The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen

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

  ‘Well, we’d best get on, dearie.’ Claire nodded to Rose and Jane and turned to face Morgan. ‘Where d’you think you left this cap thingy, then?’

  ‘Can we go up to the top landing? It was the last place I took photos, so I’m sure it must be up there.’

  Waiting until they had disappeared round the corner on the stairs, Rose and Jane could still hear Morgan chattering away loudly.

  ‘Oh of course, feel free to keep up with your cleaning. I’ll just let myself out.’

  ‘Come on! We don’t have long.’ Rose pointed at the door to the ground-floor offices. It was ajar and lights were shining from inside. They hurried through the front room and then through the door into the back office where they both stared at the plain, featureless expanse of the back wall; then, after exchanging a glance, they moved forward in unison.

  Rose put her hands on the plaster. ‘Here, do you think?’

  Jane stared at the window to the right of where Rose stood, then walked over and put her own hands just to the side of Rose’s. ‘Here. I would know it with my eyes closed.’

  Pulling the mallet from her bag, Rose drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a rush as they heard a vacuum start up on the floor above. It was now or never. She tapped the mallet against the wall, making a very small dent in the plaster.

  Jane rolled her eyes. ‘Unfathomable. We are seeking a safe, are we not, not a sixpence?’ She took the mallet from Rose and swung it in earnest at the wall, and a large chunk of plaster fell away, but all it exposed was a matted mass of wattle and daub. Jane whacked it hard with the mallet, but it barely moved, taunting them with its solidity.

  Handing the mallet back to Rose, Jane smirked. ‘I believe it is now your turn.’

  ‘But we’ll never break through this! No wonder it’s lasted centuries. And we only have as long as Morgan can distract the cleaners upstairs.’

  Jane glanced at the ceiling where the sound of a vacuum cleaner could still be heard. ‘Then make haste, else our mission fails us.’

  Attacking the wall with every ounce of strength she could muster, Rose finally managed to make a breach in the old wall and, using the handle of the mallet, finally broke right through just as the noise from upstairs ceased; without the sound of the vacuum to cover for them, who knew how long they’d got.

  ‘I’ve never done anything like this in my life,’ Rose whispered.

  ‘Nor I. It is most invigorating, is it not?’

  Invigorating? Rose looked down at her dust-covered clothes and her dirty nails. Perhaps the meaning had changed over the centuries.

  They both began pulling shreds of plaster and debris from around the opening, conscious of the noise they were making but powerless to stop now. The dust was excessive and they were both spluttering and coughing but neither of them gave up until finally they had made a gap large enough to see through.

  The safe was there, albeit likewise covered in dust, but that was the first hurdle scaled. But there was no time to celebrate. Grabbing the mallet from the floor, Rose attacked the wall again with increased energy, but a sudden clattering on the stairs and a voice shouting alerted them to someone’s approach and they stared at each other in horror, both frozen to the spot.

  ‘I think they’re onto us.’ Morgan was breathless as she charged into the room. ‘Fortunately, I’m a bit quicker on my feet than Claire, and Bonnie – actually, I don’t think Bonnie has noticed.’

  ‘Is there a lock on the door?’

  Morgan slammed it shut, forced a bolt across, then turned slowly back to stare at them both. Her face had gone uncharacteristically pale, and she looked quickly to Rose, then over at the wall behind her where the black face of the safe could be now be seen.

  ‘It’s all true. What you said.’ Her voice was faint, and Rose turned around quickly to see what she was looking at. ‘I mean, I wanted to believe you; I convinced myself I did believe you, but now I really, really do!’

  ‘Indeed. The safe remains intact. All we must do is open it, and if the necklace rests inside…’ Jane gestured around the room. ‘All will be well.’

  Aware time was running out, Rose looked over at Morgan, who still looked stunned. Claire appeared to be hammering on the door, and then was heard yelling at Bonnie to phone the police.

