She dropped the phone back into her bag before draining her glass. ‘Sorry. I have to get to this meeting for two o’clock. I’ve been waiting on the call all morning.’ She laughed. ‘He sounded cute.’
‘No problem. It’s been… it’s been great to see you – again.’ Rose signalled for the bill. ‘Are you staying locally?’
‘I’m at that big Crescent place?’
Rose’s heart leapt, thinking of the apartment she had checked Dr Trevellyan into. ‘In an apartment?’
‘No, it’s a hotel. Here.’ She pulled a card from her pocket. ‘I took a stack of these in case I can’t find my way back and need to grab a cab ride.’
Rose went to take the Royal Crescent Hotel card, but Morgan held onto it. ‘Hold on.’ She scribbled on the card before handing it over. ‘My mobile. Call me. It would be fun to have dinner or something.’
The waitress dropped the bill on the table, and they both fished in their purses for money, then got to their feet.
‘Hey, can you point me in the direction of…’ Morgan squinted at the words scrawled across her notepad. ‘Manvers Street?’
‘Yes, of course – it’s about ten minutes away. I’ll walk with you there, if that’s okay?’
Morgan gave her a curious look as she shrugged into her jacket and picked up her bag. ‘You bet! You’re the only person I know in Bath.’
Not for long, mused Rose as she counted out some change for a tip and turned to follow Morgan into the street. Based on recent experience, I’d say she’ll know at least a dozen people by nightfall.
* * *
Leaving Morgan at the police station for her meeting, Rose wandered somewhat aimlessly along Manvers Street. On the corner, she looked back, but Morgan had disappeared inside the building and a fleeting dread filled her. What if they didn’t meet up again? What if Morgan had somehow written her number down wrong, or Rose couldn’t decipher the writing?
Then she took herself to task. There was no need to panic. Bath was a small place; she would not lose Morgan. It was just too perfect that she was here in the first place – fate obviously didn’t intend for this friendship to be lost forever. Rose put her fears out of her mind and focused on the problem at hand: finding Jane Austen.
With a renewed sense of purpose, she scanned the people milling around on the corner of North Parade. Perhaps the sensible place to start, with Sydney Place and Gardens drawing a blank, would be the parts of Bath she knew Jane was familiar with. After all, had she not used them liberally in Northanger Abbey – or Susan, as Jane currently thought of it?
She set off, soon passing signs of Jane’s absence from the world. The Tourist Information Centre’s window was no longer filled with festival paraphernalia – programmes, mugs, accessories and the like. Number 40 Gay Street housed a legal practice, not the popular Jane Austen Centre. Rose dodged between the traffic and walked along the northern side of Queen Square. She could not bear to look down towards number 13. Luxury Lettings was no longer part of her life.
But the past was not easy to shed, and characters from Jane Austen’s two novels set extensively in Bath haunted her as she walked. How bittersweet it was to be accompanied along the Gravel Walk by Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot, knowing the precious words of his letter were gone from the world forever. How sad was it to think of Jane Austen never creating those characters or those words?
A sense of desperation swirled through her, and Rose hurried her pace to emerge onto the Royal Crescent. It looked much as it always did, and she walked quickly from one end to the other, but there was no sign of Jane. She paused only as she came to number 14. Standing by the railing, she looked at the windows of the ground-floor flat. There was no sign of life. Did the doctor ever come to Bath or would he have no need if he was no longer on a dig or coming to speak at the festival?
Rose moved away; perhaps she would never see him again. That thought brought little comfort, and she walked more slowly along Brock Street, full of a sense of foreboding and casting a regretful look at the door where she had left the Hales only days ago, happily settling into their flat.
Round the Circus and down to George Street traipsed Rose, her eyes scanning every passing face for the features she sought. Pausing at the top of Milsom Street, her eye was drawn to the wooded outcrop known as Beechen Cliff. Would Catherine Morland never walk there now? Feeling sick to the stomach, the ever-present sense of loss taking an even firmer grip on her heart, she hurried down the hill.
