The Unexpected Past of Miss Jane Austen (ARC)

by Ada Bright

  Rose hugged the cushions to her chest as they walked over. ‘The weather could not be more perfect. Do you think it will hold?’

  Jane glanced up at the sky. ‘I never make suppositions of the sort; I find it provokes the weather to defy expectation.’

  When they reached the area set up for the picnic, Rose followed Jane’s directions on where to place the cushions, then turned to observe the scene. An array of serving trays containing food were spread on the white cloth over the table, with two servants busying themselves with an urn of hot water and a large bowl of dark liquid with small cups hanging from it.

  ‘It is rum punch. I would recommend the fresh lemonade over it.’ Jane inclined her head towards a large glass pitcher of pale liquid.

  Trying to ignore her growing nerves, Rose looked around. No one else from the house had joined them yet, and she felt conspicuous and on her guard at the same time.

  ‘Will they be prompt, Jane? The Wallaces, I mean. What is the normal etiquette? At home, people tend to be fashionably late.’

  ‘It would be considered rude to be intentionally late, but one does not hold someone to the second.’ Jane looked down the path. ‘But you need not fear it so.’

  Sure enough, a group of people had gathered on the gravel sweep at the side of the house, and Rose’s gaze raked the faces for her father’s family or Aiden, but they weren’t amongst them yet.

  Before the party began the walk up to where the picnic was laid out, however, Cassandra came out of a gate in the wall around the courtyard and hurried over.

  She was smiling as she reached them, a basket on her arm filled with various linen inners, each containing a different item.

  ‘For the girls. We shall make some lavender bags. I believe the middle child is very shy; it helps to have one’s hands busy in such cases.’

  ‘A wise notion.’ Jane glanced at Rose, then swiped gently at her hand, which was once more twisting the end of her silk shawl. ‘Rose is nervous; perchance she should join you.’

  Rose opened her mouth, then closed it, trying to smooth the creases she had unwittingly made in the shawl. ‘I am.’

  Cassandra reached out with her free hand and patted Rose’s arm. ‘From what my sister tells me, the hardest part is over, is it not? You must anticipate the time you have with this father you had thought to have lost.’

  Rose endeavoured to ignore the dip of her heart at the mention of time and loss. ‘I know, I know, but what do I… I mean, how do I…?’ She put a hand to her head, looking from Cassandra to Jane. ‘I just cannot think…’

  ‘I believe when Cass said anticipate, that was not quite her meaning.’ Jane shrugged at Cassandra’s look. ‘You are totally indisposed for employment and worrying so will only drive you to madness. Come, I will regale you with some tales of our illustrious guests.’

  * * *

  Before long, people had begun to walk over to the upper terrace, where several servants had taken up their positions, relieving the guests of the baskets containing their offerings and ferrying the wares to the end of the table left clear for them.

  Jane had been amusing Rose with opinions on some of the local families as they neared where the rest of the family were greeting the new arrivals.

  ‘Be warned,’ Jane whispered. ‘Mr Papillon, bless him, blunders on the border of a repartee for half an hour together without once striking it out. And as for Captain Clement – Charles would have it he is a brave man. He was at Trafalgar, you know, but do not permit yourself to become ensnared in a conversation with him.’ She sighed exaggeratedly as they fetched up by the company and waited for Edward to do the necessary introductions, then added, ‘I fear we are in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude.’

  Trying not to laugh out loud at Jane’s outrageous commentary, Rose greeted those she had met at church and delivered the best curtsey she could summon when introductions to the others were made. The vicar, for all Jane’s teasing, seemed a pleasant enough man, and his sister had a kind smile. Miss Benn was very sweet and couldn’t help but remind Rose of poor Miss Bates in Emma. The Prowtings and their married daughter, along with the much maligned Captain Clement, paid Rose little mind, and she was freely able to turn her attention to the last of the party to arrive: the Wallace family.

