CHAPTER NINETEEN
Next morning, as I was enjoying my first cup of tea in bed, propped up on a mound of pillows, there was a knock at the door.
I bounded out of bed, almost spilling my tea in my hurry to pull on my bathrobe.
Dan was standing there, looking cool and fresh in black jeans and blue checked shirt, his hair slicked back, still damp from the shower.
‘Good morning!’ He smiled. ‘You look surprised to see me.’
Feeling untidy and rather exposed, I pulled the bathrobe more tightly around me. ‘No. It’s . . . um . . . just that it’s early?’
‘Is it?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s after eight. I thought you’d be keen to get going. There’s a bus to Chawton leaving in half an hour?’
‘Half an hour?’ I squeaked. ‘But I haven’t showered or had breakfast yet. And you really don’t want to know me when I’m hungry.’
‘Right.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
I tried to flatten my hair a bit. It really didn’t help that Dan was standing there looking quite disgustingly well turned out, like a poster boy for Paul Smith’s casuals range.
He shrugged. ‘I just gulped down a coffee in my room. Or should I say my suite! But okay. Let’s do it properly and go down for breakfast. I guess I’m paying for it so we might as well.’
‘Absolutely.’ I smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re bowing to my better judgement. Being older has its advantages. You get to be wiser as well.’
He gave me an odd look. ‘You’re not that much older than me. Four years is nothing.’
‘I . . . suppose not.’ Try nine years!
There was a sightly awkward silence, which I broke by saying, ‘Okay, shall I meet you for breakfast in twenty minutes? I’ll just have a quick shower.’ I suddenly remembered something. ‘Damn!’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, nothing. I just forgot to buy anti-perspirant, that’s all.’
He looked amused. ‘I’ve got some you can borrow. I think it’s unisex.’
‘Doesn’t matter. As long as it smells nice. I might borrow it later, if you don’t mind.’
‘Fine. Well, I’ll see you downstairs.’
After he’d gone, I closed the door and flopped back on the bed, breathing a sigh of relief.
Dan was like an eager puppy, desperate to get going with his day.
Maybe it was an age thing. Was I that energetic and spontaneous when I was in my twenties?
Perhaps I was. Now, though, I knew what I liked – and it definitely wasn’t dashing when I didn’t have to and giving myself indigestion in the process.
Forget Dan’s quick coffee on the go.
The luxury of breakfast in a hotel should be savoured and lingered over . . .
*****
Chawton Cottage, when we finally arrived, looked so pretty in the snow – like a set from a romantic movie.
I think I held my breath all the time we were walking through those rooms.
Obviously, I must have taken in air at some point, otherwise I might have fainted in Dan’s arms like a character from one of Jane Austen’s stories, but I did feel kind of breathless with excitement all the time, just like I had the previous times I visited.
We were walking where Jane Austen had walked!
We admired the parlour where she’d play the piano daily . . . and the surprisingly small bedchamber that she’d shared with Cassandra . . . and the dining room, where she’d sat at her small table to write so many of her stories, quickly covering her papers on hearing the creak of the door . . .
It always felt unreal to be there, like I’d stepped into a fairy tale.
That was the magic of Chawton Cottage.
In fact, I was so wrapped up in the experience that when we finally left, I suddenly realised I hadn’t been on alert for clues and might have missed something our guide had mentioned. But hopefully Dan would have been paying proper attention.
He’d been good company as we’d walked around – asking the guide intelligent questions and making sharp observations about the way of life back then. I’d smiled, listening to him, wondering if he was becoming almost as fascinated with Jane Austen and her life as I was . . .
We crossed the road to the teashop and ordered coffees. And I confessed to him that I actually didn’t take anything in my coffee.
He laughed and looked at me as if I was a sugar cube short of a full box. ‘Why on earth did you say that you did?’
I shrugged, embarrassed. ‘I can’t remember. I think you made me nervous and I said the first thing that came into my head.’
‘That’s honest!’
‘Well, you did say that scrupulous honesty is your thing.’
He frowned. ‘Do I really make you nervous?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Smiling, we chinked coffee cups and drank.
Actually, it wasn’t completely true. He did still make me nervous, but I knew better than to think about why.
‘Where next?’ I asked. ‘It’s a shame about Chawton House.’
We’d found out that the grand country manor was closed to the public that day, so sadly, it was off our agenda.
This was the house that had belonged to Jane’s wealthy brother, Edward Austen Knight.
I’d already told Dan the intriguing story about how the Austens’ son Edward had been adopted by a Mr and Mrs Knight, who were wealthy distant relatives of his father.
The Knights had no children, so the arrangement meant they now had an heir, Edward, who would eventually inherit their estates.
