Jane in Love

by Rachel Givney

  Sofia nodded. ‘The letter still exists. We found a book about it.’

  Jane considered this. ‘What says the letter?’

  ‘We don’t know. But I could hazard a guess.’

  ‘You think the letter explains how to reverse the spell?’

  ‘I can’t think what else she’d write to you about, can you? You two weren’t penpals.’

  Jane nodded, stunned. Her mind raced. ‘Thank you, Sofia. You did everything you said you would.’

  ‘You doubted me?’

  ‘Not for a second. But how can I ever repay you?’

  ‘No repayment necessary.’ They sat in silence. Jane knew she should feel happy: she now had the means to return home. She would see Mama and Papa again, and she would write her books. ‘Unless you don’t want me to find the letter,’ Sofia said after a time, staring straight ahead.

  Jane stared ahead also. ‘Might you delay your location of Mrs Sinclair’s correspondence, for a week, perhaps? I only ask, as I feel it would be impolite of me to leave you at this juncture, with a family member in the hospital and all.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sofia touched her arm. ‘For politeness’ sake.’

  Jane sensed Sofia wanted to say more but was thankful she did not.

  The operation did not require one hour. Dr Marks came to them four hours later. Jane and Sofia both jumped to their feet.

  ‘What’s the prognosis, Doc?’ Sofia asked. ‘Don’t dumb it down. I did a three-episode special-guest run on ER where I played a beautiful but troubled neurosurgeon.’

  Dr Marks squinted at her. ‘We performed an ablation on his heart.’

  Sofia paused. ‘Refresh my memory?’ she asked. ‘What is a flabation?’

  ‘The electric shock damaged the circuits in his heart. We conducted an electrical physiological study. The SA node was not firing.’ Dr Marks rubbed his eye.

  Sofia nodded. ‘Perhaps break it down for my friend, doctor.’

  Dr Marks turned to Jane. ‘A piece of his heart was damaged in the accident. It was stopping his heart from beating properly. We inserted a catheter and ablated the damaged tissue with an electrical impulse. We destroyed it.’

  Jane understood only a few words, but it was enough. ‘You destroyed a part of his heart, doctor?’ she asked.

  ‘Spit it out, Doc. Is he alive?’ Sofia begged.

  ‘He is alive,’ Dr Marks replied. ‘There was more damage than we thought. We put a pacemaker in.’

  ‘Can we see him?’

  The doctor led the women down a corridor to a different room. A small waxen man lay in a bed, his skin grey, his eyes closed. A tube sprouted from his mouth to a steel box that pumped. Another tube grew from the bandage at his wrist and three sprang from his chest. Jane felt confusion as to why the doctor showed them some random, pitiable fellow.

  ‘Fred!’ Sofia cried. She ran to him and kissed his hand. ‘When will he wake up?’

  ‘I was hoping by now,’ Dr Marks said. He rubbed his eye once more.

  ‘What is his condition, sir?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ Dr Marks said. ‘I’ve seen better. We’ve done all we can.’

  ‘Fred’s father hit him, a few times,’ Sofia said. She cleared her throat. ‘The old man would go after our mother, see.’ She forced a laugh. ‘So Fred would provoke him, and Dad would wallop him instead. He ended up in this place once. Could that have made it worse?’

  The doctor looked at her. ‘Unlikely,’ he said.

  Sofia nodded and wiped a tear. Jane watched the interaction with astonishment. ‘What do we do now?’ Sofia asked.

  Dr Marks gave a nod. ‘We wait.’

  Another four hours passed. Sofia sat by Fred’s bedside; Jane stood behind her. He did not awaken. Rob, the young man with the red shirt who had accompanied Jane to the hospital, appeared at the door. Sofia went to him. They spoke, and she returned to Jane.

  ‘They’re asking when I can come back to the set. I need to rehearse a scene. Rob’s kindly reminded me there are fifty people waiting for me, and if there’s nothing I can do here, perhaps I could go, do the scene and come back. He also was good enough to mention that my contract does not allow me time off for sick relatives.’ Sofia looked stricken. ‘I told him to bugger off. There’s nothing I can do here, but I can’t leave him on his own.’