It was as she passed Waterstones and recalled her first sighting of Jane – was it only four days ago? It seemed like she had lived a lifetime since then – that she considered it worth entering a shop. Jane was fond of reading, wasn’t she, and had already mentioned discovering Toppings and Mr B’s. Perhaps she should check on all the bookstores methodically.
A quick tour of the ground floor showed no sign of the missing author, and Rose negated the basement, knowing it housed travel books, maps and the like and was probably the least likely to hold Jane’s attention.
Climbing the stairs, her nose was assailed by the rich smell of freshly roasted coffee, and she inhaled deeply as she quickly checked the first floor. Many of the books here might have caught Jane’s interest, but there was no sign of her perusing the shelves, and Rose turned around and walked back towards the stairs.
Mr B’s Emporium was just around the corner; she’d try there next, and then… Rose fetched up short as she reached the stairs. Seated on a large sofa adjacent to the cafe area was Jane, her nose tucked into a book, which she was reading closely.
Chapter Seventeen
The rush of relief was almost overwhelming, and she hurried over. Jane did not seem to detect her presence, and with a half-smile, Rose took in the half-empty cup of tea on the nearby table along with several books. As she suspected, they covered a wide range of topics, from crafts and needlework to weightier subjects like history and science. All, however, had one thing in common: they had been discarded in favour of the novel she now held.
‘Miss Austen – Jane.’
The lady started and looked up, then smiled, lowering the book into her lap. ‘Good afternoon, Miss – Rose.’
Rose had caught a glimpse of the cover of the book, and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘What are you doing?’ she croaked.
‘Partaking of some tea. The taste is most particular, but I find I am becoming accustomed to it.’
Rose shook her head. ‘No – I meant, what on earth are you reading?’
Jane turned her book to show the cover to Rose, who paled further and grabbed it from her.
‘This is not polite behaviour, Miss Wallace – Rose.’
‘I’m sorry. Really, I am, but I just don’t think you’re ready for this one yet!’
She dropped the copy of Fifty Shades of Grey onto the table.
‘But I have barely begun. I enquired of an assistant for something popular with young women. She explained “Grey” was one of the people in the book, so I anticipate an interesting study of character.’
‘Yes, well – maybe… when you’re – I mean… just trust me. Look, are you finished with your tea? Would you mind walking back home with me?’
Jane got up to leave with her easily enough, then turned back and picked up a small card from next to her teacup.
‘A kind lady in there gave me this.’ She waved a small card with Waterstones emblazoned across it and two small ink stamps on it. ‘When I have had ten cups of tea, I am allowed one for no charge. At first, I thought I must consume all ten in one sitting, but she assured me it is not so.’
‘Very exciting,’ Rose agreed and led the way out into the street and fresh air. Unfortunately it did nothing to clear her mind. Now that she had Jane firmly in tow, the fears that had been going around and around in her mind burst out with a frustrated, ‘Could you not have left a note?’
Jane shrugged her shoulders lightly. ‘My pen and ink are both lost now.’
‘We have pens in the house,’ Rose
huffed. ‘I was worried; I had no idea where you were.’
‘Does it signify? I cannot remain at your mother’s house indefinitely. I must find my own situation.’
‘But – you can’t just stay here!’
‘In Bath? No, nor do I wish it. I aspire to a small house in the country.’
‘No – I mean here. This century.’
‘My dear girl, as I have explained, I have no choice.’
Aghast, Rose stared at Jane as they paused on the kerb to let some traffic pass.
‘But there must be a way – we have to find a way…’
‘Why is it so important to you?’
‘Your books! Your beautiful words, your characters – I cannot bear the thought of all the people who must now live without them. And what about other writers who came after you, who were inspired to write because of your stories, whose writing was influenced by yours?’
‘But they have no comprehension a loss has befallen them. As for myself, I have yet to create the stories or the characters.’ Jane set off across the road, and Rose hurried after her.