  Looking around frantically for Aiden, Rose was grateful when he materialised at her side as the Austen family made the remaining introductions. The girls all performed neat curtsies, but Rose couldn’t help but scan each of their features, seeking a resemblance. Both Mary and Olivia shared her own colouring, their curls unadorned by bonnets, but Anne favoured her mother, with blond hair and blue eyes.

  Then, Rose looked at her father. He was smiling widely, and as Cassandra led the three girls over to the rugs spread across the grass, he stepped forward, his wife on his arm. Vaguely aware of Jane urging her brothers and Aiden away, Rose could feel the easy warmth filling her cheeks as he spoke, and she tried to focus on his words, wary of looking at Mrs Wallace. What did she know?

  To Rose’s surprise, however, the lady stepped forward eagerly and took one of Rose’s hands in both her own, pressing it firmly as she held her gaze expressively.

  ‘It is a great pleasure to meet you again, Miss Wallace.’

  Rose’s eyes widened as her heart swelled in her breast. ‘I—’ She tried to clear her throat. ‘And I you, ma’am.’ Her voice was strained with emotion, and the lady patted her hand before releasing it.

  ‘There, there, my dear. We shall enjoy some conversation in due course.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Come, Mr Wallace, we must do our duty and socialise for a time, and then you may speak to your… to Miss Wallace at your leisure.’

  Rose watched them walk over to exchange pleasantries with Mr Papillon and his sister, her delight tempered by doubt. Her father must have admitted to her being his daughter, which was heart-warming, but what else did the lady know or understand? It would be good if she could know this before they spoke again!

  The weather continued to hold as the afternoon progressed. It was a little chilly, but the sun remained valiant against the constant charge of white clouds across the sky. The company seemed well settled on their rugs and cushions, happily indulging in the fine fare on offer.

  Rose had been seated with Jane, who seemed to have appointed herself her own particular guardian, and as she set off to secure them some more lemonade, Rose allowed her gaze to drift over the gathered company.

  Mary Wallace was in conversation with the unmarried Prowting daughter – was it Catherine? – sharing a moment of merriment, and Rose smiled as she looked over to where Cassandra continued in company with Olivia and Anne. The former had her head down, busy fastening a lavender bag, but Anne was chatting energetically to the lady. Rose could only assume, from the lack of awareness when they greeted her earlier, that they knew nothing of her close association with them.

  Mr Papillon’s sister, Elizabeth, was strolling with Miss Benn, her parasol bobbing in the light breeze, and Edward was talking earnestly to Captain and Mrs Clement, gesturing up towards the land behind the house, no doubt outlining his vision for his new gardens. The rest of the gentlemen, Aiden included, had walked down onto the expanse of grass where a target had been set up for archery.

  Naturally, Rose’s eyes were drawn more often than not to her father but, not wishing to attract attention with her interest, she tried not to stare. He often met her gaze with his own, however, and would incline his head and smile. Their time to talk would come, Rose was certain.

  Her gaze drifted almost as often towards Aiden. He looked more self-assured and confident than anywhere she’d ever seen him. Even when enthusing about his favourite subject, she couldn’t recall seeing him more in his element. Aiden’s attention seemed drawn to Christopher Wallace too, and Rose bit her lip. What should she tell her father about him? What could she tell him? They were hardly in a relationship yet.

  With difficulty, Rose dragged her gaze away from him, her eyes scann
ing the charming scene. Never had a period film captured the perfection of this day. From the gentle weather and the epic, untouched scenery, to the feelings coursing through her veins, this was a day she would never forget.

  ‘Another slice of my walnut cake, dear Miss Wallace?’

  Looking up with a start, Rose realised Mrs Wallace had walked over to where she sat and was leaning down, offering a laden plate to her.

  The kindness of her look, the gesture, was sufficient to encourage Rose to take a slice, even though she was no longer hungry.

  ‘Thank you, you are too kind.’

  ‘Not at all, my dear.’ She straightened. ‘Mr Wallace! Would you be so good as to join us?’

  Mr Wallace looked up, then leapt to his feet, excusing himself from the reverend and hurrying over.

