‘Well Georgiana Digby, you must forgive me for startling you. I was not expected back until much later today. I will, I have no doubt, see you again.’

 
 
Duality

By Susan Brown
 

I would like to thank Miss Jane Austen for the inspiration for this novella, which is based on a time prior to that which is described in Pride And Prejudice and involves a few of the characters in that great work.

There was a time when I was not as I am now and I hope that by telling my strange story, I can help others as others have helped me.

“Run mad as often as you chuse, but do not faint.”.
― Jane Austen.

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Previously …

I stood up and turned around. Before me was a young man in refined clothing, obviously not a servant.

I quickly bobbed a courtesy.

‘I am sorry sir, I did not know that anyone was going to be here at this hour.’

He looked at me with a slight smile playing around his lips.

‘Obviously not. What is your name?’

‘Georgiana Digby, sir.’

‘You are a pretty thing…oh are you this sister of Julia?’

‘Indeed sir.’

‘She also is very pretty. How old are you?’

‘Nearly fourteen sir.’

‘Very young for your position.’

‘Yes sir, I have been lucky.’

And now the story continues…

‘Have you finished your work?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘Well Georgiana Digby, you must forgive me for startling you. I was not expected back until much later today. I will, I have no doubt, see you again.’

‘Am I excused Sir?’

‘Yes, Georgiana.’

I bobbed a courtesy and without looking at his face, I went past him and out into the hallway.

So that was the infamous Phillip, I mused, he is handsome, but there is a cruel twist to his face.

I had no more time to ponder the matter as I still had several rooms to sort out before the family returned. I hoped sincerely that I wouldn’t have any further surprises, as I did not think that my heart or constitution could stand it!

My new life continued on and I felt that I was getting quite good at the various jobs that I had to undertake as an upstairs maid. I had very little contact with the family. Indeed, the rare times that I did see them, it seemed like I was almost invisible.

I did not come across Lord Phillip for some weeks. Gossip in the servants hall was that he was away visiting relatives in Scotland. There was also a rumour that his father might purchase a commission in the Guards for him, but that had not been confirmed. The reasons why he had been sent away were not passed on to us, but I had a feeling that he was still in disgrace after the problems with my predecessor.

It seemed strange to me that we were supposed to keep secret all of the information that we heard when going about our duties, and yet, within the household, all manner of intriguing bits of information filtered down to us.

I was not displeased that Lord Phillip was not around as I remembered that, although he was civil to me in the one encounter that we had had, he was, I believe, a person not to be trusted and the last thing that I wanted was for him to make advances on me, as it appeared that he had a predilection to pursue girls of a lower station than himself, meaning everyone who worked at The Manor.

This was the opinion of my sister and I no had reason to disagree with her assessment. Indeed, she had implied that Lord Phillip had made a few advances on her over the course of the time that she had worked at The Manor.

I have spoken little of my fellow workers. I found them to be of varied character, some good and some not so good.

I believe that I got on quite well with my contemporaries; I think that I was accepted quicker, as I was Julia’s sister. Those above me in the pecking order appeared to enjoy their elevated status, but I had no quarrels with that, as it was the way things were in service. Those below my station, I tried to treat kindly, but I always felt that there was an undercurrent of resentment due to my age and the fact that I had not started on the lowest wrung of the ladder, so to speak.

I soon became used to wearing female clothing and I almost forgot that I was ever a boy. The only thing left to remind me was my male member, which, luckily, no one was ever going to see. I worried somewhat that I would start to grow manlier, with hairs on my face and body and all the other things that separate men from the fairer sex.

We worked as hard as the men of the household, but obviously our duties were different and perhaps did not require so much, shall we say, brute strength.

Julia had been worried about me because I never seemed to show any signs of “shooting up” or those other signs that I have heretofore mentioned. We had a plan that if and when I did begin to change, that I would give notice and move on to another position, as yet undetermined.