‘Not all of them. You’ve already done a first draft of Pride and… I mean, First Impressions – and of Elinor and Marianne.’ She felt bereft, as though feeling her way in the dark. ‘And Northanger Abbey – Susan. You revised it here – in Bath – and sold it to a publisher. I’ve read about it, and—’
Jane stopped on the corner of New Bond Street and turned to look at her. ‘And I am sure you comprehend it all. The book was not destined for publication before I… during my lifetime.’ She seemed quite unperturbed, but Rose could feel herself sinking and put a hand to her head.
‘But what of Anne Elliot? And Captain Wentworth and that letter?’
‘What letter?’
‘From Persuasion. Quite possibly the most romantic letter ever written.’
Jane eyed her sympathetically for a second as they both fell into step again. ‘But I have yet to compose it. I could not even bring myself to read the novel. Oh, I did make a beginning.’ She turned away as they walked across Pulteney Bridge.
Rose could not imagine what it must have been like, to peruse words written long ago by one’s own hand but not recognise them. Then Jane turned back. Her eyes were wide, and Rose suspected she was experiencing some emotion and trying to keep it in check.
Swallowing visibly, Jane raised a hand to her throat. ‘I – I could not read beyond Anne’s reaction to having to leave her home: Somersetshire and Kellynch, so dear to her heart, her childhood home.’
‘It resonates with your own memories of leaving Steventon.’
Jane nodded. ‘It is but a story to others: the history of my life. And yet Papa retired barely eighteen months ago, and one cannot recover in haste from such a wrench. One does not.’
Feeling terrible for reminding Jane of something clearly still painful to her, Rose sought desperately for something to say, but she was continuing.
‘But I am not formed for ill humour.’ Jane waved a hand at the buildings around them as they continued along Great Pulteney Street. ‘And Bath has – had – its compensations.’
Rose tried to curb her curiosity, but failed. ‘It’s been said, and often written, that you didn’t like Bath. Some people have even said you hated it?’ She held her breath. Bath was her home, and she loved it with all her heart.
Jane laughed. ‘How quick come the reasons for approving or disapproving what we like.’ Then she glanced at Rose, who was relieved to see all sign of sadness gone. ‘I liked Bath well enough as a visitor – who could not? To be a resident brings all manner of alteration.’ Jane paused as they reached Sydney Place and looked over towards the Gardens. ‘Yet it had its rewards, and I found pleasure in many things.’
‘Walking, for one.’
‘Indeed. And being so well situated, I was able to take full advantage of the country hereabouts. There was ample amusement to be had from our proximity to the Gardens.’ She waved a hand at the trees across the road. ‘Though they were more to my liking then than now.’
They turned to continue, and Rose felt she could understand. Although still a peaceful enough haven for present-day visitors and residents alike, with trains thundering through every so often and many of the features from its original layout long gone, the Gardens must seem very different to someone who knew them two hundred years earlier.
Still, she was happy to have asked the question, and they continued their walk back to Bathampton in good spirits, as Jane happily talked about her time in Bath, in both the past and the present.
* * *
This had to cap every other moment in her life for nerves, thought Rose as she slowly mounted the stairs to the main entrance of Bath Central Library. Forget first days at school, the occasional first date, interviews and even the first day in her job at Luxury Lettings. At least then she had known what she had applied for, had at least an inkling of what to do, what the offices looked like, the name of her boss.
She hovered on the landing. The library had yet to open its main doors. Glancing at her watch, she realised it was only a quarter past nine. But shouldn’t she, as a member of staff, be able to get in before the general public? She studied the screens in front of her. The main floor of the library was visible beyond and people could clearly be seen moving about.
Rose frowned, looking even harder for some sign of entry for staff but there was nothing. She had no choice; she would have to wait for the doors to open for business and perhaps pretend she’d missed her bus?
Two hours later, Rose really was wishing she’d missed the bus. Her morning had taken on nightmare proportions ever since she’d walked in and been frowned at for not using the usual entrance – she’d have to watch carefully at lunchtime and follow someone to find out where it was.
