The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen

by The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen (retail) (epub)

  Glancing at her book, Rose sighed and dropped it reluctantly onto the coffee table. It wasn’t like she could get any sleep, so she may as well go and see what was up.

  * * *

  Relieved to see no sign of flames or smoke as she walked up to the door of number 4, Rose pressed the bell for the ground-floor flat. Looking upwards, the floor above was in darkness. The current holidaymakers were either out or very deep sleepers.

  The door was opened cautiously, a pair of bright eyes peering round its edge.

  ‘Hi. I live down there.’ Rose gestured towards the basement flat. ‘I can hear the smoke alarm. Is everything okay?’

  Slowly, the door was pulled back to reveal the young woman Rose had spoken to earlier in Queen Square. She was still neatly attired in her costume, though her chestnut hair now hung around her shoulders.

  ‘Oh! It’s you.’ Rose smiled and offered her hand. ‘My name’s Rose Wallace. It looks like we’re temporary neighbours whilst you’re in Bath.’

  The lady smiled politely and took Rose’s hand briefly. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Miss… Jenny; Jenny Ashton.’

  There was a pause, with only the piercing sound of the alarm to be heard.

  ‘So…’ Rose gestured towards the open door. ‘Is there a problem? Smoke or something? We’d best call the fire brigade and quickly!’

  ‘No, indeed.’ Jenny shook her head, the shorter curls framing her face dancing around. ‘Be not alarmed. There is no fire, merely a recalcitrant contrivance; its disturbance will not cease.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I know not what I am to do.’

  ‘Shall I take a look?’

  With a relieved smile, the lady stood back and Rose walked into the hallway, then followed her along into the ground-floor flat, amused at the attempt to speak in Regency dialogue. Definitely the dedicated fan she had supposed.

  There was no sign of fire inside the flat, but the beeping was incredibly loud and very persistent as they went into the bedroom. Rose stood beneath the alarm and chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Georgian buildings were all very elegant, but the high ceilings weren’t as practical as modern ones.

  ‘Are there any ladders here?’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘There is a spacious closet, but no ladder within.’

  ‘How have you managed to stop it in the past?’ Jenny raised a brow, and Rose added, ‘I’ve heard it before.’

  ‘Forgive me. It was not my intention to disturb.’ She gestured towards the mantelpiece. It was covered in candles of all shapes and sizes, and though none were lit, Rose could tell from the smell in the room they had only recently been extinguished. Beside the bed there was an old-fashioned oil lamp, also not in use.

  ‘I find the lighting pains my eyes. I am more accustomed to candlelight.’ Jenny waved a hand at the mantel. ‘By dousing the flame, it would fall into silence. I find its continuance unfathomable.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s a fault.’ Rose tried not to stare as she looked around the room for something to stand on and then peered into the adjacent sitting room, but it was impossible to miss the books piled high on every possible surface, including the floor. Jenny was clearly an avid reader!

  ‘Might this suffice?’

  Rose looked over her shoulder; Jenny was resting her hand on the back of a sturdy-looking chair at the desk by the fireplace.

  ‘It might.’

  Jenny stood aside, which Rose took as a hint she expected her caller to drag the cumbersome seat over to the opposite side of the room.

  It was hard to miss the array of items stacked along the rear wall as she walked over to fetch it: neatly piled below the window and an old iron door set into the wall were small wooden crates, the contents spilling out onto the floor – an array of antiques and collectibles. Perhaps she had some connection to the Bartlett Street Antiques Centre – a collector, or a trader or something…

  Trying to curb her curiosity, Rose took hold of the chair. It was heavy, and it took all her effort to manoeuvre it into place below the still beeping alarm.

  Kicking off her slippers, Rose climbed onto it. She was tall enough, with the aid of the kitchen utensil quickly supplied by Jenny, to reach the cover of the smoke detector and managed to flip it open. The only answer for now would be to remove the battery, and with a little difficulty she finally managed to grasp it with the tongs and it fell to the floor, narrowly missing Jenny, who ceased her intent study of the quote on Rose’s discarded slippers to jump out of its way.