  ‘I will stay,’ Jane said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘Go. Do your work. If he wakes, I . . . you shall know the second it occurs. I shall sit here until you return.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sofia kissed Fred’s forehead and departed with the red-shirted boy.

  Jane sat on the chair by the bedside.

  The boxes continued to buzz and whir. Fred wore a bandage on his head. Bags filled with strange fluids entered his arm through tubes.

  The woman with the strawberry hair entered the room. She inspected the boxes and made notes with a self-inking quill. She smiled at Jane.

  ‘You were here before,’ said Jane.

  ‘I was,’ she replied.

  ‘I am a stranger here. Where I come from, I consider myself a woman of intelligence and sense. But here in this place with all of these boxes and tubes, I am ignorant.’

  The woman smiled again. ‘I am Sister Elizabeth. I am the matron here.’ She spoke in a Leicestershire accent like Margaret the housemaid’s, thick, warm and salty like a good beef stew. She walked to one of the boxes. One glass box had an accordion inside. It depressed with a whoosh and Fred’s chest rose up. ‘This breathes for him,’ Sister Elizabeth said.

  Jane nodded in astonishment. Sister Elizabeth moved behind her. She pointed to another box. ‘This one here? This monitors his heart.’

  Jane watched the box. ‘What is that line?’ she asked.

  ‘His heart beating,’ Sister Elizabeth replied.

  Jane smiled. A symphony score of arches and valleys rose and fell across the frame. Fred’s heart beat before her.

  ‘You must be truthful with me,’ Jane said to her. ‘You walk in, note the boxes with your papers and say nothing. I must know. Will he die?’

  ‘We are doing everything we can,’ Sister Elizabeth replied.

  ‘Of that I am in no doubt. Madam, I know it is your protocol to promise nothing. But I do not come from this place. You have cut him open and sewn him back together again. You have seen the inside of his heart. I have never witnessed such genius and wonder. Surely, with all this magic, he is going to be well. Tell me the truth, good lady, or I shall run mad.’

  Sister Elizabeth’s face softened. She nodded. ‘It doesn’t look good. Even if he does wake, there’s no promise he has not suffered brain damage. There’s nothing more they can do.’

  ‘How can it be these magical boxes and tubes are no good? I feel useless. I wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘You could hold his hand,’ Sister Elizabeth said.

  Jane laughed. ‘What am I compared to these glorious machines? How could that help?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it does,’ Sister Elizabeth said. ‘I can name every chamber and artery. I can explain the pumping mechanism, the movement of the sinus rhythm, the fibrillation. I can tell you every muscle and valve. But I cannot tell you how the heart works. I do know this. I’ve seen a cancer patient riddled with tumours keep himself alive to see his brother at Christmas. I’ve seen a woman with MS wait until her new granddaughter was born before dying. I’ve seen a man with a C4 spinal cord rupture stand from a wheelchair to walk his daughter down the aisle. Every doctor and nurse knows this in their heart. The greatest patient vital signs are recorded during visiting hours. More patients die at three and four a.m. than any other time, in the dark, when everyone’s gone home. Machines can only start your heart. They can’t keep it going. Only love can do that.’

  Jane held Fred’s hand.

  ‘See that?’ Sister Elizabeth said. She pointed to the box. ‘His heart rate went up.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Truly?’

  Sister Elizabe
th nodded and pointed to the box. The number in the corner which had read sixty-five now read seventy-two. ‘It’s what happens when loved ones are around.’

  ‘I am not a loved one,’ Jane said. ‘I am a new friend. I upset him.’

  ‘That’s not what the machine says.’

  Jane did not let go of his hand for the next eight hours.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Fred remained asleep when Sofia returned.

  ‘You can let go of his hand, Jane,’ Sofia said.

  ‘Not until I am instructed,’ Jane replied.

  ‘I checked with Sister Elizabeth. You can let go. Surely you need to use the toilet? I will hold his hand until you get back.’

