The Dashwood Sisters Tell All

by Beth Pattillo

  We came to the edge of the village green, which Tom informed us in Hampshire was called a plestor. Mrs. Parrot was waiting once again with the van and the refreshments, and I gratefully claimed a large glass of orange-flavored water. The day had grown more humid so that by midmorning my T-shirt clung to me. If it hadn't been for the nettles, I would have zipped off the lower part of my convertible hiking pants. My fear of nettles, though, won out over my need for comfort.

  “We’ll rest a few minutes here, then set off down the lythe,” Tom said. Lythe was another Hampshire term—it meant “valley.”

  We passed the church and then came to the edge of the churchyard. From there, we had a beautiful view down the length of the valley.

  “This is the Short Lythe,” Tom said. “Beyond it is the Long Lythe. We’ll walk to the end and then circle back through the trees over there. That will lead us back into the village and to—”

  “A pub for lunch,” we all chorused, now accustomed to the routine.

  Mrs. Parrot took our lunch orders and refilled our water bottles, and then we set off.

  For the first time, I walked in the front of the group with Tom. It was much less stressful now, not having to position myself so that I could “accidentally” end up next to Ethan. Tom and I chatted as we made our way down the steep descent into the valley, and I felt more peaceful than I had in a long time. I enjoyed walking with him at the front.

  “How are the feet holding up?” Tom asked as we made our way under a canopy of tree limbs.

  “Don't fuss.” I smiled at him to show that I appreciated his concern, but his shoulders stiffened.

  “I wasn't fussing.” He’d been smiling a moment ago, but now he was looking straight ahead. Great. I’d allowed myself to forget for a moment that Tom was, in fact, a guy. And guys never liked to be scolded, especially if they were showing concern.

  “I’m sorry. I appreciate your helping me. A lot. Otherwise I’d be stuck back in the van with Mrs. Parrot.”

  “What's wrong with Mrs. Parrot?”

  Now I’d really put my foot in it. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m just—”

  “We’re fortunate to have someone of her caliber on this trip.”

  “Yes. Of course we are.” Tears stung my eyes. I’d alienated the one ally I had left.

  “It's a shame Ethan couldn't make it.” He didn't even look at me as he spoke.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Now he was making me mad. “I realize I’ve been an idiot, okay? No need to rub it in.”

  Tom cast a glance over his shoulder, and I did the same. The others had dropped back so that we were virtually alone.

  “Ethan said he had to go back to London on urgent business.” He paused. “I didn't want to say anything before…I thought you would think it was sour grapes. But Ethan has a reputation.”

  “He's a womanizer, you mean.”

  “That, but there's more.”

  How much more could there be?

  “Ethan inherited the house at Deane from his mother.”

  “He told me that.”

  “Did he tell you that it's falling down around his ears? And that he doesn't have the money to keep it up, much less renovate it?”

  “I thought he was a banker in the city, or something like that.”

  Tom shook his head. “No.”

  A jolt of realization shook me. “Ethan thought I had money when we first met. Didn't he?” And not just a little money. Cassandra's-diary-at-auction kind of money.

  “I think he thought you were a woman of means.”

  “And he thought he would find a wealthy Austenite who would love the chance to date someone related to Jane Austen. Why didn't you warn me?” Anger flared in my chest. “You could have said something sooner.”

  Tom looked at me as we walked and arched one eyebrow. “Would you have believed me?”

  We both knew the answer.

  “Sometimes,” Tom said, “we have to learn a lesson for ourselves.”

  What he said should have sounded paternalistic and condescending, but instead it just sounded like the truth. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and I prayed for the sudden appearance of a sinkhole in the middle of the Long Lythe.

  When none appeared, I stepped to the side of the path and bent down to tie my shoe, although it was already firmly tied. Thankfully, Tom kept walking, and I saw Ellen move up beside him to take my place.

