‘Well, I nearly did – but hey, I like you.’ Morgan winked; her smile was genuine, not forced at all. ‘And you don’t seem like a crazy person – well, aside from everything you said – so I thought, why not stick with the curiosity and see where we get to.’
‘I appreciate it, Morgan, you have no idea how much I do.’
Morgan met her eye seriously this time. ‘You’re wrong; I think I do have an idea how much, and that’s why I’m here.’
Rose swallowed hard on a sudden rush of emotion, then drew in a deep breath.
‘Excellent. So, let’s go in, shall we?’
Rose gestured to Jane to walk ahead down the gravel drive to the house, and Morgan fell into step beside her.
‘So you’re…?’
‘Do you suffer memory loss, young woman? We have been acquainted some days now.’
Bringing up the rear, Rose sighed. ‘Jane, I’ve told Morgan who you are. Who you really are.’
They had reached the side door now, and stopped as Rose fished out her key.
Jane eyed Morgan with a raised brow. ‘How this affects you, I know not. For myself, whom I was is who I am, thus I suffer little inconsequence.’
She stepped into the house as the door swung open and Rose turned to Morgan.
‘Please, come in – won’t you?’
‘Sure.’ Morgan’s lips twitched, ‘You know, the British have a reputation in my country for being a tad curt. I think now you’ve all mellowed considerably in the last two hundred years.’
Rose sighed, shaking her head as she followed Morgan into the house. ‘She’s really a romantic at heart – honestly. She’s just a bit stressed today.’
‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’ Morgan patted the bag slung over her shoulder. ‘I brought my laptop so you can see the pictures I took. Who knows, maybe it will give you some insight into what to do next.’
‘Perfect! Thanks so much – though, in all honesty, I have no idea what can be done if the safe has been removed. We will never be able to trace it and even if we could, I can’t imagine it would still have anything in it.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rose steered Morgan into the dining room so she could unpack her laptop onto the table. It was as they passed back through the hall to the kitchen that she spotted and quickly snatched up yet another Post-it note stuck to the cover of a Grantchester DVD left on a nearby chair: His air and countenance please me; a suitable likeness of Mr Charles Bingley?
Rose smiled to herself. Who would have thought the appeal of James Norton would transcend the centuries?
Jane had disappeared up the stairs, and Rose pulled the vanilla essence and eggs from the carrier bag and placed them by the cake recipe as Morgan came to lean against the worktop.
‘Apparently, in this reality I bake things – not professionally, for friends and so on, but it seems I’ve got quite a good reputation.’ She opened the pantry door and took out the flour, sugar and cocoa powder. ‘Rather inconveniently, I’ve also apparently promised a cake for my friend’s engagement party on Sunday, which is a bit of a problem to say the least, when my baking experience begins and ends with the making of some teeth-defying scones at school and a bad experience once with some pre-made frozen pastry.’
Morgan grinned at her as Rose deposited her finds next to the eggs. ‘Oh dear. Well – be thankful you aren’t married with kids in this world – what would you have done?’
Rose stopped in the process of pulling an electronic mixer from a cupboard, her lips parted in surprise. ‘I don’t even want to think about it. Oh no! What on earth would I have done? How could I…’
Morgan reached forward and nudged her in the arm. ‘Sorry – don’t freak out – it didn’t happen – that’s a good thing.’
Rose nodded, but the thought of all the possible complications – and embarrassments – was almost horrifying. Perhaps this life as it stood wasn’t so bad after all!
Just then, Jane came back into the room and Morgan smiled brightly at her.
‘So – Jane? May I call you Jane?’
Jane walked over to the recipe and picked it up, then turned to face Morgan. ‘You may; it is my given name. I found no use for the alias to begin with, though it had familiarity in its favour – my father often calls me Jenny.’ She glanced over at Rose with a small smile. ‘I counselled Rose there was no need, as she alone had awareness of my name in this world.’
Morgan held up a hand cautiously. ‘Well – I had, too. I was researching your disappearance and would definitely have found it more than a little odd to have run into a woman with the same name by coincidence.’
