CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Oh, look, it’s Mr Darcy!’ said a voice, as we stood at the hotel bar later, waiting to be served.
We turned to find a middle-aged couple smiling at us.
The woman was very glamorous, with full makeup and teased blonde hair. She was wearing a long, scoop-necked purple velvet dress with some dazzling costume jewellery nestling in her ample cleavage.
‘Sorry to be so bold,’ she apologised. ‘But you look just like how I picture Jane Austen’s most popular hero! Did anyone ever say that to you before?’
Dan laughed modestly. ‘Um, not really.’
She brushed his sleeve admiringly. ‘Well, they’ll be all over you like a rash, darling, if you bump into any Jane Austen fans on your travels! Have you visited Jane’s cottage in Chawton?’
‘He smiled. ‘Actually, we’ve just arrived. But yes, that’s definitely on our itinerary.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I confessed. ‘Have you been to see it yourself?’
‘Oh, yes! Three times. I’m Miss Austen’s biggest fan. We were there today and it was . . . well, it gave me goosebumps just walking into her house – where she actually lived – and seeing her bed chamber and that lovely little writing desk, where she wrote all her amazing stories.’
‘How exciting!’
She nodded. ‘I’m Freda and this is my –’ She turned to the man and laughed. ‘What on earth shall I call you? Are you my boyfriend? My lover?’
The man was smartly dressed with thinning grey hair and glasses, and he seemed to pale in comparison to the vibrant Freda. But he was smiling broadly and looked as proud as a peacock to have his arm around her.
‘Lover will do nicely, thank you,’ he joked, squeezing her waist.
We all laughed at that, and Freda said, ‘So, yes, this is Jeremy, and we’ve been over to the cottage already and we’re planning to visit Chawton House tomorrow.
’ She clapped her hands over her chest. ‘It’s all so thrilling.
I just adore Jane Austen and her books. This is my special sixtieth birthday treat, isn’t it, Jeremy? ’
‘It is indeed.’ He smiled indulgently.
Freda kissed his cheek. ‘You spoil me.’
‘You’re worth spoiling.’
She snuggled up to him in delight, and I exchanged a smile with Dan.
‘Well, I’m Lizzie,’ I told them. ‘And this is –’
‘Mr Darcy, of course,’ laughed Freda.
I grinned. ‘Otherwise known as Dante.’ I glanced up at him. ‘Or Dan?’
‘I prefer Dan.’
Freda laughed. ‘Well, you will always be Mr Darcy to me. And can I just say how beautiful you look in that gorgeous dress, my dear.’ She turned to me with a smile.
‘Thank you.’ I felt myself blush.
I’d spotted the dress almost as soon as I’d walked into the boutique – a sleeveless, silky wrap-over dress in a stunning shade of turquoise.
The colour brought out the warm caramel tones in my shoulder-length hair, which I’d left loose, washing and blow-drying it until it shone.
I’d also bought a pair of metallic strappy sandals to go with the dress, and I’d made a special effort with my make-up as well, determined not to let Dan down.
Judging by his reaction when I met him at the bar, I didn’t think I had.
‘You look amazing,’ he murmured, and I’d thanked him and smiled, feeling like a million dollars. The dress and shoes hadn’t been cheap but I considered it money well spent.
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I’d said cheekily, admiring Dan’s beautifully-cut navy suit and white linen shirt.
The waiter asked Jeremy for his order and Dan turned to join him at the bar. Freda and I stood back a little.
She linked my arm. ‘Please make sure to give Jane my love when you visit her cottage tomorrow.’ With a cheeky wink, she gave my arm a squeeze and murmured, ‘I hope you and your delicious Mr Darcy have a wonderful time.’
I was about to correct her and say that he definitely wasn’t my Mr Darcy! But Jeremy had turned with two glasses and was holding one out for Freda.
‘Champagne! How wonderful.’ She took the glass and raised it with a delighted smile before disappearing off with Jeremy to find a table.
‘What a lovely couple,’ I said.
Dan nodded. ‘Freda must be Jane’s biggest fan in the history of Austen fandom.’
I smiled mischievously. ‘Maybe I’ll start calling you Mr Darcy from now on.’ I narrowed my eyes, studying his tall, dark good looks. ‘Freda’s right. You could actually be him.’
He shook his head and chuckled, and I thought how lacking in vanity he was.