  I trailed behind them for the rest of the hike. Soon enough, the two of them were smiling and laughing, and it struck me that Tom and Ellen would make an ideal couple. They were both thorough, organized, and efficient. They took their duties seriously. Who was I kidding to think that a man like Tom Braddock would fall for someone like me? Ethan's rejection should have reminded me that no matter what I might look like on the outside, the woman on the inside wasn't desirable enough—or apparently wealthy enough—for the long term. How many times did I have to learn that lesson?

  I looked down at my boots and kept my gaze focused on the trail for the rest of the hike.

  Ellen and Tom were still in the lead when we returned a little early to Selborne. Tom told us we had almost an hour to look around the village if we liked. There was a quaint post office that was more like the English-village version of a convenience store. There were also several small galleries and artist's cooperatives. I was all set to go shopping when Ellen pulled me over to the side.

  “Let's offer to buy Mrs. Parrot a drink at the pub.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think she took the diary. And I’m going to get it back.”

  Before I could stop her, Ellen had sprung into action.

  “Mrs. Parrot.” Ellen stepped toward the older woman. “My sister and I were wondering if you might like to join us for something to drink in the pub garden.”

  The older woman's face lit up, as if she were truly happy to receive the invitation. “Yes, dear. That would be delightful.”

  She didn't look like someone who would sneak into Ellen's room intent on thievery, but then appearances could be deceiving, as I knew from personal experience. I didn't look like someone who had a brain in her head, but I wasn't the idiot most men took me to be. And I was holding out hope that Mrs. Parrot was the culprit, not Ethan. If Ellen thought she could get her to confess, then I was more than willing to help with the interrogation.

  This pub, like the other ones we’d been to all week, boasted a low ceiling, heavy beams, and lots of charm.

  “The garden's through there,” Ellen said with a nod. “Why don't I get the drinks, and you two find us a table.”

  The rear of the pub boasted a cozy covered patio, but beyond that was a large garden with tables scattered under enormous trees. Several locals and their dogs had already settled in, but we found a table in the back corner in the shade.

  “Have you been to Selborne often?” I asked Mrs. Parrot, more to fill the awkward silence than out of any real curiosity.

  “On occasion. The garden at Gilbert White's house is very fine.” We were scheduled to spend part of our afternoon there, a tour of the house followed by a walk up the famous zigzag path. Gilbert White and a friend had built it up the steep side of the hill, or hanger.

  “Here we are.” Ellen appeared balancing three large glasses. She set them on the table—diet sodas for us, and something that looked like cider for Mrs. Parrot.

  I’d run out of small talk, so I let Ellen take the lead. She settled into her chair, took a sip of her soda, and then rested her clasped hands on the table.

  “Mrs. Parrot, my sister and I have a dilemma, and we believe that you might be able to help us.”

  The older woman's face gave nothing away. “I should be delighted to help, if I can.”

  Ellen looked down at her hands and then back at Mrs. Parrot. “We’ve lost something. Something rather important.”

  “We can look through the van,” Mrs. Parrot said, unruffled. “Perhaps underneath the seats…”
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  I couldn't take the dithering. “When my sister said ‘lost,’ she meant ‘stolen.’”

  “Mimi—”

  I didn't have the patience to hint around. “Look, Mrs. P, here's the situation. When Ellen arrived at Oakley Hall, she was given a package with a very old book in it. A diary.” I watched her intently for any sign of recognition or guilt.

  “And it's gone missing?” Butter wouldn't have melted in her mouth, she was so cool.

  “Actually, we think you stole it,” I said.

  “Mimi!” Ellen looked horrified.

  “Well, it's true. Mrs. P here is the only one who could have cared about that diary.” I turned to the older woman. “So we’d like it back, if you don't mind.”

  “I haven't got it.”

  My stomach dropped. She didn't say she didn't know what we were talking about, or that we were mistaken about the importance of the diary. She simply denied possessing it.

  “Mimi, wait—”

  I shushed Ellen and turned back to Mrs. Parrot. “You do know what we’re talking about then?”