  ‘You’re going, aren’t you?’ Morgan’s voice was tremulous, and Rose walked over and hugged her, trying to ignore the sting of tears rising as she was hugged fiercely in return. This was ridiculous. If it worked, she would see Morgan again very soon. And if it didn’t, they’d be sharing the same cell in Bath police station for the night.

  ‘If the safe still holds the necklace, then yes, I think so.’ Giving Morgan one last hug, she swallowed hard on the sudden restriction in her throat, and walked back over to Jane, who stood near the newly revealed safe, before turning once more to meet Morgan’s wide brown eyes.

  ‘I’ll see you,’ Rose mouthed to her, and Morgan gave her a little wave just as a siren was heard in the street outside, followed quickly by the heavy pounding of feet in the room beyond the door.

  Rose turned to Jane. ‘It’s time.’

  Jane nodded solemnly. ‘You will not be sorry to leave this life behind.’

  For a moment, Rose remembered Aiden, the sound of his voice on the phone earlier, and she smiled faintly. ‘No – but it had its compensations.’

  ‘Open up! Open up in there. This is the police!’

  With one last look across the room at Morgan, Rose nodded at Jane, who reached into the hole for the brass handle and tugged at the door to the safe.

  Rose gave an involuntary shudder as once again the ice-cold feeling swept over her skin, but this time she welcomed it as the room around them seemed to dissolve and reform.

  For a moment, she and Jane stared at each other; it had gone incredibly quiet, the cacophony of sound silenced in one all-important second.

  Cautiously, Rose looked around the room; a room she was entirely familiar with as Jane’s bedroom, with boxes full of silverware and rolls of parchment spilling out onto the floor and oil lamps and candleholders on every surface. Of Morgan, the police or the cleaning ladies there was no sign.

  With a gasp, Rose raised a hand to her neck: her replica cross was back! She spun back around to face Jane, a wide smile spreading across her face.

  ‘We did it!’

  Jane had extracted a small leather pouch from the safe and was peering inside. ‘Indeed.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It is to be hoped Cass did the necessary upon its retrieval!’

  Rose’s smile widened. ‘Just hold onto it – firmly!’

  Jane slipped the pouch into the larger one she kept on her person, then looked down at her dust-free skirt. ‘I do not think I have had so much fun since Cass and I sewed up the sleeve lining in my sister-in-law’s pelisse. It seems we are returned to our former selves.’

  Rose looked down at her now debris-free fingers. ‘I know… at least… hold on; I just need to check something.’ Hurrying out into the hallway, she tugged open the street door, before releasing a pent-up breath. There was the brass plaque announcing the building as Jane Austen’s former home, and there, she noted with increasing delight, were all her plant pots, their contents cascading down the steps to Rose’s own front door!

  She glanced at her watch, then frowned. It was showing a time more than an hour earlier than when they had made their raid on the office, and Rose slowly walked back into the building and closed the door.

  If it wasn’t the same time, was it the same day? She tugged her mobile from her pocket; the leather case with the Elvish markings had gone and in its place was the familiar peacock cover. Rose pressed a kiss on it, then flipped the cover open and stared at the screen: Sunday 13 September!

  ‘Jane!’ Awash with relief, Rose hurried back into the apartment. ‘Jane, we didn’t just do it! We did it all!’

  ‘Of course we did.’ Jane was over by her desk, and Rose joined her. ‘Why would it only work in part?’

  �
�I don’t know. I suppose I thought time would have moved on during our absence.’

  Jane was sifting through the papers spread across the desk, and Rose tried to calm rising agitation. She didn’t know what she was feeling: happiness, excitement, bewilderment all jostled for her attention.

  ‘I need to go home,’ she whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of relief, of gratitude, for this life. ‘Downstairs, I mean. I just need to…’

  Jane looked up, then smiled, her warm hazel eyes sparkling again. ‘You wish to be assured of many things, and there is much to ponder; it was an adventure beyond all others, was it not?’

  ‘Yes!’ A whirlwind of images from their time in the other reality swept through Rose’s mind, and she shuddered. ‘Though I’m not sure I’d want to repeat it anytime soon.’

