The Jane Austen Society(38)

“It’s all still a little dodgy—don’t write that down, Adeline—but it is a charity after all, and we’re none of us doing this for profit, so I am comfortable with the provision for abstention as it stands. We’ll just have to stay very mindful of these issues going forward.”

“What are the rules for voting, with such a small group?” Dr. Gray asked.

“Historically one abides by the rules of parliamentary procedure, which require a majority of the full board, including any who abstain. So, right now, if I abstain from a vote, you and Adeline must both agree for anything to move forward.”

“Ha!” Adeline laughed outright, causing all three men to turn to her.

“Right, well,” Andrew quickly replied, “that in and of itself is reason to invite at least two more members to join us. Five trustees in total should do it.”

“And money?” Adam asked. “To buy the cottage?”

“According to local sales of late,” Andrew replied, “we’re looking at several thousand pounds to buy the cottage no matter what. I move that we try to raise sufficient funds through public subscription as soon as possible. Then we can go to Miss Frances with a pure business proposition and hope that she can prevail upon her father to agree in time.”

Dr. Gray caught these last two words and gave Andrew a curious look.

“You think we should hurry then? Before he passes?”

Andrew shuffled the papers before him on his lap. “It is my understanding from Adam here that there is outside interest in the Knight estate. Similar to the recent sale of the contents of the Godmersham estate, that also once belonged to Austen’s brother. I brought the catalogue with me—it’s of public record, so I don’t feel it improper to share it with you.”

The other three members of the society passed the catalogue around.

“A reserve price of five thousand pounds for a writing desk?” Dr. Gray exclaimed.

“Apparently it went for almost three times that amount. Adam, tell them what else you know.”

“Apparently someone from Sotheby’s keeps calling Miss Frances.”

Adeline looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“Evie. She told me as much.”

“Evie Stone?” asked Dr. Gray. “Whatever is the child up to?”

“Whatever it is,” replied Adeline, “I bet it’s more than sweeping out the hearths. She was far too young to have to leave school when she did. She’s whip-smart—smarter than any of us.”

“I am sure that’s an exaggeration.” Dr. Gray smiled.

“Speak for yourself,” Adeline replied in all seriousness.

“Alright, back to my motion,” Andrew interjected. “I move that early in the New Year we post a small advertisement in The Times and the local Hampshire papers, notifying the public of the incorporation of a trust to accept monies supporting the initiatives of the society.”

“Should we mention trying to acquire the cottage?” asked Adam.

“I think it best,” Dr. Gray answered. “We need to give the public a tangible goal of some kind. Something more impressive than acquiring writing desks and topaz crosses.”

“Again, speak for yourself,” Adeline said pointedly to him. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on Austen’s jewellery.”

Dr. Gray felt strangely gratified—the old Adeline, so sharp-tongued and direct, was slowly, but surely, starting to come back.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chawton, Hampshire

Christmas Week 1945

“Do you think we’ll get the old girl to church this Christmas Eve?” asked Tom. He and Evie Stone were picking ivy and holly in the woods to drape about the main entrance hall and drawing room of the Great House, in preparation for the upcoming annual village reception following Christmas Eve service at St. Nicholas.

“It’s always a toss-up,” replied Evie. She was only sixteen to Tom’s twenty, and as she foraged in the snow for the trimmings, her cheeks had that pure ruddy blush that one only ever saw on the very young and unblemished. “Did you read that book yet, that I found you from the library?”

Despite her continued and extensive reading, Evie’s favourite book remained Pride and Prejudice. Almost as a type of test, she had pressed it on her limited social circle at the Great House—Josephine the cook, Charlotte the other house girl, and Tom the stable hand and gardener—with as much enthusiasm as she ever did anything. If they failed to enjoy or—even worse—finish the book, she wrote them off just as dismissively.

“Um, no, not quite.” Tom coughed. He had meant to start the book, mostly because he was in a race against time and two other young men in the village when it came to romancing Evie Stone. But even that potential reward could not overcome a notable fidgetiness and lack of discipline on his part.

“Well, you should, Tom, you really should. It’s so good. It’s so funny.” Evie stood up straight with her hands full of greenery and smiled at him. “I can’t carry any more, can you?”

He looked through the lime grove and out onto the west-facing fields, separated from the woods and the house by a little ha-ha—the deceptive fencing sunk down into a ditch so as not to impinge on the sightline of the view, while keeping the sheep out of the gardens.