For my part, I never wanted to change and wondered when the axe might fall, so to speak. However, I seemed to get more feminine as the days grew into weeks and then months. It appeared that my breasts were growing and becoming somewhat tender. Julia said that she thought that it was just puppy fat, as I was now eating better and getting some meat on my bones as she rather crudely put it.

I was just pleased that I would not, at least for a while, have to leave this place where I felt that I belonged and was happy at.

I see that I have not mentioned my mother’s condition and how she faired since I had left her in the care of my aunt and uncle.

We had tried to keep in contact with Mother, but, when we wrote to her, the replies came from our aunt who said that she was too ill to write. We asked if we could visit, but were told that Mother wished that she would not be seen by us, as it would cause distress all round.

It made me wonder how she was, as she had been painfully thin and ill looking before. Little information was forthcoming from my aunt and uncle and that only exacerbated our worries and concerns for our Dear Mother.

I prayed nightly, as did my sister Julia, that Mother was not suffering and that her passing would be an easy one.

It was with sadness and pain and perhaps even relief that her suffering was over, that we learned of the passing of our dear mother, four months after my move to The Manor.

We were given special dispensation to absent ourselves for four days and go to the funeral and that gave us problems that we had to surmount.

As far as the rest of our family was concerned, I was still a boy. In the looking glass, I could see that now I looked anything but a boy.

I could have pretended illness, but I wanted to go to the funeral and pass my last respects to my dearest mother, who loved and cherished me always.

In bed, a few nights before we left on our long journey to the funeral, Julia and I spoke of the predicament.

‘I must go to Mothers funeral.’ I said.

‘I would not have it otherwise, sister. But we have a problem. We cannot dress you as a boy for a number of reasons. You no longer have the clothes and also, your shape and look is somewhat altered even in the short time that you have been assuming the role of a girl. I fear that you would not pass as a boy, even if you dressed as one.’

‘It is strange that I have not grown as I should have. Although I love being as I am and dread the day when all this changes.’

‘Perhaps we should seek the advice of a doctor,’ said Julia after a moment’s contemplation.

‘Then we reveal my secret.’

‘Not if we seek the assistance of a doctor away from here, perhaps after the funeral. There are a few large towns on our journey and there must be someone that we can consult on the matter and can be discrete and confidential. But this does not get over the fact that you wish to go to the funeral but I fear that you cannot be seen as you are, as there would obviously be questions.’

We lay there and thought for a few minutes. Even if I could, I would not want to go as a boy. Questions would obviously be asked about my appearance and I felt that I could not, at this stage, present myself as a girl.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, ‘what if I am ill.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Julia.

‘You could tell everyone at the funeral that I am unable to travel. My delicate health is well known with the family. I can then go to the wedding disguised as a friend or acquaintance of Mother perhaps. I can wear a closely fitted bonnet to help hide my face and wear that rather sombre grey dress that you have. It is slightly too big for me, I am sure, but it can be altered. As I say, you can tell anyone who wants to know that I am too ill to travel and we shall make sure that I am not recognised. No one would think of me as my mothers son, dressed thus and therefore I can pay my respects to Mother and then we could get away before anyone realises that I am not what I seem.’

Julia considered for a moment.

‘There are many risks attached to this idea. What if our brothers recognise you? I love them dearly, but when in cups, they rather tend to speak far too freely for my liking.’

‘Though it grieves me to say this Julia, but I agree, they are not to be trusted. No, they shall not know that I am at the funeral. Perhaps one day we will be able to tell them, but for now, we must keep our own council. But what think you about the dress?’

‘I have do have two dresses that are suitable. One, as you say is grey and the other is black. The grey one would suit better as you are not coming as one of the family. The black one, as you know, I wore it to Fathers funeral would fit me still and the other grey one is a little tight on me and we may be able to alter it to fit you. It might work, but only if you are discreet and not forward in any way.’

The thought of me being forward in any way made me smile. That, I was sure would never happen.

We spoke for a while longer; making plans and talking about the arrangements that would have to be made. However, being very tired, we were both overcome with weariness after a short while and succumbed to sleep.

