Jane in Love

by Rachel Givney

  Dave changed lanes. ‘You do have a banging body. You are beautiful.’

  ‘Why have you never said these things before?’

  ‘Because those are the least interesting things about you.’

  Sofia stared at the road. ‘Oh.’

  The car made some sort of clanking sound. Dave checked the gauges. ‘It does this sometimes,’ he explained. ‘It’s quite an old car.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ she replied.

  ‘If I jiggle this a bit, it usually stops,’ he said. He jiggled one of the ancient-looking sticks which sprouted from the steering wheel. The clanking, as promised, ceased.

  Sofia gathered the words in her head to turn him down. She’d be gentle, but also tell it to him straight – he deserved that much.

  ‘Look, Dave, you’re a really great guy,’ she began.

  He nodded with what seemed like resignation. He exhaled a huge puff of held breath. ‘I understand, all good,’ he replied. ‘No explanation required.’ He drove on.

  Could she be with someone who was nice to her? It sounded unglamorous and dull.

  ‘Okay, fine,’ she said.

  ‘Fine?’

  ‘Yes, fine, let’s get a drink,’ she said.

  Dave kept his eyes on the road. An elderly woman drove past in a Morris Minor and overtook them, shouting hints out her window at ways Dave could improve his driving. Dave waved to her in return, with the biggest grin Sofia had ever seen.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Sofia showed Jane Mrs Sinclair’s letter. Jane read it and sighed.

  ‘Sofia. You are a wonder. I think you paid a fortune for this.’ She touched Sofia’s arm.

  Sofia coughed. ‘Never mind that now. We have work to do. I’ll get your dress.’

  Jane stiffened. ‘You want me to go back right now?’

  ‘Did you have another time in mind? Jane, I thought we were on the clock here.’

  ‘I suppose. Of course, yes.’ Jane turned her head and looked into the house.

  ‘Where’s Fred?’ Sofia asked. ‘Is he at work?’

  Jane nodded. ‘If I leave now, I won’t say goodbye.’

  Sofia nodded. ‘Do you want to wait?’

  Jane gazed at the floor. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll fetch your dress.’

  An hour later, Jane had put on her white muslin dress. She changed to her brown boots and donned her brown gloves, bonnet and pelisse. She tied her hair in a Grecian knot. She curled the short pieces around her face.

  Sofia inhaled when she saw her. ‘My God,’ she said.

  ‘Do I look different?’ Jane said, worried.

  ‘You look exactly the same as when I met you,’ Sofia said.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘A little taller, maybe.’ Sofia took a deep breath. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I am ready,’ Jane said. They turned to the door.

  ‘It’s Fred!’ Sofia cried, pointing out the window. ‘What’s he doing here?’ Fred walked up the garden path. Jane froze. ‘Quick, run!’ But it was too late.

  Fred shuffled up the path with a confused look on his face.

  ‘Fred,’ Sofia said in a cheerful tone. ‘What are you doing here?’ Sofia and Jane both nodded an awkward hello.

  Fred looked at Jane’s ensemble, her bonnet, boots and pelisse, and the smile drained from his face. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he asked. Jane turned away and made no reply. ‘Jane. What’s going on?’ He stared at her. ‘Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?’

  Jane shook her head. Finally, she turned to him. ‘I am going home, Fred.’

  He stepped backwards and stumbled over a kitchen chair. He turned and walked out the door.

  ‘Fred,’ Jane called after him. ‘Come back.’

  He walked down the path.

  Sofia grabbed Jane’s arm. ‘It’s better this way.’

  Jane nodded.

  They arrived at the hall and walked to the area behind the stage. Jane took her place amongst the pile of black curtains, the place she had first appeared. The sight of Fred walking towards her, the look on his face, still haunted her. She turned to Sofia.

  ‘I have no words,’ Jane said. ‘A rare occurrence for me.’

  ‘There are no words for this situation, Austen.’

  They embraced. Sofia read aloud. ‘To reverse any spell, repeat the incantation, then to the blood of the talisman add the blood of the subject.’ She shrugged. Sofia gave Jane a pin. ‘Here goes nothing.’

  Jane pricked her finger with it, then removed the scrap of manuscript from her pocket. She dropped her blood onto the page and swallowed. ‘Take me to my one true love,’ she chanted.

