‘JANE.’ I bent over her sleeping form. ‘Jane, wake up.’
‘Hmmm?’ She rolled over and opened her eyes. ‘What is it, Cassandra? Is it time for the counter-curse?’ She ran a hand through her tousled curls.
‘Not yet.’
‘Then why did you wake me? I declare I have not slept like that since 1817.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s nine o’clock on Thursday morning and I need to ask you something. I didn’t get a chance last night.’
Her eyes twinkled merrily. ‘That is because I drank too much champagne. Amelia was determined to celebrate.’ She rubbed her arms as though hardly daring to believe they were real.
‘I know. Oliver had to carry her up to bed.’
‘And your father, too.’ Jane’s mouth twitched. ‘Which was fortunate, for I believe he would have questioned me all night had he not succumbed to the effects of too much liquor.’
I laughed. ‘He did get pretty drunk, didn’t he? But I’ve never seen him so happy. Though I’m not sure what made him happier – talking to Mum or talking to you.’
Jane looked wise. ‘Perhaps he was happiest discovering the worth of his daughter and how very fortunate he is that you were born.’
I blushed and shook my head, but the memory of my father hugging me and telling me how brilliant I was warmed my heart. For a moment I relived the joyous celebration after our return from the crypt.
After arriving at Queen’s Solar, the doctor had called to say that Aunty B was awake and insisting on going home. Oliver and I had loaded Mordaunt and Melford into Dexter and rushed straight to the hospital where we’d found Aunt Butters no longer fading, but restored to health, bright-eyed, and ready for some fun.
It had taken a little while to convince her medical team to let her go, but Melford and Mordaunt had been determined. They’d unleashed a barrage of pithy comments, ribald geriatric jokes, and increasingly boisterous demands to ‘free our Amelia!’ until, eventually, the staff had caved in. Someone had produced a waiver, Aunty B had signed it and we’d wheeled her triumphantly out to the car.
We’d returned to Queen’s Solar to find everyone ready to party. Even the Bishop was there, full of praise and congratulations. He’d thanked me and Oliver again and again for saving Jane Austen, and then taken me aside and quietly asked me to tell him exactly what had happened in the crypt. I’d found it surprisingly cathartic to recount those startling events, though the Bishop had been deeply shocked by my description of James Stanier Clarke and his demons.
‘Extraordinary!’ He’d gazed around the room, seen Mordaunt and Melford laughing at something Oliver had said and my father listening avidly to Jane, while my mum and Aunty B chatted amiably together, and sighed. ‘Everyone seems to be taking it remarkably well,’ had been his first response. ‘It’s a wonder you’re not all suffering from shock. There were demons!’
‘It was pretty scary,’ I’d admitted. ‘But once Jane had dispatched them, we were all focused on whether she would come back to life. And when she did, it was so mind-boggling that I guess it supplanted any thoughts of ghosts and demons.’
He’d nodded understandingly. ‘Perhaps after she is gone, there will be need for counsel.’
I’d smiled and said, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw us all at church a bit more often, too.’
‘That would indeed be a miracle.’ He’d gazed at Jane for a long moment, then said slowly, ‘And she is another one; a true miracle, Cassandra. I can scarcely believe it myself, and yet there she sits. Jane Austen in the flesh. Astonishing.’
‘It is amazing.’ I’d eyed him speculatively. ‘I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t freed her? You once mentioned a “calamity”. What did you mean?’
The Bishop had hesitated, then swallowed a large gulp of champagne. ‘Though the Grimoire sent me a little mad, I believe my reading of that evil book to be accurate. I concluded that, were she to remain in the Phantral Realm, the energy accruing to someone as famous as Miss Austen would ultimately destroy Winchester Cathedral. As it sits on an ancient sacred plain joined by ley lines to other sacred sites, the cathedral’s destruction would have created a domino effect.’ He took another gulp of champagne. ‘Every one of Britain’s great cathedrals would have been destroyed.’
I’d stared at him in speechless wonder.
‘In effect, Cassie, you have saved Britain.’ He’d raised his glass to me.
‘Right.’ It was so mind-boggling, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say.
Luckily, he’d changed the subject. ‘And what now? When will you cast the counter-curse?’
‘Soon, I think. Jane says we’ll know when the time is right.’
He’d risen, patted my shoulder, and said, ‘In that case, I shall take this unique opportunity to speak with her.’
‘Just don’t ask her about her love-life,’ I’d warned him. ‘Or about Sanditon. Jane gave my father very short shrift for being too inquisitive.’
‘I promise you I shall be discreet.’ He’d left me to my thoughts.
It had been a wonderful night, but today I wanted something different for Jane. I sat on her bed and touched her hand, marvelling at the warm, solid flesh beneath my fingers. ‘Oliver and I want to know if you’d like to go on an excursion?’
