The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen

by The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen (retail) (epub)

  ‘Yes – well, the best part of that show for me is when they find these sensational stories about their ancestors in the local papers. It’s crazy what they used to print; I mean it basically amounted to full-on gossipmongering. Which is perfect for this project on the lost lady. I’m looking to find out what the town thought happened to her. Rumours perhaps too unsubstantiated or ridiculous to have been mentioned in the police report.’

  Rose waited, but when Morgan seemed to think she’d made herself clear she had to ask, ‘But won’t that just perpetuate the falsehoods?’

  ‘You sound just like my current boss. No! They add a piece of flair before I crushingly debunk them. If I can. I struck out online finding anything about my lady in the papers, but I did find something interesting.’ Morgan fiddled with her phone for a second and turned it around to show Rose a picture of an old newspaper headline proclaiming ‘The Mysterious Disappearance of Owen Parfitt’. ‘This happened not far from Bath in 1765! Just imagine – he disappeared into thin air and was never seen again, alive or dead. Remind you of any lost garden ladies?’

  For the first time since the world had changed, Rose found herself truly distracted. ‘That’s – really interesting.’ Rose was about to say how proud she was of her, but felt that might be a little too intimate for now, and before she could continue, a woman stopped as she passed by their table.

  ‘Ah, hello, Rose.’

  Here we go. Rose definitely didn’t recognise her. ‘Er, hi!’

  ‘Thanks for covering last Saturday; you won’t mind doing the next one as well, will you? We’re so short-staffed.’

  The woman nodded briskly at them both and whisked away, and Rose met Morgan’s amused glance.

  ‘Colleague of yours?’

  Rose simply nodded. What was there to say? She didn’t know the woman from Adam, and she certainly hadn’t been at the library during her first day. Quite possibly, she was the elusive Barbara!

  ‘I can’t tell you how lucky I feel that I ran into you.’ Morgan beamed at Rose, but before she could question her further, their waitress arrived, looking very much as though she hoped to deposit their order without being noticed.

  No such luck. Morgan turned and greeted her like an old friend. ‘So, Emily, how long have you lived in Bath?’

  * * *

  Morgan had somehow persuaded Rose into taking her on a tour of some of the more unique pubs, but Rose had only agreed on condition she go home first to charge her mobile and change. Rose’s motivation was twofold – aside from what she told Morgan, she really wanted to make sure Jane hadn’t decided to move on in her absence.

  Making a beeline for the mobile charger plugged in near the kettle, Rose tried not to make it too obvious she was looking around for a displaced nineteenth-century author.

  ‘I’ll just go up and change – did you want anything to drink?’

  ‘No thanks; mind if I snoop around your bookcase?’

  ‘Not at all. Here.’ Rose led Morgan into the drawing room. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  ‘Hey, look! You have Spooks! I have it, too, but obviously it’s called MI5.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Distracted, Rose whipped a Post-it off the TV screen (Vast box with infinite variety of speaking images; inconceivable) and turned to see what Morgan held. ‘Oh, yes.’

  Morgan had picked up a DVD from a nearby shelf and was brandishing a copy of an early series of the show with Matthew Macfadyen on the cover.

  ‘You all have excellent taste in leading men. I loved this first guy, but I liked the blonde who came next, too, and I’m not usually cool with big changes like that.’

  Rose suppressed a sigh as her friend innocently hit another sore spot. Losing Jane’s books had been a body blow; no longer being able to watch the adaptations couldn’t compare, but it was still galling to think of the loss of yet another beloved Mr Darcy and a Captain Wentworth, too. Not wanting to dwell on it, Rose turned around just as Jane emerged from the conservatory. ‘Oh, thank God!’

  Jane stopped dead. ‘I beg your pardon?’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘Is aught amiss?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Rose remembered her other guest and looked between Jane and Morgan, who had taken up her ‘pleased to meet you’ expression. ‘Just glad you’re… here. Ja— Jenny—’

  Jane walked over to join them. ‘My staying is quite tolerably fixed.’ She eyed the DVD in Morgan’s hand with a curious gaze.

