‘Then, what did—’
Rose put a finger to her lips and shook her head again. ‘Shh!’
The sound of voices had drifted over the high hedging, and Rose swallowed quickly. However much she might question Jane’s hearing, her own was not at fault: the Wallace family were out for an early evening stroll, out of sight at present behind the screening. Almost against her will, she edged closer to the wooden gate, but keeping well back so she wouldn’t be seen, conscious of Morgan keeping close to her side.
‘What is it?’ she hissed.
‘I think it’s the neighbours.’ Rose waved a hand vaguely.
‘Oh.’
Rose’s heart clenched in her chest as she saw the head and shoulders of Mr Wallace pass by the gate, which was lower than the surrounding hedging, his wife’s bonnet bobbing at his side; they were clearly deep in conversation.
‘So,’ whispered Morgan. ‘Are we hiding from them, or spying on them? And why?’
‘Shhh!’ Rose tugged on Morgan’s arm, who was on tiptoe, trying to see over the gate from where they stood some paces back.
Two more bonnets passed by, one slightly higher than the other: the two elder girls. Rose waited, knowing there would be one more, after which she could procrastinate no longer. All of a sudden, however, she paled, a hand shooting to her throat.
‘What is it?’ Morgan turned Rose around to face her. ‘You look strange!’
‘I…’ Rose strained, listening.
Anne wasn’t visible at all as she passed the gate some paces behind the others, but her breathy, high-pitched voice, humming and singing floated through the still evening air towards them, and Rose clutched Morgan’s arm.
‘No.’ She shook her head, her insides swirling anew. ‘No; it’s not possible.’
Morgan laughed. ‘Rose, I’m currently wearing no recognisable underwear and what feels like a brace around my chest. I think there’s a good chance I’ll be open to anything you have to tell me. Rose?’ She detached Rose’s grip from her arm and turned her around. ‘Look at me. What is it?’ She frowned. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’
Closing her eyes briefly, Rose drew in a steadying breath before opening them to meet her friend’s concerned gaze.
‘Did you hear it?’
‘What?’
‘That song.’
‘What song?’
‘The song Anne was singing bits of.’
Morgan frowned. ‘Who’s Anne?’
Rose put a hand to her head, almost knocking her bonnet sideways. This couldn’t be happening.
‘Rose?’
‘She’s the youngest of the neighbours’ children.’ Rose started shaking her head from side to side. ‘No, this just is not possible.’
Morgan took her arm, urging her across the garden to a nearby bench, and Rose stumbled alongside her. Without her friend, she didn’t think she could have moved, because her legs weren’t going anywhere of their own volition.
‘Sit.’
Rose sank onto the bench, and Morgan sat beside her. ‘So I’m guessing the most pertinent question here is, what song was it?’
Rose gestured helplessly with a hand. ‘Did you ever see Shallow Hal?’ She turned to look at Morgan, who looked mystified.
‘Uh, no, I don’t think so.’
‘No – why would you? I was only about eight when it came out. You’d still have been in nappies.’
Morgan laughed. ‘Hey, I wasn’t in diapers when I was five!’
‘It had Jack Black and Gwyneth Paltrow in it?’
‘Maybe?’ Morgan looked thoughtful. ‘I think I may have skimmed through it on Starz once?’ She eyed Rose warily. ‘You’re asking a lot of disconnected questions, Rose. Are you sure you’re okay?’
Rose pulled a face. ‘Not really.’ She turned in her seat to fully face Morgan. ‘Look, there’s a song in the film soundtrack called “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes”.’
Morgan looked expectantly at Rose, clearly waiting for the punchline. ‘Well, it’s cool that the song is so old.’
‘It’s not! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. That song is not from this time.’
‘Ha!’ Morgan grinned. ‘Maybe Jane took this girl to the present on one of her jaunts!’
Rose faltered for a moment. Could that be possible? Then, she gave herself a mental shake. No, surely not! She gestured towards the hedging to their right.
‘And Anne was humming the tune, singing the chorus. Every word.’
‘Ooh.’ Morgan’s eyes grew round. ‘So… you think…’ She paused, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand why that’s important.’
Rose covered her face with her hands. ‘It’s why Jane brought me here.’
