me like someone who needs rescuing.
She's having more fun than me and it's my house!
Well, I'm going to bed.
Fanny!
I'm an ass. I know I am.
And a very bad guest. Please forgive me.
Only if you abandon every single one of your principles
and dance with me immediately.
Miss Knight, may I have the pleasure of this dance?
Once, when you were very little, I opened the dancing
at a rather grand ball with your Uncle Brook.
Narrow escape there, Aunt Jane.
You could've ended up a vicar's wife in Ramsgate.
Far too many beautiful young men here, Fanny.
How can you possibly choose one?
One, two...
John.
You let that horrid politician flirt with you all night.
- I'm rather in love with him. - Mmm-hmm.
He's clever and a man of great taste.
Ambitious and insincere.
It's a good thing I'm prevented from setting my cap at him,
by his having a wife and ten children.
And he's ugly!
Well done, Fanny, you have at last uncovered the true reason
why I never chose a husband.
Why? Because you never found one handsome enough?
No! I never found one worth giving up flirting for.
A castle? No!
Yes! It's been in the Wildman family for centuries.
Yes, I can definitely see you at the altar with Mr Wildman.
I like the idea of you in a castle.
And the next one. Now, he looks very nice.
- Unaffected. - Mmm.
- He's a bit boring. - Mmm.
The Knatchbulls have pots of money. Their father's a baronet!
Well, I like that quiet, sensible look.
He might do for you very well.
Now that must be Mr Hatton you wrote to me about.
The one with the heavenly body.
Yes, but are there any castles in his family?
No.
I don't know what I saw in him now.
Fanny Knatchbull, Fanny Hatton, Fanny Wildman, Fanny Plumptre.
I shall marry him if he asks me.
I hope he asks me.
But I think you like any of the others better than him.
Nonsense. Mr Plumptre has a thousand good qualities.
If you overlook the coarse mother and the sisters like horses.
Good prospects.
Good character.
He's a good match for you, Fanny.
I'm not like you, Aunt Jane.
More than anything else in the world, I want to be married.
And I would have you marry
because I know you won't be happy until you are.
Single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor.
And the best recipe I know for happiness is a large income.
Who's there? Show yourself!
Fanny, what on earth are you doing out here?
- My fault, I'm afraid, Mr Bridges. - Miss Austen!
Aunt Jane has accepted the awful duty of offering me moral guidance.
In the shrubbery?
As good a place as any to lead a young lady astray.
Fanny, go to bed now, please.
I was invited to stay here, at Fanny's request,
to help her make a decision about her Mr Plumptre.
I didn't know he'd made her an offer.
How does a gentleman's failure to make an offer
interfere with a lady's ability to decide whether she likes him or not?
And what lady flirts shamelessly all night,
then lurks outside in the dark gawping and gossiping?
Thank you for so freely sharing your poor opinion
of my conduct and character.
Good night, Mr Bridges.
My dear Cassandra, I believe I drank too much wine last night.
I know not else how to account for the shaking of my hand today.
My hair was at least tidy,
which was all my ambition.
There you are. Everyone else is out, taking the morning air.
I know. I'm very late down.
Thought I might catch you sitting in a corner somewhere scribbling.
I'm not at all in the humour for writing.
- Still going well, I hope. - Well, Emma is nearly finished,
but Mr Egerton is refusing to publish another edition of Mansfield Park
and I was wondering,
maybe we should find a new publisher for Emma.
Maybe we should ask for some more money, too.
Dear Lord, I do wish you wouldn't think of it as writing for money.
Sense and Sensibility has brought me �140.
May I not be proud of that?
Try to imagine how it reflects on us, your brothers,
to have an unmarried sister seeking employment.
Jane, I will always take care of you and Cass and Mother,
but I'm a widower, I have eleven children,
I inherited a house I can't afford to run
and an estate riddled with legal complications.
What complications?
I face a challenge to my inheritance.
A deed was drawn up wrongly, so they say.
If they win, Jane, I'll lose half of everything I own.
Not this house?
No, no. This house is quite safe. I didn't make myself clear.
The writ only affects my claim on my Hampshire properties.
- The cottage. - Now, I don't want you to worry.
There'll always be a place for you all here with us.