  ‘He is well-looking, is he not?’ She pointed to Matthew Macfadyen, then looked up at Rose with a small smile before turning to stare at Morgan.

  ‘Are we acquainted?’

  Rose shook her head quickly. ‘No, no. This is Morgan Taylor, a friend from America.’

  ‘A revolutionary!’ Jane’s tone was somewhere between excited and astounded, and Rose hesitated; she hadn’t thought of the added cultural complications. She looked back at Morgan’s openly friendly face and tried to be optimistic. After all, who could not like Morgan?

  ‘California to be exact. We’re a breed of our own.’

  Jane’s eyes widened, her expression almost as eager as Morgan’s. ‘I am not familiar with this place; what is your lineage?’

  ‘My – oh, well, it’s complicated. My mom was German, and my dad is Italian. But Mom died, and Dad remarried a wonderful Mexican lady with two daughters, and then my dad and she had a little boy together.’

  ‘I am all… astonishment!’

  Rose broke in. ‘Morgan’s a researcher for a magazine, Jenny.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes; she’s investigating some old mysteries from the West Country, including one set in Bath many years ago. I’m sure it would interest you.’

  Jane met Rose’s look in silence, and Morgan took the bait. ‘Oh, are you a fan of history? How long have you lived in Bath?’

  ‘There is no easy answer to this question.’ Then Jane shrugged lightly. ‘Sufficient time to own to some familiarity.’

  Morgan smiled widely. ‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you have an unusual way of expressing yourself.’

  ‘In this I am not alone.’

  Rose choked back a laugh, relieved to see Morgan’s smile widening. ‘Yeah, I’m discovering lots of differences in our so-called common language.’

  ‘Yes. So… Morgan has travelled all this way in order to get more information for her story.’

  Jane was staring at Morgan with avid curiosity. ‘Why does she still have her coat on?’

  Rose bit her lip. ‘It’s very warm in California – she’s feeling the cold.’ Jane looked as though she might have something to say to this, so Rose turned quickly to Morgan. ‘I don’t think you ever told me the rest of the story you were working on – you said it was a missing person case?’

  Morgan looked between them again, but said, ‘Yes. Well – there was this woman; she disappeared into thin air. No trace of her was ever found! Her family is pretty well respected, right, but no one knows a lot about them. They keep themselves to themselves. So – picture it – it’s the beginning of the nineteenth century. There isn’t a lot a respectable woman in England – or well, anywhere, really – could do without a companion back in 1803, but she must have gone somewhere—’

  Rose was gripped by a strange sensation. It was as if her insides were turning to ice. Jane had paled, her lips slightly parted. It couldn’t be – but there were a lot of things recently that Rose had thought impossible that had proved more than.

  ‘Did you say 1803?’

  ‘Yes!’ Morgan took her hands out of her pockets. ‘So here’s the deal – the family – this woman lived with her parents and older sister – are, like, all worried and report her as missing. Then they back off, refuse to make any further comment. Granted, the law enforcers of the time weren’t the most popular people, but the whole thing strikes them as so weird they actually wrote a report on their conversation with the family. And it still exists, though it’s in very poor condition. Someone did track it down for me, but I had to go into the stat
ion to get a look at it; couldn’t touch it or anything.’ Morgan grinned at Rose and then Jane. ‘Isn’t it fascinating? They suspected the family knew exactly what did happen, but for whatever reason, they’re just not saying. No body was ever discovered, so there is no proof of foul play, and the family – again – seems pretty well above reproach, so the most logical assumption is that this woman simply ran off, most likely with a lover…’

  A small squeak escaped from Jane at this point, and Morgan nodded excitedly. ‘Yes! I know! Scandalous for the time. I can just imagine it, though – can’t you? It’s no wonder the family kept quiet. It would have ruined the other daughter by association. Maybe he was someone far above her class, and his family didn’t approve and so under the cover of night—’

  ‘How… alarming! Such wild speculation!’ Jane had gone even paler, and Rose glanced at Morgan, who seemed unfazed.

  ‘Well, yes – maybe it makes a better story if she is the higher class and runs off with the butler.’