  She paused for a moment and then nodded. “I do.”

  I shot Ellen a smug glance, and relief poured through me. The diary's disappearance wasn't my fault after all. “We don't want to have to involve the police,” I said to the older woman.

  “Of course you don’t.” Mrs. Parrot looked at Ellen, then back at me. “Not since that diary is stolen property to begin with.”

  “I didn’t—” Ellen looked horrified.

  “No, you didn’t,” Mrs. Parrot conceded. “But the person who gave it to you took what didn't belong to them.”

  I wasn't going to stand for that. “My mother would never—”

  “Mimi!”

  Mrs. Parrot smiled like the Cheshire Cat, fully satisfied with the mischief she’d wrought.

  “Girls, I don't expect that you will believe me when I tell you I don't have the diary. I have no way to prove my innocence.”

  “My point exactly,” I said under my breath, but they both heard me.

  “As I said, I can't prove my innocence. But perhaps I can give you some reason to believe me when I tell you I don't have the diary in my possession.”

  “Why would we believe you?” I asked.

  “Because if I had the diary, I would tell you straightaway.”

  “You’re very confident,” I said. “You really don't think we’d call the police if you confessed?”

  “No, I don’t. It would simply be my word against yours. And, my dears, you are the foreigners here.” She smiled, but I didn't mistake the expression for humorous goodwill. No, it was definitely one hundred percent triumph.

  “So who has it then, if you don’t?” I asked.

  My question did cause her serene expression to grow troubled. “Now that is a most vexing question. When was it taken?”

  “Sometime yesterday while we were out,” Ellen said. Her cheeks were flushed, but I didn't think it was from the heat. When we were kids, she used to turn red when she was hiding something.

  “You would have been far better off to place it in the hotel safe.” Mrs. Parrot turned the glass of cider in her hand. “I assume it was in your room?”

  Ellen bristled. “I didn't want to alert anyone to its existence.”

  “But someone already knew.”

  Ellen sagged in her chair. “Honestly, I’m sick of the whole thing. All I wanted was to get this tour over with to meet the terms of Mom's will. I didn't ask for all this mystery and intrigue.”

  “So your mother did give you the diary?” Mrs. Parrot arched an eyebrow. “I suspected as much.”

  I looked at Mrs. Parrot, startled. “Why would you suspect it came from our mother?”

  Mrs. Parrot paused for a long moment, as if she were gathering her thoughts and deciding which ones to make public. I had a feeling she did that a lot.

  “I knew your mother when she lived in England.”

  A part of me wasn't surprised at that. After all, the Austen devotees were a close-knit circle.

  “A lot of people knew my mother,” Ellen said.

  Mrs. Parrot wiped the moisture from the sides of her glass with her finger. “Your mother and I were both members of a certain…group.”

  “An Austen group?”

  “A society, if you will. A rather secret one.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I think you’re just making this up to cover up your theft.”

  She pursed her lips. “If I had the diary, I can assure you that I wouldn't still be here, with this tour. I would have made my excuses and returned to London.”

  A chill swept over me. Ethan had done just that. If Mrs. Parrot didn't have the diary, then…

  “So why does it matter that you knew our mother? And that you both were in this secret society?” I said. I couldn't think about Ethan at that moment, or I would fall apart.

  Mrs. Parrot gave us both a measuring look. “The group of which I’m speaking was called…is called, I should say, the Formidables.”

  “The Formidables?” It sounded like some pretentious group of rabid Austen fans.

  Mrs. Parrot curled her hand around her glass. “It was the name Cassandra and Jane gave themselves. It was meant as a joke for their nieces and nephews. The formidable maiden aunts.”

  “It sounds bogus to me,” I said.

  “I can assure you that it isn’t.”

  Ellen's jaw went tense. “Are you saying that our mother was one of these Formidables? Because I don't believe you. She would have told us. I mean, she couldn't keep quiet about anything having to do with Jane Austen, much less about a secret like that.”

