Pink in the face, Rose couldn’t look at the doctor. ‘Morgan! I’m passing you over now.’
Aiden’s conversation with Morgan was brief, but long enough for Rose to start panicking. What was Jane doing outside a pub, albeit a friendly neighbourhood one? How could she have forgotten her – totally? And what of the valuable volumes she had handed to her? Did she leave them in the library, as she’d asked her to? What if they were just sitting out on a table and not returned to the store and Anne saw them before she could do anything about it…?
‘Here.’ Aiden handed back her phone, and she tried hard not to notice his fingers brushing hers as he did so. He didn’t seem to notice, turning to study the menu card, but Rose was getting to her feet.
Aiden looked up, and she turned to grab her jacket from the chair back, unable to meet his eye.
‘I’m so sorry, Dr… Aiden. There’s something… just come up. I have to go.’
For the briefest moment, he looked completely taken aback; then he assumed a blank expression reminiscent of when he’d seemed to stare right through her at the costumed promenade, and regret flooded through her.
‘That’s fine.’ He shrugged and drained his glass before getting to his feet.
Was it possible he was disappointed? Outlandish though the idea was to Rose, she couldn’t leave without making sure he knew she didn’t want to go, but no words came. Perhaps it was the wine; perhaps it was the strangeness of her new world. Before she could think too much about it, Rose took a step forward and kissed him on the cheek. His gaze flew to hers as she stepped back, and she smiled tentatively.
‘I’m really sorry.’ She turned away but he stayed her with his hand.
‘Tell me it’s not me, and I’ll catch my train hungry but content.’
Rose drew in a shallow breath, then shook her head. ‘No, it’s not you. I’ve had… it’s been… brilliant. It’s just a – problem I need to sort.’ With that, she left; if he’d tried to persuade her to stay, she might just have thrown caution to the wind and left Jane to fend for herself a little longer.
* * *
The weather had turned when Rose got up the next day, all hint of the late summer sunshine washed away by a steady downpour, but she couldn’t bring herself to care very much. The pleasure of her evening with Aiden was still filling her up. She was certain her pulse hadn’t yet calmed down – not simply because of how wonderful it had been to spend time with him, but because of all they’d spoken about.
One side of her relished every moment of the evening: their conversation, his opening up about his interests, the clear indication he was disappointed she had to leave, but the other was in turmoil, tormented by what Aiden had said about the grave that wasn’t a grave in Chawton. If there was truly nothing there, merely a headstone of remembrance, it meant Jane had never been able to return. Her works were lost to the world. Now it was evident why only two of the three crosses remained; Jane’s was clearly never seen again.
As she had lain awake during the early hours dwelling on both the precious moments and the horrid finality of the situation, she had been gripped by a sudden urge to talk to Aiden, to tell him about Jane, about life as it had been, about… everything. She’d always known him to have an intelligent mind, but now she understood his mind was open to all sorts of things, including a long-held love of fantasy and of the inexplicable. But Rose shied away from the thought. Much as she wished it, she didn’t know him well enough to take such a risk; sadly, it was a risk she didn’t dare take with Morgan either.
The recollection of how precarious her reacquaintance with Morgan was sobered Rose somewhat as she got ready for yet another day at the library, and with a sigh she threw her reflection one last glance, grabbed her bag and walked out onto the landing, only to come face-to-face with Jane, who had likewise just emerged from her room.
‘Good morning.’ Jane inclined her head gracefully, and Rose smiled at her. At least she had managed to curb her instinctive urge to curtsey.
‘Morning. Did you sleep okay?’ Jane had been full of tales when Rose finally got home and found her in the conservatory reading by candlelight. She had clearly enjoyed her evening meeting people outside The Pulteney Arms after being deserted at the library. This remembrance, however, was sufficient to trouble Rose. ‘Do you have the books with you? I really need to try and replace them before it’s noticed they are missing.’
Jane raised her hand, in which she was clutching the first two volumes of The Romance of the Forest. ‘Forgive me for taking them; I would not wish to bring trouble upon you, but I longed for the simplicity of words with which I am more familiar.’
