Read A Jane Austen Encounter Online

Authors: Donna Fletcher Crow

Tags: #Fiction, #Literary, #Mystery, #British mystery, #Suspense

A Jane Austen Encounter (7 page)

BOOK: A Jane Austen Encounter
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“Well, other than her general dislike of living in a busy city, she doesn’t seem to object to the location.”

Elizabeth, reading over his shoulder, laughed. “Certainly not, if it wasn’t beneath Sir Walter Elliot’s dignity to visit the Crofts living here. What a good example of Jane writing about what she knew.”

At the top of Gay Street, they entered The Circus, a circle formed by three neoclassical crescents of townhouses all facing in on a green lawn, then continued on along Brock Street to the elegant curve of the Royal Crescent. Elizabeth stopped. “Oh, this is stunning.” She gazed at the wide, green valley before them. A sweep of green grass, dotted here and there with couples sitting on the verdant carpet, ran down the hill to the trees bordering the River Avon. “Now this would do quite nicely as a place to live.”

“Or even as a place for lesser mortals to stroll.” Richard consulted his annotated map. “It seems to have been the thing to do in Jane’s day. Catherine Morland and Isabelle Thorpe hastened away to the Crescent on a Sunday after divine service when they discovered there was no one of consequence in the Pump Room. But, alas, Mr. Tilney was not here either, although they walked here for half an hour.”

“Oh, I remember,” Elizabeth recalled. “Poor Catherine. Later, Mrs. Allen mentions to Catherine that she met Mr. Tilney and his sister in the Crescent, but that addled lady was much more concerned about discussing the availability of veal at the butcher’s. One of Jane’s lovely comic touches.”

“And Jane wrote to Cassandra that she and her mother walked here on a Sunday after leaving Chapel,” Richard added. Elizabeth looked at the paving stones beneath her feet. Had Jane stood on these very stones in her half boots when she and her mother were invited to tea by Miss Irvine? It made her feel so very close to her literary idol.

Turning their backs on the Crescent and all it evoked, Richard led Elizabeth back downhill. Across the street, they entered the quiet, narrow Gravel Walk bordered by trees with the green spread of a park on one side and a high wall on the other. In spite of the windows of tall buildings of flats overlooking them beyond their gardens, the wall and sheltering trees gave a sense of privacy that was not easy to find in this bustling city.

Elizabeth slipped her arm through Richard’s and slowed her steps. “Wait. This is where Anne and Captain Wentworth walked after she read his wonderful note declaring his steadfast love.” She dug in the floral bag she carried over her shoulder and pulled out a paperback copy of her favorite of Jane’s novels. “Here it is. ‘. . . soon words enough had passed between them to decide their direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which the happiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow.’” She closed the book with a sigh and smiled up at the man beside her.

He took the book from her fingers and turned back a few pages, then read to her from Wentworth’s note to Anne after he overheard her passionate declaration of the steadfastness of a woman’s love. “‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.

“‘I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. . . . You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in R. S.”

It took her a moment to realize what she had just heard. Not F. W. for Frederick Wentworth, but R. S. for Richard Spenser. “Oh, Richard.” She lifted her face to him to receive the very thorough kiss awaiting her. Never mind that she had objected to movie directors adding such things in their modern adaptations, “heedless of every group around them, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery-maids and children,” she knew the rightness of the moment.

“Thank you for being the constant one,” she murmured at last, recalling her many refusals to his proposals so many years ago.

“And thank you for not keeping me waiting eight and a half years.”

Arm in arm, they moved on down the path, the gravel crunching under their feet. “It all goes so frighteningly fast. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a single minute.”

They renewed their kiss as they reached the bottom of the walk. It was only a short distance on to Queen Square, not far from their own lodgings. Eyes sparkling, Richard grinned at her. “Um, we could just pop in for a minute.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Whatever would Muriel say to such dereliction of duty?”

“All right then, slave driver. We need to find number 13.”