  ‘Nor I.’ Reaching down, Jane extracted a plain piece of paper from the roll at her feet. ‘Besides, I am long overdue in writing to Cass, and thus I shall wish you a good evening.’

  Rose made to turn away. ‘Good night, Jane.’ Then she hesitated before turning back. Her throat felt strangely tight. ‘I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have been on an adventure with than you and Morgan. Your sister is so lucky to have you.’

  She gave Jane a tremulous smile and quickly made her way out into the street again, where she stepped down onto the pavement and then stopped, drawing in a deep breath of the cool evening air. Calm down, she admonished herself. It’s all going to be okay now.

  Slowly, Rose turned around in a circle, soaking in the sights and sounds of her part of Bath: the grand, terraced houses of Great Pulteney Street, the Holburne Museum nestled in Sydney Gardens, and then Sydney Place itself, her gaze falling once more on the plaque beside the door of number 4.

  It was barely six o’clock, and the sound of laughter and voices caught her attention. Looking back across the street, she saw a group of women of varying ages walking up the gravel path to the museum, mostly dressed in full Regency costume. Of course! The festival was still in full flow, and tonight was the night of ‘An Evening with Mr Wickham’. Never in her life had Rose expected to be relieved that that man had returned.

  ‘Wait, wait!’ one of the girls shouted, waving her phone. ‘Group selfie before we go in.’

  The laughter intensified as they all jostled to fit into the photo.

  ‘Sylvie’s bonnet is blocking my face.’

  ‘Clarice, move your fan. I can’t see!’

  ‘Come on, we’ll be late; Helen – hurry up!’

  Shoving the phone back into her reticule – a common, if rather bizarre, sight at the Jane Austen Festival – the young woman hurried after the others as they poured into the museum and out of sight. Struck with a sudden thought, Rose tugged her own phone out of her pocket again and flicked it open.

  There were the photos she had been taking at the festival before things had changed, and… she tapped again… there were her contacts, her latest call list, all looking exactly as it should!

  There were a few missed calls, too, mainly from Morgan and one from James. Rose turned and walked to the gate in the railings. Despite appearances – not just the pots but also the familiar curtains – she wasn’t totally convinced her home had returned until the gate swung open freely, and she sighed with relief as she hurried down the steps to her front door. She didn’t quite trust herself to call Morgan just yet; tugging her key ring from her bag, she opened the door and stepped inside.

  First… before anything else… she had the overwhelming urge to check one more small detail.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ten minutes later, curled up on the sofa with her copy of Persuasion, Rose finished rereading Captain Wentworth’s letter, releasing a soft sigh as she came to the end of it.

  She placed the book reverently on the side table and picked up her mug of tea and looked around the room in contentment. Letting herself back into her own flat had filled Rose with so much joy, she had almost wept. There were all the familiar things: her comfy sofa, the furnishings she had so carefully chosen, her shelves and shelves of books, crammed with titles from all stages of her life – her old friends – and on the wall, an elegantly framed quote, a gift from Morgan.

  You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.

  Her friend! It was still Sunday evening, and she’d not long since left Morgan and James outside the dance class. Rose chewed her lip. Could she talk to Morgan without sounding like a complete lunatic? Laughing at the insanity of it all, she picked up her phone, but as she went to connect the call, she remembered exactly how she had left her friends – and her parting words of advice to them both. Getting to her feet, Rose paced slowly to and fro as she tapped in a text, not wanting to intrude in case… well, just in case she was intruding.

  Then she curled up in her seat and picked up her book again, quickly becoming lost in the familiar words and language. The sudden ping from her phone caused her to start, but she snatched it up eagerly.

  The next time you go chasing a delusional criminal please try to update me a bit quicker!

  Rose winced as she read Morgan’s text. She’d almost forgotten their speculation over Jane and their suspicions about her. With hindsight, it felt the height of absurdity and also a bit of an affront to her favourite author. Then she shrugged; there was no way she could tell Morgan exactly what the truth was.