‘It’s a shame you don’t act, otherwise you could have played Mr Darcy opposite my Lizzie Bennet at the Regency Romp event.’ I grinned. ‘Although I think Wyatt might have something to say about that.’
Instantly, Dan’s face darkened. And I kicked myself for mentioning Wyatt.
After I’d seen their cold reaction to one another, I’d asked Wyatt how he knew Dan and he’d said they used to work together. But they’d fallen out over a girl and Dan, in a jealous rage, had managed to get Wyatt sacked from his job.
When I’d asked more questions, he’d changed the subject, saying that some things were best left in the past, and that he bore Dan no ill-will over the incident.
But it seemed that Dan felt rather differently.
I looked at him curiously. ‘You really don’t like Wyatt, do you?’
‘Not much, no. Excuse me.’ Leaning over the bar, he ordered our drinks, and I gazed at his back, wondering why he couldn’t just consign their disagreement to the past. Wyatt had forgiven him for what had happened all those years ago – he’d apparently lost his girl and his job as well – and yet ironically, it was Dan who was the one who was bearing a grudge.
Before today, I’d have been inclined to believe that Dan was the villain here and Wyatt completely innocent of any wrong-doing. But having spent time in Dan’s company, I wasn’t so sure now.
People liked Wyatt and I always felt proud to be with him. He was attractive and gregarious and entertaining, and he loved making people laugh. It seemed weird that he should have an enemy. But then again, he definitely wasn’t perfect . . .
I decided that next time I spoke to Wyatt, I’d try and find out exactly what had happened between him and Dan . . .
*****
Over dinner, we discussed Charlotte’s diary.
‘My sister Amanda couldn’t believe it when she read the reference to Lovell doing ‘repairs at Mrs Austen’s house’,’ said Dan. ‘She’s convinced it must be the Austens who Charlotte was writing about! She desperately wanted to come down here with me but she couldn’t spare the time.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘You’d get on well with Amanda, I think.’
I smiled. ‘I like the sound of her.’
We exchanged a smile that made my heart do a strange little flutter in my chest.
‘So there’s a definite connection there, between Charlotte and Lovell and the Austens,’ I said eagerly. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘It certainly seems so. In as much as Lovell did some work for them, anyway.’
‘Do you think it’s possible that a spark ignited that day between Lovell and Jane?’
Dan grinned. ‘Er, I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you a bit there. Lovell probably did jobs for numerous folk in Chawton, and we still don’t have proof that Charlotte’s friend “J” was actually Jane Austen. J is short for lots of other names.’
I sighed, feeling a little crestfallen. ‘I suppose so. But at least we know that Lovell was acquainted with the Austen family.’
‘In a small village like Chawton, surely everyone would know everyone else? Or they’d know of everyone else, even if they hadn’t met properly.’
I nodded. ‘I need to stop reading too much into a few very flimsy “facts”.’
He chuckled. ‘Don’t look so down. Yes, we’d need solid evidence to prove ‘J’ is Jane Austen. But one thing is certain. It’s fairly clear from the diary that we’re looking at two friends who are on different rungs of the ladder as regards the class system.’
‘That’s true. Charlotte and Lovell are traditional working class, but J doesn’t appear to have an occupation which suggests she’s higher up the social scale than her friend – likely born into a family with the means to support her.
Which is pretty much the scenario into which Jane was born, having a clergyman as a father. ’
‘I guess the Austens would be termed “middle class” nowadays.’
‘The diary mentions J has a sister.’
‘Yes. I’d forgotten that. What was Jane Austen’s sister called?’
‘Cassandra. She and Jane were really close. Like best friends, really. They shared a bedroom all their lives.’
‘You know a lot more about Jane Austen than I do.’
I laughed. ‘I’ve spent my life being “the other Lizzie Bennet”. It would be weird if I wasn’t just a little bit intrigued by the author and her most popular heroine.’
He grinned. ‘I guess so.’
‘What about the mention of the portable writing desk?’ I said suddenly. ‘That could point to a link between Charlotte and Jane Austen, couldn’t it?’
He frowned. ‘You mean because Charlotte mentions that J’s father gave her one as a birthday present?’
I nodded. ‘It could be Jane, couldn’t it?’
‘It could. But it’s a bit of a tenuous link. The mention of a writing slope certainly doesn’t prove anything.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Apparently writing slopes were popular in those days because everyone relied so much on writing letters to keep in touch with their friends and family.’