‘Perhaps. Yet of what consequence might it have been? What might you have supposed, pray?’
Morgan raised her brows then turned to Rose. ‘She has a point.’
Rose put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, what would you have done? To me, Jane Austen was the absolute most familiar name to me, and to many people around the world. It was instinct to try and come up with a different name, one can hardly prepare for it. At no point in my lifetime have I been dreaming up strategies for if I find myself in an alternate reality.’
‘And everyone in America thinks the school system is so superior here.’ Jane frowned, but Rose knew Morgan was joking and grinned. The teasing was a good sign. ‘But,’ Morgan continued, ‘I would certainly have taken you for a relative and asked you way too many questions.’
‘Do you have butter, Rose?’ Jane held out her hand and Rose passed it over. ‘Forgive me the impertinence, but if I have sufficient comprehension of your character, I fully anticipate the same henceforth.’
Morgan grinned. ‘Are you giving me free rein?’
‘A satisfied curiosity will oft lead to calmer nerves.’ Jane eyed the modern set of scales warily as she dropped a chunk of butter onto them, and Morgan and Rose exchanged an amused look. Morgan rested her elbows on the worktop dividing the kitchen from the breakfast area.
‘So… Rose has told me there were three necklaces given to you, your mother and your sister by your brother?’ At Jane’s nod, Morgan added, ‘And where did the necklaces come from exactly?’
Rose ushered Jane round to sit on a stool at the worktop and took the bag of sugar from her.
‘To be certain, I cannot say exactly.’ She paused, then smiled at her interrogator. ‘My brother, Charles, acquired them whilst on his return from a tour of duty. He wrote to us of them, but said little beyond the stones being topaz and the chains of gold. We scolded him, of course, for spending his winnings on the females of his family. He has a family of his own to support, you see.’
Morgan frowned. ‘Well – did your brother warn you when he gave them to you, they might have – oh I don’t know – magical properties?’
‘Not at first; he wrote of the purchase, but he only sent two of the three – my mother’s and Cassandra’s – preferring to bring mine in person next time he was in England.’ Jane seemed lost in a memory, staring into nothing, but her eyes sparkled with a return of their usual vivacity and a faint smile touched her lips. ‘He spoke privately to me, told me he knew full well my frustrations, my desire for something more than living quietly at home, mending and sewing, managing the household accounts and waiting… waiting for something – life – to happen rather than being able to seek it out.’
‘And then what?’ Rose was captivated; Jane had never spoken of this to her, and she laid aside her spatula. The cake could wait!
‘He told me my gift alone held certain qualities – magical properties, as Morgan calls them. He had met by reputation a woman believed to have certain powers, and she had bestowed some upon the cross and chain but it was essential it passed from his hand to mine and no other.’
Morgan’s eyes were wide. ‘And this spell or whatever it was… it transported you through time?’
‘Your powers of deduction are astonishing.’
‘Jane.’ The warning note in Rose’s voice did not go unnoticed, and Jane gave a rue
ful smile.
‘Forgive me; you have an unfathomable tendency to state that which is obvious.’
With a shrug, Morgan grinned. ‘What’s evident to one person is often unthinkable to another.’
‘Touché!’ Jane laughed. ‘You are a formidable adversary.’
Morgan’s smile widened. ‘So – did the other two necklaces do anything – have similar abilities?’
Jane shook her head. ‘They displayed nothing beyond the traditional accomplishment of jewellery; inanimate but quite pretty nonetheless.’ She threw a mischievous look at Rose and then Morgan. ‘Though how Cass and I wished they did! Imagine our disappointment when first Mama placed her chain about her neck and failed to disappear.’
Laughing with the others, Rose broke a couple of eggs into a bowl and started to whisk them around with a fork.
‘Of course, I have never been able to wear my own cross and chain merely for pleasure.’
Rose’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh! I’d never thought of that. How sad – you should have a replica made.’
