by Ada Bright
She hurried down the path, and Rose sighed. What had Jane been up to?
‘Hey.’ Morgan came to sit beside her, bundling her skirts into her lap. ‘You okay?’
Rose nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She summoned a smile, trying to push away the anxiety crowding in upon her. Time was ticking away, and so was the day. If Jane was intending to take James and Morgan back, she’d better make the most of the time, especially if she might go with them.
‘Come on.’ Rose got to her feet. ‘We need to make you presentable if we’re to dine at the great house.’
* * *
Rose smiled as she perched on a chair in Jane’s room. Morgan had such joy for life, she was already embracing her sudden appearance in 1813, questioning both Jane and Cassandra on etiquette, and constantly having to be told to remain still on the low stool she stood on so the latter could shorten the hem on the charming dress they had loaned her.
Jane, on the other hand, seemed to be avoiding Rose’s eye, but she was determined to satisfy her curiosity.
‘Why did you use the charm today, Jane?’
There was no response, and Cassandra nudged her sister. ‘You had best speak of it. To be certain, in the circumstances, does Miss Wallace not have a right to comprehend your purpose?’ She raised her kind eyes to Rose and smiled. ‘I only wish I understood!’
Jane handed her sister another pin, then let out a huff of breath. ‘As you wish.’ She laid the remaining pins she held on the mantelpiece, rummaged in the sewing box and extracted a sharp, thin tool and walked over to where Rose sat.
‘Raise your feet.’
Rose blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Please be so kind as to do as I ask.’
Bewildered, Rose lifted her feet off the wooden floor, and Jane bent down and inserted the tool into a crack between two boards. With a swift flick of her hand, the board lifted to reveal the cavity below, and Jane straightened and stood back.
‘There.’
Rose stared into the empty space. ‘Where?’
Morgan twisted around on her pedestal. ‘What’s up?’
‘Miss Taylor?’ Cassandra gently turned Morgan back to face her.
‘Oh! Sorry!’ Morgan laughed. ‘I have my back to you, Rose. You’ll have to give me a running commentary.’
Eyeing Jane in confusion, Rose shrugged. ‘You went forward in time to…’ She stopped. Absolutely nothing came to mind.
Walking over to the bed, Jane reached under her pillow and extracted the pouch in which she kept the charmed necklace.
‘You recall, do you not, the effect of the charm on the safe in Sydney Place, Rose?’
Rose cast her mind back to the previous week with little difficulty. ‘Yes, of course. When the necklace was inside the safe, it created some sort of… portal through time.’
‘Wow!’ Morgan twisted round again, then turned back. ‘Sorry, Ca— Miss Austen.’
‘And thus you recall my use of it?’
Where was Jane going with this? ‘You used it.’ She glanced over at Cassandra, but she was busy threading a needle, the thread held between her teeth. ‘You used it to exchange letters with your sister.’
‘Indeed. And for what else do you recall?’
With a frown, Rose tried to focus on when she’d first met Jane in Bath and what she had told her. ‘Only you could open the safe if the charm was inside?’
‘This is also true. But that is not my meaning.’
‘Must you tease so, Jane?’ Cassandra’s exasperation with her sister was evident, and Morgan glanced over her shoulder at Rose and winked. ‘Can you not speak plainly and enlighten your friend?’
Jane made a small sound. Rose wasn’t sure it hadn’t been a suppressed snort, and she tried not to smile as Jane turned to face her. ‘Do you recall how I was able to support myself in the future?’
‘Oh! Yes. You brought things with you from the past and sold them in the future, where they had a much higher value, at the antiques centre in Bath.’ Rose looked at Cassandra, who nodded encouragingly. ‘And sometimes, your sister placed things in the safe for the same purpose.’
With a smile, Jane nodded. ‘It was a most satisfactory arrangement. As you know, I could not send things back to the past unless they had existed back then. Thus, Cass was also obliged to keep me supplied with paper and ink, that our correspondence could continue uninterrupted.’