  Jane released her hand and excused herself to visit the bathroom, where she momentarily tore herself away from thoughts of Fred to be astounded by the dozen gleaming white privies. She washed her hands under the powerful taps and returned to Fred’s hospital room. She paused in the doorway as she arrived there, for Sofia was whispering something in Fred’s ear and wiping a tear from her face. Jane waited until Sofia sat back in the chair, then cleared her throat to announce her approach. Sofia smiled and wiped her face and offered Jane the chair.

  With nothing to do and no sign of Fred waking, Sofia returned to set once more. She promised to be back as soon as she was done, and Jane resumed her place at Fred’s side. She put her hand back where it was before.

  The day wore on and the defeated looks returned to the faces of those who worked at the hospital. Sister Elizabeth and Dr Marks visited often. Fred did not wake. His eyes remained closed.

  Jane spoke to him. ‘Fred. I do not know if you can hear me. I am sorry to have upset you,’ she said. The boxes beeped and whirred.

  ‘I understand if you are unable. But if you could find it in yourself to wake, I would be most appreciative.’

  She should have run from him the first day they met. She preferred ignorance to knowing this pain. She slapped her leg and told herself to take charge. She had lived without this person for twenty-eight years; she could learn to do it again. Then she said three words which she had never said to anyone – not her sister or her dear papa or any man. Three words so riddled with cliché as to be laughable, and so laden with meaning it was safest to tell them to another person while they slept. ‘I love you,’ she said.

  She imagined it for certain; he squeezed her palm.

  Jane fell asleep. She did not let go of his hand.

  Jane woke to the feeling again. This time it became obvious. Someone was squeezing her hand. Grasping it, even. She looked over. Fred opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling.

  Sofia entered the room and saw him. ‘Sister Elizabeth!’ she called down the hall.

  Fred shook and pointed at nothing. His eyes bulged.

  ‘He can’t breathe!’ Sofia said. Sister Elizabeth entered the room and moved to Fred.

  ‘He can breathe, hush now,’ Sister Elizabeth said. ‘This is a good thing. He is trying to breathe on his own.’ She turned to Fred. ‘Mr Wentworth, I want to remove this tube. Will you help me?’

  Fred nodded to her with wet eyes, trying to sit up. She eased him back down onto his pillow. Jane watched him struggle in confusion and agony. His face bore a look of terror.

  ‘I am going to pull the tube; I need you to cough.’ Fred nodded. Sister Elizabeth pulled the tube quickly from his mouth. Fred choked and gurgled and let out a horrid groan. A tear seeped from each eye. Jane sighed; she could not stand much more of this. A length of slimed tube emerged from his throat.

  ‘Good job,’ Sister Elizabeth said. ‘Keep coughing.’

  She pulled once more, and Fred coughed again. The tube came free, and Fred relaxed back onto the bed. Sweat plastered his hair to his face. His eyes darted around the room, but he said nothing.

  ‘Fred?’ Jane called to him. He made no answer. Jane turned to Sofia. ‘Is he a simpleton?’ she asked her.

  Sofia shrugged. ‘Fred. If you’re in there, say something,’ she said.

  ‘Is my hair spiky?’ he choked out in a hoarse voice, and grinned.

  Sofia slapped him across the arm. The slap grew to an embrace. ‘You said that already.’

  ‘Careful. You will crush him,’ Jane said. Sofia loosened her grip on her brother.

  ‘It is good to see you again, Mr Wentworth,’ Sister Elizabeth said. She touched his arm.

  ‘Please. After that, call me Fred.’

  She laughed, then checked his boxes and papers and left the room. As she left, she winked at Jane.

  Fred turned his eyes to Jane. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Fred. Are you in pain?’ Jane asked him.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  Jane waited for him to say something about her sitting by his side. Had he heard what she had said to him? Did he know? Did he believe she was Miss Jane Austen of Hampshire, daughter of George and Cassandra Austen? Or did he still think she was a woman of his own time who made up stories to injure him? Did he feel as she did? But instead of answering any of these questions, he said nothing. She cursed herself for her selfish concerns. This man had been through an ordeal; what had happened between them would be the last thing on his mind. He smiled at her and turned back to Sofia.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Sofia said. ‘Are you cold? Do you recall feeling cold while you were on the other side?’

  ‘I do feel a little cold, Sofe,’ Fred said.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Sofia said and left the room.