The next day was a fever of industry for both Julia and myself. Apart from our normal duties, we had to alter the dress that I was to wear and make final arrangements for our travels.

I must explain that on our father’s death, all the children were given £20 each. Our parents had been thrifty in their spending and had a good income from the work that my father carried out over many years as a well respected blacksmith. Also our mother had given Julia a further £20 to help defray the costs of my leaving my life as a boy and moving to The Manor and more importantly, becoming a girl and all that entailed. We had most of that money left (we had little opportunity to spend it) and that gave us the opportunity to travel in relative comfort to the inn where we would stay over night and then on to the funeral. We had also to arrange accommodation at the inn on our return journey.

I must say that the housekeeper was very kind to us during that difficult time and was not the stern, unyielding and perhaps cold person that she had sometimes appeared to be. She spoke kindly to us after learning of our loss and she had readily agreed for us to go to the funeral, although it would give her something of a headache in trying to cover our duties while we were away.

That night, after such a hard day of work and preparation for the journey, I had hoped for sleep to come to me quickly, but it was not to be.

I lay awake, looking up at the ceiling by the glow of the logs on the small fireplace. I hoped that I would be strong enough for what lay ahead. Many things could go wrong and if I were to be unmasked, as it were, I felt that my life would be ruined.

I tossed and turned for some time, my mind going over and over again what might and could happen. Eventually, my exhaustion overcame me and I fell into a troubled sleep.

And so it came for us to leave The Manor. We left early, as we had to catch the mail coach and four in the village. We only had enough luggage that we could carry comfortably. We were to be away for four nights, that meant that we would have to wear our travelling clothes more than once, not ideal, but necessary under the circumstances. Twenty minutes fairly brisk walking found us outside The Feathers, where the coach was to stop on its regular journey south.

Luckily, the weather was fine and so it was no hardship to wait for the coach. I had worried that it might rain. The roads and lanes thereabouts tended to be little more than dirt tracks in places and many times wheels got trapped in the mud.

Even on fine days, travel could be uncomfortable as hard ruts in the roads could make travel dangerous and uncomfortable.

The coach arrived and we were lucky that a few people got out and we were able to take their place inside, as we paid full price rather than the half price paid by the several unfortunates on top. I shuddered to think what it would have been like if we had to travel outside with the luggage and bags. As it was, we were wedged in with a rather portly woman and two rather boisterous children.

I was feeling rather sick after a short space of time as the coach lurched over the uneven road surface. Luckily, the road became smoother after a few miles and I was able to settle back and enjoy the scenery outside for a while.

The children, a boy and girl, were smacked hard on their heads by their mother and that settled them down somewhat and then, thankfully, they fell asleep, as did their mother whose snores were nearly as loud as the wheels!

We changed horses several times and people got on and off as we made our way to the inn that we were to stay for the night. Just after eight in the evening, we arrived at our destination and after a small supper, we went to bed.

The next day was a similar journey, but not so far. We were to be at the church for three thirty. Arriving at The Bell Inn at a reasonable time, we had a meal and then went to our room and prepared for the funeral by washing and then, once we had scrubbed the dust from our journey off us, changing into our clothes for the church.

All the time my anxiety increased as the time drew on. My emotions were heightened at that time, as I was trying to grieve for the loss of our dear mother, together with imagining encountering what was left of my family and acquaintances when I was in the church.

It had been agreed that Julia and I would go separately to the church, as she would be sitting in the front as befitted a member of the close family. I would slip inside at the last moment and stay at the back of the church, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible under my closely fitted bonnet.

Soon enough I was ready to leave. Julia had already gone ahead. The bonnet hid my features rather well, I thought.

In the looking glass, I saw that I in no way resembled my former self. George was no longer there. I was Georgiana, a girl. I would have been surprised if anyone who knew me as George would ever think that I was still he. For I did not think myself as a boy any longer; I was a girl and proud to be so.

