The Unexpected Past of Miss Jane Austen (ARC)

by Ada Bright

  She stretched in the large bed, then stopped when she remembered Aiden was just a few feet away trying to sleep on the sofa bed. If she listened carefully, she could just make out the sound of his breathing.

  Exhaustion from the events of the day had taken their toll on Aiden last night, and after doing what he could to wash, he had fallen onto the sofa bed and gone out like a light. Even with his injuries, he had refused to take the bed, and sheer exhaustion on both their parts had settled the issue.

  Rose had been unable to take her eyes off him at first. How bizarre was this? Three years of his being so out of her reach, she could only ever dream of him… and now they were sharing a room for the night.

  Rose had showered and washed her hair, then sat up for ages letting it dry, not wanting to use the hairdryer and disturb him. She had stared at the blank screen of the TV for some time, not wanting to put it on either, for the same reason. Then, she’d noticed the pile of books by the bed and, picking one up, she’d lost herself in its pages until finally sleep had overcome her.

  Lying back against the pillows, Rose tried to grasp onto the remnants of sleep. Aiden had been up at least once during the night to take his medication, and she didn’t want to disturb him earlier than she had to. They had formulated a plan in the drive from the hospital to their lodgings. As Rose was already on James’s car insurance, for when she had to use it for work, she would drive Morgan back to Bath. Meanwhile, Aiden would make a quick call to his insurance company so James could drive Aiden and his car back to his friends in Somerset and then take the train on to Bath.

  There was the smallest of knots in Rose’s stomach over being parted from Aiden after such an intense time together, but it eased away as soon as the reality consumed her. She’d had to wait a year for a chance to see Aiden before now, hadn’t she? And they’d barely spoken. Now… well, now things were so different.

  She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow. The relief she felt that he had been seen at the hospital was beyond measure, as was the comfort she took that he had stayed the night. After a very emotionally draining day, losing not just her newly found Regency family but also Jane again, she hadn’t wanted to let Aiden go.

  Rose reached for her phone and turned it on, then raised a brow as it came to life, impressed Morgan had been as good as her word and hadn’t sent any texts. The same couldn’t be said for her inbox, which contained fifteen emails from her! Suppressing a laugh, Rose flopped back onto her pillows, then glanced over as Aiden’s bedding rustled. Quickly, she texted Morgan:

  I’m awake. Think Aiden is too. See you at breakfast shortly.

  A few seconds later a row of heart emojis, three thumbs up and, for some reason, a goat and a pumpkin appeared on her screen. Rose grinned, putting her phone back on the bedside table before sitting up. Aiden was definitely awake. He sat up awkwardly, then met her gaze and Rose unconsciously ran a hand through her hair to tame it. How good it felt now she’d washed it!

  ‘Not a dream then?’

  Rose smiled at him. ‘Are you relieved or appalled?’

  Aiden winced as he tried to shift his weight, and Rose threw back the covers, pulling on one of the robes they’d found in the wardrobe the night before, and hurried over to help. She sat awkwardly on the bed. Now they were back in the present day, the assumption of intimacy felt strange, but Aiden didn’t seem to feel it as he took her hand.

  ‘Are you joking? Did you see the church?’

  Rose laughed faintly as she reached behind him to where his phone lay charging and handed it to him. ‘James asked that you call your insurance company first thing, remember? It’s gone nine, so they should be in.’

  Aiden took the phone, then winced. ‘Damn ribs. Can I lean on you?’

  ‘Anytime.’ Rose blushed as his gaze met hers, holding it steadily. How long they stared at each other, she couldn’t say, but suddenly, Aiden cleared his throat and sat back, looking through his contacts on his phone.

  ‘Extraordinary how much I missed this thing.’

  Rose drew in a shallow breath. Not as much as I’m going to miss you when we part.

  Six days later…

  ‘Yes, Ms Smiser, of course you are allowed to use the garden.’ Rose tucked the phone under her chin, speaking encouragingly to the tourist from Texas as she typed her father’s name into ancestry.co.uk.

