Now it was Dr. Gray’s turn to squirm a bit. “She was just too intrusive. I felt like I was under surveillance by an enemy camp. Always making suggestive remarks about the ladies.”
Andrew turned back to him and smiled ruefully. Dr. Gray’s status as the lonely widower was a mainstay of Chawton village life—Andrew suspected several local women to be pining after his old friend.
“I get that, Ben—but I’m afraid she might have done far worse. I fear she may have tipped the old man off to your and Adam’s initial plans for the cottage. We all know how disinterested—even peevish—Mr. Knight was about the whole Austen legacy. Having buses of tourists traipsing into town to check out a museum in her honour would have been the last thing he’d want. And now he’s arranged it so perfectly, with Frances losing her one place to live if the cottage ever gets sold outside of the family.”
“She’s certainly been boxed into a corner by the old man this time. Crikey, I need a drink,” growled Dr. Gray.
Andrew started to pour out two whiskies from the drinks tray always set up on the sideboard. “She’s lived her whole life in that box, though. Literally and figuratively. When was the last time she even left the house? Evie had quite a time of it, I understand, getting her out on Christmas Eve.”
“Aren’t you being a bit harsh, Andrew?”
“I don’t think anyone’s been harsh enough, to tell the truth. Maybe that’s been the problem all these years. Remember her brother, Cecil, how wild he was? That whole shooting incident—let me just say this, the father liked the cruelty. He admired it. He stomped all over everyone else. And she let him. Surely she could have seen what he was really about—and instead she bent to his will and let him completely control her. Not once did she ever try and assert herself—yet anyone could see that’s what he wanted. He hated that she was like this, so meek and yielding, so he punished her even more.”
“Andrew, really, it’s not like anybody else ever stood up to the old man.”
Andrew gave a small frown, then returned to his seat and passed one of the glasses of whisky across to Dr. Gray.
“I still think you’re being far too hard on her,” continued Dr. Gray. “You’re looking at it as a man. It’s much different for women, these types of things. When we were in school with Frances, women couldn’t even become bankers or accountants—and we wonder why old Mr. Knight wouldn’t trust his one daughter with his money. Until the war, what were their options—servants, teachers, nurses, actresses? I mean, Cambridge, where you went, still doesn’t even award the girls degrees, right? You walk away from all of this and who knows where you’d end up.”
“Being married to a strong woman like Jennie was such a godsend to you, Ben.” Andrew sighed with envy. “I see that so much at times like this.”
“I had a very smart wife. I learned a lot.”
“You still have a lot to learn, though—we both do.” Andrew took a large gulp of his whisky. “Why are we men so proud, so obstinate? What exactly are we afraid of?”
Dr. Gray laughed. “Oh, let’s not start going there. It’s been a difficult enough year already. First Adeline Grover fires me as her doctor, and then—”
“Wait, what?”
Dr. Gray shrugged. “It happens, I guess.”
“Did she give a reason?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, that’s a first for you. Does anyone in this town not use you as their doctor? That’s got to sting a bit, what with your ego.”
“Thanks, Andy, that’s just what I needed to hear right now. It’s probably all for the best anyway—her powers of observation are so acute sometimes. Nothing gets past her.”
“And that’s for the best why?”
“What are you saying?”
Andrew downed the rest of his whisky. “I’m not necessarily saying anything.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer. And I’m not necessarily saying anything about Miss Frances, either.”
They stared at each other, calling to mind many moments from their youth, when they had fought over Frances and a few other girls.
“There’s something about growing up in a village,” Andrew finally said, “being boys and girls together, it’s so intimate—how would you ever know if you had found the right person? I mean, what are the odds that they’d be in your own backyard? I was training Samuel Grover, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. I always forget that.”
“He was called up, when, 1942? ’Forty-three? I remember very clearly the day he and Adeline got engaged. He was so excited—he had been proposing for years apparently. She seemed less so.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Dr. Gray got up nonchalantly to take Andrew’s glass, then refilled both their glasses before sitting back down.
“Because I think Adeline Grover fired you for a reason. She wouldn’t be the first woman patient to have done so.”
Dr. Gray shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. It’s nothing like that. Look at me, I’m far too old.”
Andrew laughed. “Thanks, for the two of us.”
“What on earth makes you say that about her anyway?”
“Oh, it’s nothing she’s done. It’s you.”
Dr. Gray felt as if he’d received a blow to the stomach. No one had ever guessed any of his secrets, or at least that’s what he had always believed. The thought that he had been transparent to anyone, even an old school chum like Andrew, terrified him.
“It’s okay, Ben. It’s only because I’ve seen you this head over heels before.”
Dr. Gray stared at Andrew, denial on the edge of his tongue, yet he also strangely wanted to hear more.
“And anyway,” Andrew added, “I don’t think she knows, not really. Not yet.”
“There’s nothing to know, because nothing would ever happen.”
“The one doesn’t necessarily preclude the other. And besides, why are you so sure of that? It’s not inconceivable—I mean, Adam Berwick’s only two years younger than us, and I’ve been told he’s sniffing around her often enough.”