Edward, the cottage is where I write!
Oh, Jane, if only you'd been less proud.
If only you'd married.
But if everything on earth is made by God,
including us and everything we do, then that must include music.
Yes! Sacred music! Devoted to magnifying his grace.
But do you think he never meant us to dance?
- He did give us feet! - Well, I know, of course, but I...
- oh, now you're making fun of me. - I'm not!
- I know you think I'm too serious. - I don't.
Like your Aunt Jane, always laughing out of the side of her face.
Well, she doesn't! I don't either.
Please, let's not argue.
No, we mustn't argue.
You're right.
I'm sorry.
Oh, Fanny,
you think me so serious.
And here I am,
overcome by feelings of joy,
and I must ask you, um...
Could you, er... That is, may I...
Could you consider...
oh, how hard it is to find words to express one's deepest feelings.
Oh, you're laughing.
Look, I know I'm not brilliant with words.
Oh, no, you are. You are!
John?
Forgive me, forgive me, I, uh...
I think I might take a walk to that line of trees.
Beeches, I think.
Beeches? Yes, I believe so.
Fagus sylvatica.
The dead leaves stay on the tree all over the winter. Did you know that?
Fascinating subject, botany.
Oh, my God!
I shall deserve it if you never forgive me for my dreadful rudeness last night.
You are forgiven everything except your failure to ask me to dance.
What, and let you point out how little my technique has improved
in all these years?
You were always enthusiastic, which is what one needs most in a man.
I waited for news that you'd married.
As every woman knows, there's a scarcity of men in general
and an even greater scarcity of any that are good for much.
You can hide behind your clever words as much as you like.
Good, because my clever words will soon be the only thing
putting a roof over my head. Or over my mother's or my sister's.
I'm to be my own husband it seems.
And theirs.
I'd have put a roof over all your heads
and cherished you, dear Jane, till death did us part.
Aunt Jane!
Aunt Jane, I need to speak to you.
My darling girl, when I consider how few young men you have yet seen much of,
and how much temptation the next six or seven years of your life
- will be full of... - I'll be 27!
"And a woman of seven-and-twenty
"can never hope to feel or inspire affection again. "
That was satire!
Just because you wrote that as a joke, it doesn't stop it being true.
He thinks we both laugh at him.
He'll never pluck up the courage to ask again.
I've missed my only chance.
You could have my widower. All six children.
Why do you always turn everything into a joke? This is real!
It's me, and all I want to be is a girl and be pretty
and be loved by John Plumptre and marry him like Anna married Ben.
You haven't got the first idea what it's like.
Ben had a cousin
who came to visit Hampshire one summer when I was 20, your age exactly.
Tom Lefroy was going to be a lawyer, just like Mr Plumptre.
Shocking amounts of dancing went on, I remember.
Shameless bouts of sitting together and gazing at each other.
I was a horrible flirt.
Does this ring any bells?
What happened?
Wiser heads than mine noticed that we neither of us had any money.
So at the end of the summer, he went home.
Fortunate fellow married an heiress.
Was he the one?
No, he wasn't.
And I'm telling you this because it hurt me for about five minutes
and then it passed.
You're so young.
Depend upon it, Fanny, the right man will come along.
He never did for you.
"More than seven years were gone since this little history
"of sorrowful interest had reached its close.
"She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time, but alas! Alas!
"She must confess to herself that she was not wise yet. "
...ridiculous. - I know!
"She had used him ill.
"Deserted and disappointed him, and worse,
"she had shown a feebleness of character in doing so,
"which his own decided confident temper could not endure.
"She had given him up to oblige others.
"She had been forced into prudence in her youth.
"She learned romance as she grew older.
"The natural sequence to an unnatural beginning. "
I don't know how you can sit there with dry eyes.
I never weep over anything that might make me some money.
You could call it Persuasion. The new publisher will be thrilled.
My darling brother is a genius.
So when's our publication date?
Don't really have one, not a date as such.
But the contract...
The contract is, um, a work in progress.
Oh, Jane, the money he's offering.
- He wants all your books for �450. - That's pitiful.
I'm a banker. If there's one thing bankers know about, it's money.
You know you can rely on me.
Mademoiselle Jane, welcome to London.