‘There’s also the mention of J playing the piano. And we know that Jane Austen played the piano in the morning before making breakfast for the family.’
‘Nice. But still tenuous. Again, piano playing was much more popular in those days than it is now.’
‘That’s true.’ I grinned. ‘It was their evening entertainment, I guess, since they didn’t have a telly.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe we’ll discover more tomorrow when we visit Chawton.’
‘What do you think Leonard plans to do with the box?’ I asked him. ‘Should a proper historian examine it?’
‘I guess that would be my uncle’s decision to make. But yes, I think it would be sensible to get it looked at by a professional.’
I nodded gloomily. The discovery of the diary and the keepsakes had been so exciting, but if we weren’t going to be able to prove anything, maybe we’d have to give up.
‘But . . .’ Dan murmured thoughtfully.
I glanced up at him. ‘But?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, I think we should do a damn good job of investigating ourselves, while we’re here in Chawton, before we think of handing the box over to someone else.’
‘I agree,’ I said eagerly. ‘We should probably both read through Charlotte’s diary again before we visit Chawton Cottage tomorrow. Just to make sure we haven’t missed any clues?’
‘Good idea.’
‘Then we can spend the day in the village where it all happened. If we immerse ourselves in the place, perhaps it will reveal its secrets and help us solve the mystery of who J is?’
He smiled. ‘I like your optimism. Yes, let’s do it. I guess we’ll bump into Freda and Jeremy again.’
‘Oh, yes. They’re visiting the Chawton Estate tomorrow, aren’t they? They seem very . . . close. Almost like they’re on honeymoon.’
He grinned. ‘What are you suggesting? That they’re having a naughty illicit weekend away together?’
‘Well, maybe. They both had a sparkle in their eyes.’ I glanced away, feeling a little awkward discussing the subject of romance with Dan. Luckily, the waiter rescued me at that moment by bringing over our dishes of delicious-looking pasta.
After that, we talked about Dan’s sister, Amanda.
‘She’s in her final year studying English Literature at Durham University,’ he told me.
‘Are you two close?’
‘I suppose we are. Amanda’s six years younger than me and she’s always been quite shy. When she got her place at uni, she was dreading leaving home for the first time, so I used to go up and visit her in Durham as often as I could, especially in her first year.’
‘That was really kind of you.’ I smiled at him, doing quick calculations in my head. Amanda must be about twenty-two, if she was now in her final year at uni. So if she was six years younger than Dan, that made him . . . twenty-eight?’
I stared at him, the wind snatched from my sails.
I’d known Dan was younger than me, but for some reason I’d been assuming he must be about thirty at least. His manner, when we first met, had definitely seemed like that of someone older.
Now that we were getting to know each other better, he’d relaxed and revealed his more playful side. But it had stuck in my head that he was just a few years younger than me. So to find out he was actually nine years younger felt a bit weird.
Not that it should bother me.
I had other friends who were a good decade younger than me. And that’s what Dan and I were becoming, weren’t we?
Friends?
I studied him curiously as he talked on about his younger sister. You could tell he was really fond of her because he was smiling a lot. And Freda was right. He was very much in the mould of Mr Darcy. Tall, dark and broodingly handsome . . .
‘Do you mind me asking how old you are, Lizzie?’
His sudden question took me by surprise. I stared at him. Had no one ever told him it was rude to ask a woman’s age?
Before I could reply, he shrugged and said, ‘I’d say twenty-nine?’
I hesitated for just a millisecond.
‘Twenty-eight?’ He took another stab as I sat there feeling perspiration pooling under my arms.
‘Er, thirty-two,’ I croaked. I cleared my throat and added, ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m thirty-two.’
‘So I’m having dinner with an older woman,’ he said with a wicked grin.
‘Not that much older.’
‘Hey, it wasn’t an insult. I happen to like older women.’
I heard myself gulp. If only he knew. I’d just shaved five years off my real age!
He was just joking, but I could have done without the implication that I was a cougar. I was only thirty-seven, for goodness’ sake. It wasn’t as if I could have given birth to the man!
Next second, I kicked myself into gear.
Age was just a number. And anyway, Dan and I were friends, that’s all. He had Arabella in his life and I was in love with Wyatt.
So there was nothing whatsoever to worry about . . .