‘You know, you’re probably causing all sorts of problems for people who try to date antiques… imagine having a two-hundred-year-old thingamabobber that’s had a free ride through time.’ Cassandra had urged Morgan to turn around on her perch, and she faced them now, her features alive with interest. ‘Imagine the scandal!’
Jane raised a brow at Morgan, but continued. ‘Since we are now in Chawton, I needed to find a similar… contrivance, a substitute for the safe.’
‘So you can retrieve things to sell in the future when you stay for a while, like a toasting fork?’
Jane got to her feet, gesturing towards the hole in the floor. ‘It was a simple but effective solution.’
Rose frowned. ‘Was? And how does this explain today? What engagement did you have?’
‘Maybe she was meeting with a secret lover,’ piped up Morgan with a grin, but she sobered under Jane’s quelling look, then shrugged. ‘Well, I thought it was funny, anyway.’
Jane walked over to stare out of the window for a moment and said nothing. Then, she turned to face the room, leaning against the sill.
‘I was discovered.’
‘No!’ Rose stared at Jane in disbelief. ‘They knew who you were?’
Jane tutted. ‘Do not be foolish, Rose. Why on earth would they suppose me to be… me?’
Morgan was looking from Rose to Jane. ‘So what do you mean?’
Walking over, Jane picked up the scissors and offered them to her sister as she finished her sewing. ‘I was about to lift the floorboard,’ she gestured to the hole, ‘in my bedroom when one of the… what is they call them? Volunteers walked in. I had to improvise, profess to a fascination with the flooring and the display cabinet in one the other bedrooms housing the items that had been discovered under the boards over time.’
Rose frowned again. ‘But I still don’t see how…’
‘I was dressed much as I am today.’ Jane waved a hand at her authentic clothing. ‘They took me for a devoted follower… of myself.’ With a laugh, Jane turned her now sparkling eyes on Rose. ‘It was most amusing. They were inordinately impressed with my knowledge of both my home and Jane Austen.’
Cassandra turned Morgan about. ‘It is comfortable, yes?’ She held out a hand and Morgan stepped down from the stool.
‘Awesome!’ She did a twirl, the skirt skimming the floor but barely touching it. ‘How do I look?’
‘It becomes you very well, Miss Taylor.’ Jane smiled, then turned to look at Rose. ‘The lady who had come across me insisted on taking me to meet another lady, whom she explained was responsible for the volunteers. Hence my engagement earlier today.’
Rose was struggling to understand, but then realisation dawned and she started to shake her head in denial. ‘You can’t be… you’re a guide at the museum?’
Jane beamed. ‘Is it not both singular and invigorating? Did I not profess an interest in gaining an occupation when I believed myself stranded in the future? Now I have attended…’ She hesitated. ‘I forget the term…’
‘An interview?’ Rose spoke faintly. This was getting more ridiculous by the hour!
‘Indeed. And now I am engaged and obliged to attend…’ She reached down into the hole, which Rose had thought was empty, and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. ‘Here it is. I wrote it down, lest I forgot. Twice a week for just a few hours.’ She looked up. ‘Is it not diverting?’
Rose got to her feet, a hand to her head. ‘Oh yes. More than I can possibly say. I think… Morgan.’ She turned to her friend, but Cassandra had now helped her into a spencer and was already busy adjusting the
sleeve length. ‘Do you mind if I wait in the garden for you?’
Morgan looked up and grinned. ‘Not at all. I’ve got so many questions, I could stand here all day!’
Jane was busy replacing the floorboard, and Rose smiled faintly at her friend and hurried from the room.
Chapter 10
Rose headed back to the garden, trying not to think about Jane’s latest escapade and the implications of what she was doing. There would be so much more to come: more explanations, more incredulous looks and reactions from her friends, and ultimately, decisions. Ambling along the path towards the orchard, her attempt to empty her mind was interrupted by a call.
‘Miss Wallace!’
Turning around, she saw the cook beckoning her. ‘Not the baking’, she whispered to herself as she walked to meet her. ‘Please, not the baking.’
