The window of one of the sitting rooms faced the road but was blocked up before the Austen party moved in; this alteration, which was no doubt much discussed between Edward and his sisters, gives the house a somewhat blank, unbalanced look that is oddly charming in its asymmetry. A new, prettier window was installed overlooking the improved garden, a mixture of flowers, shrubs, grass, and orchard. Edward arranged for the planting of a hornbeam hedge between the house and road, thinking, probably, that it would protect the women from noise and dust. In fact, not one of them seems to have found the road a nuisance. The traffic, in fact, entertained them and made them feel in this isolated village that they were part of the ongoing world.

This would be Jane Austen’s final home. Its importance to her was recognized by her nephew in his memoir; she had found a true home at last, whereas at Bath and Southampton she was “only a sojourner in a strange land.”

Chawton made sense. It would be a relief to all the women to have a kinsman for a landlord. Edward would see that repairs were done promptly and that wood was provided for warmth. There would be no alarming rise in rents or leaky roof as there had been in Southampton. Edward Knight’s name was a powerful one in the village, and this alone ensured that the household of women would be guaranteed respect. Two sitting rooms occupied the main floor, and the larger of these contained, once again, a piano for Jane, who played every morning before the other members of the family rose. The smaller sitting room was where she placed her writing table, and where most of her writing took place. The door to the room squeaked when anyone entered, and, according to legend, she specifically asked that the squeaking hinge go unoiled so that she would have notice of interruptions.

A narrow stairway, not in the least ostentatious, led to the second floor, where Martha Lloyd and Mrs. Austen each had a bedroom. Jane and Cassandra continued to share a bedroom; they were used to each other’s company after so many years and had probably taken on some of the characteristics of long-settled couples: reading each other’s thoughts and thinking along similar channels, accustomed to particular routines. A guest room was kept for visitors, and a good many visitors were anticipated, particularly the Austen brothers, who were always welcome. All these rooms were small, but each was adequately furnished in the rather simple style of country parsonages. Under Edward’s eyes the garden was improved by the planting of trees and the construction of the sort of shrubbery walk that was considered suitable for women’s exercise.

Helping to run the house were a cook, a housemaid, and a manservant. Mrs. Austen herself worked in the kitchen garden and, apparently, despite her bouts of poor health welcomed the outdoor exertions. Cassandra seems to have been the head of the house, looking after general housekeeping and accounts and management, with Jane responsible for organizing breakfast for the four women and for monitoring basic supplies of sugar, tea, and wine.

The possibility of achieving a settled state affected Jane Austen even before the actual move took place. Her spirits lifted; she felt emboldened, even silly with happiness. For her brother Francis, just a few days after the move, she composed a piece of cheerful doggerel, saluting the birth of his new son. Her own happiness leaps from the words.

Our Chawton Home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
That ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You’ll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles & Fanny near . . .

Snug, within the easy reach of an extended family, un-worried about household expenses—all this brought Jane Austen’s old spirits back. Months earlier, still stuck in Southampton but with Chawton in the future, she and Martha Lloyd attended the theater—there would be no theater near Chawton, as they well knew, and no amusements of the sort Bath had offered. None of this mattered. Austen was renewed, confident once again at the thought of the life she was about to inhabit.

Confident enough to write what has been called the famous MAD letter, MAD because she signed it with those initials, standing for Mrs.