  ‘Goodbye, Jane,’ Sofia said.

  ‘Goodbye, Sofia.’ Jane shut her eyes and waited for the dust to come as before.

  Nothing happened.

  Jane opened her eyes. ‘I’m still here.’

  Sofia scanned the article. ‘What? You repeated the incantation; you added a drop of blood. I don’t understand.’ She handed Jane the paper. ‘Why is there always some complication?’

  ‘To the blood of the talisman add the blood of the subject,’ Jane read aloud. She frowned. ‘This is the talisman, yes?’ She held up the scrap of manuscript where Mrs Sinclair had first scrawled the spell.

  ‘Correct,’ Sofia said.

  ‘And I am the subject,’ Jane said. She pointed to herself.

  ‘That’s right,’ Sofia said.

  They stood in silence. Jane ran back in her mind through everything. Take me to my one true love. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I am not the subject.’

  ‘You aren’t?’ Sofia said. ‘Who is, then?’

  ‘Jane,’ said a voice behind them. A figure walked towards them in the darkness.

  ‘He is,’ Jane said.

  ‘How did you know we would be here?’ Jane asked him. She felt relief and sadness to see him.

  ‘I worked it out,’ Fred said. He saw the smile on her face and looked at her with hopeful eyes.

  ‘I have little right,’ Jane said to him, ‘but if you would be so kind as to give me a drop of your blood.’

  His face fell; he shook his head. ‘No. I came to stop you. What happens if I do not give you my blood?’ Fred asked.

  ‘I cannot return to 1803,’ Jane said.

  ‘Good,’ Fred said. ‘I will see you at home.’ He walked out.

  ‘No, Fred. Come back!’ Sofia shouted. But he had gone.

  Jane sat on the floor of the hall with her arms crossed over her chest. Sofia paced the floorboards and hatched a succession of schemes.

  ‘I could offer to give him a hot shave,’ Sofia suggested. ‘Then I could accidentally-on-purpose nick his throat and collect whatever blood happened to spurt forth.’

  ‘You do not think holding a hot blade to his neck is a touch dangerous?’ Jane said. ‘I have witnessed you cut an orange. Your dexterity left something to be desired.’

  ‘True. And knife throwing is on my CV. Go figure.’ Sofia tapped the wall. ‘I say we go back to the plan where I drain his blood in his sleep,’ she said. ‘I will take an online course in blood collection. Once I am trained up, I will wait until he’s in the middle of an REM cycle, pop the needle in and grab a few drops. He won’t even miss it.’

  ‘And how do you suppose you will open a vein in his arm without him noticing?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I will make him a hearty dinner of turkey and Quaaludes.’

  ‘Do you know how to cook a turkey?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Not exactly. But he won’t notice with all the Quaaludes.’

  ‘No,’ Jane said. ‘None of these ideas have merit.’

  ‘Why not? The turkey idea is solid.’

  ‘Because they all involve stealing your brother’s blood. I cannot take it from him. Let us return home, Sofia. If he will not give it to me, then perhaps I do the wrong thing by leaving.’ They stood and walked to the door.

  ‘Jane,’ Fred said. He reappeared in the doorway.

  ‘Fred!’ Jan
e exclaimed. She went to him. Relief washed over her again. The sight of him made everything clear. ‘I do not care about this,’ she said, pointing to the paper. ‘Each time you go, it tears my heart out. I do not want to leave you ever again. I will stay.’ She smiled.

  He took the pin from her and nicked his finger. A bead of crimson formed on his fingertip.

  ‘No, Fred. Did you not hear me? I said I will stay. With you.’

  ‘It’s not what I want,’ he said. He held up his hand and offered it to Jane.

  Jane hesitated. The drop of blood bloomed outward, eventually turning to a trickle which threatened to spill to the floor. She held out the manuscript scrap and caught the blood on the page. The fresh red drop merged with the old brown spot of her own and became one.

  ‘Thank you, Fred,’ Jane said in a voice gone hoarse. She looked down at her hands. She removed the ring with the turquoise stone and held it out to Fred. ‘Give it to someone who deserves it.’

  Fred shook his head. ‘That ring belongs to my wife.’

  Jane nodded. She wiped her eyes. ‘How does one say goodbye in the year two thousand and twenty?’