  Rose had been back to work for some days and life was beginning to feel almost back to normal. Every once in a while she would wake up in the middle of the night, confused as to whether she had dreamed it all – not just her recent foray into the past and rediscovering her father, but meeting Jane again as well. One night, she had been so desperate to be sure it was real, she’d got out of bed to check her borrowed Regency dress and spencer were hanging on the back of her door. If she pressed her face to the fabric, Rose swore she could smell the past.

  ‘No trouble at all.’ Rose ended the call just as James walked in, a spring in his step. She swung around in her seat. ‘How was your meeting with Williams & Stock?’

  ‘Fine, they liked the revised spec.’

  ‘Brilliant. Another one off the list.’

  ‘Hope so. I’ll know for certain by the end of the day. Any trouble here?’

  ‘Nothing of note.’ Rose had dealt with someone who had lost their keys, a leaking shower and two new bookings so far, and it was only ten o’clock. It was as though she’d never been away.

  ‘How’s Aiden?’

  ‘Doing okay.’ Rose picked up her phone to see if he’d texted her again. ‘He should be getting on the train just after three.’ Aiden had a meeting in Bath around five and had promised to take her to dinner afterwards.

  Glancing at the clock, Rose sighed. She had tried not to grow impatient to see Aiden again, especially over what felt like the longest weekend ever. They’d talked every day, after all, and he had so much work to catch up on, never mind the inspiration his travels had given him. Smiling to herself, Rose turned back to her screen. When they weren’t talking about their experience, they were speculating on whether or not the cross Aiden had found no longer existed in the archives (with his broken arm, he couldn’t drive over to Winchester to find out) or – tentatively, but to Rose, amazingly – about spending time together. Quality, twenty-first century time!

  ‘The arm healing okay?’

  Rose mulled it over for a moment. ‘So-so. He’s been to his local clinic twice and they’re talking of putting it in plaster when he goes back on Friday again. The gash in his arm is healing well, though, so that’s something. As far as I can tell, he’s so over the moon about everything he saw last week, he forgets he’s injured sometimes.’

  James raised a brow. ‘It might get tricky if he wants to share those findings.’

  Rose laughed. ‘Believe me, he’s been looking for loopholes. He’ll work something out, now he knows what to look for.’ She resumed entering information into the website and then turned back to James. ‘Oh, yes. Someone called Susan called from Farrells. Something about a flat to view tonight? I wasn’t sure if it was for you or Morgan.’

  James dropped into the chair behind his desk and busied himself with the pile of post Rose had put there earlier.

  ‘James?’ Was he blushing?

  He looked up. ‘What? Ah, yes, right. The thing is—’

  Looking sheepish, he held Rose’s curious stare, then shrugged, and a grin spread across her face.

  ‘You old romantic, you! You’ve only known her for three weeks.’

  James lowered his head. ‘Yes, thank you, Rose, for that astute observation. But you forget I’m a shrewd businessman, and I’ve considered this very carefully, weighed the pros and cons, and she needs a place to stay and I need somewhere now my flat is sold…’ He looked up at Rose, then leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in defeat. ‘Okay. Yes, she’s everything to me. What can I say?’

  Rose’s eyes filled up unexpectedly. ‘My two best friends… How did I get so lucky?’

  James grun
ted and returned his attention to the post. ‘It’s Mr Darcy who got lucky. Morgan is insisting we get a place with a garden so she can come and go as she pleases.’

  Chapter 35

  Rose had always loved her basement flat below No 4 Sydney Place, long before she had met Jane Austen, but having lost it twice in the space of two weeks gave her an even greater appreciation for it.

  As soon as she got home from work, she plugged her phone into its charger, as she had sworn to herself she would from now on, then flicked the switch on the kettle and wandered into the sitting room, shedding her coat and dropping it onto a chair. Her eye was drawn, as it often was, to the framed quote on the wall. How relieved she had been to see it there when she’d first got back – proof Jane had gone on to write Persuasion, as she’d promised.