  Jane put a hand to her head and sagged against the worktop. ‘It is to be hoped your investigations do not end in disappointment, but I fear they may.’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘Well… anyway, I’m looking forward to trying to figure it out.’

  Rose decided it was time to make a move.

  ‘Right, come on, Morgan. Let’s go. We can catch the next bus and it will drop us by the abbey which is as good a place to start as any.’

  ‘But what about Jen?’ Morgan smiled at Jane. ‘You want to come with us? We’re going pub hopping!’

  ‘A pleasure all the more enhanced for not having any notion of what you speak,’ Jane began, but catching Rose’s urgent eye, she paused. ‘But I must forego your generous offer and resume my reading. It is most gripping. Mr Potter is in danger of discovery by the surly custodian’s feline despite his concealment by a cloak of invisibility.’

  ‘Mrs Norris,’ Rose supplied, fondly remembering the moment Jane described.

  ‘Mrs Norris? You’re out of practice, Ginger. Filch’s cat is Mrs Marmaduke, remember?’ Morgan admonished, and Rose’s gaze flew to her friend in surprise as she turned to Jane eagerly. ‘You’re reading Harry Potter! Is it your first time?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I wish I could read it all for the first time. Well, in order at any rate. I read book three first, you see.’

  ‘No – I do not.’ Jane smiled gently, softening the words. ‘Good evening, ladies.’

  ‘See ya. Okay, Rose, let’s go.’

  Rose was still staring at Morgan in confusion. Then realisation struck. If there was no longer a novel called Mansfield Park, then there was no longer a character called Mrs Norris for J. K. Rowling to choose as the name for the busybody cat in her Harry Potter series.

  Morgan stayed Rose with a hand as she turned blindly for the door. ‘Wait, weren’t you going to change?’

  ‘I decided against it.’ Rose waved a hand at Jane, who turned to leave the room and, if she was not mistaken, had winked at her! Rolling her eyes, she followed Morgan out into the cool evening air. Jane Austen was turning out to be more than a handful.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rose hurried from her room the next morning and down the stairs, already running late, only to fetch up short as she saw a Post-it note stuck to the telephone in the hall.

  Why such predilection for placing people in boxes? Seeing the familiar hand of Jane Austen in such a way was just too bizarre to take in so early in the day, and Rose walked through the kitchen, grabbed her house key and let herself out. There were two more Post-its: one on the fridge, saying, Ice house (life of provisions extended; oft to no advantage) and one on the electric kettle saying, Do not place on stove; mayhem may ensue.

  Having watched carefully the previous day, Rose managed to not only find the staff entrance at the rear of the building but also, on the third attempt, to get in without assistance. It felt like she had scaled Everest, and she entered the staffroom with a smile on her face.

  ‘Hey, you look much better.’

  Mary was making herself a drink by the sink and Rose dropped her bag onto a nearby chair and walked over to join her.

  ‘I feel better, to be honest.’ She reached for a mug from the rack on the wall, then stopped, remembering everyone had their own. Thankfully, Mary was busy putting her teabag in the bin, and Rose quickly opened the cupboard under the sink to find a spare mug.

  ‘Aren’t you putting your bag in your locker?’ Mary frowned as she met Rose’s gaze.

  ‘Of course. I’ll do it on my way down.’

  Five minutes later, she had discovered the purpose of one of the strange keys on her key ring, and a further five minutes later, she was down on the main library floor, trying to look busy with a shelving trolley. At least that was one thing she’d had ample experience with on the previous day.

  ‘Rose! Barbara is asking for you.’ Mary sailed past, her arms laden with books, and looking over towards the main desk, Rose saw the woman who had spoken to her the previous night in Hall & Woodhouse.

  ‘Here we go,’ she muttered under her breath.

  By mid-morning, Rose’s head was reeling again. Barbara – whose patience had run thin after the umpteenth time Rose asked for help with the in-house cataloguing system – had told her to leave it and oversee the public computers and deal with any printing from the main desk and also to assist any customers with the copiers. She had also advised her to see a doctor.