  Fred turned to Jane. ‘You held my hand,’ he said.

  She looked to him. An excited feeling welled up inside her.

  ‘Why did you say such things to me?’ he asked.

  She was unsure as to which things he referred. Did he mean the things in the pool, or the things in the hospital bed? Did he refer to the declaration of her identity, or the declaration of her love? He had heard the first; she was unsure if he had heard the second.

  ‘Do you mean in the baths?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. Those things were easier to speak of.

  ‘I could not lie to you,’ she said. ‘I am who I am.’ Jane swallowed at the memory of it. ‘It does not matter if you believe me,’ she insisted. ‘I am who I say I am. It is the truth.’

  ‘I never said I didn’t believe you.’

  Jane commanded her heart to stop its thumping.

  ‘You are Jane Austen.’

  Jane nodded and cleared her throat. She shifted in her chair.

  ‘On some level, I’ve always known,’ he said.

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Something was strange, at least,’ he said. He smiled.

  ‘You will not have to worry about it too much longer, in any case, for I shall be leaving soon.’ She said it lightly, but she searched his face for his reaction. ‘Your sister has secured the means to return me to 1803. She has been a valiant helper, quite the heroine.’

  ‘She’s good like that.’

  ‘So I shall be on my way. I have books to write.’

  ‘Of course. As you should,’ Fred replied with a nod. He paused. ‘Or do you think you might stay for a little while? I know you need to get back, but Sofia will leave me to fend for myself with a bottle of sherry and a pile of blankets. Just a week.’

  Jane considered this. ‘I suppose I could stay one week. To help you get back on your feet.’

  They stared at each other. An excited, terrified feeling moved through Jane at the way he looked at her.

  ‘I have one more request,’ he said.

  ‘Goodness. You are a demanding person, sir,’ she replied, trying to sound calm.

  ‘I’m quite the dictator when I want to be.’

  ‘Name your demand, then,’ she said. She coughed.

  ‘I should like to do the thing I wanted to, before.’ He moved his eyes to her mouth, then back to her eyes.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I’m afraid your demand is more of a request, sir,’ she said in a voice gone hoarse. ‘You are n
ot much of a despot.’ She reminded herself to breathe.

  ‘True. I can’t demand this, in fairness. Unfortunately, this is one of those things I can only do if you want me to. Do you want me to?’

  She breathed out finally; their eyes met. She looked away. ‘Promise me your heart won’t stop again? From the exertion?’

  He laughed. ‘I promise.’

  Jane swallowed. ‘Very well, then.’

  He leant forward, slowly, and placed his lips on hers. If Jane lived another thousand years, if she wrote a hundred novels, she already knew she would never know another feeling like it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Sofia returned to the hospital that afternoon for a visit, and Jane left Fred’s bedside. He waved her goodbye as she left the room, grinning with a wide smile.

  Sofia looked around the room. Flowers and cards festooned the room, along with balloons and teddy bears from the kids at Fred’s school. ‘You’re so cool, Mr Dub,’ she said to Fred in a juvenile voice, slapping his arm. He shrugged and smiled and looked out the door. ‘I see you two made up.’ She nodded in the direction Jane was walking down the hospital corridor.

  Fred wiped the smile from his face and scoffed. ‘What are you on about?’ he said, forcing a laugh she only heard him make when he’d been caught out.

  ‘Don’t play coy with me,’ Sofia replied. ‘You must think I’m pretty stupid.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re stupid at all,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You like Jane. That’s what I’m talking about.’

  ‘As if,’ he said. He folded his arms across his chest, like a teenager. The machine wires connected to his forearms twisted in a bundle and an alarm went off. He uncrossed his arms and apologised to a nurse who rushed in.

  Sofia laughed and shook her head. ‘You also do that thing with your shoelaces whenever I mention her name.’

  ‘What thing?’ Fred said, scoffing a second time.

  ‘I mention Jane’s name and you tie your shoelaces. Even if they are already tied. You bend down and untie them, then tie them back up again. You used to do that whenever you liked a girl at school. Like Molly Parson! You tied your shoelaces every time someone said “Molly”.’