They found it easily enough on a brass plaque marking a corner house. They stood before the dark blue door under the wide fanlight and Richard consulted his notes. “Jane stayed here with her mother and brother Edward when Edward came to take the waters in 1799. A couple of years later, Jane, house hunting with her mother in Bath, wrote to Cassandra back in Steventon that while Cassandra hoped for a house in Laura Place, their mother was hankering after Queen Square dreadfully, while Jane herself was hoping to be near Sydney Gardens. Apparently she had recovered from her initial shock on being told of the move, because she sounded as though being able to go into the labyrinth every day would delight her. Unless this was another example of Jane’s irony, of course.”

“Labyrinth?”

“Apparently there was an extensive maze in the Sydney Garden in Jane’s day. With a Merlin swing—” He held up his hand before Elizabeth could ask. “A health-giving device invented by a Mr. Merlin. It could be glimpsed above the shrubbery and served as an inducement for people to enter the labyrinth.”

“What a fount of knowledge you are.” Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “No wonder Jane wanted to live near it. And it seems her opinion carried the day.”

“Yes. The Austens lived in Sydney Place between 1801 and 1804.” Richard consulted his map. “That’s a good trek—across the river and on up a bit. Shall we have lunch first?”

Elizabeth agreed readily, and they walked down Union Street and crossed into the bustling Abbey yard. They chose one of the little tea shops surrounding the plaza and sat at a small table in the sun. Elizabeth chose the prawn Marie Rose sandwich and just sat, smiling at her companion. A busker near the Abbey played “Scarborough Fair” on the violin, and nearer them, a circle of tourists clapped for a young man and woman doing a juggling act with plates, balls, and spangled batons. This was what their second honeymoon was supposed to be like—time just to enjoy each other and their surroundings. No worries.

“There you two are.” Elizabeth jumped at the abrupt, hectoring voice breaking in on her idyll.

Richard came slowly to his feet, not hiding his reluctance very well. “Dr. Greystone, won’t you join us?”

“No, no. Had my lunch, thanks. Just thought I should tell you. The police are looking for you.”

Chapter 7

BACK IN THE DIRECTOR’S office at the Jane Austen Centre, Richard ran his fingers through his dark hair, exhibiting the streaks of grey at his temples. “No, Officer, I don’t have any idea who could have stolen the letter.” He looked at the uniformed police officer sitting across the table from him. “Wait a minute. The letter was still here after the break-in. Arthur and I didn’t find it until the next morning.” He was struggling to recall the order of recent events. “You mean there’s been another burglary?”

“That’s how it appears.” Police Constable Bill Weston’s clear blue eyes didn’t blink.

“I thought Robert Sheldrake was sending it to the British Library or something.”

“That’s right. Mr. Sheldrake says he had put the letter in the top desk drawer. But when he came in for it just before lunch to send it to London, it was gone.” He cleared his throat. “I understand you were at the Centre this morning?”

“Yes. We stopped in briefly to buy some maps.” Richard pulled them from his pocket and held them out as evidence.

“And you didn’t go up to the first floor at all?”

“No. Wait a minute. You don’t think I—” Richard’s voice rose.

“What I mean, sir, is, you didn’t see anything suspicious? Anyone who shouldn’t have been here?”

“How would I know who should be here? Robert would be the one to ask. Or Arthur—wasn’t he working here this morning?”

“Arthur Langton? He’s the one who helped Mr. Sheldrake search the office, in case the letter had been misplaced.”

“Surely that’s exactly what happened,” Richard insisted.

“So he thought at first, but it doesn’t seem to be here. Nor any of the others.”

“Others? There were more? I only saw one letter. Lots of other stuff, but I only noticed one letter.”

“Miss Cholmley recalls seeing a packet of small brown envelopes before she was attacked.”

“Oh, so that must be what the intruder was after. Must have grabbed the stack, but dropped one in his haste.”

“And when you found Miss Cholmley, did you notice a dropped letter?”

Richard thought back. “No. Arthur and I found it still in the box with the other donated items the next morning.”

“But it was alone? You didn’t see a packet of letters?”