  “I’m sure she didn't want the diary to be found,” Mrs. Parrot said. “Something like that is very hard to keep a secret.”

  Ellen turned very pale.

  “So what do you have, besides things like Cassandra's diary?” I asked Mrs. Parrot. “All the lost letters everyone's always nattering on about? The manuscripts of the novels? Secret portraits?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Parrot said.

  “Yes?” I looked at her skeptically. “You mean you have all that stuff?”

  “Various members have the keeping of it, but if the whole collection were brought together, yes.”

  “And so now you want Cassandra's diary too.”

  “The Formidables have been looking for it for a number of years. It disappeared almost forty years ago.” Mrs. Parrot's eyes grew cloudy with some strong emotion. “At the same time your mother left England.”

  “Maybe it belonged to her,” I said. I wasn't about to let Mrs. Parrot cast aspersions on my mother's character.

  “It did in a way. She was in charge of its keeping, but as to belonging…well, I would argue that it was the rightful property of the Formidables.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound so clandestine. I don't see what a bunch of Austen fans would have to hide.”

  “Don't you? After seeing the diary? Didn't you read it?”

  “But shouldn't the world know about how Jane and Cassandra really interacted? What the sisters’ relationship was really like?” I asked.

  Mrs. Parrot shook her head. “Sometimes sisters do funny things for one another. Private things.”

  “So this diary, it's authentic?” Ellen asked. “It's really Cassandra Austen's diary?”

  “It is.”

  My heart started to beat faster. “So you came on this tour on purpose?” I had to look at her with some newfound respect. “To get it back?” I had thought she was simply a dotty old academic.

  “I hoped to convince you to return the diary to the Formidables.”

  “Well, we don't have it,” Ellen said. “Not anymore.”

  “Plus, it's ours,” I argued. “We have plans for it.”

  “Mimi—”

  “We’re going to sell it at auction.”

  “No, we’re—”

  Mrs. Parrot's expression grew severe. “You can't sell what you don't have, though, can you?”
>
  “We’ll find it.” I was determined. A little thing like a missing diary was not going to stand between me and my boutique. “Why is it such a big deal to you guys, anyway?” I asked. “Who even cares about Cassandra's diary? It's not like it's Jane's.”

  “You don't know then, do you?” Mrs. Parrot dropped that mysterious hint and took a long drink of her cider.

  “Know what?” I didn't trust her.

  “That the diary is one of a pair.”

  “A pair.” She had to be making this up.

  “A matched set. Given to Cassandra and Jane Austen by their great-aunt, Leonora.”

  “So you simply want to bring the set back together?” Ellen asked. She looked far too trusting.

  “No. It's not that simple.”

  “Are you telling me that somewhere out there, someone has Jane Austen's diary?” I wasn't an expert, but I knew enough to recognize the Holy Grail when someone described it to me.

  “That would be…priceless.” Ellen looked stunned. “It could provide so much information—”

  “Which is precisely why we must find it and keep it safe,” Mrs. Parrot said.

  “Why do you keep it all secret?” I said. “Wouldn't it be better to give everyone access to it?”

  Mrs. Parrot shook her head. “The Formidables were founded by Cassandra Austen for the very purpose of protecting Jane's privacy. Cassandra did this at her sister's request.”

  “But it doesn't make sense.”

  “It does, if one has a sister. Who better to understand the need to keep secrets?”

  Ellen shot me a look, and I frowned. Mrs. Parrot did have a point.

  “So you truly don't have Cassandra's diary?” I asked her. “Scout's honor?”

  “I am not aware of what that sort of honor is, but if you’re asking me to assure you of my truthfulness, then let me do so.”

  Ellen looked unconvinced. “What if we asked to meet some more of these…Formidables. Would you introduce us?”

  “There's no reason to do so, not if you don't have the diary.”

  Touché. That round to Mrs. Parrot.

  “Look,” Ellen said, “we’re both looking for the diary now. It makes more sense for us to pool our efforts.”