Now Dr. Gray’s head was starting to hurt. “How on earth did we end up talking about this? Yes, she’s a very attractive young woman—a very attractive young widow. And I feel strangely responsible for her. I think that must be mixed up with the baby and the horror of all that, bearing witness and so utterly failing them both.”
“You didn’t fail, Ben,” Andrew reproached him gently. “You can’t save everyone, for all your efforts. You’re still the best doctor around here and you know it.”
“Apparently Howard Westlake is even better—or at least that’s what Adeline seems to think, seeing as he’s her new doctor.”
“Ah, some good old professional jealousy to boot. Oh, well, if you’re sure that’s all it is.”
“No less sure than you are about Frances.”
“Well, Ben,” Andrew said ruefully, “then I feel for us both.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Chawton, Hampshire
January 17, 1946
The irony had not escaped Frances Knight that, being no longer entitled to dispose of any of the estate, she would finally learn its true and impressive value. Only a few days after the reading of the will, Evie had—in a fit of anger at Mr. Knight for so wretchedly reducing his one child’s circumstances—finally confessed to Frances what exactly she had been doing in the library for the past two years.
They were walking through the lime grove together and had stopped next to the old shepherd’s hut that had long ago been used to supply shooting parties on the estate. Frances sat down on the bottom steps to the red-painted hut, which balanced on four large wheels like a Gypsy caravan, and looked up at Evie’s youthful, shining face. Frances had always admired the girl’s spirit, so unlike her own. As the words came tumbling out of Evie, Frances appreciated yet again the obvious energy and discipline that she brought to all her pursuits.
“And there I was thinking you just liked to dust the library. A lot.”
&
nbsp; “Miss Knight, how can you stay so calm at a time like this?” Evie waved her arms about them. “How can you face the prospect of leaving here?”
Frances smiled sadly. “It’s not really a home, though, Evie, wouldn’t you say? Not like you and your brothers have. Not like most people.”
“Still, it’s so unfair—to make your situation so much harder than it needs to be, when he had the means not to.”
“I know it looks that way—maybe it even is. But we each of us have our own reasons for doing things—and no one owes anyone anything. I got to make my own choices, too, even if it doesn’t always look that way.”
Evie wasn’t so sure they were still talking about the inheritance but thought it best not to press any further. She knew Miss Frances well enough to know that if she wanted to say something, she would—and otherwise no amount of effort would pry it out of her. In this the two women were more similar than they knew.
“Anyway, I have a bit of a surprise for you—although I wish it were under happier circumstances. Do you remember my American visitors right after New Year’s, who wanted to buy the little cottage? Well, the woman is lovely and due back for another visit today, this time alone. I didn’t have the heart to put it off, given how far she has come. But I’m afraid I now need to tell her, too, about the entire estate being in escrow, and my loss of rights over its disposition.”
Evie was only half listening because through the trees she was watching a woman walk gingerly on extremely high heels up the front gravel drive.
“It’s so strange,” Evie muttered under her breath. “She looks just like . . . no, wait, it can’t be . . .”
Frances smiled and stood up from the front steps of the shepherd’s hut. “Evie, would you like to meet her?”
Evie was still peering through the trees. The woman looked tall and willowy in her heels, but all Evie could see was the famous image of a barefoot housewife in a kitchen, trying to lock the door against a Nazi soldier, her face a mask of terror—and the Polynesian princess on a tropical beach, nursing a capsized British sailor back to health—and Evie’s favourite of all, the nineteenth-century Russian countess standing on the train platform, the steam from the engine billowing across her face, and then just the sound of the train wheels screeching to a horrific halt.
The woman was waving to them now by the front gate as they approached from the adjoining woodland. With her other hand she was fiddling with something about her neck.
“Hello, Miss Frances!” she called out.
“I’m sorry,” Evie was still muttering, “but that woman looks terribly like . . .”
Frances patted the young girl’s shoulder as they reached the stranger. “Evie, I’d like you to meet a new friend of mine, Miss Harrison. Or Mimi, as you might know her. Mimi, it’s so lovely to see you again. This is Miss Evie Stone, who helps me with the house and is a great fan of Jane Austen like yourself.”
Mimi held her hand out to the young girl, recognizing well her state of shock. “Hello, Evie, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And if you love Jane Austen even half as much as I do, we shall have a lot to talk about.”
For the first and only time in her life, Evie Stone was speechless.
“Oh, Frances, this is awful. I don’t even know what to say.”
The three women were sitting upstairs in the oak-panelled room once known as the Ladies’ Withdrawing Room and reached by the beautiful Jacobean staircase in the southeast corner of the house. Frances had invited Evie to stay with them for tea, and the young girl was given a stern look of warning from Josephine as she placed the silver tray down on the small round table between her mistress and the famous guest.
Frances waited discreetly until Josephine had left the room, then poured out Mimi’s tea with both milk and sugar as she liked it (“I’m a child!” Mimi had said, laughing, the first time she gave her order). Frances passed the delicate cup and saucer to her before replying, “I feel awful for you, and for Mr. Leonard. I know how much you wanted the cottage.”
Mimi shook her head. “Don’t give it a second thought—I never felt comfortable about the whole thing anyway. Jack is just so damn—oh, excuse my language—but just so persistent. It’s almost impossible to say no to him.”