  She was determined not to take things like this for granted for as long as she could. Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t last. As she passed the bookshelves, however, she paused, her eye caught by a picture frame. Then, Rose smiled, picking it up – the very photo Jane had been peering at so intently when she had come to fetch her.

  Looking at her father’s smiling face, the way he held her close, brought a lump to her throat. She must not regret anything. He was happy, had a loving family, and they had, against all the odds, been reunited. Rose could think of him every day if she wished now, picture his smile, hear his voice and know that, somewhere out there, in the mists of time, he was thinking of her.

  She exchanged several texts with Morgan whilst enjoying her cup of tea, then hurried to shower and change. Aiden called her as soon as he was out of his meeting, and she was relieved to hear he was feeling much better and was in far less pain. Knowing he was on his way to collect her so they could go out and eat, Rose busied herself tidying the sitting room and then walked into her bedroom, determined to do something she’d been putting off since they had returned: put the mementos of her adventure in the past away in a more permanent way.

  First, she moved her spoils: the gown she’d travelled in, along with the spencer, the cloak and the bonnet, to her spare wardrobe. She placed the shoes and other accessories in the small trunk Jane had left behind, then turned to pick up the basket, which had been sitting by the back wall since her return.

  Aiden had taken his folder with him, of course, and she picked up the Bible from the basket, holding it to her face to inhale the smell of leather, then placed it in the trunk as well, recalling almost with affection now their fraught trip to Winchester Cathedral. She closed the lid, then turned around. Where to store the basket? She picked it up and walked into the sitting room and opened a storage cupboard and was about to place it inside when she noticed something sticking out from the fabric lining. Giving the cotton a tug, she realised it formed a separate pouch in the base of the basket, and inside was a slim set of books. No wonder it had seemed so heavy.

  Rose sank onto the end of her bed, emotion gripping her throat. In her hand, unless she was very much mistaken, was a three-volume set of Pride and Prejudice, a first edition. Rose clasped them to her chest, then kissed the top one before putting them carefully on the nearby table and picking up the first volume, letting the book fall open in her hand.

  Then, she let out a small gasp. Jane had signed it! She hurried over to the window, the better to read it: To my dearest Rose, with gratitude for your love and friendship in trying times. Your affectionate friend, Jane Austen.

  Hardly able to believe what she held, Rose started when the doorbell rang, and she hurried to answer it, still clasping the book to her chest.

  ‘Aiden, you’ll never believe…’ Her voice tailed away. There was a woman on the steps behind him.

  ‘This lady was looking for a Miss Rosemary Wallace; found her hovering up there.’ Aiden gestured towards the street as he crossed the threshold, kissed Rose on the cheek, then turned around to stand beside her.

  Rose frowned. She didn’t know the lady at all, but she was smiling widely at her, as if she knew her.

  ‘You are Rosemary Wallace, yes? Born on the 7th March, 1993?’

  ‘Er, yes. That’s me.’ Had she done something wrong she wasn’t aware of?

  The lady held out her hand, and Rose instinctively shook it. ‘You don’t know me, but I have something for you.’ She turned and made her way back up the steps to street level and returned barely moments later carrying a large crate.

  ‘Oh! You’d better come in.’ Rose stepped back and the lady carried it into the sitting room, placing it carefully onto the coffee table.

  Turning to face them, she smiled. ‘I will leave you to explore the contents. It’s been in the family for many years. Centuries, even!’

  Rose felt her heart dip, and she threw Aiden a wide-eyed look before her gaze flew back to the lady before her. ‘I’m… I don’t know what to say.’ She frowned again. ‘How do you know who I am, where I live?’

  ‘I’ve left an explanatory note on the top. Here, take this.’ She opened her bag and handed a card to Rose, which read: ‘Olivia Fitzgerald, literary agent’, followed by some contact details.

  ‘My mobile’s on there, and I’m staying over at Dukes Hotel.’ She gestured up towards the street. ‘Read the letter, enjoy the contents of the box. I’d love to chat, have a coffee or something tomorrow if you’re free.’ She smiled again, and turned to go, and Rose exchanged a puzzled look with Aiden before following her to the door.

