JANE and I arrived in Chawton just after three o’clock. As we turned into the road leading to the museum I glanced over and saw that Jane was shimmering with faint silver light.
‘You okay?’ I asked.
She dipped her head.
‘I believe so. Last night I viewed the museum’s… website. Only the merest glimpse, you understand. Just enough to satisfy myself that the house is still there.’
‘Good thinking.’ Especially after what happened at Steventon. I kept the thought to myself. ‘Of course, it won’t be exactly the same as when you lived there, but I believe it’s really well done. My father always raves about it. When I was young I used to wish he’d bring me here, but he never did. Anyway, I’m really hoping we find those letters you and your sister hid or something to help us break the curse and—’ I stopped. ‘Sorry, I’m babbling. I guess I’m nervous.’
‘I must own to a little apprehension myself.’ Jane fiddled with her sleeve. ‘Though I am sure many have laboured long and hard to make this… museum… a place of enjoyment, for me it will always be the home I shared with my mother, my sister, and good Martha Lloyd.’ She sighed. ‘Would that I might see them again.’
‘That’s why we’re here, Jane: to see if there’s anything that will help us free you, send you on to the Celestial Ream and save Aunty B.’
‘Oh, if only we may do so!’ Her eyes widened as the car slowed and we passed the cottage on our left. It was larger than I’d imagined. A handsome two-storey red-brick house with a tiled roof and tall white windows looking out over a pretty garden. On this side of the house a magnificent pink rose climbed around a white door and I glimpsed several visitors making their way inside.
‘Why, it—it looks not so very different,’ said Jane, surprised.
‘That’s a relief.’ I parked, took a deep breath, and followed a sign to the gift shop where I joined the line for tickets.
Jane drifted away to examine the display cabinets. A minute later she was back. ‘Have you seen these wares, Cassandra?’ She pointed. ‘Here is written upon this cushion: “I love Mr Darcy”. And here,’ she indicated a blue coffee mug, ‘it reads, “I love Mr Bingley”.’
I frowned at her. Couldn’t she see I was in a queue of people? How did she expect me to answer her? I wasn’t even wearing my headphones. I thought quickly, then turned to the woman behind me. ‘Lovely gift shop. I didn’t know there were so many different Jane Austen products.’
She smiled. ‘Well, anything Austen sells, doesn’t it? Every time I come here I buy something new.’ She held up a canvas tote bag. ‘This is the latest thing. Jane Austen pop-art. What do you think?’
I gazed at the four Andy Warhol-type pictures of Jane’s head. Each face was a different colour and, though not my taste, undeniably striking. I was about to say so when Jane darted over, pointed at the bag, and said tartly, ‘What, pray, is that?’
‘That is an interesting rendering of Jane Austen.’ I smiled at the woman.
‘Well, I do not think it a very good likeness.’ Jane sent a shot of ectoplasm through the purple pop-art head.
I muttered, ‘Stop it, Jane,’ and reached the front of the queue with a thankful sigh.
I bought an entrance ticket from a cheerful woman who said helpfully, ‘The entrance is around the far side of the house and you’re welcome to tour the garden and the outbuildings on the way. I always tell people not to miss the Austens’ donkey cart.’
I heard Jane gasp, but forced myself to ignore her. Thanking the woman, I hurried out. Jane followed. She was even paler than usual.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I asked gently.
She gripped the handles of her reticule and nodded. ‘Thank you, Cassandra, but I believe I have command of myself. Besides, what choice do we have? Here,’ she gestured to the house, ‘is where we may at last find what we need to break this dreadful curse.’
She glided forward eagerly to the entrance. A group of tourists was just exiting and talking enthusiastically about their visit. We let them pass and entered Jane Austen’s old home.
Inside, we found ourselves in a pleasant sunlit room furnished with several attractive paintings and pieces of furniture. On the far wall stood a handsome desk with a glass-fronted bookcase above it. Jane gave a delighted cry and shot across the room.
‘I do not know how they have contrived it, but here is my father’s desk in the very room where my mother and Cassandra and I used to speak of him with such affection. How greatly we missed him!’ She reached out, but her hand passed straight through the glass. She sighed. ‘I wish so much that I might see him again.’