  Picking up the battery from the floor, she then studied it warily. ‘Such loud disturbance from such small means.’ Then she looked at Rose with a warm smile. ‘I am indebted to you.’

  ‘No problem.’ Rose stuffed her feet back into her slippers and concealed a yawn behind her hand. ‘I’ll just put this back.’

  Jenny stood aside again as Rose manhandled the heavy chair back into place by the desk. There was a writing slope on there – a lovely replica – a glass bottle of ink and what she supposed must be pens, though they bore little resemblance to the fancy quills with long feathers often depicted for the era. By contrast, there were also several bottles of eye drops next to them. Then Rose’s gaze was caught by a piece of paper – rich textured – on the slope. The handwriting on it was very familiar to her. Jenny was clearly trying to mimic Jane Austen’s well-known hand.

  Rose started at the sound of someone clearing their throat and spun around. Jenny was watching her from across the room, her expression keen, and, feeling as though she had stepped over a line, Rose blushed.

  ‘Sorry! Too curious for my own good. You have some lovely things.’ She gestured around at the silverware, books and suchlike.

  ‘One man’s disorder is another man’s treasure, do you not find?’

  Rose eased past her and opened the door to the outer hallway. ‘Er, yes, I suppose so. Make sure you let someone know you had a problem with the alarm as soon as you can, and I’m sure they’ll get it fixed. Night.’

  If Rose wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn Jenny almost curtseyed before deciding against it, merely inclining her head in almost regal fashion, and, keen to make her escape, she hurried to the front door.

  * * *

  ‘Do you think she’s okay? Maybe she’s just gone to the bathroom. I think…’

  Rose looked around in surprise on hearing Morgan’s voice as she closed the door to number 4 behind her, but the only person in the street appeared to be James. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘He’s with me,’ called a voice from the steps down to Rose’s flat.

  ‘If only,’ muttered James under his breath as Morgan hurried up to join them on the street wearing James’s jacket. Rose, who had come to stand beside him, threw him an assessing look.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, phoning. I tried to call you, but we could hear it ringing inside your flat and it just went to voicemail.’

  Rose met his eye, then bit her lip. It wouldn’t do to make fun of him, so she let it go. Besides, she was a bit preoccupied with everything she’d just seen.

  ‘What were you doing in there?’ Morgan pointed to the flat above Rose’s, her hand barely visible in the overlong sleeve.

  ‘Oh – just helping someone out. Smoke alarm going haywire.’ She frowned and looked from her friend to her boss. ‘More to the point, why are you both here at this time of night? And in your PJs, Morgan! Is something wrong?’

  ‘It’s me; I’m locked out again!’ Morgan seemed decidedly proud of this fact, and James’s lips twitched as he met Rose’s gaze again.

  Rose frowned. ‘But you were safely inside when I left you. Come on; you’d best come in. Whoah!’ She stopped suddenly as she made to pass her friend. ‘What on earth is that?’

  A movement had caught her eye as a tiny, furry head emerged from one of the jacket pockets and a pair of bright eyes peered out at her.

  ‘Oh, it’s so sweet,’ whispered Rose, rubbing the kitten’s head with her fin
ger.

  ‘I came out of The Boater just now and there she was out in the street, trying to rescue it.’ James gestured towards the small creature. ‘In her haste, she forgot to take her keys.’

  ‘Can I camp out with you tonight, Rose? James doesn’t have his work keys with him to let me back in.’

  ‘Of course. Let’s go in.’ Rose led the way down the steps and into her flat. Her half-drunk glass of wine was still on the table, along with her discarded book and her mobile.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Rose bit her lip as Morgan tipped the kitten out of the pocket and it ran off into the kitchen to explore. ‘I can’t keep it here. Pets are strictly forbidden. And you can’t keep it at Laura Place. No pets allowed there either.’

  Morgan sighed. ‘I guess not.’ She looked rather crestfallen, however, but before Rose could come up with a solution, James shrugged.

  ‘It’s okay; I can take her… him… it.’

  ‘You can?’ Rose tried and failed to hide her grin, but James merely shook his head at her and went to collect his new ward.

