‘You’re giving us your notice?’ Bill Cartwright asked Robyn.
‘That’s right,’ Robyn said with undisguised glee. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘But you’ve been here for…’ He paused as he looked through her file.
‘Forever,’ Robyn finished for him.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why leave now?’
‘I’m moving,’ she said.
‘Leaving Skipton?’
‘Yes. I’m going to Hampshire.’
‘Hampshire?’ Bill Cartwright said sounding the word out as if it were foreign. ‘What’s in Hampshire?’
‘My new life,’ Robyn said.
It had been easy to hand in her notice at work and easy to tell her landlord that she was leaving her cottage, but then things got harder. Robyn learnt to drive a long time before, but sold her car shortly afterwards as it was too much of a luxury on an administrator’s salary, and she hadn’t driven since. All of a sudden, she had to transport herself, all her worldly goods and her chickens down to Hampshire. It was going to take time so while working out her notice at the college, she took a refresher course in driving and bought herself a second-hand van in which she could fit her books, TV, and chickens. A trailer on the back would accommodate their coop.
‘Madness,’ Judith, her neighbour told her. ‘Sheer madness! I didn’t mind your finally making a break with that boyfriend of yours, but why you want to leave Yorkshire, I don’t know. What can you get in Hampshire that you can’t get here?’
Robyn smiled by way of an answer and Judith nodded. ‘Oh, I see! Well, I’ll keep a lookout for my wedding invitation.’
Finally, after packing up two dozen boxes with her precious books, films, and crockery and persuading her chickens that they really did want to spend the next few hours in a crate in the back of a van, Robyn was ready to leave. Was this how the Dashwood sisters felt on leaving Norland, she wondered as she hopped into the van and took a last look at the little terraced cottage that had served her so well. How strange it was to be leaving, but the last few weeks of thinking and planning had proved one thing to her: she was ready.
As she left North Yorkshire and hit the motorway south of Bradford, she thought again how amazing it would be to actually live in Jane Austen’s county. Robyn would be able to visit Chawton whenever she wanted and walk in the same fields and woods as Jane and her sister Cassandra. She could sit in the little church at Steventon, and she could visit Winchester, where Jane spent the final weeks of her life.
But Robyn was a long way from Hampshire at the moment and some strange noises were coming from the back of the van. Robyn pulled over at the next service station. There were a few dogs being walked on a grassy slope, but one couldn’t very well do that with chickens, could one?
‘You okay, my darlings?’ Robyn asked, looking at their thin faces and beady eyes and wondering what was going on in their feathered brains. Her rooster, Wickham, was looking particularly startled and Lady Catherine looked far from pleased but then again, she always looked like that. Robyn threw a bit of bright corn into the crate, but the best thing for all concerned, she decided, was to push on.
***
It was midafternoon by the time Robyn crossed the border into Hampshire. The late autumn sunshine was surprisingly warm, and she rolled the window down and breathed deeply. The trees had just started to turn colour but cottage gardens still blazed with flowers, joined by a few bright red berries. How Robyn was going to love seeing the changing seasons there! Maybe she could take Moby and Biscuit for long country walks and she and Dan could ride through the countryside together. She would become a marvellously confident horsewoman and bake scones and make jam like women in Hampshire probably did all the time. She’d introduce Dan to her beloved Jane Austen DVDs, and he wouldn’t put his foot through the TV screen. It was going to be perfect.
As last she entered the village of Church Stinton and turned into the driveway that led to Purley Hall. How long ago it seemed since Jace had driven her up that very drive, yet it was only a few weeks before, and now here she was in her funny little van, hoping to make this place her home.
She parked the van and got out, stretching her arms towards the sky. Walking around to the back of the van, she opened the doors to let the chickens have a bit of fresh air and made sure they had fresh water.
‘Nearly there, my dears,’ she said, listening to their funny little chickeny murmurs.
She knew she should let Dame Pamela know she’d arrived safely but the pull of the stable block was too much and she walked towards it with eager feet, a whole meadow full of butterflies rising in her stomach at the thought of seeing Dan again.
It felt good to be out of the van and walking, breathing in the autumn air, and it felt great to be back at Purley again, especially with the knowledge that she was there to stay this time. She wouldn’t have to pack and leave as soon as the weekend was over.
The clock on the stable block tower was still reading quarter past two and probably always would. Robyn entered and inhaled the sweet aroma of hay and horse, but nobody was around. The stables were empty. There were no familiar heads hanging over the doors in the hope of having their noses scratched and no mad dogs came charging towards her in waggy greeting.
‘Hello?’ Robyn called. ‘Anyone here?’
Perhaps Dan was indoors. It was late in the day, and maybe he was taking a shower before dinner.
She crossed the yard until she reached the door under the clock tower and knocked on it.
‘Dan?’ she called, biting her lip. The butterflies had risen in her stomach again as she wondered if he’d truly be pleased to see her.
Of course he will! Don’t be silly. He asked you to stay, remember? she told herself.
Yes but that was weeks ago, a little voice told her. He might have changed his mind. You haven’t been in touch, remember?
But I told him I needed some time to myself. He said he understood, she thought, desperately trying to reassure herself.
Her anxieties were getting the better of her, and when she called again and there was no reply, she tried the door handle. It opened.
‘Dan?’
Silence greeted her, and there were no dogs belting towards her in greeting either. She climbed the stairs, thinking she could always make herself a cup of that chamomile tea and wait for him to return but when she reached the living room, she realised he wouldn’t be coming back. The room was empty. The sofa had gone as had the dog baskets and the pictures on the walls and the cookbooks that had lined the little shelves above the sink.
She walked through to the back, opening a door that led into a tiny bedroom but that was empty too.
She was too late.