‘We’ll make it happen, Jane,’ I murmured, uncomfortably aware of several visitors standing within earshot. I caught Jane’s eye and jerked my head towards the next room.
We passed into a small corridor and again Jane darted forward. ‘Look, Cassandra!’ she cried. ‘Here is my blue bead bracelet, and my turquoise ring and… why, I can hardly believe it! Here are the topaz crosses that my brother Charles gave to me and my dear sister. He bought them with his prizemoney, you know. That cross was among my most cherished possessions.’ Her colour faded a little. ‘And now here it is, for all the world to see.’ She lingered for some time, gazing at the jewelled ornament, before turning away and drifting into the next room.
‘Right, I whispered. ‘Where did you hide those letters?’
Jane wrinkled her nose and looked about her. ‘If I recall correctly, I believe Cassandra and I placed them beneath a loose floorboard in the corner of our bedroom. Upstairs,’ she added helpfully.
As I followed her, I couldn’t help thinking how extraordinary it was to be walking on the very same floorboards that Jane herself had once trod and to be seeing the simple cottage rooms through her eyes.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jane seemed to have temporarily forgotten our main objective. ‘Goodness, Cassandra, these stairs are very worn indeed, but this hall is as draughty as it ever was. Here is my bedroom. Oh, do look, they have devised a bed not unlike the one my father bought for me. I see they have altered the wallpaper in this room to a fine floral pattern. It is very handsome, though not, I think, quite as handsome as the paper my mother chose. Why, this fireplace is almost as I remember it, though I do not believe that was the original colour of the mantelpiece.’
‘Was it this floorboard, Jane?’ I asked, a little impatiently. We were there to find her letters, after all! I pointed to a board in the floor of an open cupboard.
‘No, it was here.’ She swooped over to the opposite cupboard and peered at the floor.
‘We can’t exactly rip it up,’ I began, but Jane forestalled me.
‘Let me see now.’ She floated down and pushed her head through the floor.
I held my breath.
A moment later she drifted upwards again.
‘Anything?’
She shook her head. ‘I am afraid not.’
‘Damn!’
‘Cassandra!’ Jane frowned at me.
‘Sorry, Jane. I’d just really hoped they’d be there.’
‘I, too.’
A tourist group entered the bedroom.
‘Time to go, lots more to see,’ I said, as if to the air. Several of the tourists smiled at me.
Jane and I made our way dolefully to the next room.
Her dour mood didn’t last long, for each new room recalled tender memories. Jane was entranced by the collection of family memorabilia carefully displayed in her old home and her startled exclamations signalled the discovery of yet another piece of her past life. It wasn’t long before I found myself wishing the other visitors to Chawton Cottage could hear her delighted commentary.
‘Heavens, here is a portrait of my great-great grandfather John Austen. He was said to be a miser. And, gracious, can this truly be a portrait of my brother Frank? Why, he is quite bald, and with such white whiskers! I never thought to see him appear so old, but he looks most distinguished in his admiral’s uniform, do not you agree, Cassandra? And here is my own particular little brother Charles, with whiskers whiter than Frank’s. Do look at how he has his hand tucked into his uniform – was not the Emperor Napoleon reputed to do the same? How I should have teased Charles about it had I seen this portrait while I lived. To think that two of my brothers should have become admirals! But they were both such fine naval officers I believe it is not to be wondered at. I see they have named this the Admirals’ Room, which seems very fitting, though I recall it was originally two bedrooms.
‘But what is this? I can scarce believe it! Do look here, Cassandra. It is the very handkerchief which I embroidered for my dear sister – do you see her initials there? And note the floral wreath around them for which she asked so particularly. She often admired my fine needlework and I confess I was vain enough to consider myself the neatest worker of any sewing party.’
‘I’ve always considered myself the neatest worker in the office. And I’m awesome at filing things. Even Julian said so.’ The words were out before I could stop them. Seriously? You’re competing with Jane Austen? I cringed inwardly.
Fortunately Jane was distracted by the framed copy of her will and didn’t respond.
As we passed through the cottage each room brought new pleasures and a rush of memories.