They turned to make their way downstairs, and Rose was reminded of the unusual wording in the photo Aiden had shown her. She mulled it over as she quickly made some toast for them both, but Jane looked miles away as she munched, and uncertain whether or not it was wise, Rose decided to share with her what Aiden had shown her.
There was silence for a moment, then Jane sighed. ‘Then ’tis final, is it not? I will own to some regret. ’Twas all a vast adventure; yet I find I begin to miss my daily correspondence with Cass. How little we value the minutiae of life until we have it no longer.’
‘I’m so sorry, Jane.’ Rose felt helpless to know what else to say. They were both trapped, and she just couldn’t see how they would ever be able to overcome it. ‘So – you did write to your sister about Tolkien’s works? I know you said you couldn’t send any books back to her that were more recent than 1803.’
‘I did. My sister is fond of poetry, and I often sent her extracts of poems I enjoyed.’
Wishing she could tell Aiden, so he could fit another piece into his mystery puzzle, Rose glanced at the clock. It was time to go to work.
‘Here, let me put the books in my bag so the rain doesn’t damage them.’
Jane handed them over willingly. ‘I have no further use for them; I finished the second volume again in my bed last night.’ Then she sighed. ‘It is most vexing the third volume is not available.’
‘If you come into the library later, I may be able to find out if we have a copy in one of our other libraries. My colleague said the actual volume was not fit for production – that means we can’t let it be handled.’ Rose frowned, thinking of the rows and rows of drawers housing microfilm. ‘I wonder if it’s on some other media…’ Then she smiled at Jane. ‘But if not, we’ll just have to order a modern reprint, though that will take a day or so to come, so there’ll be a wait.’
Jane smiled in return. ‘One does not truly wait for aught in this life, least not as one does in the other.’ She looked happily out of the kitchen window. ‘The rain is a pleasant change, is it not? I shall walk into town with you.’
Rose laughed as she put their plates in the dishwasher and reached for her coat. ‘I think you’d find very few people who’d agree with you on that.’
They walked out under a large umbrella, but Jane kept putting her arm out so that the rain splattered her bare fingers.
‘’Tis most invigorating! It is so… fresh.’ She glanced at Rose and smiled. ‘Whence I came, rain draws vapour from the city rooftops, mingling with smoke from the numerous chimneys.’ She looked up at the rooftops now, glistening with shiny wetness. ‘No. I like this rain very well; and…’ She inspected her fingers, glistening with raindrops. ‘I am become accustomed to forgoing my gloves.’
Rose sighed as words from Persuasion drifted through her mind, of arriving in Bath in the rain: ‘the first dim view of the extensive buildings, smoking in rain’, and Lady Russell’s reflection on the ceaseless clink of pattens – more words lost forever.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Once they arrived at the library, Jane insisted Rose keep the umbrella and wandered off along Green Street, and Rose turned and headed for the back of the building and the staff entrance, appreciating the reprieve from having Jane there at the start of her day. Things may have become a little easier as the week progressed, but she was still f
ar from firing on all cylinders, and Barbara wasn’t the only member of staff still keeping a cautious eye on her.
This ‘surveillance’ did make it difficult to do anything out of the ordinary and, knowing she needed someone’s – and most likely Anne’s – help to replace the books and find out if the rest of the story existed in some form or other, Rose decided being as close to truthful as possible was the best policy.
Anne had been displeased, obviously, when Rose admitted she had ‘forgotten’ to ensure the valuable old volumes were returned to the store the previous evening, but because they were both clearly safe and in the same condition as when they had been retrieved, she took them from Rose and let it go with a reminder to be a little more careful in future.
‘I know you said the final volume of the story was very fragile? The customer who wanted to read it is really disappointed not to be able to finish it. Are there any other ways of finding a copy? Like those early copies of the Bath Directory? Or can a copy be ordered from another branch or could I order one online?’