‘What? Because of a song with your name in it?’
There was no easy way to say this. ‘She thinks I’m related to the Wallace family – that’s their name, the neighbours.’
Morgan’s brows rose; then she smiled widely. ‘That’s so cool! Wow, what I wouldn’t give to be able to meet some of my ancestors!’
‘Not ancestors. At least, not Mr Wallace.’ Rose’s voice almost broke on saying his name, and Morgan eyed her with increasing concern. ‘Morgan, Jane thinks…’ It was so hard to say! ‘She thinks he’s my father.’
‘Who?’
‘Christopher Wallace.’
Morgan frowned. ‘Jane Austen thinks Notorious B.I.G. is your father?’
‘What?’ For a long, confusing moment they stared at each other, then Rose shook her head. ‘No! The neighbour’s name is Christopher Wallace. And so was my father’s.’
‘That doesn’t make any more sense than what I said. He died. Years ago. As did Biggie Smalls since we’re on the subject.’ Morgan looked torn between disbelief and amusement. ‘She’s really crazy, then. D’you think her brains have been addled by all the time hopping? Can’t be good for you, can it? And she really thinks this Wallace man is your dad?’
‘Yes.’
Morgan’s gaze raked Rose’s. Then, she sobered. ‘And so do you.’
‘I didn’t! Not until… I mean, I think I can explain everything else. Coincidence, mainly… and he could’ve been mumbling; he could just be a genius inventor, only now…’
Morgan stared blankly at her, and Rose couldn’t blame her. She knew, however, the time had come to tell her friend everything Jane believed. It was a surprisingly short explanation, mainly because Morgan looked too surprised to interject or ask questions.
‘But—’ Morgan sank back against the bench. ‘Wow. I mean, if it’s true… which it can’t be, can it?’
‘You’re where I was about twenty-four hours ago.’
Then, Morgan frowned. ‘But how does this girl singing a song from years ago tie in?’
‘My mum told me my dad loved the song.’ Rose could feel her throat tightening, and she grasped Morgan’s hands. ‘He—’ She drew in a shaking breath. ‘I was told he chose my name from it.’
Morgan gave her hands a gentle squeeze. ‘Then there’s the proof there’s nothing in this, Rose! If he named you, that was twenty-seven years ago.’
Rose was shaking her head, and Morgan frowned. ‘What?’
‘It was an old song. A one-hit wonder by a group called Edison Lighthouse.’
‘Never heard of them!’
Despite her rising emotion, Rose let out a watery laugh. ‘No, I’m sure you haven’t. But once I knew where my name came from, many years ago, I looked it up. The song is from 1970.’
Morgan’s eyes widened, but then she saw the direction of Rose’s gaze. Someone was coming out of the door.
‘Come, Miss Taylor. You will be in need of this later.’ Cassandra was holding out the spencer.
Morgan smiled politely, then turned back to Rose. ‘Are we still going?’ she asked quietly.
Rose hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes, yes, let’s go.’ She smiled tremulously at her friend. ‘With you there, I’ll be fine. Besides, it will have to be our substitute for the Festival b
all we’re missing out on tonight.’
With a final squeeze of Rose’s hand, Morgan got up and walked over to meet Cassandra as her sister and mother came out of the house. Mrs Austen turned straight for the gate, but Jane’s gaze travelled from Morgan to Rose, and she frowned, hurrying over to where the latter remained, motionless.
‘Come, we must make haste, Miss Wallace.’ She spoke loudly, but once her mother had disappeared from view, she took Rose’s arm. ‘Rose? Has aught untoward arisen?’
Rose got unsteadily to her feet. ‘I will tell you as we walk.’ She gestured weakly after the others, who were already turning for the gate, Morgan’s concerned gaze still upon her.
The feeling was slowly returning to Rose’s legs. Her mind, however, was in deeper turmoil than ever. The thought of sitting through a formal dinner in company was the last thing she needed right now!
Chapter 11
Rose had dreamed of the delights of dining in a stately home ever since she’d fallen in love with Jane Austen’s novels as a teenager. Dining at Chawton House, which had only been open to the public in more recent years, had been beyond her wildest imaginings.