  The desire to grab her things and leave after tea break was strong, and only the inducement of Morgan coming along to do some research gave Rose the courage to return to the main library floor. Before any sign of her friend came, however, her attention was caught by a familiar voice, and she walked slowly towards the area she’d been overseeing earlier which housed the computers for public use.

  There, talking far more loudly than permitted, was Roger, her colleague at Luxury Lettings. He was clearly doing something on one of the computers but also holding court with the poor people either side of him.

  ‘Thought I’d move on. When you’re good at what you do, you can walk into a job pretty much anywhere.’ He turned back to the screen and tapped a few keys.

  No one appeared to be paying him much attention, but Barbara must have heard voices for she came around the corner and glared at Roger’s back. Then, seeing Rose, she gestured at her to speak to him and walked off.

  Rose set off, trying to feel confident in her anonymity, but before she reached him he had turned in his seat and seen her.

  ‘I’ve just sent a document to the printer. Get it for me, will you?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to come to the desk for it. Once you’ve paid, you can have your copies.’ Rose walked away before she said something she might regret.

  Taking Roger’s pages off the printer, she could see it was his CV. Had James been driven to fire him at last?

  ‘You lot got any vacancies?’ Roger asked as she met him at the counter and handed over the necessary money.

  ‘Not at the moment, no.’ Rose silently vowed to make sure they never hired him.

  He shrugged. ‘Probably for the best. Not sure I could cope with the boredom in here.’ He stowed the CVs in his bag, and leaned against the counter. Rose wished it would collapse on the floor, taking him with it. ‘Just had four years’ hard work thrown back in my face without so much as a by your leave. Fancy giving up your business and uprooting to London just because it’s what the girlfriend wants.’

  Rose’s heart sank. James was selling up and leaving Bath?

  Roger looked Rose up and down. ‘Hey, let me have your number and perhaps we can—’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.’ To Rose’s relief, a lady had come over to pay for her printing, and she made sure she took her time, hoping Roger would get bored and leave. Thankfully, he did.

  Once alone again, Rose tried to look busy, but her mind was racing. This is Mandy’s doing. She’d been nagging James about the London move righ
t up until he’d broken off the engagement. She walked slowly out from behind the main desk, feeling disheartened, just as Morgan came breezing into the library, waving as soon as she saw her. Morgan is nothing like Mandy; she would support James, as she does with everyone she loves.

  ‘I was expecting a really old building – you know, dusty shelves, ancient tomes.’

  Pushing aside her regrets, Rose smiled. ‘You were expecting Hogwarts’ library, then?’

  ‘I suppose I was.’ Morgan looked a little disappointed as she glanced around, but Rose steered her over to a vacant table on the far side of the library and sat her down.

  ‘So, where do you need to start?’

  Morgan rummaged in her cavernous bag and drew out some sheets of paper.

  ‘There’s very little available; seems the constables of the day had more pressing matters of crime than a missing eloping woman. I have a few details from my kind police contact. I scribbled some notes on the family interview because I couldn’t have a copy. Everything was in a very poor condition.’ She laughed and wrinkled her nose. ‘Smelt bad, too. Don’t think anyone had opened that particular archive in hundreds of years.’

  ‘Do you still want to see old newspapers?’

  ‘Yes! When I phoned here, they said I’d have to come in person to see ones from the year I was interested in. They have copies on microfilm, too. I’m seeing my guy in charge at one for a catch-up lunch, so it would be great to have some new stuff to show him.’

  ‘I’ve an idea where the microfilm is stored, and I’m sure we can work out how to use the reader. Can you let me know what it is you’re looking for exactly?’

  ‘I think the best place to start is with the local paper – the Chronicle, I think it’s called? Just whatever there is for around September 1803?’

  ‘Okay. Bear with me.’ Crossing her fingers behind her back, Rose walked off to the section where she’d seen the digital microfilm readers, hoping the cataloguing system wouldn’t be too difficult to master.

  * * *

  With help from Mary yet again, Rose had finally found the right microfilm and then worked out how to feed it into the reader before leaving Morgan to her research. She didn’t see much of her, as she was stationed at the computer area on the opposite side of the library. But as one o’clock neared she walked back over only to find Morgan still engrossed in her work.