Five minutes later, a relieved Rose was entering the kitchen garden, a basket on her arm and a pair of strange-looking iron clippers in her hand, with instructions to pick some beans and peas. Mrs Austen, it seemed, was not impressed with more visitors and felt Rose needed to earn her keep.
Bending to her task, Rose’s mind bent likewise to the matter in hand. Was there really any reason not to return to her own time with her friends? And would Aiden come with her? She straightened, stretching her back, conscious of the stays digging into her ribcage. She certainly wouldn’t miss the clothing! But Aiden… surely he’d come back? Much as he was fascinated by being able to walk inside some of the history he so loved, he had a job like all of them, a life to get back to. And what about them – did they have a future to get back to? It certainly felt like it.
Rose turned her attention back to the bean canes, and soon had enough in her basket to move along to where the peas were growing. They would be the last of the season, she supposed. It was hard to imagine being back in the busyness of Bath while amongst such a peaceful, rural scene – despite the country aromas.
Smiling, Rose walked back towards the path to the house, but then she paused. What about the unresolved matter of who Christopher Wallace really was? She bit her lip, the habitual swirling of her insides increasing as the conundrum returned to the forefront of her mind. What a fool she must have looked earlier. What must they think of her? Her distraction would have seemed rude, whatever century she was in.
She glanced over her shoulder towards the low wall at the far end of the garden separating the cottage from the Wallaces’ house. What if Jane wasn’t imagining or mishearing things? What if… Rose blew out a frustrated breath. It was all too complicated and too ridiculous!
She picked up the basket. Cook would be chasing her if she didn’t hurry, but before she took more than a step, a faint sound reached her ears, of humming from the neighbouring garden. There was something vaguely familiar about the tune. Then, she smiled. Anne Wallace must be in her place beneath the tree where she’d first seen her.
Turning her steps towards the house, she hurried on, intent on her errand, but as she approached the door to the kitchen, she saw a slender figure with auburn hair open the small gate in the hedging, holding something in her arms: Prancer!
Rose walked to meet her, though the girl was having such a job holding onto the wriggling dog, she had yet to look up and see her.
‘Be done, Link! You are home now.’ She straightened up, having released her charge, who shot down the garden without a backward glance at his saviour. ‘Oh! Forgive me!’ She dropped a quick curtsey, colour filling her cheeks.
Rose reciprocated, her interest quickening. ‘Thank you for bringing him home. Does he wander often?’ For a second, Rose recalled Prancer’s elderly owner’s relief at no longer having to chase after him.
The girl – Olivia, Rose recalled – nodded, standing awkwardly by the gate. She looked about fourteen, but it was hard to tell, and she seemed incredibly shy. They had not been formally introduced. Was it inappropriate to even speak to her?
Then, Rose noticed the book tucked under her arm and, unable to help herself, pointed at it.
‘What are you reading?’
Olivia’s grey eyes widened, and she quickly hid it behind her back, the colour in her cheeks spreading down her neck, and Rose felt terrible.
‘Forgive me? I do not mean to pry. I am a great reader, that is all, and curious.’
Olivia brought her arm around and held the book out to Rose, but didn’t move from her position by the gate, and sensing the girl’s reticence, Rose smiled warmly and stepped forward to take it.
Rose studied the title for a moment, then raised impressed eyes to Olivia. ‘You read in French?’ She looked at the spine again. ‘This is The Swiss Family Robinson, is it not? I read this years ago and loved it!’
‘But… it is published but a twelve month.’ Olivia frowned. ‘And the French version only this year. Did you read it in its original, in German?’ She stopped, looking culpable. ‘Forgive me, I do not mean to be impertinent.’
Realising her gaffe, Rose felt the easy colour filling her cheeks. Stupid mistake!
‘You are quite correct. I am confusing it with another.’ Rose handed the book back. ‘Why did you wish to conceal it?’
Looking all the more uncomfortable, Olivia Wallace took a step backwards as if she would leave. ‘I have been in the meadow down yonder. I like to go there to read.’ She sighed. ‘My mother does not entirely approve, but Papa says we must improve our minds by extensive reading as best we can. He is an avid reader and we are fortunate to have a large library at home.’