Madam Bigeon, it's so good to see you.
What if I'm mad to think anyone can love a horrible little snob
who can't mind her own business?
Emma? Everyone'll love her.
What if everyone thinks it's not as good as Pride and Prejudice?
What if everyone thinks my best work is behind me?
Henry?
Darling, what is it?
- Why hasn't he seen a doctor? - Let him rest, mademoiselle.
He's always better by the morning.
Help! Oh!
Henry? Who is your doctor?
He hasn't got one.
It's too late to find anyone today.
- Excuse me, I'm looking for a doctor. - Come with me.
- Are you the doctor? - I'm one doctor among many.
I need your help. My brother's terribly ill.
He's screaming with pain, stomach pain of some sort.
It's been going on for ages. He hasn't said a thing.
We don't live far away. Hand's Place. I walked here myself.
- Alone? - I had no choice.
I don't need a doctor.
And you mustn't go wandering the town on your own, Jane.
You're fortunate to have such a devoted sister, Mr Austen.
Would you excuse us?
He's so young, I hope he knows what to do.
Not much fun for you, this.
Isn't that what widowed brothers are for,
suffering terrifying illnesses and giving their unmarried sisters
a chance to fuss and flap?
Pick up that notebook.
Certainly not. I'm not a writer today.
I'm your nurse.
You just write down what I tell you to write.
Go on.
So...
To Mr John Murray, publisher.
No, Henry.
Why don't I just go to see Mr Murray myself?
You can't go out to a gentleman publisher's office.
It's not seemly, it's not respectable.
- I'd rather be rich than respectable. - I couldn't agree more.
Glad to see you looking a little brighter today, Mr Austen.
And Miss Austen.
I didn't understand last night just who it was who brought me here.
I'm delighted to introduce myself to you properly, Miss Austen.
Charles Haden, an admirer.
I'm surprised to hear that you read novels, Mr Haden.
I'm not clever enough for you. Gentlemen read better books.
The truth is, I've read far more sentimental novels
than is quite good for my immortal soul.
You'll have to take that word "sentimental" back,
if you want to truly prove you've read mine.
Well, I was particularly entertained to notice that Lizzie Bennett
only realises she loves Mr Darcy when she sees how big his house is.
The moment for alarm has passed.
Bed rest and quiet are what he needs now. This means you.
I've taken 20 ounces of blood, but I fear
I shall have to come again tomorrow and do the same.
Oh, good. I mean, um, just as you say.
Well, good day, Miss Austen. Ladies.
- See you tomorrow, then. - It'll be my pleasure.
You must fancy Henry in the back room upstairs,
and I am generally there also, working or writing.
Henry calls himself stronger every day,
and Mr Haden keeps approving his pulse.
A young man said to be clever, and he is certainly very attentive.
Tomorrow, he is to dine with us. There's happiness.
We really grow so fond of Mr Haden that I do not know what to expect.
- From Jane? - No.
Mr H is reading Mansfield Park for the first time
and prefers it to Pride and Prejudice.
But, Cassandra, you seem to be under a mistake as to Mr H.
You call him an apothecary. He is no apothecary.
He never has been an apothecary. He is a Haden.
Nothing but a Haden.
A sort of wonderful, non-descript creature on two legs.
Something between a man and an angel.
Infinities of love, J Austen.
Jane! God-like figures quiver at the sight of his scalpel.
Jane!
She's in her own little world.
Mademoiselle?
Haden here has got a jolly good idea for you.
Might even force a better offer out of our publishers.
Talk to her, Haden.
Perhaps your brother has not told you, Miss Austen,
but my senior partner has patients in astonishingly high places.
Places of height beyond imagining.
My imagination flies very high.
Well, I happen to know that the Prince Regent loves your books.
Oh, I hate that man. I always take his wife's side.
Hide your true feelings as you will.
I'm told to expect a royal invitation at any moment.
We are to attend His Royal Highness?
Not we, no. You, just you. I'm only the messenger.
Well, I shall decline it.
The Prince Regent is such a disagreeable man,
it's quite a misfortune to be liked by him.
Oh, so you wish only to be read by men you approve of?
Why shouldn't I choose my readers as I choose my friends?