  ‘Would you care to show Miss Wallace the horse Mr Knight has offered to sell to us? I believe he said it was in the far-most stable?’

  ‘Most indubitably.’ Christopher Wallace held out his hand and Rose grasped it, rising easily to stand beside him.

  ‘There, my dears.’ Mrs Wallace beamed at them both. ‘I shall see you both directly.’

  Rose wished she could tell the lady how much she appreciated her kind gesture, but she tried to look grateful, then took her father’s proffered arm as they walked back towards the front of the house.

  With Charles and Aiden halting their target practice to watch them, Cassandra eyeing them from the rug beside the girls and Jane nodding happily from her position by the jug of lemonade, Rose was once again thankful there were a few others there, at least, who had no idea what was going on!

  Chapter 17

  Rose and her father walked in silence until they had reached the gravel sweep running along the side of the house, but it was both companionable and full of anticipation, not fraught with the tensions that had gripped Rose in recent days.

  As they rounded the house, Christopher looked down at his daughter and smiled. ‘Do you ride?’

  Rose laughed. ‘A little; there haven’t been many opportunities in Bath.’

  He raised a brow. ‘You still live in the area?’

  ‘Yes, I love it. I have a dear little flat in Sydney Place.’ For a moment, a pang of homesickness swept through Rose, but she brushed it aside. ‘Why did you ask if I ride?’ Was he thinking of suggesting they go for one now? She didn’t think a week’s pony trekking in Devon was going to suffice for the demands of galloping across the fields without a hard hat!

  He drew them to a halt. ‘Much as I appreciate my wife’s intervention, the stables do not hold much appeal in such fine weather. Shall we walk down to the church?’ He gestured towards the stone building, not hidden behind trees as it was in the future.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Rose fell into step beside him. ‘You told your wife about me.’

  ‘I did.’ Christopher glanced at Rose. ‘That you are the daughter I long thought dead. I have never hidden you from her. She knew I had been wed, for I shared the intelligence with her soon after we met. The year of your birth remains a secret, however.’

  Rose chewed on her lip. ‘I’m glad I know what she understands. I was worried I might end up in private conversation with her and would put my foot in it.’

  A laugh rumbled through the man beside her, and Rose raised a curious face to his. ‘You cannot comprehend how singular it is, after all these years, to hear modern phrasing such as putting one’s foot in something!’

  With a rueful laugh, Rose nodded. ‘You’re right, I can’t imagine.’

  ‘You do not mind – that I told her?’

  ‘Not at all. It makes things easier if the facts are simplified.’

  They had reached the church now, and Christopher stood aside so that Rose could precede him into the grounds.

  ‘She is a very understanding woman. Her generous heart, her compassion, were what drew me to her from the beginning.’

  Rose didn’t like to comment on how those were two things her own mother seemed to lack. She doubted her father would have forgotten.

  ‘She seems exceedingly lovely in every way.’ Rose stared at their feet, moving in unison along the path through the graveyard. ‘So, she doesn’t know the year of your birth either?’

  Christopher was silent for a moment. Then, he waved a hand towards a bench facing out over the fields where Rose had seem the family walking the other day. ‘Come, let us sit for a while.’

  Rose settled beside him, her heart swelling as he took one of her hands in his. His face, however, was uneasy.

  ‘What is it?’

  Christopher turned in his seat, his grey eyes softening. ‘Long have I dreamed of being able to talk of this to you, and long have I thought it impossible.’

  Rose smiled. ‘Then let us take advantage of our present circumstances. Tell me what disturbs you so? Does she know the truth of where you came from?’

  He removed his hat, placing it on the seat beside him. ‘No, she does not. Believe me, the guilt has haunted me long enough – a lie by omission is still a lie, is it not? And Louisa does not deserve dishonesty.’ He ran a hand through his hair, then looked back at Rose. ‘But there are times when the first two decades of my life seem so unreal. I have made every effort to make up for keeping my secret through my love and dedication to her and to our children.’ He shrugged lightly, though Rose didn’t think he felt it lightly at all. ‘And, as I could neither explain nor alter my circumstances, I decided it would have to suffice.’

