Jane blew out a huff of breath. ‘’Tis naught of consequence.’
‘It is!’ Cassandra threw her sister an exasperated look, then turned to Rose, speaking quietly. ‘Your friends are perfectly well and back where they should be, but there were some difficulties with Jane’s return last night.’
Rose’s heart sank. ‘Oh no! What sort of difficulties?’
‘Cass makes too much of it.’ Jane waved a frustrated hand.
‘I do not! You forget all I suffered when you were trapped in the future!’
‘Dear Cass, that is beyond us now.’ Jane took her sister’s hands. ‘I promised I would be more careful in future.’
‘This is all very well when you are the master of your own destiny, but not when you put your life in the hands of a…’ She gestured with her hand. ‘A recalcitrant charm!’
‘My life was not at risk!’
‘Wait!’ Rose interrupted the argument, and both ladies turned to look at her. ‘Please, just tell me. What happened?’
Jane’s face assumed a stubborn look, and Rose tried not to be amused, for Cassandra’s concern was blatant.
‘My alarm was valid, for my sister did not return promptly last night. Indeed, she did not reappear for some hours.’
Jane did not seem to share her sister’s concern. ‘The museum was closed.’ She frowned. ‘Did you have something else you needed to do in the future?’
Cassandra threw Jane another exasperated look. ‘When she tried to return, it sent her to a different year than was her intention.’
Rose stared at Jane. ‘Where did you go?’
Jane walked to the door and grasped the handle. ‘I have no idea. It was the middle of the night, but the museum did not yet have that purpose. From its appearance, it was merely three labourers’ cottages.’ She glared at Cassandra. ‘But I returned, did I not?’
If Rose wasn’t mistaken, Cassandra had released a ladylike snort. ‘Indeed. By way of the pond!’
Jane opened the door, and winked at Rose. ‘Then is it not fortunate I had little admiration for my shoes?’
She left the room, and Cassandra turned her expressive gaze on Rose. ‘I fear for her at times, Miss Wallace. She had a propensity for being headstrong in her youth, but since her… well, since she was lost to us, she seemed reconciled to being here. She became focused on her writing. But of late, a recklessness has come upon her.’
Knowing full well Jane had just four years left to live, Rose bit her lip. It seemed she hadn’t told her family that and they were completely in the dark as to how little time Jane had left in this world.
Having so few clothes and accessories to her name, it took very little time for Rose to prepare for the removal to the great house. Jane was seeing to her own packing, promising to bring further garments of Cassandra’s to share with her, and Rose made her way along the landing, surprised by the sadness she felt at her time staying in the cottage coming to an end.
Jane’s door opened and she peered out. Spotting Rose, she stepped forward and offered her a folded piece of paper. ‘Did I not say the portal would suffice?’
Rose took it gingerly, as if it might disappear into thin air if she were too rough with it, then clutched the letter to her chest as she went downstairs. Would the impending change of residence mean this tentative connection to her friend, to her old life, would cease almost as soon as it had started?
She walked quickly out of the house into the garden, emotion gripping her throat even as she unfolded the paper, only to find herself smiling. Morgan had clearly had some trouble with the quill and ink. There were several blots in the margin and the handwriting was stilted. There was also a column at the bottom where she had been practising and another hand which Rose recognised as James’. With a lighter heart, she read:
Rose! We’re home. There was no sign of James’ suit, but everything else (including his phone and keys, thank goodness!) was turned in to C’s Cup. Jane warned me that I should keep anything I say timeless if you know what I mean so I’m not sure how to say this: First thing I did when I got back to my handheld everything device (I followed instruction and left everything modern in James’ trunk unlike some people…) was to search the information getter for the history of that song. As far as I can tell, it’s just exactly what you already know. So I hope you can clarify if you heard what you thought you heard because that might be important!
Mr Darcy gave us a good scolding when we got back, but did nothing undignified while he was alone. He won’t get off of James now, though, and wants to be cuddled every second. I am very offended that he loves James more than me, but I have my ways. Imagine a winky face here. I’m going to get him some treats from Waitrose the market. I don’t mean to brag, but I can’t tell you how glorious it is to know how easy it is to get to the market here and now, if you know what I mean.
I am, of course, dying to hear how things are going there, but I don’t know how often I can get to Chawton from Bath, let alone be in Jane’s room long enough to lift the floorboard, so don’t stress. You should start writing though because it takes an insane amount of time to write with this stupid quill.
Aiden’s carriage was fine. James tucked the keys a bit further back, no one will know they’re there. He’s working, as I’m sure is not a surprise to you. He gave me a spare key you keep in your desk so I can go by your place to make sure the mail isn’t piling up and water your plants. You still have a landline too, right? So if someone calls looking for you, I’ll make sure that’s all taken care of. I don’t have to redact that because calling means something different there but it’s all okay, right? This is sort of fun, like being a secret agent. But not fun because I want to know what’s happening with you. Also we should make a plan for how you can contact us when you’re ready to be picked up. Much love, M
There was as a short addition in James’ handwriting:
Hi R, testing the quill and can confirm it does work and M is just being impatient. That was a brand new suit, Rose, and I am not…
It looked like the pen had been whipped from James’ hand if the streak of ink was anything to go by, and Rose stared at the words, a smile on her face and tears, ridiculously, in her eyes. She sniffed and carefully folded the parchment, then stood up and hurried back into the house in search of a quill and ink, keen to respond and ask Jane to hide the message in the portal before they left for Chawton House.