Because you'll never make your fortune.
Then I shall remain poor and obscure forever.
No, on the contrary,
I would give a lot to see you in a fine gown, sparkling in the best company.
And how does Mr Plumptre like your coming to London without him?
Of course, he's completely devoted now.
Hangs off my every word.
Whenever I look at him, he's gazing down and adoring me.
Aunt Jane, I don't know if I do love him after all.
What strange creatures we are.
Soon as we are sure of a man's attachment, we become indifferent.
Poor dear Mr Plumptre.
You must give him up.
No!
Whenever you are together, behave with a coldness
that may convince him that he has been deceiving himself.
But he'll be so hurt!
I have no doubt that he will suffer a great deal for a time,
but it is no creed of mine that such sort of disappointments kill anybody.
Now that I've arrived in London...
Where the streets are paved with eager young gentlemen.
Fanny,
nothing compares with the misery of being bound without love.
Bound to one and preferring another.
That is a punishment even you do not deserve.
You've got a lovely curl in your hair today.
Not nervous, surely?
Mr Haden, I don't know how to do this.
I have no experience.
You have something much more powerful and much more desirable than experience.
Go on.
You have imagination.
Think of me cheering you on.
Your greatest supporter, willing you to victory.
Miss Austen!
Miss Austen, the honour of your visit is immense. It's just incalculable.
Now, the Regent has read and admired all your publications.
His Royal Highness keeps copies in every one of his residences.
Yes, indeed he does. And even I, his humble librarian,
James Stanier Clarke, I have read them all.
Twice.
Will you have cake?
I will.
I'm sure Emma will be a triumph.
All the same, I'm afraid that those readers that liked Pride and Prejudice
will think it's too serious, and those readers that liked Mansfield Park
will think it's not serious enough!
It's not possible, madam, since with every new work,
your mind seems to increase its energy, its powers of discrimination.
Your books reflect the highest honour on your genius
and your principles.
They are my darling children.
I send them out into the world
to compete with the likes of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron.
It's actually no competition at all, dear madam.
The gentlemen are unreadable.
And yet, I have accomplished so little in my life.
I have seen so little. My work is so small.
- My canvas... - Miss Austen.
...just a little bit of ivory, two inches wide,
on which I work with so fine a brush.
You are quite at liberty to dedicate Emma
to His Royal Highness.
Quite at liberty.
Um, perhaps, in some future work,
um, you could write about the habits of life,
character, enthusiasm, of a clergyman.
Describe him burying his own mother, as I did.
I've never recovered the shock. Or... or...
Carry your clergyman to sea,
as the friend of some distinguished n-naval character.
"Mr Clarke," said I,
"I am honoured.
"But a man such as that would have to talk on subjects such as science
"and philosophy, of which a woman like me can know nothing.
"Alas, I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity,
"the most unlearned and uninformed female
"who ever dared to call herself an authoress. "
- Bravo. - You're so naughty.
You should take pity on the poor kind soul.
I never take pity on anyone to whom I'm not related.
Another reason to thank the Lord each day that I'm your brother.
To our wicked Jane and to Emma.
Like her creator, your Emma is a jewel.
- To Jane and Emma. To Jane and Emma.
And now that you have contrived to get it dedicated by permission
to none other than the Prince Regent...
No, you contrived it, for which I thank you most gratefully.
And Mr John Murray, publisher of this parish, will have no choice
but to give it a swift print run.
I shall get two thousand copies out of him at 21 shillings
for the three volumes.
- Oh, surely you can get more. - As any publisher will tell you,
public taste tends more to serious romance.
Alas, I couldn't write one of those to save my life.
I prefer to let other people's pens dwell on guilt and misery.
A toast to guilt and misery!
Guilt and misery.
Now, if we are to help you make your fortune, Miss Austen,
we must help you to write a proper modern novel.
The kind where every heroine must be the daughter of a clergyman.
Perfectly good, tender, sentimental. Have not the tiniest sense of humour,
speak several foreign languages brilliantly
and be wonderful at music, obviously.
And which instrument shall our new heroine play?
The piano because it shows off her arms so beautifully.
Oh, what hero could be worthy of such a paragon?
One who is too perfectly boring and boringly perfect to contemplate.