  ‘The same way you always say it,’ Fred said. ‘You hug them. You tell them you will see them again soon. Even if it’s not true.’ His voice cracked.

  ‘A true English goodbye,’ she said, her voice breaking.

  Jane hugged him. Little sounds exited her body, howling gasps, sounds she had never heard herself make. She destroyed them both by staying. It did not make it easier. ‘See you again soon,’ she managed to say. The words came out in a croak. Sofia sobbed.

  ‘It was good, wasn’t it?’ Fred whispered in her ear.

  ‘It was,’ she whispered back.

  Jane broke away and stepped onto the pile of theatre curtains. She held up the manuscript. ‘Take me to my one true love,’ she said. She closed her eyes. Nothing happened.

  Fred smiled and wiped his eye.

  The room grew dark and snow began to fall.

  ‘Fred,’ she called out. He snapped his head up to her. Tears bathed his eyes. ‘If you ever want to see me, look for me, and you will find me. Do you understand? I will always be with you.’

  He nodded.

  The snow fell harder; the room spun.

  ‘Say you will look for me,’ Jane said. ‘Promise me.’

  ‘I promise,’ he replied, shaking his head in some confusion. ‘I will look for you.’

  She transformed into an outline of dust and disappeared.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Jane opened her eyes. She sat in the woodsman’s cottage.

  Outside in the forest, darkness fell. Moonlight lit her path back to town. Jane walked through the trees over a path of pine needles and when she reached the edge of the forest, she looked up ahead. The Bath skyline rose in the distance. The roofs of the Crescent and the Circus punctured the sky. The Pump Room dome sat by the Avon. Smoke pumped from chimneys.

  It rained. Jane’s curls plastered themselves to her forehead. Her pelisse was soaked. She reached Bath Abbey in the centre of town, crossed Pulteney Bridge and walked to Sydney Place. She stopped on the corner and watched.

  The front of Sydney House hosted a crowd. Lady Johnstone waltzed around the gathered people, smiling and whispering to everyone. Mrs Austen had a tear-stained face and spoke to a policeman. Jane heard herself gasp at the sight. No time had passed at all.

  Jane took several deep breaths and hoped she inhaled sufficient air for what she was about to do, then she turned to the crowd and walked through it. Whispers and snickers rose from the throng. People pointed and stared at her. The policeman stopped writing in his pocketbook. ‘And where have you been, miss?’ he said. The crowd hushed one another and seemed to wait with bated breath for Jane’s answer. Instead Jane ignored him and everyone else and walked inside the building. Mrs Austen followed her.

  Jane braced for an attack from her mother once inside the house. But one did not come. Mrs Austen kneeled. ‘Stupid girl,’ she whispered through sobs. She held Jane.

  ‘I am sorry, Mama.’

  Mrs Austen walked Jane into the parlour. ‘You are soaked through,’ she said. She called for the housemaid to fetch a cloth to dry Jane’s hair.

  ‘I am glad you’ve come back safe, Jane,’ a man’s voice said. Jane looked up. Reverend Austen leant on the doorframe. His white hair hung loose and wet around his neck. He had lost the sole from his left boot. For once, he looked older than his more than seventy years.

  Jane ran to him. ‘Papa,’ she cried and sobbed into his shoulder. She almost tipped him over.

  ‘Easy, girl,’ he said with a wince. ‘All is well.’ He patted her head.

  Jane was racked with guilt. ‘Papa, I am sorry. You have been out in the wet and cold.’

  ‘Hush now, Jane. I am well.’ His hand shook as he held the chair to sit down.

  ‘You should not have been out looking for me. Let others go.’

  ‘I do not leave that task to others.’ He smiled at the floor.

  ‘Oh, Papa.’ She held him.

  Jane’s mother sighed. ‘Jane, my girl. You did not need to run away. Mr Withers hurt us all. I have put in a serious complaint with that matchmaker. But all is not lost. There are other men out there. We will help you find a husband.’

  ‘I do not want one, Mama.’

  ‘I know, but when the time comes, when you feel better, you will want one.’

  Jane nodded. ‘Mama, I am not going to marry.’

  ‘You will, Jane.’

  ‘I will not. Do listen, Mama. I’ve decided. I am sorry.’