Trying not to think about the similarities between this man and herself, Rose summoned another smile. ‘I mean no disrespect to your mother, but I think your father has the right of it in this particular matter.’
Silence descended on them both and, conscious she probably shouldn’t even have indulged in this much conversation when unacquainted, Rose wasn’t surprised when the girl took her leave.
‘I must go, my sisters…’
‘I think I just heard one of them – Anne, would it be?’ Rose waved a hand towards the back of the garden. ‘She was humming.’
Olivia stepped back through the gate, then turned to face Rose again. ‘Indeed. She sings and hums the whole day long, even when she is reading. Excuse me, ma’am. I must away home or I shall be missed.’
With that, she was gone, and Rose turned back to the kitchen. That was two members of the family she had spoken to and both seemed charming. Was she drawn to them for this reason, or was it the chance – the ridiculous, outrageous chance – they were somehow related to her?
The afternoon passed relatively smoothly, and before long it was time to dress for the approaching dinner at Chawton House. Rose did her best to assist Morgan, but in the end, Cassandra took over otherwise, as Jane pointed out, the others would be eating dessert before they arrived.
Waiting for the ladies to join her, Rose wandered around the ground floor of the cottage, her eyes devouring every detail in the drawing and dining rooms, hoping against hope she would be able to commit things to memory so that next time she visited the museum, she could recall the differences. Would Jane be prepared to show her one of her manuscripts? Rose was gently running a hand over Jane’s small writing table when she heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Morgan burst into the room.
‘Rose, I get to wear a bonnet! An actual bonnet, just like yours.’
Rose laughed, eyeing her friend in amusement. She was waving two bonnets in the air.
‘Which should I wear? What I wouldn’t give to show the ladies at the Festival!’
‘This one.’ Rose pointed to the smarter of the two. ‘The evenings are cool. Did they sort the sleeves out on the spencer?’
‘Yes! They’re so kind.’
Rose glanced at her wrist, then sighed. ‘I can’t get used to not wearing a watch. Are we late?’
Morgan shook her head, dropping the excess bonnet onto a nearby chair. ‘Can you do my ribbons?’ She popped the other one on her head and Rose obliged. ‘Jan
e and Cassandra are just getting ready themselves. They said they’d be with us… directly.’ Morgan frowned but Rose laughed.
‘Which means not directly, but at some time convenient to them. Reminds me of an old neighbour I had in Bathampton, who was forever saying she’d do something “just now”. As a child, I found it so frustrating, hopping from foot to foot waiting on her.’
Morgan grinned, then walked over to the mirror above the mantelpiece to admire her appearance.
‘Come on, let’s go outside and wait.’ Rose turned for the door and Morgan followed in her wake, and they strolled around the part of the garden nearest to the road, amusing themselves with comparing their memories of how it differed from when they’d visited the museum earlier in the week.
Rose was almost unaware of how much more bearable she was finding her situation now Morgan was with her. She looked around, delighting in the scene, thankful for having been given this unique chance to experience it, then turned to the nearby border of herbs, bending down to inhale them.
Morgan, however, tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Rose!’
‘What?’ She straightened up, a heady mix of basil, rosemary and sage in her nostrils.
Morgan was frowning.
‘What?’
‘I’ve just realised, you never said why you’re here. Why did Jane bring you back? Your story earlier ended with her turning up. Did you just feel like having a look?’ Morgan gestured around her. ‘I can see why you would. I mean, it’s right up your street, and Aiden’s, but—’
Her contentment fading almost as quickly as it had come, Rose stared at her friend. Would she be able to take in even more absurdity in the space of so many hours? It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in Morgan, or her smartness, but all of this defied intelligent thought on another level.
‘No, not at all!’
‘But why, then? Why did she want you to come? Did she just want you to experience her world as she’d experienced ours?’
Rose shook her head, her mind struggling with how to start the conversation. ‘I wouldn’t have done that, left on a whim without—’