You'll have to write his chapters, Mr Haden.
Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked.
Yes, villains are so much more attractive.
Totally unprincipled and heartless. Desperately in love with the heroine.
He pursues her with a relentless passion.
Our heroine is utterly beautiful and her elderly father is utterly hopeless.
Oh, dear, please don't tell my brother.
Everywhere our heroine goes, people fall in love with her
and she receives repeated offers of marriage.
Then, after at least 20 narrow escapes from falling into the arms of anti-hero,
many tears flow and then, in the nick of time...
She marries the one she was destined for all along.
Now, do you believe that, Miss Austen?
That destiny always provides us with a perfect mate?
I do.
- When I'm writing a novel. - So unromantic!
Ah, but your aunt's heroines always get it right.
Each one marries a wealthy man, each one marries him for love.
And you, Monsieur Haden, what is your idea of the perfect wife?
A strong mind with sweetness of manner.
Um, well said, Haden, in this company.
Could you play this?
You shall have your sweet wife,
all gratitude and devotion.
I would wish her to be of a silent turn and somewhat ignorant.
Fond of cold veal pies and green tea in the afternoon.
You looked fagged, Henry. I'll take you upstairs.
No fear. I'm enjoying myself far too much.
Imagine, if you could take Mr Plumptre's modesty...
- Mr Wildman's castle in Kent. - And Mr Haden's...
I'm not sure I know the words for what Mr Haden contributes.
Good Lord. What has become of all the shyness in the world?
Can all the young men in London be as flirtatious as Mr Haden?
Was that two chairs I saw you and him sitting in or just the one?
- Aunt Jane, you're jealous! - I'm an aunt.
- Still a woman. - Still a cat when I see a mouse.
Well, you can have him, my dear.
I will not stand in the way of your happiness.
Aunt Jane.
The more I think about your Mr Plumptre, the warmer my feelings become.
The more strongly I feel the desirableness
of your falling in love with him again.
You like Mr Haden, don't you?
He has very good teeth.
Lf, when you were younger...
I should never have wanted to become a doctor's wife.
There's not nearly enough money in medicine.
Did I tell you, mademoiselle, I have a letter from my friend
living in Paris?
She has read a wonderful new book.
It is called Raison et Sensibilit�.
Sense and Sensibility.
My friend says whoever the woman is who wrote this book,
she knows more about love than anyone else in the world.
Like someone who can't cook writing a recipe book.
Passion is meant for the young. It fades so quickly.
Not in our dreams.
Comfort remains, friendship remains. If you are lucky as I was.
Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.
But the fuss we make about who to choose...
And love still dies and money still vanishes.
And every woman, spinster, wife, every woman has regrets,
so we read about your heroines and feel young again
and in love and full of hope as if we can make that choice again.
And do it right this time.
This is the gift which God has given you.
It is enough, I think.
"For a few moments,
"her imagination and her heart were bewitched.
"She had some feelings which she was ashamed to investigate.
"They were too much like joy, senseless joy.
"Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing.
"But the age of emotion she certainly had not.
"All of the overpowering, blinding, bewildering,
"first effects of strong surprise were over with her.
"Still, however, she had enough to feel.
"It was agitation, pain, pleasure.
"A something between delight and misery.
"The room seemed full of persons and voices. "
"A thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was the most consoling.
"But it would soon be over. "
Jane.
Ready.
We're going to be late!
Coming!
Slowcoach!
PAPILLoN: Sanctify this water to the mystical washing away of sin.
And grants that this child, now to be baptised therein,
may receive the fullness of his grace
and ever remain in the number of his faithful and elect children,
through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
- Amen. Amen.
Let's go straight home.
It's just a bit of backache, really. I'm well.
Really, don't make a fuss.
Poor animal. She'll be worn out before she's 30.
Girls!
Well, Fanny, now you've become almost an aunt,
you are a person of some consequence.
You must excite great interest whatever you do.
My dear, what is it?
Mr Plumptre's got engaged to somebody else.
You could at least try and be upset for me.
My dear, sweet, perverse Fanny.
You did not choose to have him for yourself.
Why not allow him to take comfort where he can?
I would have chosen him, but you ruined it.