  Mrs Austen whimpered and clutched her breast. ‘Good God, George. She’s turned mad.’ Margaret, the housemaid, entered the room with a cloth. ‘Never mind, Margaret,’ Mrs Austen said, pointing at the towel for Jane’s hair. Margaret nodded and crept backwards. Mrs Austen glared at Jane. ‘Please clarify your remarks, child. Your last words were a nonsense.’

  ‘I am not going to marry. Not now, nor ever.’

  Mrs Austen stood up and sat down. She stood up again. ‘And how do you intend to survive without a husband?’ she asked.

  ‘I will be a writer.’

  ‘A writer! Fetch the physician. Our child is insane. And who shall support you, Jane?’

  ‘I expect nothing. I am happy to starve until I can earn my own wage.’

  ‘Earn a wage? What is this stupidity? Jane, you cannot. Need I remind you, you are a woman?’

  ‘I can, Mama. I have seen it done.’

  Mrs Austen squinted at her daughter’s tone and studied Jane’s face. ‘Something about you is different,’ she declared. Jane panicked. She had taken pains to make her hair and dress identical to before. ‘Look, George.’

  Reverend Austen peered at his daughter. ‘I see no difference,’ he said.

  ‘I do,’ said Mrs Austen. ‘She has changed.’

  ‘I am still your daughter, Mama,’ Jane said.

  Mrs Austen scratched her brow. ‘I have always said you are too clever for your own good.’

  ‘I inherited many traits from my mother.’

  ‘It was a shame you were born a woman,’ she muttered. ‘But there it is. You must deal with it.’

  Jane took her mother’s hand. ‘Will you not be happier knowing you have a fulfilled child, rather than one who is simply married?’

  ‘Fulfilment! What is this talk? You have not thought this through, Jane.’

  ‘On the contrary, madam. I have thought on this more than once. I shall ask Henry for a small investment of funds to cover my room and board while I rewrite my manuscript.’

  Mrs Austen scoffed. ‘Preposterous! Henry will never give you money for such a foolish scheme.’

  ‘Henry delights in foolish schemes, Mama. And he will do this because he knows as well as you, this is a sound investment.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort,’ her mother scoffed. ‘We sent the book to Cadell. He gave his answer.’

  ‘Before you threw my manuscript on
the fire, you read it, did you not?’

  ‘I do not recall,’ she replied. She took a long pause. She shrugged. ‘So what if I did?’

  ‘Place your eyes on mine and tell me I cannot do this. I shall marry whomever you choose, and I shan’t write another word.’

  Sounds of chatter rose up from the street below, where a small crowd still lingered outside, muttering and speculating. Lady Johnstone’s voice remained amongst them. Her mother walked over and shut the window; silence filled the room. Finally, her father spoke. ‘Jane, my darling girl. I know the writing is all to you. But to never marry, to be alone, to live without someone – Jane, it is a sad thing. You do not know what you give up.’

  She inhaled, then turned to him. ‘Papa, I know it may not seem so, but I know in the pit of my heart what I give up,’ she said.

  Her father stared at her with sad eyes. Mrs Austen frowned and sat down. ‘It is too much of a risk, Jane.’

  ‘As is everything great in this world, Mama.’

  Mrs Austen stared at her daughter. The room fell silent again.

  Margaret walked back in. ‘Ma’am. Oh. Goodness. Beg pardon.’ She looked about the room at the silent faces and seemed to figure she had disturbed a great discussion. She curtsied in apology and turned to hurry back out again.

  ‘No. What is it, Margaret?’ said Mrs Austen.

  Margaret stopped and addressed her in a gentle voice. ‘Cook asked now Miss Jane is back, will Mrs Lindell be coming around tomorrow? If yes, should she purchase spatchcocks from Stall Street, which are pricey, but Mrs Lindell was put out by the standard we served last time, which were gamy and full of buckshot.’

  ‘I thought they were all right,’ Reverend Austen muttered.

  The room fell silent again. Mrs Austen continued to stare at her daughter. Margaret went to leave once more but paused when Mrs Austen began to speak. ‘Tell Cook that the birds Reverend Austen shoots will be sufficient.’ Mrs Austen spoke, pushing her shoulders back. ‘If Jane is to be a spinster, we can’t be keeping the matchmaker in store-bought spatchcocks.’