Barbara, apparently her direct supervisor, was off that day, which at first had seemed a relief until she realised it meant everyone pretty much left her to her own devices, assuming she knew what she had to do.
Having spent the first half-hour walking around in a daze – at least as a library user she was familiar with the general layout available to the public – she had been taken aside by a young woman whom she had heard being called ‘Mary’. That at least accounted for one person on her missed calls list.
‘Are you okay, Rose?’ She had looked most concerned. ‘You are so pale, and… well, sort of jumpy.’
Rose glanced around, certain that the two members of staff on the main enquiry desk had suddenly looked away and pretended to be busy.
‘I – er – yes. Sorry. Bad night. Feeling a bit… distracted.’ She tried to summon a normal smile but was pretty certain all she managed to do was bare her teeth in a frozen sort of grin.
Mary looked unconvinced, but she patted her kindly on the arm. ‘Why don’t you pop upstairs and put the kettle on? The first tea break will be coming up soon. I know we usually make our own, but take a few minutes to do something routine and see how you feel afterwards. If you’re no better by lunchtime perhaps you should go home.’
Right then, Rose could think of nothing better than being sent home, but knowing it wouldn’t solve anything, she thanked Mary and watched her walk away. Her new dilemma was which door to go through to get to the staffroom; plus all the doors had key codes…
‘Er – excuse me?’ A member of staff who had been tidying away books in the children’s area was walking past.
She smiled at Rose. ‘Hi, Rose, how were your days off?’
‘Oh. Quite… unusual. Lots going on.’ There was a pause, as if she was waiting for Rose to say something. ‘And – er – and you? Did you have a great weekend?’
The smile disappeared. ‘I thought I told you on Saturday. We had to bury our beloved cat. It was terrible.’
She stalked off, leaving Rose feeling dreadful, but she looked up to meet Mary’s eye across the room, who mimed pouring a kettle into a mug and pointed towards the door to her right. She would have to pretend she’d had a mental blank over
the code and ask for it, but she knew which door to go through at least.
Chapter Eighteen
Rose had never been so thankful to see five o’clock finally come round as her shift ended. Trying to ignore the concerned look on Mary’s face as she muttered a quiet good night and hurried towards the main entrance, Rose quickly descended the stairs and emerged into the fresh air.
Northgate Street was as busy as ever, bustling with traffic and shoppers jostling with workers going home for the day. Automatically, she turned left, thinking of the sanctuary of her flat in Sydney Place, only to stop immediately. It was no longer her home; she had no choice but to go back to her mother’s house in Bathampton. The thought of walking past her old flat brought a lump to her throat; perhaps she should take a bus this time?
‘May I walk with you?’
Turning around, Rose was unsurprised to see Jane. After all, had she not just spent several hours in the library herself? Then she sighed. What did it matter? Nothing mattered any more.
‘Yes, of course.’ Rose blew out a frustrated breath as they began to walk. ‘Well, that was a day from hell.’
‘And pray, why is that?’
‘Why?’ Rose glanced at Jane. ‘Where do I begin? There are codes on all the doors to access the offices, staffroom and so on.’ She grunted. ‘I’ve had to ask what they are; everyone thinks I’m mad. I’ve been there three years, but couldn’t understand how to use or find anything. I got locked out of the computer because I had too many guesses at what the password might be so I spent the morning demoted to shelving books and making tea for everyone during their allotted breaks until IT got it sorted.’
‘A challenge indeed.’ Jane’s dry tone did little to help soothe Rose’s frayed nerves.
‘And I gave everyone the wrong mugs. Then…’ Rose sighed. ‘Just when people had stopped asking me if I’m okay or sickening for something and giving me either sympathetic or wary looks, you turn up. I am stuck in a surreal library which holds no reference at all to Jane Austen or her works but in which she herself is walking around perusing the shelves and muttering about finding a book which is obviously long out of print and occasionally making derogatory remarks about the other people.’
The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen Page 12