The disquiet tumbling through her mind over Christopher Wallace and his origins was currently in combat with her anxiety over Jane’s experiencing some problems with the use of the charm. She hadn’t dared to tell Morgan about what had happened, and Rose eyed the charm warily, nestled in its place under the floorboard, as Jane placed her letter with it. Was she right not to trust it?
‘Is aught amiss?’ Jane rose from fixing the board back in place.
‘No, nothing.’ Summoning a smile, Rose turned for the door. Speculation was pointless, and she had a more pressing matter to focus on for now. ‘I’ll wait in the garden for you.’
Rose ventured outside again, ambling along, her eye caught by the Austen ladies’ donkey, eating grass in the far orchard. She was keen to join the men at the great house. Being with Aiden was a balm to her worry and she wanted to relay to him that the messaging system had worked. But also, it was far easier to be themselves around Edward and Charles, for although the former was clearly not overjoyed by the outcome of his sister’s deeds, they at least both knew who their visitors were and where they were from, so the strain of pretence was much less.
A faint sound reached her, and almost against her volition, Rose’s gaze was drawn towards the low wall bounding the Wallace family’s garden. Should she take this one last opportunity? Any other sighting of them would be purely chance and most likely in varied company.
Her curiosity overruling her sense, she stepped onto the grassy verge and crept towards the boundary. There was someone in the garden. Was it Mr Wallace? Rose hadn’t realised how much she wished it was until she felt disappointment wash over her. It was Olivia, a basket on her arm, and as Rose watched, she bent to cut some herbs before dropping them into it.
Rose turned to ostensibly inspect the leaves of the sapling near the wall for a moment, then froze. There it was again, the familiar tune drifting to her on the breeze in snatches as Olivia went about her errand.
Edging towards the wall again, and feeling all the stupidity of what she was doing, Rose peered cautiously over. The girl had moved closer to the end of the garden, and suddenly she looked up.
‘Oh, good morning.’ A rush of pink filled her cheeks and she bobbed a curtsey, and Rose did the same.
‘Sorry. I mean, forgive me. I did not mean to startle you. I was…’ Rose drew in a calming breath, though her heart was beating rapidly and her skin was tingling. ‘I was enjoying your singing.’
Olivia’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, moving from foot to foot, and Rose wondered if she should just leave. She wasn’t sure Mr and Mrs Wallace, having already been at the receiving end of Rose’s bad manners the previous day, would want their daughter to be talking to her.
‘Good morning, Miss Olivia.’
Rose started. Jane had come to stand beside her.
The girl repeated her curtsey. ‘Good morning, Miss Austen.’
‘I believe my friend is curious as to where you learned your pretty tune. It is not one I am familiar with?’
Olivia’s features brightened. ‘You are not the first to speak so. We have yet to meet anyone who is.’
The tingling of Rose’s skin intensified and she held her breath, her gaze fixed on the young girl before them. She was thankful for Jane’s presence, for she didn’t think she could have summoned a coherent word.
Jane smiled kindly at Olivia. ‘How intriguing. Pray, how came you to learn it?’
To both Jane and Rose’s surprise, a head suddenly popped up from behind a bank of ferns to their left. Anne!
‘I know the answer to this!’
She hurried around the nearby border and approached the wall, a wide smile on her face. ‘Papa taught us!’ She turned to look at her sister. ‘Did he not, Olivia?’
Olivia seemed less wary now Anne had joined her, and stepped a little closer. ‘He sang it to us when we were small. We all know it.’ She waved a hand towards the house. ‘Papa says he loves the name Rosemary, though ’tis a most unusual one.’
‘’Tis but a herb, though a pleasant one.’ Anne beamed at them over the wall, and Rose could not help but smile at her enthusiasm. ‘We used to tease Papa, did we not, about the words?’ She looked up at her sister, who smiled.
‘Indeed.’ She looked from Jane to Rose. ‘We felt it should not be “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes”, but the reverse! Rosemary grows, do you see?’ Olivia looked expectantly from Rose to Jane this time. ‘But Papa was adamant he had the right of it.’
Jane cast a quick glance at Rose and seemed to realise she was struggling. She turned to both girls, smiled once again and took Rose firmly by the arm. ‘You do it much justice, for you both sing it so sweetly. We must bid you good day.’
Tugging Rose into a curtsey as both girls bobbed in response, Jane turned her around and led her away. Stumbling a little on legs too weak to support her, Rose clutched her midriff, which was churning wildly. There was no denying it now: her father, by whatever fair or foul means, was alive and living in the early nineteenth century!