  * * *

  It was midnight before Morgan was curled up in a sleeping bag on the sofa, and she hid a yawn as Rose brought them yet another mug of hot chocolate each.

  ‘James really is my hero.’

  Rose laughed softly. She could tell her friend was very taken with her boss, and she couldn’t really blame her. James was an intelligent, kind and hard-working man with strong loyalties. It wouldn’t have passed by Morgan that he was also rather easy on the eye.

  ‘Yes, very brave; rescuing a kitten.’

  Morgan made a face, ‘Well, I clapped for him anyway.’

  Rose narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t even bring that up.’

  Morgan tried to look innocent. ‘I don’t think it was a big deal. No one ran screaming from you, did they?’

  ‘It’s all fine for you, you’re American.’

  ‘British people clap. I’ve seen it.’

  ‘But only in very specific – ugh, I refuse to talk about this again.’

  Morgan laughed. ‘Fine, but James deserved the applause. He looked after me yesterday as well; and anyway, he was brave tonight. He scaled a locked gate in the railings to save the kitten, and now he’s given it a home.’

  There was a ping from Morgan’s phone, one of several in the past hour, and Rose wasn’t at all surprised when her friend chuckled before tapping a quick response.

  ‘He’s not too impressed with my choice of name.’

  ‘And would he be James, by any chance?’ Rose sipped her hot chocolate. ‘Ha! You’ve gone pink!’

  ‘It’s the hot chocolate. It’s making me warm.’

  ‘The lady protesteth too much.’ Rose smirked at her. ‘So – what name did you give it?’

  ‘Mr Darcy, of course.’

  Rose laughed again. ‘Seriously? It’s going to sound a bit weird when he’s at the door calling for it to come inside.’

  Morgan spluttered into her cup, then drew in a deep breath. ‘Haha! Especially from a man.’ For a moment there was silence, then both girls dissolved into giggles.

  There was another ping from Morgan’s phone, and she snatched it up. ‘Awwww! Mr Darcy is nibbling James’s ear.’ Then her eye met Rose’s, and they both succumbed to giggles again.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Wow! It’s gorgeous; even more so than it looked in your photos.’ Rose held the dress her friend had just removed from its wrapping up against her body and viewed herself in the full-length mirror in Morgan’s apartment. Then she laughed. ‘It doesn’t even reach my ankles. I think you’re safe from me trying to steal it off you.’

  Morgan grinned widely as she took the dress from Rose and tossed it onto her bed. ‘Ditto. I don’t think they make heels high enough for me to wear yours.’ She lifted a fine silk shawl from tissue paper and something fell heavily to the floor. ‘Oh, how could I have forgotten?’

  Sweeping up the small package, Morgan turned towards Rose and grabbed her hand, pulling her to sit on the bed beside her.

  ‘I got this for you.’ She thrust the beribboned package into Rose’s hands.

  ‘Awww, you shouldn’t have.’ Morgan urged her to hurry, and Rose quickly released the ribbon and tore open the paper to reveal a soft suede pouch. Tipping its contents onto her palm, she gasped.

  ‘Oh, Morgan.’ Her gaze flew to her friend’s face, her eyes feeling suddenly wet and her throat tightening. ‘It’s… it’s just beautiful.’

  Resting on her hand was a stunning, hand-crafted yellow topaz cross on a fine gold chain – as close as it was possible to be to the one said to have belonged to Jane Austen herself.

  ‘Wait! Look!’ Morgan leaned over to the bedside table and opened the drawer. ‘I have one too, see?’

  She held up another delicate cross and chain, a perfect copy of that believed to have belonged to Cassandra Austen. ‘Now we can be “sisters” too.’

  Touched beyond words, Rose leaned over and hugged Morgan, sniffing back on her tears. ‘It’s the most beautiful gift ever.’

  ‘One of my brother’s ex-girlfriends’ sister is big into jewellery design – she makes bespoke pieces, so I commissioned her. Sent her photos of the crosses, and this is what she came up with. Aren’t they awesome?’

  ‘Beyond awesome! I love them.’ Rose couldn’t take her eyes off her gift, but Morgan nudged her and pointed to her watch.