‘Do you see, Cassandra?’ she whispered, as we paused by a glass cabinet. ‘It is a lock of my beloved father’s hair and there—’ she pushed her fingers through the glass. ‘There is the note – the actual note – that I wrote describing it. How strange it feels to see it there and written in my very own hand.’ She bent closer. ‘Why, here is the mourning brooch made after Papa’s death. How well I remember the day––’ She gave a muffled exclamation.
My eyes flew to her face. ‘What is it, Jane? Are you okay?’
She nodded, but her fading colour belied the assurance, so I leaned forward to see what had startled her. ‘Oh, Jane,’ I breathed, as I stared down at the small, rather beautiful object. Beside the case containing her father’s hair was a second brooch and beneath it a typed card read: ‘Mourning brooch for Jane Austen. Engraved: “J A December 16th 1775 – July 1817”.’ I looked up at her. ‘I’m so sorry, Jane.’ The words seemed utterly inadequate.
‘It matters not,’ replied Jane stoutly. ‘It is merely that I… was surprised, that is all. I had no notion… no thought that my family would have made a mourning brooch for me, but of course it makes perfect sense and…’ She lifted her chin. ‘I am very glad they did so.’
‘It can’t be easy, Jane,’ I murmured, wishing I could hug her. ‘Being confronted with your own death in that way. Anyone would find it hard.’
‘No, it is not easy.’ She smiled bleakly. ‘Thank you, Cassandra.’
Her gratitude made me want to cry.
We made our way back downstairs and stopped once more by the display of her jewellery. There were no tourists nearby so I took a chance and whispered, ‘Now we’ve seen everything, what do you think? There are so many items here that would be perfect, but obviously we can’t just––’
Jane interrupted. ‘My most pressing thought is that it feels very odd not to be allowed to take those things that once were mine.’ She pointed. ‘Here are my ring and my bracelet and there my topaz cross, but though they belong to me, I may not now possess them.’
‘I know, and that’s the problem. I’m not into stealing stuff.’ I glanced around. ‘I don’t suppose a splinter of wood from a door you touched would do? Or a tiny piece of wallpaper? Only that’s not original, is it?’ I grimaced. ‘The trouble is, it’s impossible to know what’s original and what you might have touched. Maybe we should walk down to Chawton House instead? Oliver said—’ I stopped, as panic seared my insides. ‘Jane,’ I hissed. ‘What are you doing?’
She’d pushed her hand through the glass and was reaching for her topaz cross. ‘Do not be alarmed, Cassandra. All the visitors are in the other rooms and at present we are unobserved.’
‘Unobserved?’ I hissed. ‘There’s a camera up there. You can’t do that. Stop it, Jane!’
‘What is a camera to me?’ replied Jane, clearly unmoved by my panic. ‘Remember when you tried to take that… “selfie”, Cassandra? Your attempt to record my presence with a camera was futile. We both know I cannot be photographed.’ She stretched her fingers towards the cross and I watched in alarm as four streams of amber ectoplasm shot from her fingertips. They wrapped themselves around the delicate ornament, lifted the topaz cross from its velvet bed and slowly levitated it towards the glass.
‘Stop it, Jane,’ I begged. ‘Please. What if someone sees? I’ll never be able to explain it. God, they’ll probably call the police on me!’
‘Then it is fortunate that I have not yet mastered the trick of passing material objects through material barriers.’ Jane sighed as the cross hit the glass and fell to the bottom of the display case. She pulled her hand free and looked at me ruefully, ‘I think we must contrive a different scheme for acquiring what we need for the counter-curse.’
‘I hate to say it, but I’m afraid you’re right. I honestly thought there might be something here to help us. Even if it was only something mundane, like one of those lottery fish.’
‘I should infinitely prefer my topaz cross to a lottery fish,’ retorted Jane. She gazed sadly at the jewel. ‘I should very much like to touch it again and remember those glad days when my sister Cassandra and I were young and our father still lived.’
‘Okay, I get that, but let’s agree that stealing your things is a last resort. I mean, think of the consequences, Jane! We need a plan before we do anything so drastic. Imagine if you’d taken it, there’d be such a—’ I stopped as a figure stepped through the doorway, his eyes alert and full of curiosity.
‘I hoped I’d find you still here,’ said Oliver. He glanced around the room, before settling back on me with a smile. ‘Who are you talking to?’