Fred wiped his eye. The picture’s likeness to his own features startled him. He saw how it would have been achieved. The woman with the photographic memory would have related every curve of his skin and bump of his nose to a beloved sister, and Cassandra would have nodded and sketched each detail faithfully, with a steady hand. Beyond the accuracy of the features, though, something else lurked to disarm him. In the picture, Fred smiled. A huge grin with bared teeth did not describe the expression; instead, his mouth remained closed, his lips touching, and the smile came more from his eyes, which shone from the page in a warm gaze. A look of utter love might describe it best, and he had given it to just one person. She had promised him at the time to remember that look forever, and she had kept her word.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Jane walked into Forsyth’s, a general shop which sold stamps and stationery on Stall Street. Forsyth himself sat at the counter and read from the newspaper. Jane dumped the bag of sugar on the counter. It had survived the journey from the twenty-first century, to her delight, alongside one ballpoint pen she had stuffed in her pocket at the last minute and which had enjoyed such prolific use over the past few days Jane had almost drained it of ink.
‘How much will you give me?’ Jane asked.
Forsyth looked up from his paper. He dipped a finger into the bag and tasted the white crystals. He scoffed. ‘Ten shillings.’
‘I see you have perfected the art of the swindle,’ Jane said.
Forsyth crossed his arms. ‘Fifteen.’
Jane huffed. ‘Perhaps Buxton’s prefers to purchase this.’
‘Perhaps they do,’ Forsyth said with a shrug.
Jane picked up the bag and began to walk from the shop.
‘Very well. Twenty shillings,’ he called after her.
‘Eighty,’ Jane said, turning.
‘Sixty,’ said Forsyth.
Jane smiled. ‘Deal.’
She exited Forsyth’s and pocketed her banknotes. Forsyth had paid her, relatively speaking, more than three hundred times what she had paid for the sugar in the twenty-first century. She puffed out her chest, proud of her first business deal. Sixty shillings would buy a year’s worth of ink and paper.
She stretched her right hand. She had written for four hours that morning and felt anxious to get home. Her mother had done her a service with her pyromancy. Jane remembered what she had written before word for word. But when it came to the task of rewriting, she hesitated to write the same. Since a young age, she had bit and scowled at the world through her prose; her characters always met with violent and farcical ends, saying crude and clever things. But now she found herself writing with sympathy for her heroines. Their triumphs came not at the expense of stupid companions but through curious items such as their own talents and dignity. The jokes remained; she still made fun – the world provided her with too much material to do otherwise. But she made fun of everything except love. What a soft head she was turning out to be.
Two young women stood in the street and snickered at Jane behind lace-gloved hands. In the wake of the Withers event and Jane’s temporary exit from the village, the concerned women of Bath fixed Jane as a hysteric. Their assertions, considering Jane’s behaviour, probably held water. Every assembly shunned her; people pointed in the streets. Jane waved at the two women, which seemed to cause them great confusion, and walked on.
Jane turned the corner and smiled to herself. She dipped her hand into her pocket. She slipped the gold and turquoise ring off her middle finger and slid it onto the other one. She cradled her hand in a ball.
Had she made the right decision? Of course she had. She bent to tie her bootlace and wiped her eyes with a shaky hand.
And when, thirteen years later, she died on a settee in the sitting room of a rented house in Winchester, the last thing to go through her mind was Fred taking her hand the first time he danced with her.
But for now, Jane turned into Bennett Street and crossed the piazza. A crowd filed into Wood’s Rooms for the evening assembly. Married couples waited by the main doors, arm in arm. A trio of old men discussed France. A gaggle of young ladies gossiped with hope about their latest beaux. Jane weaved her way through them and turned for Pulteney Bridge, her face warmed by the sun of a pink and yellow sky.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I first read Pride and Prejudice when I was fifteen years old. I felt disarmed when I discovered that the author of the witty love story never married or had any children. That’s how Jane in Love was born. I’d like to thank the following people who helped make this idea become a novel.
To four writers whom I worship: Posie Graeme-Evans, Graeme Simsion and Markus Zusak for your generosity of time, wisdom and kindness; and Caroline Overington, for giving me the best piece of advice I’ve ever heard. To Chris Urquhart and Liz Burke, for starting everything.
To the early readers: Madeline Burns and Charlotte Laurence, for reading and reviewing the first chapters I wrote; Lucy McGinley, for suggesting killer plot points and providing time-travel logic; Sally Youden, for adding some of the funniest lines. To Eloise Givney and David O’Donnell, who read the whole manuscript not once, but twice, adding gems each time. David Givney, for showing me how crash carts rattle and bringing the hospital scenes to life. Dominic Givney, for telling me I could do it.
To Jane Givney, for always encouraging me to write.
To Tania Palmer, for providing legal expertise, and to Cathie Tasker and the Australian Writers’ Centre, for showing how to transition from screenwriting to novels. To Grace Wirth, for sending me a Jane Austen mug.
To Daniel Lazar, for championing Jane in Love for a wider audience and providing excellent feedback.
To Jeanne Ryckmans, for being a passionate advocate for this book and putting it in good hands.
To Ali Watts, for adding depth and heart to the story. Amanda Martin, for tightening every chapter and sharpening every line and turning a manuscript into a novel. Penelope Goodes, for adding accuracy and polish. Kimberley Atkins, for saying Jane Austen made fun of everything, except love.
And to my husband, David, for being my own Fred Wentworth. You pierce my soul.
BOOK CLUB NOTES
What did you most enjoy about the book?
Is the novel Jane in Love a comedy or a tragedy?
Jane and Sofia form the most unlikely of friendships, but in what ways are they similar?
What qualities did Jane find so appealing in Fred? Were they a perfect match?
What were some of the more amusing observations Jane made about life in the twenty-first century?
Jane Austen never married, and she died aged 41, but she wrote six major novels that are beloved around the world. Can her life be judged as successful overall?
Do you think Jane or Sofia had the greater triumph in the end?
The novel asks the question: ‘If Jane Austen had to choose between the heart and the pen, what would she do?’ In your opinion, did Jane ultimately make the right decision?
From Jane Austen’s era, the list of female artists who had either disastrous romantic lives, or none at all, runs long. Do you think women needed to be alone and unhappy to create art? How has that changed in modern times?
Why do you think the appeal of Jane Austen’s novels has only increased over time?
Who would you like to see play the roles of Jane, Fred and Sofia in a movie adaptation?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Givney is a writer and filmmaker originally from Sydney, currently based in Melbourne. She has worked on Offspring, The Warriors, McLeod’s Daughters, Rescue: Special Ops and All Saints. Her films have been official selections at the Sydney Film Festival, Flickerfest and many more. Jane in Love is her first book.
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Michael Joseph is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.<
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First published by Michael Joseph, 2020
Copyright © Rachel Givney, 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
Cover design by Louisa Maggio © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover illustrations: handwriting pattern by Katyau/Shutterstock
ISBN 9781760144548
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