JANE and I stared, then with one voice cried, ‘No!’
I lunged after my father with one thought in my head: to get back the crucial letter. I grabbed his elbow just as the study door opened and my mother entered.
‘There you are, George—’ She stopped and stared at me in surprise. ‘Cassie? Whatever are you doing here?’ She passed a hand across her forehead and blinked in Jane’s direction. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘Was I expecting you? And your friend—’ Mum steadied herself on the door-frame.
Instantly, my father was at her side. He helped her into a chair. ‘Rest here for a minute, Mary dear. I’ll be right back.’ He strode away.
‘Shall I stop him, Cassandra?’ asked Jane. She darted to the door and hovered there, waiting for me.
I moved to follow her, but Mum stopped me. ‘Bring me a glass of water please, Cassie.’ She passed a hand over her eyes. ‘The oddest thing. I thought I saw…’ She shook her head. ‘Never mind.’
‘Okay, Mum. I just need to speak to Father.’ I hurried after Jane.
‘What shall we do?’ cried Jane, as we raced down the hall. ‘We must recover my letter.’
I scowled. ‘It’s not going to be easy convincing him to give it up.’
She looked shocked. ‘But surely—what if we told him everything?’
‘He already thinks I’m crazy, Jane.’
‘Then you must allow me to persuade him, Cassandra.’ She produced a tiny ball of fiery ectoplasm. ‘For what other choice do we have? It is St Swithun’s Day tomorrow.’
I gazed at the glowing orb. Despite its small size, it was an uncomfortable reminder of the night in the cathedral when the burning sphere had chased me. I shivered. ‘I don’t like it, but you’re right, Jane. Only, make sure he’s alone. I don’t want to upset Mum.’
‘Very well, Cassandra.’
WE found my father in the kitchen. ‘Good gracious, Cassandra, are you still here?’
‘Yes, and I’m not leaving until you give me back Jane’s letter.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. As if I would allow you to keep such a priceless artefact.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘Tomorrow I shall go up to Oxford and show this letter to Professor Olive Trewell.’
My heart sank. Olive Trewell was the last person I wanted to see Jane’s letter. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Father. You must let me explain.’
‘There is nothing you can say that will convince me.’
‘Very well then, Father. You leave me no choice.’ I glanced round. ‘Jane.’
‘Yes, Cassandra.’
‘Let him have it.’
She instantly raised her hand to reveal the ball of ectoplasm. My father smiled contemptuously at me, I saw Jane throw hard, and held my breath. The ectoplasm hit his left temple and sank into his skin. His eyes glazed over and he began feverishly emptying his coat pockets.
A full minute passed, but there was nothing in his pockets. I turned anxiously to Jane, ‘Ask him what he’s done with your things, Jane. Quick, before the stuff wears off.’
‘I fear it is too late, Cassandra.’
She was right. Already my father’s eyes were refocusing.
‘Then hit him again.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘I cannot. I have nothing left. Perhaps I gave too much of myself to Amelia this afternoon, but I fear it is because I have been too long in your world. My mistake was in commanding your father to empty his pockets.’
‘Damn. He must have hidden your letter somewhere else.’ I looked around the room, but there was no sign of the vital paper. ‘Just a hundred places where he might have put it,’ I muttered.
‘Whatever are you doing here, Cassandra?’ My father came back to himself with a start.
‘Please give me Jane Austen’s letter, Father.’
‘Certainly not.’ He glared at me.
‘It’s not yours. You have no right—’
‘Won’t you introduce me to your friend, Cassie?’ My mother’s voice made me jump. I hadn’t noticed her come in. ‘Never mind that glass of water, dear. I think I’d rather have a nice cup of tea.’
‘Mary.’ My father hurried over to her. ‘You should be resting.’
‘I’m all right, George. But what about Cassie?’ She turned to me. ‘Are you all right? You both look so worried.’ She turned and looked directly at Jane.
I saw Jane smile and my brain whirled. What the—?
‘Mum?’ I whispered. ‘Can… can you see Jane?’
‘Oh, yes.’ My mother took my hand. ‘Do you know, I thought I caught a… glimmer of something, last time you were here, with that nice Oliver. And then before, in the study, I wasn’t quite sure, but now I can see her clear as day. I can hear her, too.’
I tried not to think about what that might mean. It couldn’t be—
‘What are you talking about, Mary?’ demanded my father, scowling at me. ‘I suppose Cassandra’s been filling your head with her nonsense.’
‘It isn’t nonsense!’ I snapped. ‘And you have no right keeping Jane Austen’s letter.’
‘Jane Austen?’ said my mother, her face lighting up. ‘Of course, you are.’ She smiled shyly at Jane. ‘I’m a tremendous fan, you know. Your books are such a comfort.’
Jane curtsied. ‘Thank you, Mrs Austin.’
‘Oh, do please call me Mary. Will you be staying long? I should very much like to talk to you about Mansfield Park. Such a remarkable novel.’
‘Who are you talking to, Mary?’ My father looked wildly around the kitchen.
‘Why, to Jane Austen, of course.’ Mum pointed. ‘Her ghost is right there.’
Father’s jaw dropped.
‘I am sorry, Mary,’ said Jane, ‘though I should very much enjoy a comfortable coze with you, Cassandra and I must return to Winchester. Only we cannot do so without the letter which your husband has seized from us.’
‘George?’ Mum turned to my father, a look of enquiry on her face. ‘Do you have Jane Austen’s letter?’
He paled, but said firmly, ‘Now, Mary, my dear, you know better than to listen to Cassandra. Come and sit down—’
‘I fear your husband’s foolish prejudice has blinded him to your daughter’s many admirable qualities,’ interrupted Jane. ‘He has ignored and neglected her for far too long and encouraged you to do the same. I beg of you, Mary, do not withhold your affection from her any longer, for Cassandra is a worthy daughter and deserves your love.’
Mum stared up at the ghost. ‘You’re so right,’ she whispered. ‘I… I’m sorry.’ She turned to me. ‘My dearest girl, I’m afraid I have not been the mother you have needed all these years. Can you ever forgive me?’ She held out her arms.
I hesitated for only a second, then threw myself into my mother’s warm embrace.
‘I have never been strong, you know, Cassie. But I have allowed your father to rule me for too long.’ She pressed her lips to my curls. ‘I love him, you know. Despite his faults.’
I wiped away the tears. ‘I know, Mum.’
‘But that should never have stopped me from loving you, too.’
‘You must help George put away his resentment, Mary,’ said Jane gravely. ‘He must be made to see his error.’
‘You’re right, of course, Miss Austen.’
‘Jane,’ said her ghost.
‘Jane,’ nodded my mother. ‘We must make George listen to you.’
‘Jane’s always right,’ I threw her a watery smile.
‘This is madness!’ shouted my father, striding to the door. ‘Jane Austen’s ghost, indeed! You’re all hallucinating. I’m calling the doctor.’
‘Stop.’
There was something in my mother’s voice that actually halted my father in his tracks. ‘You’re ill, Mary,’ he said gently. ‘Let me get help.’
‘N—not ill.’ My mother held out her hands to him. ‘Dying.’