Adventures with Jane and her Legacy 01 Jane Austen Ruined My Life (5 page)

Sense and Sensibility:

A Novel
.

In Three Volumes
.

By A Lady
.

I looked at the date at the bottom of the page. 1811. "This is a first edition." My head swam, and I felt faint.

"Not only a first edition" was Mrs. Parrot's matter-of-fact reply. "One of the author's own inscription. Not that she inscribed it herself," she said quickly when she saw what must have been unadulterated hope on my face. "The publisher wrote that for her. But it was sent at Austen's direction to the recipient. It's only volume one, of course. But I can find the other two if--"

"No, no. That's not necessary."

And it was at that moment that I knew I was going to do it. I was going to swear myself to secrecy. Because if she had this book, one of only a few in existence, then it was not so farfetched to believe that she was also in possession of at least one of Austen's undiscovered letters.

Later, I would persuade her to release me from my vow. Later, I would win her agreement to publish the text of the unknown letter. Later, I would convince her that no one had a right to keep from the world anything that flowed from Jane Austen's pen. I could already envision the first small steps toward rehabilitating my academic reputation. But at that exact moment, the only thing I knew for sure was that if I wasn't allowed to examine the letter she held in her hand, I would expire on the spot from sheer unbounded curiosity.

B
efore Jane Austen's sister, Cassandra, died, she was reputed to have destroyed most of the author's letters. Those that she'd saved from destruction were given to various friends and family members, so it took years and years for many of them to be located.

There had always been speculation in the academic world, as well as in circles of Austen's devotees, that other letters would resurface over time, but the expectation had been that these would be occasional rarities. The idea that such an enormous number of letters as Mrs. Parrot claimed might still exist and, what's more, be thoroughly cataloged, boggled my mind. And then Mrs. Parrot gently laid the letter she'd been holding on the desk before me, and my world turned upside down.

True, I was no expert on handwriting or carbon dating or whatever else one needed to verify the authenticity of something like this, but I'd seen enough facsimiles of the real thing
to know that this was either the most brilliant forgery ever or it was, be still my heart, the real thing.

A lost letter of Jane Austen.

"You may touch it, my dear," Mrs. Parrot said from her perch at my shoulder.

I reached out and gently traced my finger beneath the signature at the bottom of the page.

J. Austen

I tore my gaze away from the letter and quickly scanned the room. Were the rest of the letters hidden in random books on the numerous shelves as this letter had been? Mrs. Parrot must have seen the surge of literary greed in my eyes, because she gently retrieved the letter from the desk in front of me and tucked it back between the pages of the book.

"Wait--"

She held up a staying hand. "As I was saying earlier, I will be happy to show you more of the letters, provided you accomplish certain tasks that I set for you."

I looked at her to make sure she wasn't joking. Earlier, I'd hoped that she was teasing me, or perhaps testing me. But, no, I could tell from the set of her mouth and the martial gleam in her gray eyes that she was serious.

"What kind of tasks?" I asked, full of trepidation. The little-old-lady persona no longer lulled me into a false sense of security. Shuffling step or no, Mrs. Parrot was a force to be reckoned with.

"They are not difficult, but they will require something of you."

"Such as?"

She smiled as mysteriously as a woman on the wrong side of eighty possibly could. "You shall see."

By the time I left Stanhope Gardens, I had sympathy for Alice and her tumble down the rabbit hole. Tucked in my purse was a sealed envelope that I'd sworn not to open until I'd completed my assigned task.

A few minutes later, I ran into Adam on Gloucester Road, across from the Underground station. I was loitering in front of the Starbucks, trying to decide if I could part with almost three pounds sterling for a grande skinny latte. If I'd ever needed caffeine in my life, it was at that moment, but I was keenly aware of the shabby state of my finances. Mrs. Parrot had made no mention of assisting me with the expenses occurred in performing her tasks, and I'd been too proud to bring up the subject. One way or another, I would do what I had to do. I wasn't about to let money stand between me and the discovery of a lifetime.

So there I was, pacing back and forth in front of Starbucks, when I looked up and saw Adam, tall and dark, coming down the sidewalk toward me. My heart started beating double time. Had he followed me? I couldn't let him know about Mrs. Parrot. But, no, he was coming from the opposite direction, and he'd still been sleeping when I left the house that morning. What was he doing so far from Hampstead?

"Emma!" He looked as surprised as I was. "What are you doing here?" He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, which
immediately made me suspicious. Adam didn't seem any happier to see me than I was to see him.

"I was ... I mean ... I had an appointment. Nothing important."

"Are you picketing Starbucks?" He jerked his head toward the coffee shop.

I shook my head. "Just trying to decide whether to get a latte or not."

And then, it was like he read my mind. I could see the understanding dawn in his eyes. "Let me treat you," he said.

"No, that's--" But he'd already disappeared inside the coffee shop. What else could I do but follow him?

"You don't have to--"

"Grande latte," he said to the barista. "And a tall coffee of the day." He turned back to me. "Unless your usual has changed?"

"No. No, it hasn't." If I hadn't wanted that latte so much, I would have resented his high-handedness.