  So sorry, she typed in quickly. Luckily it was all a misunderstanding. I hope we’ll laugh about in twenty years’ time. You okay? You’re not lost?

  The response came back immediately: What?! A misunderstanding? How?

  Rose swore under her breath; then, relieved Morgan couldn’t see her reddening face, tapped in: She’s not doing anything illegal – just likes to practise the hand, likes trying to use authentic things like the pens of the day and so on. Please, can we literally never speak of it again?

  Morgan was clearly typing a response, so Rose pre-emptively keyed in quickly: So? Did James gather the courage to hold your hand?

  There was a pause, then: A lady never tells.

  Rose’s mouth curved into a smile. Oh? she texted back, then crossed her fingers, hoping the previous topic was well and truly behind them.

  James brought me safely home. Rose’s smile widened, and she silently cheered.

  Did he now? How kind of him. And is he still looking after you? She held her breath, waiting; then the phone pinged again.

  There was no message, just an emoticon of two small faces kissing.

  ‘I knew it.’ Rose laughed and put the phone aside. Time to leave them in peace. Time – she had all the time in the world now, and she’d catch up properly with Morgan in the morning.

  * * *

  When Rose had finally fallen into her bed, she sank into its warm, comforting familiarity with a sigh of pleasure. She tried to start reading Pride & Prejudice again, but her lids soon grew so heavy she was asleep before she could even close the pages.

  She woke with a start the next morning, and for a moment she was completely disorientated, convinced she was still at her mother’s house and facing a long Saturday at work in the library. Then, as she sat up and peered sleepily around the room, she remembered. They had done it. Against all the odds, they had managed to put things right.

  Sinking back against the pillows, she realised she was lying on something hard and extracted her phone. There was a new text from Morgan: Call me when you wake up!!! followed by a string of hilarious emoticons indicating she was in a sunny frame of mind.

  Smiling to herself, Rose closed her eyes and thought back over the previous day spent with her friend and Jane, culminating in their raid on 4 Sydney Place and the breaching of the false wall. Aiden! Rose’s eyes flew open as she remembered his call, and her heart began pounding in her ears. He had called her, had wanted to see her again. Feeling heat stealing into her cheeks, Rose threw back the covers.

  That hadn’t been happening in this life, had it? Not yet… She had to find a way, find the courage to mak
e a beginning. Who knew what might come of it?

  She glanced over at her alarm clock and wished she had thought to set it: it was already eleven am. Restless now, and desperate to reconnect with Morgan and Jane and, dare she even think it, attend Aiden’s talk later, Rose swung her legs out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Was it possible to merge the two versions of her life into one happy whole?

  Half an hour later, she walked through the ever-open door to 4 Sydney Place, eager to see how Jane was and hopefully have her curiosity satisfied over Cassandra’s actions. She smiled as she reached the bottom of the stairs; how different did it feel to the previous evening, when they were facing uncertainty over the success or otherwise of their mission? After all, they could have been waking up this morning locked up in a cell at Bath police station. That would have been something for Jane to write about!

  Rose whispered a heartfelt ‘Thank you, Cassandra’, then noticed the door to the ground-floor apartment was ajar, and she pushed it aside. ‘Jane? It’s me, Rose.’

  There was no answer; she walked down to the kitchen, but it was empty, so she walked back to the closed bedroom door. Tentatively, Rose knocked. There was a shuffling sound and then it was swung open by a woman dressed in an overall.

  ‘Oh, hello, love. Did you want someone?’

  ‘Er, no. I mean, yes. The lady who is staying here?’ Rose peered over the woman’s head.

  The cleaner pulled the door wide open, a duster and can of polish in her hand. The bed was stripped and there were no boxes on the floor, nor any lamps or candles in sight. Rose’s heart lurched. Had Jane gone so soon?

  Feeling almost dazed, Rose walked up to the safe in the wall and placed her hand on it. It felt real and solid, and, reaching out, she grasped the brass handle, much as Jane had on the previous evening, and tugged. The door swung open easily but there was nothing inside.

  ‘Good morning, Rose.’