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 family 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.
‘Didn’t you like any of the food?’ He looked up as she returned from the kitchen. ‘I quite enjoyed that beef stew concoction.’
‘It was definitely better than the mutton.’ Rose put a hand to her mouth, unable to prevent a yawn, as she sank back onto the sofa, her gaze falling instantly on the leather-bound folder. She’d looked at a few of her father’s letters to her, enjoying the news of everyday life in Chawton as the first year following her visit passed. His personal journals, however, she didn’t want to touch yet. Knowing she had them was more than enough for now, an almost inexplicable comfort, as though he’d come home with her. Besides, she was going to be an emotional wreck when she finally did start, and Aiden had seen enough of her tears for now! She picked up the next letter in the pile, then almost flinched as she saw the date – late July, 1817.
Rose bit her lip. Was this going to bring the sad, inevitable news of Jane? So far, her father had only mentioned his neighbours in passing, with no hint at what was to come.
Facts are such horrid things. Rose shuddered and grabbed her glass of wine, then realised it was empty.
‘Do you want a top-up, Aiden?’
He drained his own glass, then looked at his watch. ‘Damn. Sadly not. I’ll miss the last train if I don’t get a move on.’
Rose’s heart was suddenly full, so much so she could barely breathe, but she got to her feet and followed Aiden over to the door, where he shrugged one arm into his jacket and she reached around to pull it onto his other shoulder.
Before she could step back, his good arm came round to hold her close and he kissed her slowly, languorously, and Rose kissed him back, unaware a tear had fallen from her lashes until he pulled away from her in concern.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ Rose laughed shakily, willing her rapidly beating heart to behave itself. Did the man have no idea of what he did to her? ‘It’s just…’ She waved a hand, as if it could possibly encompass all they’d been through. ‘Seeing you again, it brought a lot back, and then receiving the crate of memories…’ She looked over her shoulder at the open box, piles of journals and letters littering the table. Her family history at her fingertips.
Rose looked back at Aiden, at his rich brown eyes eyeing her with blatant affection, his handsome face, his dark, tousled hair and the breadth of his shoulders. Now she had the best of all things, didn’t she? A link to the past, and also Aiden. He was the present… would he think her too bold if she said it?
‘Don’t go.’
His eyes widened. ‘Are you… are you sure? You’ve had a bit of a shock. I don’t want—’
‘Stay.’ Rose spoke more firmly, more certain of this than anything in her life. ‘Stay with me, Aiden.’
He held her gaze, then smiled, and she took his hand, leading him back into the sitting room, where he removed his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa before taking her in his arms as best he could.
‘There’s nothing I’d rather do more.’ Aiden placed a soft kiss beneath her ear, then claimed her lips with his own.
The kiss was one neither of them would ever forget. In fact, it went on for some time, and so engrossed were they in each other, they failed to hear a slight noise outside on the steps.
It would be the following morning before they noticed the piece of old-fashioned paper which had been slipped through the letterbox, bearing an all too familiar hand.
The End… or is it?