The Jane Austen Society(32)

Dr. Gray put down Adam’s medical file and looked at him curiously. “I must admit, Adam, I wasn’t expecting something like this from you. I mean, honouring Miss Austen’s legacy has always struck me as more of a—”

“—woman’s job?”

“No, not exactly—more of a historian’s. Or an educator of some kind.”

Adam shook his head. “It’s been over a hundred years, and no one else has jumped into the breach.”

“But what are you thinking about, then? A museum of some kind?”

“Yes, of some kind. I was thinking, if the cottage could be repurposed again, as a single residence, and we were able to retrieve some of her things, then we could assemble it all together and people would actually have something to see, and touch, when they came. Look here.” Adam fumbled about in the pocket of the overcoat he was still wearing and pulled out a misshapen wooden object. “It’s a small child’s toy—Georgian I think, I looked it up in the library—and it was in a heap of rubbish I found in front of the house. They’ve been digging up the garden a bit of late. What if? What if this toy belonged to Jane’s family? And now it’s got no home, and it’s just lying there, trash, in the street.”

It was the most Dr. Gray had ever heard the man speak, and the doctor nodded thoughtfully in response. “A home of sorts, then, to honour Austen. That seems right to me. You know, I always did feel that this village retained an old-world feel to it, as if one had stepped back in time.”

“Then it might not take much.”

“Well, it will take a house, for one thing. The cottage as it is won’t suffice, you are right—there’d have to be renovations, and town approvals for all that, and the Russell place up the road just sold for one thousand pounds. I think, with this lot size and the costs to repair, we’d be looking at a few thousand pounds at least, if not more.”

Adam ruminated quietly. “The cottage still belongs to the Knights?”

Dr. Gray nodded. “As far as I know. In better times, they might have sold for less than market value—but now I am not so sure. Adam, forgive me, because I am actually quite impressed by your initiative, but will you really have time to think about any of this come spring?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Dr. Gray realized that time was the one thing so many in their sleepy little village seemed to have. Jane Austen had used her time here for housework and visits and composing works of genius. That the population of Chawton had barely varied since then made Dr. Gray suddenly see each of the villagers as almost pure one-to-one substitutes for those of the past. If they weren’t up to the task of preserving Austen’s legacy, who on earth ever would be?

Adam shifted his weight about in the uncomfortable wooden chair facing Dr. Gray behind his desk. “If I have time to read her over and over, I’ve time for this.”

It was the most declarative statement Dr. Gray had ever heard come from the man.

“Okay, Adam, let me think about this—and possibly we can approach Frances Knight together, at the house. Best to start with her—old Mr. Knight only ever complains about all the Austen tourists we attract.” He suddenly stopped talking, having heard a noise just outside his office, and went over to slowly and discreetly close the door before returning to his desk. “In the meantime, let’s both think about others who might be interested in helping with our little project. Your mother perhaps?”

Adam shook his head. “Not Mum—doesn’t care for all the tourists and whatnot that Austen brings around either.”

Dr. Gray looked at Adam curiously. Having been schoolmates with all three Berwick boys, he had always had a particular concern for the farmer and his obviously depressed mental state. As part of his medical internship decades earlier, Dr. Gray had been on duty at Alton Hospital when Mr. Berwick had tragically died from the Spanish flu. And Dr. Gray was well aware of the mother’s domineering personality, which seemed to have grown only more difficult and self-pitying over the years. He had assumed Adam had been introduced to Austen by a woman—and the only woman anyone knew about when it came to the bachelor farmer was the old widow Berwick. Perhaps a teacher then, years ago, when Adam was studying for his placement and won the scholarship. A teacher such as Adeline Grover had been.

And with that, Dr. Gray’s head shot up. “I think I know someone else who can help.”





CHAPTER TEN

Alton, Hampshire

November 15, 1945

Andrew Forrester sat alone in his office, the door firmly shut. Before him on the desk blotter was the last will and testament of James Edward Knight.

Andrew felt sick to his stomach. Frances Knight, the woman he had loved and lost decades ago due to this same man and his meddling, was about to lose everything she had.

That very morning, James Edward Knight had summoned Andrew Forrester to his sickbed, confined to a room he would never leave again. In all the years that Andrew had provided legal advice to Mr. Knight, Frances’s name had rarely come up. They had all functioned best by never mentioning the past.

But on this occasion, Mr. Knight finally mentioned his daughter:

“Frances has no head for business.”

Andrew appeared to listen patiently, but doubted that was true. Frances might be a little shy and yielding, but she had a firm grasp of the value of the estate and its contents. He also knew that she had done her best with household decisions to conserve expenses as much as possible, often to her own detriment, in order to attend to the costs of running the estate.