- I did not. - You laughed at him.
And every time I looked at him, I saw him through your eyes.
You frighten me out of my wits.
You cannot let anything depend on the opinion of your maiden aunt.
Oh, don't worry, I know that now.
And at your time of life, making a spectacle out of yourself
- for that silly butterfly of a doctor... - Girls!
...in front of everyone. - Girls!
How could I ever have thought you knew the first thing about real love?
Girls, come this instant and admire this beautiful little creature.
Isn't she lovely? She has the Austen eyes, I think.
Haven't you, little beauty? Yes, that's right.
Aunt Jane, I'd like you to meet my Jemima.
Now I've met your Jemima, I'd like to introduce you to my Emma.
Reading? You won't have time for that sort of childishness now, Anna.
Take her from me a moment will you, Jane?
There.
Oh... oh, not like that. She's not a sack of potatoes.
Look at the dear girl. Clever as the day is long,
but give her a baby and she has no idea which end is up.
Hardly like a woman at all.
She doesn't mean to be cruel.
I know.
And you say that you are happy and she takes you to your word.
I am happy, Cass.
Something happened to you in London.
Something between a man and an angel.
Mr Haden was young and unsuitable,
and he thought himself very clever and very fine.
- And you thought him? - I didn't think him anything at all.
Thinking didn't come into it.
My mind was not involved.
You take me back to feelings I thought were long forgotten.
Feelings best left buried for two old ladies like us.
- You could have... - No, I couldn't!
- Yes, you could! - No.
I'm happy too, Jane.
Stuck here, looking after Mother and me?
Well, someone has to do it.
- Henry! - Shh.
Don't wake Mother.
We weren't expecting you till tomorrow.
It means I've lent too much and I've borrowed too much and now...
oh, God, Jane, don't look at me like that.
Yes!
My bank has collapsed which means, yes, I'm ruined.
- Bankrupt. - But Edward could help you.
Edward has his lawsuit. He has enough problems of his own.
Edward's already guaranteed my loans up to �20,000.
I don't think he'll ever see that money again.
Oh, Henry.
- Oh, God. - Now do you see?
I'll take the whole family down with me.
- Mother. - Don't say a word.
I'll tell her myself.
I'll tell her tomorrow.
- Where's she going now? - Oh, leave her be.
Do you want to go back?
I don't want anything.
I want to make more money.
I want you and Mother to be comfortable
and not always terrified that our brothers are going to lose the house
and everything we have.
I want to shake off this awful tiredness and I can't.
We could take you to the seaside.
Nobody loses their appetite at the seaside.
Nobody feels gloomy at the seaside.
Nobody suddenly feels so weak they can't stand.
Please, tell me why you're angry with me.
Why should I be angry with you?
I'm angry with myself.
I can't be ill.
I have a book to finish.
There are so many characters in my head, so many stories,
so little time.
- Jane, let me... - Just leave me alone.
Uh-uh. I saved that bit for Henry.
No, please take it, Mr Papillon, I'm quite full.
Where's your appetite today?
I wonder how many more she'll have.
Let's hope not as many as your poor mother.
It's not like in the storybooks, Fanny.
- Books always end with weddings. Leave Fanny alone, Mother.
You'll spoil her happy ending.
All the interesting business happens after that.
Mrs Austen!
Like finding out that how ever much you love the man you married,
you love your children more.
Right! Uncle Henry saves the day.
BoY: Come on, Uncle Henry! Henry!
On your way back to Ramsgate again, Mr Bridges?
I fear there is no escaping Ramsgate.
Oh!
Oh, Cassandra has caught you very well.
I believe she has.
Sickness is a dangerous indulgence at my time of life.
When we met in Kent, I believe I spoke very rashly.
You're not going to be so ungallant as to take it back now.
I wouldn't have prevented you from writing if that was your fear.
How could I have written if we'd been married?
All the effort of mothering...
We'd have been too poor.
You're poor anyway.
We'd have made each other laugh.
Is that what marriage is?
I suppose no man of flesh and blood would ever be worthy
of the creator of Mr Darcy.
You're all quite wrong about him.
He wouldn't have done for me at all.
If I had plucked up the courage after we danced at the ball...
We'd have been too young.