“No. I would have noticed. We went through everything, Arthur and I. We didn’t begin to get everything read, but we did finish sorting it all. Claire had only made a start. When I found the letter, I got rather excited and went to tell Elizabeth about it. Arthur stayed to work on the papers and returned to do more this morning. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

The constable looked back over his notes. “So you and Mr. Langton sorted through everything in the box and you didn’t see any more letters?”

“That’s right. It’s what I said.” Richard frowned. He was sure he’d been clear in his statement.

“Well, you see, there’s a bit of a problem, sir, because Miss Hammersley says she saw them when she visited Mr. Langton here the afternoon before the robbery. She suggested perhaps you took them for further study.”

“Me? That’s insane. I don’t know what she thinks she saw, but I definitely took nothing from this office.”

“What is your address in Bath, sir?”

Richard gave the street number. “It’s a B and B near Queen Square.”

“Would you care to show me, sir?”

“What? You want to search our room?” Richard half rose to his feet.

“We need to eliminate you from our enquiry, sir.” PC Weston might be young, but his eyes were very steady and his voice insistent.

Richard shrugged. “Why not?” He led the way to the door.

“Richard, what is it?” Elizabeth met him on the landing.

“Elizabeth, this is Police Constable Weston. He wants to see our B and B room.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Goodness.”

It was a short distance to the small guest house at the back of the square. Mrs. Shurze, their hostess, was just coming in, pulling a shopping trolley as they approached the door. “Hello there. I hope you’ve had a nice morning.”

Elizabeth said that they had.

“You couldn’t have had better weather for your visit.” She eyed the uniformed officer with them. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m sure it will be, ma’am. Dr. Spenser is helping us with some information. Nothing for you to worry about.”

She looked less worried, but still not completely at ease. She started to move on when Weston asked, “You’ve been out all morning, have you?”

She indicated her shopping. “Waitrose in Northgate Street. It’s a good walk.”

Weston helped her lift the cart up the steps. “Don’t let us detain you, ma’am.”

She went on with only a brief look back over her shoulder.

Richard led up the stairs to their first-floor room and unlocked the door. Elizabeth stepped in first, then drew back. “Oh, my, we didn’t leave the room like this.”

A less-careful traveler might not have noticed, but Elizabeth was nearly fanatical in her travel organization. When they left the room this morning, the top was down on her black rollerboard suitcase, the drawer in her bedside stand was closed, and the wardrobe shut tightly. She especially recalled the wardrobe door because it could only be latched by turning a small key which Mrs. Shurze left inserted in the lock for that purpose, and it had taken Elizabeth more than one attempt to get it right.

Elizabeth dashed around the bed and yanked open the drawer in the bedside stand, then heaved a sigh of relief. Her journal was there. Not that it contained anything of great importance, but it was so personal. She wouldn’t want to lose it.

“Perhaps the maid?” Weston suggested.

“Yes, someone was in to make the bed. But they shouldn’t have disturbed our other things.” Elizabeth turned to go get their hostess, then startled because Mrs. Shurze was right behind her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

PC Weston asked about the maid.

“Afsheen,” Mrs. Shurze replied. “She’s a good girl. She comes in every morning to do the washing up after breakfast, then cleans the rooms. Been with me three years. I never had a complaint about her.”

“Where could we contact her?”

“Now see here, I don’t want you upsetting her. She’s a good worker.”

“I’m sure she is, ma’am, but she might have seen something. Someone lurking on the pavement, for example. Or heard something while she was doing another room.”

Mrs. Shurze gave the information. When Elizabeth and Richard finished checking their belongings, it seemed that nothing had been taken.

Elizabeth closed the door behind the departing officer with a shiver. “Richard, what is going on?”

When he didn’t reply, she kicked off her shoes and sank onto the bed. What had they got themselves into? Their dream holiday was going all wrong: Claire hit over the head, the letter with its exciting possibilities stolen, Richard accused of stealing . . .

Her first reaction was to pull the duvet over her head and block it all out. That was quickly followed by a desire to do something wildly frivolous and forget all about it. Why not? They were on vacation. They could get on a train and go into London. See a show. Or go to the seashore. How far was Brighton? Maybe—

BOOK: A Jane Austen Encounter
12.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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