‘CASSANDRA,’ said Jane, as we drove into Winchester. ‘What shall we do if we cannot find the Grimoire and locate those four of my possessions needed to undo the curse?’
She turned anxious eyes towards me, and a familiar tug of inadequacy twisted my gut.
‘We’ll find a way, Jane. We must.’ I gripped Dexter’s steering wheel and tried not to think of Aunt Butters slowly being pulled into the Phantral Realm and of Jane – forever a ghost, forever tied to me – a prisoner with no hope of ever finding peace. Fear gripped me; I shook it off and forced myself to think.
If we were right, then James Stanier Clarke had only needed four simple things that Jane had once touched for his spell. Perhaps that made our quest easier. Perhaps all we needed was a single feather from a hat or the corner of a letter or the thread of a garment. I wondered if such things were on display at Chawton Museum.
‘Oliver will know,’ I murmured. ‘Or his mother will,’ I added sourly, as we pulled up outside the hospital.
AUNT Butters was almost as I’d left her the day before, only now the tips of her fingers were slightly translucent and the edges of her body seemed to be lit with soft white light.
I was oddly relieved to find the Froyle twins sitting by her bed.
They greeted me with their usual cheerfulness, but Melford couldn’t hide the note of anxiety in his deep voice or Mordaunt the worried frown that cleft his forehead as they watched over their old friend.
‘Things be changing, young Cassie,’ said Mordaunt, as I held Aunt Butters’s hand.
‘Amelia’s not long for this world, I’m thinking,’ sighed Melford.
‘Don’t say that!’ I cried. ‘Jane and I are going to save her. Aren’t we, Jane?’ I looked anxiously at her ghost.
‘If we find the Grimoire in time then I believe we may,’ answered Jane steadily.
‘How much time?’ I croaked, ‘before the Phantral Realm takes her?’
Jane gazed down at Aunt Butters. ‘Perhaps a week, but no more than that.’
‘Oh, God.’ I put my head in my hands.
‘Now then, young Cassie.’ Melford gripped my shoulder bracingly. ‘You’ll find the way.’
I raised a tear-stained face and met his clear blue gaze. ‘Even if we find the Grimoire, I still need four items once owned by Jane Austen to cast the spell.’
‘Ah.’ Mordaunt nodded wisely. ‘Not so easy.’
‘What about that ancestor of yours?’ asked Melford suddenly. ‘Old Septimus Butters. He were a great collector. ’Twas he as left his library to Amelia’s grandad.’
‘Had a first edition of Emma in it, too,’ added Mordaunt. He bowed to Jane. ‘Your finest achievement, dear ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Thank you, Mr Froyle.’ Jane drifted nearer. ‘Did this Septimus Butters also collect my letters or… perhaps something I once owned?’
The twins thought for a moment, while I held my breath and prayed.
‘Don’t recall Amelia ever saying anything about that,’ said Melford. ‘You ever hear of such a thing, Mordy?’ He nudged his brother.
Mordaunt shook his head sadly. ‘’Twas mostly curios and suchlike. From outlandish parts.’
‘And furniture,’ added Melford.
‘’S’right. He filled the house with furniture.’
‘Amelia sent a lot of it up to attic,’ grinned Melford. ‘Must be more’n thirty year ago now.’
‘It’s worth a look,’ I said, my heart sinking a little at the idea of searching the attic at Queen’s Solar for such elusive items. As a child I’d often played up there. Back then, it had seemed like an Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders; these days it seemed more like a storage space for second-hand goods no one wanted.
‘Mind you, I reckon Amelia would’ve told you if she’d something of Miss Austen’s,’ said Mordaunt.
‘True,’ agreed Melford. ‘A great fan. Always travels with an Austen novel, does Amelia.’ He grinned at his brother. ‘Remember that time in Shanghai, Mordy? When Amelia––’
‘Another time, Melford,’ interrupted Mordaunt, frowning. ‘We got more important things to think about.’
I nodded. ‘I was thinking of going to Chawton. To the Jane Austen museum. I thought I’d ask Oliver if there might be something there we could… er… borrow.’
‘Now that’s thinking.’ Mordaunt beamed at me. ‘You go right there and see what you can find.’
RESOLVED, I called Oliver from the car. He was ambivalent about a visit to Chawton. ‘It’s a great museum, with some amazing Austenalia. The trouble is, I don’t see how it’ll be of any use to us. It’s all under lock and key, Cass, and swarming with tourists and they don’t usually lend stuff. My mother is still negotiating the loan of a couple of Austen letters for a temporary exhibition at the Bodleian.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t bother then.’
‘Well, it’s probably worth a look, if only to get some ideas. And Chawton House is just down the road.’
‘That’s right. It belonged to her brother.’
‘It’s open to the public, too. It’s a longshot, but there might be something there we could borrow. I don’t know what else to suggest.’
My shoulders slumped. It was more than a longshot, it was practically impossible. Still, it was all I could think of and I’d try anything to save Aunt Butters. ‘Can you come with me?’
‘I’d love to,’ he replied, and I warmed at the note of regret in his voice, ‘but I think I’d better stay here. Bishop Stiles and I have started with the X-ray, and we’re only up to 1827.’
I had the weirdest sensation of mingled relief and disappointment in my veins. There was no denying it would have been tricky having Oliver in the car at the same time as Jane. She was so quick with her observations and witty remarks that it was hard to ignore her when others were present, and reacting to her in public made me look like a nutter. Still, I’d have liked Oliver’s company. He had a strangely reassuring presence and, even though I wasn’t yet ready to forgive yesterday’s revelation about his mother, I couldn’t help liking him.
Too much, probably. I pictured him in the Bishop’s library, eagerly X-raying the Chronicles and soothing Bishop Stiles’s anxieties over his precious volumes and knew a sudden desire to be there beside him, my arm brushing his as we searched the Chronicles, his hard muscled body warm against––
‘Okay,’ I said, bringing myself back to the conversation with a jolt. ‘I hope you find something.’
‘You too. Let me know how you get on.’
I ended the call. ‘Well, Jane. Do you want to go to Chawton?’
Her eyes kindled. ‘Yes, indeed I do, Cassandra. For, above all things, I wish to be reunited with my family.’
‘I don’t know how useful it will be,’ I said glumly. ‘It’s not like we can just take––’
‘Stay a moment, Cassandra.’ Jane held up her hand. ‘I have this instant recalled––I do believe I––’ She stopped, her brow creasing and her eyes looking past me as if at some long-forgotten thing.
‘What is it, Jane? What are you thinking of’
‘Letters. Two of them which I wrote to someone… dear to me. Only, they were never sent. Instead, my sister and I hid them in our room, but I do not know if they remain there still. Perhaps Cassandra removed them after my…’ She paused, then said with a determined lift of her chin, ‘after my death.’ She turned to me. ‘But it is a reason to visit Chawton. Do not you agree?’
‘Totally.’
‘Besides,’ Jane’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I believe I should very much like to see a museum named for me.’