And later, when I did ask you?
I simply went off the whole idea of marrying anybody.
Tell me now you regret it.
Tell me now that sometimes in the night you think of me.
Tell me even if it isn't true.
What on earth would be the point?
Henry has made a complete hash of telling Mother.
She's talking very wildly, old grudges re-surfacing.
Whatever she says, Jane, don't take it personally.
She's not angry with me at all.
I've had it with banking, Jane.
I'm going to become a vicar.
My sons have always done their best for this family.
But she is a selfish, selfish girl.
I saw you with Mr Bridges.
Flirting like a silly girl.
He's a married man!
If you wanted to be Mrs Bridges, the vicar's wife,
you should've said yes when he asked you.
That's easy, I didn't want to.
It's not as if you were waiting for a better offer,
the rich man with the big house. No, you had that and threw it away!
You threw your life away. And mine! And your sister's with it!
'Cause, no, he wasn't good enough for clever Miss Jane with her fancy ideas.
No, she was worth much more than Mr Harris Bigg with his stately home
- and his thousand acres. - Oh, Mother, please, it was years ago.
Yeah, 15 years. It's engraved on my heart.
Fifteen years since the night you let her run away
like a spoilt child from marriage and security.
I couldn't marry a man I didn't love!
Then why did you say yes to him?
- "Yes, Harris, I will be Mrs Bigg. " - I made a mistake.
Your mistake was to get up the next morning and take your promise back.
What did you want me to do? Sell myself for money?
We would've been rich. Yes.
And what does that mean?
Rich is just another word for safe.
oh, Mother, I beg you.
Don't you protect her, you've done enough of that!
You sacrificed all our security on a principle, Jane.
And has it made you happy?
Has it?
Look at you.
You're ill.
Nobody tells me anything, but I have eyes in my head.
Oh, my poor lonely girl.
- Aunt Jane. - Not now, Fanny.
You said yes because he was rich and no because you didn't love him.
- That's so romantic. - Would you choose my life?
You can be angry with me, Fanny,
but don't you dare feel sorry for me.
Harris Bigg, Brook Bridges, Tom Lefroy.
And all any one of those men might have done is make me quite happy.
Quite happy is not enough.
Quite happy
is not the ending I want to write for my story.
And quite poor is the absolute limit.
No, the only regret I have about not marrying Harris Bigg
is that I'm going to die.
And I'm going to leave you and Mother with nothing.
Oh, don't. Don't, don't, Jane.
It's my fault.
If I'd have stayed silent, if I hadn't persuaded you...
All that night I nagged and nagged you to change your mind.
I made you refuse him.
You made me see the choice for what it was.
Because of me, you chose loneliness and poverty.
Because of you, I chose freedom.
I didn't do it for you, Jane.
I know.
I'm so ashamed.
Cassie.
Everything I am
and everything I have achieved, I owe to you.
To the life we have made here.
To the love that we have together.
This life I have
is what I needed.
It's what God intended for me.
I'm so much happier than I thought I'd be.
So much happier than I deserve to be.
I am so thirsty.
- Your mother sent me. - Oh! Thank you.
- Please let me see Aunt Jane. - Not now.
Please, there's so much I need to ask her.
- Maybe tomorrow. - Fanny.
I'm still going to marry Mr Papillon.
So you're welcome to the horrid old widower and his six children.
A widower with six children.
Jane was right as usual.
Annoying girl.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God
in the face of this congregation, to join this man and this woman...
Don't be sad, Aunt Cass.
Not tonight.
I'm more than happy for you, Fanny.
My husband says I'm the only person in the world
in whose society he can find happiness.
I'm glad he knows how lucky he is.
What's that you're doing?
Don't worry, I've saved you the ones where she mentions you.
Don't! You can't burn Aunt Jane's letters.
You still believe there's a secret love story to uncover?
Maybe I still hope there is.
She was the sun of my life,
the gilder of every pleasure,
the soother of every sorrow.
I had not a thought concealed from her,
and it's as if I lost a part of myself.
My husband sent me to ask you for a dance.
Your Aunt Jane was the dancer in this family.
When I look out on such a night as this,
I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world.
You are the delight of my life.
Fanny, listen to your own heart now.