I put on my long cloak and made my way out of the inn and along the lane to the church. I would have to hurry, as I knew the service would start shortly. I could hear the bell tolling for the funeral of my mother and just hearing its mournful tone was enough for me to almost break down and weep.

From behind a tall gravestone, I saw my mothers coffin being carried into the church by my brothers, uncle and one other person that I did not know, but by the look of his clothes, I thought him to be well off and to be in his late twenties to early thirties.

I had little time to think further as it was time for me to enter the church.

I instinctively went to take my hat off as I entered the vestibule, remembering at the last second that, thankfully, ladies kept their heads covered. Years of taking my hat off when entering the church as a boy were now far behind me, I hoped.

The church was surprisingly full but there were pews enough for me to find one out of the way and out of the sight of prying eyes.

I will not describe in detail how the service went. In these times of high mortality, most people know the service by heart; I know that I did.

In any case, I said the responses automatically, my mind on my mother and father too and the times that I remembered when we were all a family together. I know that I had been taken in by my parents as a baby and was not of their flesh and blood, but they treated me as their own, as had my brothers and sister and for that I was truly thankful.

I was not the only one who cried during the service, with lace handkerchief wet with use.

I was fortunate that everyone was facing forward as my display of emotion almost overwhelmed me. Then suddenly I started as someone touched my arm. Turning I saw that it was the wife of one of my fathers’ customers, a farmer’s wife named Grace Hammond.

I knew her a little and she stopped sometimes to speak to Mother when we went to the shops in the village. My heart was in my mouth as I was sure that I had been recognised.

‘Are you alright, my dear?’ she said with concern in her voice.

‘I am sorry,’ I replied, trying to pull myself together, ‘I am somewhat overcome.’

‘Are you related to her?’

‘Erm, yes, a distant cousin.’ I said, without thought.

‘You should be near the front, with the family.’

‘My side of the family were estranged.’

‘I am sorry to hear that; you must have liked her. You are very upset.’

‘I…I remember happier times.’

Just then, the vicar spoke and I was able to avoid other uncomfortable questions. Why I had said what I did, I know not. I should not have mentioned any connection between the family and myself. I should have just said that I was an acquaintance.

Mrs Hammond held onto my arm for the rest of the service and I felt comforted by her presence, especially as she raised no more questions.

Eventually the service came to its inevitable conclusion. Mothers coffin was carried out of the church. As my brothers passed, I lowered my head so that they would not see my troubled countenance.

Others started to leave the church and soon there was only Mrs Hammond and myself left.

‘Are you alright now, my dear?’ she asked, with concern in her voice.

‘Yes indeed; thank you for your kindness.’

She looked at me keenly.

‘In that case I must go and find my husband. God be with you.’

‘And you too.’

A few moments after she left, I followed.

As was the custom at the time, after the service, only the close family and the vicar would go to the graveside for the internment. I for my part, hung back, and then when everyone outside the church had moved on, I followed the short procession to the graveside, stopping behind a tree some twenty feet from the funeral party.

I noticed, in passing that the strange man was once again carrying the coffin with my two brothers and my uncle.

I felt a little hurt and upset that I could not join the funeral party but understood that if I did so, it would leave myself open to discovery and almost certain scorn.

This was Mothers day for the final resting place of her earthly remains and I had no wish to take anything away from that. The only comfort I had as I sobbed quietly into my lace handkerchief was that she was going to Heaven to be with all the beloved people that had passed on before her including my dear Father.

To the left of me was a rose bush. It was not the time of year for any flowers to be out and yet, there was a single red rose high up that was blooming. It was a deep red and beautiful to behold.

By now, my sister, brothers, uncle and aunt, together with a few close family friends and the strange, well dressed man, were at the graveside with the vicar and all were concentrating on the unhappy task ahead.

I ached to be with them. To stand by them and share in the collective grief that we all shared at the loss of one of the kindest, gentlest persons that many of us had ever known.