Glancing at her watch, Anne nodded. ‘All possibilities. I can have a look through the card catalogue, but it will have to be later. I have a local journalist coming in at ten to do some research and that will probably take me a few hours.’ Then she pointed over to the study area at the back of the library. ‘In the meantime, you could try the microfilm archive.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ Rose’s spirits lifted; keeping Jane amused meant one less thing to worry about at the moment. Finding an elusive volume of a more than two-hundred-year-old book might be a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, but at least she could give it a go.
About an hour later, Jane finally appeared in the library.
‘Do you not admire my new shawl?’
‘Did you need one?’
‘Not at all; and indeed, I cannot take credit for finding it. The rains became heavier, and I took shelter in the nearest establishment and lo, there it found me.’
‘Well, it must be our lucky day for finding things.’
Jane smiled, her eyes sparkling, as she took off her – or rather, one of Rose’s – wet coat. ‘You have a copy for me.’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ Rose steered Jane over to the study area and sat her down at one of the microfilm readers. For a moment, Jane stared at the contraption in front of her, and Rose couldn’t really blame her. Despite the digital screens, they were rather cumbersome in appearance and had various dials and knobs.
Although fairly straightforward to operate – the film was fed into the reader pretty much the same as old cine film would be into a projector – even that technology was beyond Jane’s experience, so it was a while later before Rose was able to leave her to settle down to read the opening chapter of the longed-for third volume.
She had barely turned away, however, when Morgan appeared.
‘Isn’t the weather great?’ Morgan beamed at Rose and then at Jane, who had swivelled in her seat to look at her.
‘Then we share a common trait, Miss Taylor.’
Morgan’s smile widened. ‘Call me Morgan. I just love the rain here.’
‘Is it polluted whence you came also?’
Rose and Morgan exchanged a quick glance, and the latter laughed. ‘I suppose it is, but I don’t care. We rarely get rain; I love the smell of it.’
Jane smirked at Rose before turning back to the screen. ‘Something in common indeed!’
Dropping her bag on the floor, Morgan sat down at the machine next to Jane’s.
‘Well, just one more thing to check and I think I’m nearly ready to do a draft of the article to put before Dr Grumpy!’ Rose walked round to the other side of Morgan and took a seat. ‘I spoke to him this morning.’ She frowned. ‘I’m having trouble persuading the Doc we have all the data there is and that this is as far as the story goes.’
Recalling Aiden’s deep interest in his findings in Hampshire, Rose doubted he felt quite so ready to prepare his paper yet, but as Morgan switched on the machine next to Jane’s and opened her notebook, she knew there wasn’t anything she could say about that.
Part of her felt the only thing keeping her sane was still having Morgan to hold onto, and Rose still clung to her past reality as the real one, despite everything pointing to it being permanently out of reach.
‘What? Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?’ Morgan looked over from the screen she was now squinting at.
Rose shook her head, dispelling her gloomy thoughts. ‘You know, I think you might actually need glasses.’
‘This is a vile thing to do to the written word.’ They both looked over at Jane who was also squinting closely at her screen.
Morgan raised her brows and leaned over, and Jane muttered, ‘I believe there is a creature in this machine, one that bites me if I apply even the slightest more pressure on this knob than it thinks I should.’
Reaching for the controls on Jane’s machine, Morgan smiled. ‘Has it got away from you? It’s so easy to do; I used to do it all the time. Here, do you remember what page you were on?’
‘I have barely begun; I am just on the opening chapter.’ Jane looked over her head at Rose. ‘Is there no alternative than using this unforgiving contraption?’
Rose shook her head apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I’m told the volume is simply too fragile. I know it’s frustrating but, other than waiting for a copy to be delivered—’
‘Is this it?’ Morgan pointed at the screen, and Jane turned to peer intently at it.
‘I thank you; it is.’ Jane gave her usual gracious inclination of her head.
A silence then settled over them for a while, with occasional mutterings from Jane, the scrawling of Morgan’s pen as she took more notes from the screen in front of her and the quiet sorting of books by Rose, who had brought one of the shelving trolleys over so that she could be on hand whilst still being seen to be doing some work.