  ‘And have you never slipped up?’ Recalling his teaching his children the song about Rosemary, Rose realised he could never have expected to be called out on anything if he did. After all, if not for Jane Austen and her slipping through time, who else would understand his meaning?

  Christopher let out a small laugh. ‘I am considered quite the eccentric, my dear. It has covered all manner of mishaps over the years.’

  Rose squeezed his hand. ‘I can’t imagine all you have been through. I thought I had experienced something quite incredible this past week, but at least my torment had an end to it – and a fairly rapid one at that.’

  He peered at her intently. ‘I am displeased to hear of your torment. Is the matter truly resolved?’

  As best she could, Rose quickly told him about Jane’s becoming trapped in the twenty-first century, its repercussions and how they had managed to resolve things. When she had finished, he stared at her in silence for a moment. Then, he smiled.

  ‘You are quite the resourceful young woman, my dear. I am proud of you.’ He frowned. ‘When you first mentioned Miss Austen as being your friend, I began to doubt if this was her time of origin, despite knowing of her authorial achievements.’

  ‘Then now you understand. It is through the use of her charmed necklace that I am here.’

  ‘And you say Captain Austen bestowed it upon her? Does he… Is he aware of who I am now?’

  ‘Yes. He explained how he met you in Gibraltar, of course. But do you really not know how you came back here?’

  ‘I cannot say. To be certain, I possessed no physical charm I am aware of that raised me from the ocean almost 200 years distant. And you can perhaps appreciate that, in this time, my avenues for seeking answers were limited, not least given my lack of means and acquaintance.’

  ‘No Google,’ murmured Rose under her breath. She wasn’t sure how she’d survive without her go-to resource.

  Her father frowned, and she shook her head. ‘Nothing. Something invented after you… left. So, what do you remember?’

  His gaze drifted over the low stone wall bounding the churchyard, though Rose suspected he saw nothing of the view. ‘I went on a business trip. Four of us decided to take a boat out. We were warned not to by the locals; they said there was a storm coming. It was a beautiful day – cloudless. We just laughed at them.’ He sighed. ‘Such arrogance. We were out on the water some hours later, not far from the shoreline, just fishing, laughing, relishing the heat of the day when the waves began to boil and swirl, l
ike some sort of vast cauldron. Someone was in the water and I remember diving in, swimming towards them.’ He shuddered and Rose held even tighter onto his hand, her heart breaking for his past fear and anguish. ‘It went black. There was nothing. When I opened my eyes again, I was in another world.’

  ‘You fell into the sea in 1995 and emerged in…’

  ‘1788 – not that I realised it immediately.’

  ‘That’s incredible!’ Although Rose had known of his disappearance and reappearance, it was incredible to hear it spoken of so matter-of-factly.

  ‘It is, and yet, it is the entirety of my experience.’

  ‘What happened? How were you rescued?’

  Christopher’s gaze returned to the distance. ‘I was washed up on the shoreline, drifting in and out of consciousness. Apparently, a ship had foundered on the rocks; there were bodies being washed up beside me. When I fully awoke, I was being tended by a native woman in her hut – Drusilla was the name she gave. She was held in some reverence by the locals, and a little in awe, for some said she possessed an unnatural power for healing*.’ *

  He fell silent, and Rose suspected he was lost in memories. After all, he had not been able to speak of any of this in twenty-five years.

  Stirring in his seat, Christopher turned to look at Rose again. ‘I spent a long time thinking madness had taken me. Surely I would awaken in a hospital bed with a crazy dream to tell? But there was no waking from my nightmare.’

  He lowered his head and Rose scooted closer to him on the bench, holding tightly to his hand.

  ‘Do not speak of it, if it upsets you.’

  ‘I am not accustomed to speaking of it, but there is no harm in doing so to you. You have as much right as anyone to hear why I was unable to return and be the father I should have been.’

  Rose squeezed his hand. ‘Although I was young when you left, I never doubted you loved me.’