Frances nodded in agreement. “I fully understand that. I probably would’ve cut him a lock of my own hair if he’d asked for it.”
Evie was sitting between the two women, looking back and forth as they each spoke in turn, her head following silently as if at a tennis match.
“What will you do now?” Mimi asked before taking a sip of her tea.
“One of the tenants has agreed to give notice for the end of March, as she was planning to leave soon anyway. Our lawyer, Andrew Forrester, is arranging everything for me. I hope to move out of here by the spring.”
Mimi scratched the side of her forehead, and Evie’s mouth fell open in a gape of astonishment, as it was the exact same gesture she had seen the woman do several times in Home & Glory, Evie’s all-time favourite film.
“But why the rush? My father was an estates lawyer before he became a judge, and I know a little bit about the American laws at least. You might end up declared the sole heir if no one else pops up in time—why not wait until you have to leave? Will Mr. Forrester as executor not let you stay?”
“Mr. Forrester would let Miss Frances do anything,” Evie piped up.
The two women turned in unison to look at her.
“It looks like Miss Stone has found her voice,” Frances said in an attempt at a quick distraction.
“So, Evie.” Mimi smiled at the girl in as friendly a manner as possible to help further steady her nerves. “Jane Austen. How did it start for you?”
Evie had been picking at a piece of glazed lemon cake on her china plate, and she placed the plate back down as she braced herself to finally speak to one of the biggest movie stars in the world.
“I had a teacher—Adeline Lewis—Miss Frances knows her. She knows Jane Austen inside and out, can quote entire passages by heart, and she lent me her copy of Pride and Prejudice when I was still in school, and that was it. I was a goner.”
“But you’re not in school any longer? May I ask how old you are?”
“Sixteen.”
“When did you leave school then?”
“Fourteen.”
“That’s so young. Do you miss it?”
“Terribly,” Evie replied quickly, then turned to Miss Knight. “But I could not have found a better employer. And Miss Frances gives us full access to the library here, all of the servants, and you won’t see a better collection of books this side of London.”
“My father had an impressive library, too, although nothing like the Knights’, I am sure. He was the one who introduced me to Austen. He would read her to me at night. I found him once, in his study, sitting by the fire, laughing out loud—I was pretty little, around eight or nine—and I asked him what was so funny, and he read me the scene where Elizabeth parries so successfully with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who is warning her against any engagement to her nephew Mr. Darcy.”
“‘These are heavy misfortunes indeed—but the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness, that she could have no cause to repine,’” quoted Evie.
“‘Obstinate, headstrong girl!’” Mimi quoted back with a laugh. “Exactly! And I crawled onto his lap and he kept reading to me. And pretty soon he decided to start reading the book all over again, this time out loud, to me, and he did this for many nights and years after, with all the books. Except Mansfield Park. He didn’t get Fanny Price. Thought her far too passive for all the connivers around her.”
“He must be very excited, then, about your plans to make a film of Sense and Sensibility,” Frances said.
“I don’t know.” Mimi added another sugar cube to her cup of tea, then added simply, “He killed himself. When I was twelve.”
Evie and Frances looked at each other.
“Mimi,” Frances started, “
I am so sorry. How awful, for all of you.”
“It was awful. It still is. The hardest part is wondering whether I could have done something, to help him—to stop him. The never knowing is what hurts the most. I try so hard to just remember our relationship, how we were together, and not think about his secret pain, because I can’t do anything about that, and that’s what haunts me.” Mimi looked at Frances carefully. “Don’t let any of this haunt you, Frances—your father’s last days, and the new will. It has nothing to do with you. It was his life—his choices.”
“She knows that,” Evie piped up. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Knight, I don’t mean to speak for you.”
“It’s alright, Evie, I know we were talking about this very thing in the grove just now.” Frances stood up and flattened her long, black, velvet skirt, then said to Evie, “Should we show Miss Harrison the lower library before she goes?”
They headed downstairs and through the Great Hall until they entered the book-lined room next door.
“What will happen to all of this?” Mimi walked around the room and gently touched the spines of various leatherbound books. “It’s remarkable, really. Yardley has been watching the market for me, and I bet there are some real treasures in here.” She turned back to Evie. “Yardley Sinclair works at Sotheby’s in London—he is another great lover of Jane Austen, and he keeps me up-to-date on things. In fact, he’s the one who introduced us to Miss Knight.”
“He is a most persistent man as well,” said Frances.
“Yes, I seem to be surrounded by those, both here and in Hollywood.”
Evie’s eyes widened, as she thought about all the famous people that Mimi must know.
“Yardley wants to visit you, terribly,” Mimi was saying to Frances.
Frances absent-mindedly touched the back of one of the books nearest her. “I’ve done a good job at putting that off. I always do. But I suppose we are going to need a valuation soon, especially under the circumstances.”
“Yardley can be trusted, I promise. He would keep any valuation confidential until you knew what you wanted to do. He considers himself another caretaker of Miss Austen. I know he very much wants to keep as much of her physical legacy here in England as possible, so he’s very good to share with me what he does.”
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