‘So… Ginger?’ Rose glanced up; Morgan had spoken quietly and was still staring at the wide rectangular screen. ‘How long was your date with Dr T last night?’
Rose’s lips twitched. ‘Not very long, and it wasn’t a date!’
‘Did he ask you to take a look at his bone collection?’ Morgan’s lips curved up in a wicked smile. ‘Or maybe offer to take you on a walk in a nice, dark graveyard? You could have a dainty faint and be in his arms in no time.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’ Rose shook her head, but Morgan had hit close to home with the remark about the graveyard. Glancing at Jane, she bit her lip – she had seemed so alive, so… resolved to her situation and, in fact, almost relishing it at first. Had she done the wrong thing in telling Jane about the memorial stone in Chawton? Was she dwelling on how long Cassandra lived without her? How long her beloved sister suffered?
A sudden beep caused Rose to start, and she dropped the book she was holding. Morgan fished out her mobile and then looked questioningly at Rose as she picked the book up from the floor. ‘Hey – if I were trying to get to Italy, which airport would I be best to fly out of?’
Rose felt her stomach sink. ‘Heathrow, most likely. Are you – are you going to Italy, then?’
Morgan was busy texting on her phone, but she nodded. ‘Yeah, just as soon as Dr Grumpy is done with my services. I’m joining my brother in Rome. He was wandering Europe for the summer and has deigned to meet up with his big sis.’
‘That’s… exciting.’ Rose tried to smile, but disappointment was rising within her. What did you expect? She is here for a specific reason so why would she hang around? She’s not here to see you, to have a holiday or any of the things that brought her here in the old world.
‘It’s not the old world, it’s the real one.’
Both Jane and Morgan turned to look at Rose. Had she said it out loud?
‘Sorry.’ She waved a book and hastily stacked it on the trolley. ‘Just a quote from a book.’ She could feel colour invading her cheeks at Jane’s knowing look.
Morgan sent another text before putting her phone away and turning back to her screen, and Jane did the same, only to exclaim seconds later. ‘This infernal machine has returned me to the beginning yet again.’
‘Do you want me to find your place?’ Morgan looked up from her notebook, but Jane waved her away.
‘Please do not trouble yourself; I am in no humour for this box and it’ – she jabbed a finger at the screen, which, being a touch screen, immediately zoomed in on the page before her – ‘is clearly in no humour for me.’
Morgan grinned up at Rose before extracting a pencil from behind her ear and scribbling some words into her book.
‘Soooo.’ Rose tried to sound as casual as possible. ‘How long do you think that might be – until you leave for Rome?’
Morgan looked up again. ‘Oh, I think I have a couple days yet.’ She gave Rose a knowing look. ‘Plenty of time for another dinner – unless you’re planning on cosying up in a nice crypt with the Doc anytime soon.’
Rose tried to laugh, but panic gripped her throat, and it came out rather strangled. Thankfully, Morgan didn’t seem to notice.
The hint at seeing Aiden again was alluring, but Rose wasn’t blind to it all being a pipe dream. She hadn’t forgotten how invisible she actually was to him in the real world, but the thought of Morgan leaving Bath tore her apart. She and Jane were the only things she had left to hold onto, the only things in this strange life which resonated, meant something to her, right now. She swallowed hard on the sensation of tears rising.
She was about to give herself a stern talking-to when she happened to notice Jane’s face. ‘Jenny? Are you okay?’
Jane was staring fixedly at the screen before her, unblinking, a hand to her throat, and, concerned, Rose walked round to her side and crouched down.
‘What is it? Are you feeling ill?’ Please don’t be ill, her heart begged. I can’t cope with the responsibility of an ailing Jane Austen on my hands just now.
Shaking her head, Jane pointed towards the screen, and Rose turned to look at it. The machine had skipped back to an image of the frontispiece of the book, which bore little more than the title and the note of it being a work of three volumes, this being the third. She frowned, and glanced back at Jane, who whispered, ‘Take heed… below the title.’
The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen Page 17