Jane smiled, shaking her head. ‘It is of little import. Mama did not consider the semi-precious stone to be good enough for someone who had connections to the Leighs of Stoneleigh Abbey, however, tenuous, and bestowed hers upon me. ’Tis perchance the reason it is oft mistaken for my own.’
She and Rose exchanged a quick glance, and Morgan frowned, but before she could say anything, Jane turned to her instead and fixed her with a compelling eye. ‘May I now be given the liberty of addressing you with a question?’
With her usual warm smile, Morgan nodded, and Rose picked up the flour again and began to pour it into the mixer, forgetting that measuring it out might be a sensible first step.
‘Did no one consider commencing one’s nation with the wanton waste of one’s own supplies might not be a fortuitous beginning?’
Morgan looked blankly at Rose who shrugged. ‘I think she means the Boston Tea Party.’
‘Oh, that. Well.’ Morgan pursed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. ‘We’re still known to be a little rebellious and it has definitely been a double-edged sword. Um, were you particularly against American independence?’
Jane shook her head. ‘Not at all. But tea is secured under lock and key. I shall never forgive the shocking wastefulness of dispatching such a valuable commodity into the sea.’
‘Well, that answers that.’ Morgan grinned at Rose as she walked out to her laptop. Then she called back, ‘The pictures are up, if you’d like to see them.’
Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Rose hurried across to the dining room, Jane in her wake. ‘Not particularly – if they are going to confirm what you have already told me.’
‘What has she told you?’ Jane looked from Rose to Morgan and back, but it was the latter who answered.
‘I didn’t see a safe in any wall when I visited, but I took loads of photos. You can see for yourselves.’
‘Perhaps you just didn’t register it, you know?’ Rose refused to give up hope, even though she knew deep down it was futile.
Morgan ushered her into a chair and with her friend’s encouragement Rose started to scroll through the photos.
‘Do not be despondent, Rose.’ Jane patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Three of the stories you know so well remain firmly in my head, and I am just as capable of writing in this century as I was in the past – perchance even more so with such modern conveniences.’ Jane frowned. ‘Or perhaps not, for here, young women are obliged to complete all manner of chores in addition to their profession. Household duties I am somewhat familiar with, but I do not care for these convenience stores.’ Jane’s voice perked up. ‘How much pecuniary recompense must I command in order to pay someone to procure my provisions?’
Rose rubbed her hand across her forehead. ‘Er, we’d have to look it up. Gosh, Morgan, you did take a lot of photos. How long were you there?’
Morgan laughed. ‘Hours, I think. I was busy chatting, too, you know.’
Yes, Rose did know, but just now she was caught up in the flickering images as she swept each one across the page.
‘Oh, you even went down to the basement! This is where I live – lived. I had these adorable curtains – I made them myself… they really…’ Rose stopped as her throat tightened, and she quickly scrolled through until she got to the ground-floor office. There it was, the flat in which Jane had been staying, alien with its office supplies everywhere and yet familiar in layout. As the photos of the back room – Jane’s bedroom – came onto the screen, Rose could sense Jane peering over her shoulder. There was the rear wall with the window out onto the garden, and just as Morgan had said, there was nothing but a wall: smooth and unobstructed.
Chapter Thirty
Disappointment rolled through Rose in waves. ‘I’d been holding out hope there was some picture covering it – or filing cabinets – to explain why you hadn’t seen it.’
Morgan put a comforting hand on Rose’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry.’
With a shrug, Rose got to her feet. She didn’t want to stare at that blank wall any longer. ‘It was a long shot. The family left the house in 1804 and who knows how many residents came and went before the safe was pulled out?’
‘Or the necklace could have been moved by the family or, if they left it, taken by any number of people.’
Rose shook her head. ‘Jane says that’s not possible.’
‘I know your crime rate is low here, but if I buy a house and there is a pretty necklace left there, I’m only going to go through so much trouble to return it to its rightful—’
‘No, it’s not that. The safe is protected, enchanted in some way – only Jane can open it if the necklace is inside.’
‘No way!’
Rose was too disheartened to share in Morgan’s awe of this new evidence of magic. ‘When we found Cassandra’s message I just – it seemed like it was all working out – like a story… it can’t end like this.’