But it was not to be. I could not chance discovery. My brothers would not understand and I was sure that my aunt and uncle would not welcome me, attired as I was – a girl.

It was quite windy and I did not hear the words that the vicar spoke at the graveside, but, after some moments, the coffin was lowered into the ground next to my father’s grave. A few more words were spoken and my brothers and sister stepped up to the graveside and threw some dirt onto the coffin, as was the custom at the time.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, the party left. As they walked up the path, my sister Julia looked around for me and then when she saw me peaking out from behind the tall, wide tree, she smiled sadly and nodded her head slightly and then followed the others back up the path towards the church where goodbyes were to be said.

When the coast was clear, apart from the gravediggers who were having a pipe, prior to starting their work, I decided that I must go to the graveside. I looked at the rose on the bush and without thinking I plucked it. I would feel the guilt later, but at the time, I felt that it was the right thing to do.

Walking over to the graveside carrying the single rose, tears falling gently down my cheeks, I felt a sadness for what had happened. As a child, I always thought that my parents would be there for ever and now, as I was growing into adulthood, I realised that nothing was permanent or constant. Both my parents were at peace now and I hoped and prayed that they would find each other in Heaven.

The gravediggers stood back as I arrived, giving me a certain amount of privacy. Looking down at the polished wood of the coffin, I recalled the happy face of my mother when she was well. I wanted to remember that image, rather than how she looked the last time I saw her.

‘Goodbye Mother,’ I whispered, ‘I love you with all my heart and soul. I hope that you are proud of me and will look down on me with fondness.’

I threw the red rose onto the coffin, stood there for one more moment and then turned and walked away, trying to contain my grief, but not very successfully.

I walked down the lane away from the churchyard. I had arranged with my sister that we should meet again at the inn where we had been staying. We would be there for the night and then, early the following morning we would make our way back to The Manor, the place where I now called home.

For her part, Julia would stay with my brothers for a while; to catch up on all that had happened and console each other at that sad time and then she would follow on to the inn.

Walking in a dress was not as easy as walking in breeches and I had to hold my skirts off the ground, lest I get them dirty, or worse trip on the hem. It was one of the disadvantages of dressing as a girl, but one that I did not mind.

The day was cold and clear and I had plenty of time to think. My thoughts naturally turned to my mother, I was just relieved that her suffering was over, and for that I was thankful. However, thinking about these things made me feel sad and so I just tried to enjoy the day as best I could under the circumstances.

A few carriages passed me and I just stood aside and bowed my head, in case I might be recognised. I was glad of my cloak and bonnet as the road was dusty and the wheels and hooves did little to help and blew up clouds of dust as they went by.

I was getting near the inn when I heard the sound of hooves coming from behind. As before, I went to the side of the road and waited for the horse and rider to pass, bowing my head, so as not to be recognised by anyone that I knew.

The horse went by and involuntarily, I looked up only to see that the mysterious man who had helped carry the coffin was the rider!

He glanced at me touched his finger to his hat and road on.

His clothes, his bearing and his horse, all gave me a feeling that this was someone of substance. I wondered what his involvement with my mother was; it could not be anything to do with my father’s work surely?

I recalled that my father had several rich and influential families that used his services, but I recalled none of them ever visited us in person to say change a wheel or have the horses hooves reshod. Servants, stable lads and suchlike carried out duties of that nature and in any case, my mother would not get involved with my fathers business. It was all very strange indeed.

And yet, there was something about the look of the man that struck a cord with me. I felt that somehow I knew him or perhaps recognised him, but I did not know where such recognition came from.

Just who was he?

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To Be Continued?

Please leave comments and kudos, if you have time...thanks!

* The portrait is reputedly of Jane Austen at the age of 13, painted in 1789. The painter is unknown. I would like to think that Georgiana looks like this.

Sorry about the delay in posting. I have a lot of real life things going on at the moment. I hope to post more in the future.

My thanks go to Nancy Cole for her help and assistance in writing this chapter.