As the various dishes were placed upon the table in the elegant wood-panelled dining room, however, she suppressed a heavy sigh. Now she was actually a guest of Edward Knight, it was not exactly living up to the fantasy.
Putting aside the tumult of emotion in her breast and the confusion in her mind, Rose could tell, for example, that their host was struggling with his assorted guests. The added complication of having Mrs Austen in attendance – eschewing her usual preference for dining early – only made things worse. Although she’d found out about Jane’s escapades when they had lived in Bath, she had no idea her youngest daughter had been up to no good again, nor that almost half the people at the table didn’t normally reside in the present century!
Having to play act was clearly proving as much a challenge for Edward as it was for his four misplaced guests, the strain showing plainly on his face.
‘Yes, thank you, Mama.’ He turned to address Mrs Austen, seated to his right. ‘The delay is unfortunate but as soon as…’ His gaze flicked briefly over his unexpected visitors. ‘…we are able, the journey to town will be reinstated, and the proposed visit to Wedgwoods can then take place.’
Mrs Austen frowned. ‘I am at a loss to comprehend this disruption. Fanny was most displeased at being sent onwards into Kent instead of the promised visit to your brother, Henry.’ She fastened her beady eyes on Edward. ‘You planned to order a new service by summer, yet autumn is upon us, and still we dine upon the old.’
Cassandra sent her brother a warm look. ‘I like this design very well, Edward. It is no hardship to enjoy another meal on it.’
Rose took a sip of her wine. Edward had proudly proclaimed it to be French, hard to come by during such turbulent times, and she savoured the coolness as it trickled down her throat. Her gaze drifted around the table as the Austens carried the conversation between them.
Aiden seemed the most at home, chatting quietly with Charles. James, now more formally dressed, on the other hand, was eyeing the courses presented to him with some trepidation. Morgan, meanwhile, after getting the third degree from Mrs Austen about her unusual name, her family’s connections and their standing in the world, was sitting bolt upright in her chair, clearly afraid of making another faux pas.
Rose eyed her friend sympathetically. Yes, they had attended an event on etiquette earlier that week at the Festival, but neither of them had taken it seriously, nor had they expected having to put it into practice.
Having moved her own chair out to sit down, then refusing the soup (a definite no-no), which earned her a stern look from the lady, Morgan was now watching everyone’s every move and copying them rather than following her own lead – from which silverware to use to which dishes she was permitted to choose from and when to take a drink from her glass.
Rose caught her eye and mouthed, ‘Relax.’
Morgan smiled, then nodded.
‘Miss Taylor.’ Mrs Austen, however, had come back for more from the latest acquaintance of her daughter to arrive on her doorstep. ‘Pray, tell me. Whence do you hail? Your accent is unusual, and to be certain, not of local origin.’
‘Am—’ Morgan stopped, throwing Rose a frantic look. ‘I, er…’
‘Shall we just say, Mama,’ Charles sent an almost imperceptible wink in Rose’s direction, ‘Miss Taylor arrived here by way of Gibraltar.’
Jane choked on her drink, and Charles leaned over and patted her gently on the back. ‘There, there, dear sister.’
Rose smiled at the lady. ‘My friend is from a northern country, ma’am, much distant from Hampshire.’
Mrs Austen raised a brow. ‘Indeed? Yet I believe you have come from Bath, Miss Wallace. How is it so you and Miss Taylor are intimately acquainted?’
It was Rose’s turn to hesitate, conscious everyone was now listening to the conversation.
‘They met through a mutual acquaintance, Mama.’ Jane spoke firmly. ‘I believe Miss Taylor was in Bath for a season, were you not?’ She turned to Morgan, who nodded quickly.
‘Yes! I mean, indeed. I was. Just for a season, looking for love… or marriage I mean or, well, you know.’
‘We have maintained a regular correspondence since we were first… introduced, ma’am.’ Rose smiled at Mrs Austen, whose gaze roamed from her to Morgan and back again. If she only knew!
Thankfully, there was a diversion as the many dishes were cleared and the second course was served, including an array of desserts amongst the further savouries.
‘Would you care for one of the ices, Miss Wallace?’