Morgan squeezed her arm as she walked back to the kitchen. ‘Hey – nothing is ending. You heard Jane – she’s going to write her books again here in the twenty-first century. And maybe now she won’t die so young so – maybe this isn’t far from the fairy tale you were hoping for. This way – she might actually write more. Maybe she’ll find the love of her life here and live happily ever after.’
Jane, who had followed them into the kitchen, looked at Morgan. ‘I am warming to you on continued acquaintance, though one and forty is not considered a young age to leave this earth; least, not in early nineteenth-century England.’ She then turned to Rose with a small smile. ‘Perchance you recall the speculation over my death – was it one of numerous possible diseases or was it accidental poisoning? I do not fear death, but nor am I predisposed towards it. Whatever the cause, all the suppositions are incurable in my time. I am confident your doctors might aid me better.’
Morgan nodded encouragingly. ‘See? Jane wants to stay. What do you like best about—’
‘Living in a world brimming with advances in medicine, science, technology?’ Jane looked around the room, a small smile on her lips. ‘Things of infinite variety.’ She grabbed a stack of Post-it notes from the fruit bowl, but this time she didn’t write anything on them. ‘This.’ She tore one off and stuck it to the hot water tap, then another and stuck it on a roll of aluminium foil before a mischievous look crossed her face, and she walked over and stuck another on Morgan’s jeans.
‘Some advances are more personal; how is one to find aught amiss in a world permitting women of all ages the wearing of trousers.’
Morgan laughed, but Rose sighed. She understood; truly, she did, but she missed Jane’s writing so much, missed everything it had given her.
‘Enamoured though I am of many things, I will own to a dislike of your inclination for placing people in boxes.’ She waved a hand at the mobile phone on the nearby worktop. ‘One should only be placed in a box when one has paid the debt of nature.’
This tim
e, Rose rolled her eyes. She knew, despite her words, Jane had found her first adventures with a television screen and a phone fascinating, if beyond her initial understanding.
‘Can I see the note you found?’
Rose glanced at Jane, who nodded and took it from her pocket. She offered it to Morgan, who studied it curiously, then looked up, first to Jane, then to Rose, who tried to summon a smile.
‘You said last night you needed my help. Well, I don’t know how I can help with all we’ve found out so far, but let’s talk it all through together while we get this cake in the oven.’
‘Oh, can you bake? You could be a life-saver.’
Morgan laughed. ‘Definitely not. I’ve never tried. But we have three heads on it, and it can’t be that difficult, can it?’
Rose peered into the mixing bowl and bit her lip. Those could well be famous last words.
* * *
Rose closed the oven door on their third attempt at making a chocolate sponge cake and turned around to survey the mess. There were ingredients spilling out of packets and mixing bowls, spatulas and measuring spoons scattered across every work surface. It was a good thing her mother was still away.
‘The consistency is much improved, is it not?’ Jane indicated the oven. ‘It bodes well, I believe.’
With a sigh, Rose nodded and then grabbed her phone as it pinged. ‘Oh, thank goodness!’
‘Your friend – she has the intelligence you seek?’
‘Yes. She thinks I need help for my poor memory, but at least we have the wording.’ Rose turned the screen to show Jane, who peered at it for a moment, then reached for a notepad and pen which hung on a hook by the phone on the wall.
In her neat and curling hand, she wrote the words, Reader, I married her. A quiet wedding we had, muttering under her breath about the plastic pen she held.
‘How singular!’
‘It’s almost a famous quote – from Jane Eyre. Liz— Lottie will have chosen it as a nod to her mum.’ Jane eyed Rose warily. ‘Don’t worry about it; probably in the other world, it’s a quote from one of your books instead!’ Rose glanced over at the oven. Was the cake they had made big enough for such a quote? ‘Ah well, let’s hope this one works! I expect it needs to cool a great deal before we attempt to ice it.’ Rose threw a troubled glance over the mess on the worktops. ‘I’d better start clearing some space.’
The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen Page 21