I’d felt sad for Freda, knowing how excited she’d been at the thought of her visit.
‘Let’s try and find Charlotte’s cottage,’ Dan suggested. ‘I think I have a fair idea where it is, on the outskirts of the village.’
‘Do you?’ I looked at him in surprise. ‘So have you worked this out from Charlotte’s diary, then?’
He nodded. ‘Just a few comments she makes about the noise from the road waking her at night, which suggests her row of cottages lies directly on a road through the village. And she also talks about walking to and from the shop. She writes that on her way back from the shop in the village, she passes the church. So from the position of the church’ – he pointed in the general direction of the church tower we’d spotted – ‘I’d say that means her cottage lies along the road to the west of the village. ’
‘Wow. You gleaned all that from Charlotte’s notes? I’m impressed,’ I told him, with no irony whatsoever.
‘Aw, shucks,’ he joked. ‘I was in the Scouts when I was a boy, you know.’
I chuckled. ‘I’d like to have seen that. You in short pants and a scarf, singing songs around the campfire.’
He shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t want to hear me sing. Dogs howl, that sort of thing.’
‘Ah. Right.’
‘How about I settle up and we can have a walk along the road? And hopefully find the cottages?’
I nodded enthusiastically. ‘But can I pay for the coffees?’
‘Nope.’ He smiled at me, got up and went to the counter.
I watched him exchange pleasantries with the woman serving, and I thought again how much I’d misjudged him. He’d been short with me when we first met – rather brusque and quite rude. But I was now prepared to believe there must have been a reason for that.
It was quite funny. But ever since Freda had started calling him ‘Mr Darcy’, I’d begun to think of him that way myself. He fit the brief perfectly with his height and dark good looks.
My phone rang and – my idle musings interrupted – I answered it with a cheerful hello.
A frosty voice snapped, ‘Who’s this? Oh, you must be Lizzie. Why are you answering his phone?’
‘What?’ I looked in confusion at the other phone on the table, which was exactly the same model as mine. I’d answered Dan’s phone by mistake. ‘Oh dear, sorry about that.’
It was Arabella.
‘Put him on, please!’
‘Of course. Hang on a sec.’ I hurried over to Dan at the counter. ‘Sorry. I answered it by mistake. It’s for you.’
‘Oh. Thanks.’ He took the phone and finished paying, and I went back to the table while he chatted to Arabella.
He wandered over to look at a noticeboard as he talked, probably to keep his conversation with her private, and I felt strangely hollow suddenly – as if the sun had gone behind a cloud.
Conversing with Arabella was enough to send anyone’s mood plummeting.
I was glad when Dan wrapped up his conversation fairly speedily, and when he came back to the table, I was eager to get going to try and locate Charlotte’s cottage.
We started walking out to the west of the village, as Dan had suggested, and I was peering ahead the whole time, expecting to catch a glimpse of a row of old cottages at any moment. They’d be ancient, of course – more than two centuries old. They might not even be there anymore.
Sure enough, after we’d been walking for half an hour with not a building in site – not even a ruin, where the cottages might have been – we were forced to give up.
‘It was a long shot, really,’ said Dan. ‘I did doubt whether they could have survived all this time.’
I sighed, feeling so disappointed. I’d been buzzing at the thought of finding where Charlotte lived. But it wasn’t to be . . .
‘I have a feeling, though,’ said Dan, ‘that the lane Charlotte mentions in her diary was that one back there, which we just passed.’
‘Really?’ Now I was getting excited again. This was such a rollercoaster!
‘Well, it’s the right location, anyway.’
I chuckled. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
So we retraced our footsteps a short way, and we walked along the lane that Dan had spotted.
‘She said the lane had a bend in it, didn’t she?
’ Excitedly, I pointed ahead, where sure enough the lane was gradually sweeping round to the right.
‘But wasn’t there an oak tree at the bend, where the lovers exchanged letters?
They left them for one another in the hollow of the oak tree, didn’t they? ’
Dan nodded. ‘Apparently. But you have to remember how long ago this was. Just like the cottage, that tree might no longer exist.’
Spotting something, I hurried on ahead of him. ‘Except . . . maybe it does.’ Slightly out of breath, I pointed at the remains of a tree that was positioned right on the bend. It was in a sorry state. But there was no doubt it was an oak tree.
Dan’s eyebrows rose as he caught me up and walked round it, looking at it from all angles. He beckoned to me. ‘Look at this.’
‘What?’
I stepped off the lane and onto the grass at the side of the road, and I looked where Dan was pointing. ‘The hollow in the tree!’
We exchanged a triumphant smile.
Then Dan said, ‘Go on, then. I know you want to.’
‘What?’
‘Put your hand inside in case there’s a letter?’