Jane’s eyes danced. ‘Where shall we go?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, I do enjoy surprises. When shall we depart?’
‘In about half an hour. I thought you might like a shower first.’
Jane’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, I should like it of all things. May I use the shampoo?’
IT was a long shower and Jane emerged from it glowing and happy. She would not accept my offer of clothes but insisted on wearing her white muslin dress (which my mother had somehow found time to launder), her cap and satin slippers. ‘For who knows the hour of my death, and I should not like to greet my family improperly dressed.’ But she let me use the hairdryer on her and I managed to keep her curls from turning to frizz.
It was just before ten when Aunt Butters saw us to the door. She was in her dressing-gown and looked a little worse for the wear, though whether from the previous night’s revelries or her days of entrapment on the Cusp was unclear. ‘Have you got everything?’ she asked.
‘I think so. Mum’s loaded an enormous hamper into Dexter. I don’t know how she found time to do it or where it all came from.’
Aunty B smiled. ‘I think Mary is enjoying her new-found energy and Sainsbury’s had all she needed. She told me she’s had a wonderful time – “cooking up a storm” was the expression she used. She was much too excited to sleep.’
‘Mum’s a darling and so are you.’ I hugged her. ‘I’m so happy you’re back, Aunty B!’
‘Thanks to you and Jane and Oliver and Mary.’ She kissed my cheek, then turned to Jane. ‘And how are you feeling this morning, Jane? I hope my nephew didn’t pester you with too many questions last night.’
‘Not too many. Though I confess I am glad I shall be elsewhere today, for I am certain George would wish to ask me a great many things and I should be reluctant to give so earnest a gentleman any further set-downs.’
I laughed. ‘I wouldn’t worry, Jane. I think you could say anything you liked to my father and he’d only thank you for it.’
‘I’ll tell George he’s not to interrogate you on your return.’ Aunty B’s eyes twinkled. ‘Now you’d better get started before he wakes up.’
Oliver helped Jane into Dexter’s front seat, then climbed in beside her, while I took my place behind the wheel. ‘See you tonight, Aunty B.’
We all waved as Dexter drove sedately away.
It was a misty morning, but as we headed north the clouds slowly burnt off and by eleven o’clock the sun was out. Jane loved driving with the windows down and she kept us entertained with her rather too-acute observations, like the one about the grimy youth at the garage where we stopped for fuel, and the one about snarky server at the coffee shop. I could tell Oliver was revelling in Jane’s company and I was content just to listen to them talk.
Jane did not quote herself once and I concluded that the habit must indeed have been a ghostly trait; I almost felt a pang of regret that there would be no more points.
It was just before two o’clock when we crested a hill and caught the first glimpse of our destination.
‘Where are we, Cassandra?’ asked Jane, pointing to a grey stone turret rising above the trees. ‘What is that building?’
‘It’s Pemberley, Jane.’ I smiled at her wondering stare. ‘At least, it’s Lyme Park, but it was Pemberley in the TV version of Pride and Prejudice. You said you wanted to feel the sun on your back, so we’re going to have a picnic in the grounds and you can see first-hand some of your effect on the modern world.’
‘How good you are.’ She sighed happily. ‘I still cannot quite believe I am here in the world again.’ She laid her hand over her chest. ‘It seems a miracle to feel my heart beating and to breathe the warm summer air.’ She stared up at the wide expanse of blue. ‘Let us fill this afternoon with pleasure and amusement.’
‘That’s the plan,’ agreed Oliver, as we pulled up in the parking lot.
We found a grassy spot by the lake and spread out the picnic blanket. Jane helped unpack the hamper, murmuring under her breath, ‘Cold chicken, cold turkey, salmon, partridge, pork pie, cucumber salad, asparagus, tomatoes, freshly-baked bread rolls, new butter, plum tart, jelly, sponge cake, apples, pears, nuts and raisins, strawberries with clotted cream and half a Stilton cheese. Why, it is as good as Ratty’s feast in The Wind in the Willows.’
‘I’m glad you like it, Jane. Mum will be pleased.’
‘Did Mary do this for me? How good she is. Indeed, how good you all are to me.’
‘You’ve done a lot for the world, Jane,’ observed Oliver, pouring her a glass of Krug Clos d’Ambonnay. ‘It only seems fair.’
‘Aunt Butters sent you this.’ I uncovered a china dish.
‘Preserved ginger,’ said Jane, a note of pure satisfaction in her voice. ‘Was there ever anything nicer than a piece of preserved ginger?’
‘Two pieces of preserved ginger?’ I laughed, handing her the dish. ‘Have as much as you like.’
We ate and drank until we were sated and when we’d finished we lay on the picnic blanket and dozed in the sunshine until the sound of music caught Jane’s attention. ‘Is that a fiddle?’ She looked around.
‘Sounds like two or three,’ replied Oliver, getting up and helping Jane to her feet.