  ‘But I don’t understand…’

  The lady turned as she put her foot on the bottom step. ‘Read, and all will become clear.’ She smiled again, waved a hand and hurried up the steps and out of sight, and Rose closed the door and walked slowly back into the sitting room.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  Aiden shrugged. ‘You won’t know if you don’t do as she suggested.’

  Rose walked over to the crate and slowly lifted the lid, then wrinkled her nose at the scent of old parchment. The box was full of folders, books, letters and even old photographs. There was an envelope addressed to Rose on the top, and she unfolded it eagerly.

  ‘Oh!’ She dropped the letter, a hand going to her throat as a sob rose in it, and Aiden stepped forward, concern flooding his face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Read it.’ Rose’s voice wavered with emotion. ‘Please, read it out to me. Perhaps then it will seem real.’

  Aiden picked up the letter, read the opening lines to himself, then, his eyes widening in disbelief, looked up at Rose. ‘This is incredible!’

  Rose sent him a watery-eyed pleading look, and he returned his gaze to the letter.

  Dear Rose,

  I hope you don’t mind me calling you that when we’ve never met before, but it’s how I – how we, the family – have always thought of you, you see.

  I shall introduce myself: my name is Olivia, and my great, great, great, great grandfather was a man called Christopher Wallace. He lived in the late eighteenth and early to mid nineteenth centuries. He began a family tradition, passed on through the generations, of recording family life. Each journal, letter and diary was passed down through the years, with more and more people adding to the collection.

  Christopher had made a stipulation in his will: that all of his writings were to be delivered, in September of this year, to a woman called Rosemary Wallace, who would be living in a flat in Sydney Place in Bath.

  You can imagine, I’m sure, what a mystery became attached to this stipulation, the year being such a long way distant from when he was alive and the instructions being so specific.

  I was charged by my late grandmother, who passed away some years ago, to take responsibility for finally delivering the collection to its intended recipient, so here it is!

  I realise this may come as quite a shock – a pleasant surprise, I hope – which is why I felt it best for you to take it all in in privacy. As we appear to be related, no matter how distantly across the years, I would love the chance to get to know the lady for whom my great grandfather intended his famil
y record.

  I remain, yours sincerely

  Olivia Fitzgerald

  Rose sank onto the sofa. She tried to say something, but couldn’t find her voice, and Aiden sat beside her, putting his hand on her back. ‘Rose?’

  Dragging her eyes away from the treasure trove on her coffee table, Rose stared at the man beside her.

  ‘I didn’t lose anything,’ she whispered tremulously. ‘They made sure of it. Not one thing.’ She leaned forward impulsively and kissed him on the lips. ‘Do you mind if we forego dinner out and get a takeaway instead?’

  Aiden’s gaze drifted to the crate. ‘Not one iota.’

  Despite being a bundle of emotion, Rose found it hard not to laugh. ‘Yes, you can look at them as well.’

  He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t want to invade your privacy.’

  Taking his hand, Rose tugged at it so he turned to look at her. ‘There’s no one I’d rather share it with. There’s probably no one I could share it with who’d fully understand its significance. Besides, you know you’re dying to see.’

  Aiden grinned sheepishly, and they both turned to look at the crate again. Then, Rose pulled out a leather-bound folder, not dissimilar to the one Edward had given to Aiden, and opened it. Her father’s hand – one she’d only just learned to recognise – leapt out at her from the page, and she closed the folder again, resting her hand on it, stretching her fingers out over the tooled leather. It was as if she were able to feel her father through it. She couldn’t read it just now, but she would have it for the rest of her life.

  Her stomach growled and Rose leaned forward and placed the folder reverently back into the crate.

  ‘Food first. I’m starving.’ She reached for her phone. ‘What do you fancy?’

  * * *

  ‘Everything I’ve eaten since we came back has been the best meal ever.’ Rose boxed up the leftovers as Aiden was poring over a journal that seemed to be written by one of Mary Wallace’s granddaughters.