I waited while he paid. He had no trouble producing the right change. I was still trying to figure out why the ten-pence piece was so enormous compared to the five pence. On the way to South Kensington that morning, I'd resorted to shoving a palm full of change into the face of a newspaper vendor and asking him to just take what he needed.

A few moments later, we had our coffees in hand. When we reemerged onto Gloucester Road, Adam waved toward one of the empty cafe tables in front of the shop. "Have you got a minute?" he asked.

The envelope burned a hole in my purse, but I kept my
expression from showing my impatience. The sooner I could get moving, the sooner I could accomplish my task and have the right to open the letter. A conscience was very inconvenient at times like this. I wanted to rip the envelope open and be done with it.

"So, you're doing some top-secret research?" he said, prompting me for an answer.

"Look, Adam ..." And then I stopped. I had no idea how much he knew about what had transpired between Edward and me. Oh, I knew he must have heard about the divorce through the academic grapevine, but I wasn't so sure about the plagiarism charges my teaching assistant had made against me. I didn't know if he knew that Edward had backed her up, or about my subsequent dismissal. It had all been very discreet. The university agreed to let me leave quietly if I didn't kick up a fuss.

"Look," I began again, "I don't mean to be rude--"

"I know about all of it," he said. Again, it was as if he was reading my mind. "Although I certainly have some questions."

I snorted. "Questions? Like, why was I such a blithering idiot? Like, what kind of woman doesn't catch on when her husband is--" I stopped myself. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear about all this."

"Edward's an academic legend, but he's not God. I think his actions speak for themselves. After all," he looked down into his cup, "it wouldn't be the first time." He lifted his gaze to mine.

With a sudden flash of understanding, I realized what he was saying.

"It's wasn't the first time?"

"That the great Edward Fairchild messed around with a teaching assistant?" He shook his head. "No."

My chest tightened. "Are you saying he cheated on me before?"

Despite all the emotional trauma, it honestly hadn't occurred to me that maybe the kitchen-table girl hadn't been Edward's first dalliance, as Jane Austen would say.

"When we were in grad school--" He broke off. "Never mind."

The latte in my stomach, which had felt so comforting a moment before, turned to sludge. "I had no idea."

"I know."

A new round of humiliation poured through me, lighting a flame in my cheeks. So, everyone had known. Even someone as removed as Adam.

"So it was common knowledge? What happened?"

Adam shrugged. "I'm afraid so." He reached over and laid a hand on my arm. "It's not your fault, Em. The man's a dog. Always has been."

I knew that Adam had disliked Edward, that he felt I'd chosen Edward over him. "Did you know back then? When we were in grad school?"

Adam nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have listened?"

I knew the answer to that. "No."

Adam shrugged. "Like I said, it's not your fault. A leopard can't change its spots."

"And no woman deserves to catch her husband laying the table, shall we say?" Even as I said the words, I couldn't stop the smile that played at the corners of my mouth.

Adam looked at me, astonished, and then he started to laugh, a rich, deep laugh that matched his dark hair and eyes.

"Well, that's one way to put it."

And then we were both laughing, a combination of relief and irony that somehow reestablished the bond between us.

I wiped my eyes with a paper napkin I'd grabbed on my way out the coffee-shop door. "I can't believe I came all the way to London only to run into you." The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how rude they sounded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"Chock full of irony," Adam said. "Austen would have approved."

"Wouldn't she, though?" I grinned from ear to ear.

"Let's do something together tomorrow," Adam said, abruptly changing the subject. "To take your mind off your troubles."

My pulse picked up. Adam might be the only person in the world who could understand the kind of pain Edward had caused me, but I couldn't tell him about the missing letters. "I can't. I have to make a day trip."

"Really? Where?"

I twisted the cardboard band around my cup. "Nowhere special."

"Nowhere special? You came all the way to England so you could go nowhere special?" He polished off the last of his coffee in one swallow. "I'm not buying it, Em."

Em
. The old nickname wafted by me, like a favorite but forgotten perfume.

"It's not something I'm ready to talk about. What I'm working on, I mean."

"Okay." He looked at his watch. "I don't mean to pressure you. Look, I've got to get going." He gave me an assessing look. "You sure you're okay?"

"Couldn't be better." When had I gotten so good at lying?

"I don't know what time I'll be home." He stood up, and I did the same.

"We're adults. I don't expect you to keep tabs on me, or vice versa." I forced a smile. "Although maybe I'd better knock extra loud before entering the house, just in case."

Better to tease him than to give in to the tears that suddenly stung my eyes. I'd hoped that England would be an escape from the train wreck that was my life, but Adam's presence ensured that I'd be reminded on a regular basis of how badly I'd erred, of a friendship I'd sacrificed for a sham of a marriage.

"Okay, then. Later."

"Yeah. Later."

We moved toward the pavement. He set off down the street, away from the Underground station, and I wondered
again where he was headed. He'd been so busy quizzing me that I'd forgotten to ask him where he was going.

Oh well. What did it matter? Overhead, the sky had grown dark and the first drops of an early summer shower started to fall. I clutched my purse tighter and made a dash for the Underground.