‘Everyone’s making for the courtyard.’ I watched a crowd of tourists crossing the lawn. ‘Maybe there’s a performance of some sort.’
‘Let us go and see.’ Jane rose and took my hand and the three of us walked up the hill.
Inside the courtyard a throng of people in Regency dress were getting ready to dance. The organizer looked admiringly at Jane. ‘What a gorgeous costume. You’re just in time for the cotillion. You can dance with Tom.’ She pointed to a tall, blond-haired man, elegantly attired in dove-coloured trousers and a long-tailed blue coat over a magnificent silver waistcoat and intricately-tied snowy white neckcloth. He smiled encouragingly at Jane.
She blinked at him. ‘Oh, but I—’
‘Go on, Jane.’ I gave her a gentle push. ‘You said you wanted to dance.’
She hesitated, but just then the musicians struck up a lively tune. ‘Oh, I remember this,’ cried Jane, and ran forward. Oliver and I watched as she approached her partner, who bowed and held out his hand. Jane curtsied, took his hand and together they joined three other couples to form a square.
Jane was a wonderful dancer and it was a pleasure to watch her as she and Tom moved effortlessly through the figures of the cotillion. It was some time before the dance finally ended and she returned to us breathless and laughing.
‘How was it, Jane?’ asked Oliver. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Indeed I did, for I am uncommonly fond of dancing. I might have danced twenty dances.’
‘Why don’t you then? This is your day, Jane. You must do whatever makes you happy.’
‘I am happy, Cassandra. At this moment I am the happiest creature in the world.’ Her brow furrowed slightly. ‘Though I must confess to a slight fatigue.’
I studied her face. ‘You are a little pale. Maybe we should sit down?’
‘Let’s go back to the lake,’ suggested Oliver.
As we passed through the archway into the sunshine I heard an American voice say, ‘That’s her, the woman in white. The one who danced the cotillion so beautifully. Doesn’t she look just like her?’
I glanced across and saw a large tour group waiting on the gravel walk. The leader caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back; it was all the encouragement she needed.
‘Pardon me.’ The woman touched Jane’s arm. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but we couldn’t help noticing how much you look like her.’
‘Like whom?’ asked Jane, raising her eyebrows.
The American looked surprised. ‘Like Jane Austen, of course. You look almost exactly like her picture.’ She gestured to her fellow travellers. ‘We’re all huge fans.’
‘Are you?’ Jane smiled at them and her eyes twinkled. ‘And do you have a favourite among her novels?’
There was a chorus of voices.
‘Pride and Prejudice.’
‘Oh no, Persuasion.’
‘Definitely Emma.’
‘I just love Sense and Sensibility.
‘Well, I like Northanger Abbey,’ declared a stout, ruddy-faced man as the clamour died away. ‘I read it in my teens and I’ve always liked Henry Tilney.’
‘Does no one care for Mansfield Park?’ enquired Jane.
They looked at each other before the first woman said, ‘Sure, we like it fine. It’s just not a favourite. I mean, Edmund Bertram isn’t a patch on Frederick Wentworth and, well, you can’t beat Mr Darcy, can you?’
‘Or Mr Knightley, for that matter,’ added Jane, smiling up at Oliver.
The Americans laughed before one of them asked boldly. ‘Say, would you mind if we had our photo taken with you?’
‘Why no, I think that would be unexceptionable,’ smiled Jane. ‘Do not you agree, Cassandra?’
I nodded. Only that morning, Jane had asked if we might take a ‘selfie’.
‘For we were unsuccessful that day at Primrose Cottage, and though I am not fond of having my likeness taken, I should like you to have one picture of me, Cassandra. As a reminder of our adventure,’ she’d added, her eyes twinkling.
As if I’d need reminding!
‘Hey, you even talk like her.’ The man who liked Northanger Abbey eyed Jane speculatively. ‘You’re not related to Jane Austen are you? Like maybe you’re her great-great-great niece or something?’
‘Or something,’ murmured Jane, her eyes gleaming appreciatively as the tourists gathered around her. Their guide snapped several shots, they thanked Jane enthusiastically and reluctantly let her go.
We were almost back at the picnic blanket when Jane stumbled. Oliver caught her before she fell but there was something in her face that made my heart race. ‘Jane? Are you all right?’
‘Just a little pain in my knee. Pray, do not be concerned, Cassandra.’
‘You don’t look well, Jane.’ I put my hand on her forehead. ‘I think you’ve got a fever.’
‘I believe you are right, Cassandra.’ Jane took a step and stopped. ‘I fear I am suffering from a bilious attack.’ She swayed a little and I saw the blood drain from her face.
‘Oliver, quick.’
But he was already there. He caught Jane in mid-faint and laid her on the rug. ‘I think it’s beginning, Cass.’ He looked up at me sombrely. ‘We need to get her home.’