Rose looked up, then smiled at Edward down the table. ‘Yes, thank you!’ Any chance to take in something cold would be welcome.
A servant placed the delicacy before her, but Morgan was frowning.
‘I didn’t know you had ice cream back then!’
It was Mrs Austen’s turn to frown. ‘Back when, pray?’
‘It will be the last until the winter.’ Edward turned to his mother. ‘May I tempt you with a little more wine, Mama?’
Morgan threw Rose an expressive glance and picked up her spoon.
‘You are fortunate in your cook, Edward.’ Mrs Austen had turned her attention to her son. ‘We are thankful for Martha; she is our only constant.’
‘She would not be so, if you did not persist in sending our cooks onwards, Mama.’ Jane sipped her wine. ‘This is excellent, Edward. French, is it not?’
‘Indeed.’ Edward raised his glass to inspect the colour.
‘You are also fortunate in having no need for thrift, my dear.’ Mrs Austen’s voice was admonishing as her beady eyes took in the lavishly appointed table and its generous contents, then roamed over the strangers in her midst.
‘Let us be above vulgar economy, Mama.’ Jane sent the ghost of a wink in Rose’s direction. ‘Let us drink French wine and eat ice whilst we may.’
‘Why did you send the last cook on her way?’ Charles was leaning back in his chair, nursing his glass in both hands, his eyes on his mother.
Mrs Austen pursed her lips. ‘She was derelict in her duties.’
Jane turned to her brother. ‘Mama professes she had many qualities, but sobriety was not one of them.’
Morgan’s eyes widened, and she hissed at Rose, ‘They never talked like this in Pride and Prejudice.’
About to take a mouthful of her dessert, Mrs Austen lowered her spoon, a look of surprise on her face.
‘You are familiar with that novel, Miss Taylor?’
With a swift glance towards Jane, Morgan turned back to the lady. ‘Er, yes.’
‘Miss Wallace and Miss Taylor are both aware of my efforts, Mama. There is no need for discretion.’
‘On the contrary, Jane, there is oft a need for discretion when it is sadly lacking.’ Mrs Austen turned an admonishing eye on her youngest daughter before turning back to Morgan. Her features, howeve
r, had lost their assessing look, and she smiled. ‘And pray, what did you think of it?’
‘Oh, I loved it!’
Rose held her breath as Morgan’s eyes widened at the lady’s lack of teeth before she dropped her gaze and applied herself to her dessert.
‘I will own to preferring it to the first.’ Mrs Austen turned to James. ‘And you, sir? Have you read my daughter’s works?’
James looked guilty as he shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘To be certain, it has only been in circulation these seven months or so, Mama, and gentlemen oft have less time for leisure.’ Cassandra spoke soothingly, then turned the conversation to Edward’s family, and as he had so many children, the topic kept Mrs Austen engaged until it came time to separate.
With a glance at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece, however, the lady declared she would return to the cottage, accepting Edward’s offer to accompany her, and soon they had set off down the driveway. The others tarried a while, relaxing now they were freer to talk, until Cassandra suggested the ladies withdraw. They were soon joined by the remaining gentlemen, who had no desire to separate when there was still much to discuss.
Accepting a glass of wine from Charles, Rose sank onto a chaise, moving her shoulders restlessly in an attempt to ease the tension, thankful when Aiden came and sat beside her.
‘You looked distracted during dinner.’
Rose summoned a smile.
‘I need to talk to you about something that happened earlier, but—’
‘Well, that was somewhat onerous.’ Edward strode into the room as the door closed behind a departing servant.
‘It was the most amazing dinner I’ve ever had in my life! I’m sorry I didn’t eat the food.’ Morgan beamed at him. ‘I know it’s a once in a lifetime chance to have an authentic meal here, with you all, but I was so afraid of doing something wrong. Oh my gosh, it feels good to talk. It was really hard not to talk much.’
Conscious that Edward, from his expression, wasn’t quite up for some unfiltered Morgan, Rose bit her lip, but Charles was laughing as he handed his brother a glass. ‘You had little choice, with Mama grilling you in such a way. She has found your accent unusual, to be certain, but seems quite reconciled to your being from somewhere quite northwards.’
The Unexpected Past of Miss Jane Austen Page 11