  ‘Hey, we’d better hurry up or we’re going to be late meeting the others.’

  A frantic twenty minutes later, Rose fastened the final button on the back of Morgan’s dress and left her to put the finishing touches to her hair, which she had bundled up into a tousled bun through which she was now threading ribbons, repeating her regret she hadn’t managed to buy a bonnet. Walking into the drawing room to admire her gift in the large, ornate mirror over the fireplace, Rose stared at her reflection. Her naturally curling hair for once was doing her a favour, with the soft tendrils she had left free from the pinned tresses at the back framing her face in a fair imitation of a period hairstyle.

  Morgan soon joined her, and they admired the effect of the two necklaces for a moment, but then something caught Rose’s eye, and she glanced out of the window. ‘Hey, look. It’s my nutty neighbour.’

  They hurried over to the window, just in time to see the back of Jenny Ashton, impeccably dressed in Regency costume, as she disappeared into Argyle Street on her way into town.

  Morgan grinned at Rose as they turned away. ‘Off to the promenade, no doubt. So – how do you feel this morning about her? Do you still think she’s forging letters to finance her candle fetish?’

  Rose shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable about their conjecturing during the previous evening. ‘I’m not sure. I mean, she’s a contradiction. Even you travel with books about Austen’ – she nodded towards the books scattered over the coffee table – ‘but I couldn’t see a single one in the apartment. There were books everywhere, but they seemed to be more reference ones: history, science, medicine. A total contrast to writing letters starting “My dear Cassandra” in a fair imitation of Jane Austen’s handwriting.’

  Rose frowned as she picked up her reticule and shawl. ‘There’s something not right; she’s beyond being an avid fan of the era. It’s as if she’s living the whole thing for real. D’you know what I mean? And the handwriting… well, it’s just too accurate. How could anyone be that good at it?’

  Morgan laughed and tapped something into her phone, before showing a familiar webpage to Rose. ‘It’s a font; we see it all the time on these blogs and things.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘No buts. Look, it’s here.’ Morgan grabbed the latest copy of Jane Austen’s Regency World magazine from the side table. ‘Her name, written using her handwriting. Anyone could learn to copy it.’

  ‘But not using a quill, surely? And proper ink, and paper that doesn’t look like any paper we’ve ever seen.’

  ‘So she’s got a specialist supplier.’ Morgan shrugged
as they both picked up their accessories and headed for the door. ‘Why does it bother you so much?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rose shook her head. ‘There’s just something about her; I mean, yes, so she’s a dedicated fan, but…’

  ‘Yeah, she’s obsessive. We already know that.’

  Rose sighed. ‘Yet there is still a huge great big “but”.’

  Morgan snorted, and Rose could not help but laugh. ‘Not that sort of butt, you twit!’

  ‘Come on, it’s time we set off.’ Morgan grabbed her keys. ‘Let’s not forget these today.’

  Two minutes later and they were on their way, with Rose trying not to think about that fact she was walking through Bath city centre in full costume on a busy Saturday morning.

  ‘How long of a walk is it again?’ Morgan looked up at Rose as they waited on the kerb to cross the road.

  ‘It takes about an hour and a half from start to finish.’

  ‘I hope these shoes last.’ Morgan lifted her skirts and Rose eyed her very pretty, very impractical soft shoes warily.

  ‘I told you not to try being too authentic, but you just had to listen to that Letitia woman.’

  They hurried across the road when the chance came, and Morgan shrugged.

  ‘She told me the least I could do if I was going to invade such a purely British event was get the Irene gal to do my costumes and supply the extras so I wouldn’t embarrass the monarchy. She said—’

  ‘Did she really tell you that?’ Rose asked, distracted. Letitia and her friend, Irene, were avid Regency amateur historians, famous for being strictly accurate about every aspect of costume. Unfortunately, they were so strict that it tended to suck the joy out of anyone in their general vicinity who was simply trying to enjoy the festival and, to be honest, didn’t have limitless funds to spend on authentic Regency clothing and accessories.

  ‘Well, not in so many words. It was the tone, though – believe me.’