The Jane Austen Society(49)

When he had left, Mimi sat back down again. “I just have to tell you, whatever happens, how much of an honour this has been. To be welcomed into this house by you, and to have this time with you. I know Jack can be a little, ah, overwhelming at the best of times.”

“Not at all. He reminds me quite a bit of my father, but with much more energy and passion.”

“I understand your father is not well. I am so sorry.”

Frances nodded. “It could be any day now.”

“Oh, I really am so very sorry.”

“It’s alright. He has had a long and healthy life. He’s nearly eighty-six, you know, in a family also famed for its longevity.”

“But still, the last thing you need right now are two Americans breathing down your neck to make a decision about something so incredibly personal.”

“I have nothing if not time to think, and no one really to consult with over any of this. I am the only one left, you see, of the direct descendants. My father is the great-great-grandson of Jane Austen’s brother Edward Knight, and I feel very much both the privilege and the responsibility of that.”

Mimi shook her head in astonishment as she quickly did some math, knowing that Jane’s older brother Admiral Francis Austen had lived well into the 1860s. “Your father would have known Jane Austen’s brother, as a young boy, then. How amazing!”

Frances nodded as her features finally fully relaxed. “The family would celebrate Christmas here at the house, in the dining room, all sitting about the long table with this very Wedgwood china, and here in this room, by this fire, they would have sung carols and drunk mulled wine and roasted chestnuts.”

“Just like any other family.”

“Exactly. It’s a family, you see. My family. And yet for everyone else, it’s some of the greatest writing the world has ever known.”

“And you? Do you love her books, too?”

“You’re not going to want to hear this”—Frances smiled—“but my favourites are the Bront?s.”

Mimi laughed. “That is so perfect.”

“But don’t tell anyone.”

“No, don’t worry, no one. Especially not Jack. He might try and knock down the price as a result.”

Frances saw that Mimi understood her fiancé well enough, and this made her marginally less concerned for the woman than Frances had been at first. For if Jack did remind her of her father, she could imagine enough of the years ahead to have her share of worries for Mimi Harrison.

Mimi stood back up and Frances rose, too.

“Do come again. With or without Jack.”

Mimi smiled gratefully at the woman. “I have so many questions, I hope you won’t regret the very kind offer.”

“I am sure I won’t,” Frances smiled in return.

Watching through the window as Mimi and Jack headed back down the drive together, Frances felt as if she had passed some kind of cosmic test in resisting the charms of these two. In combination, Mimi and Jack had all the power of a high-explosive bomb being dropped in a sneak attack on their small, inconsequential village—a veritable Mary and Henry Crawford twosome run amok. Frances wondered to whom, if anyone, she should mention their visit. Wondered if other people she knew—Evie or Charlotte, Dr. Gray, even Andrew Forrester—would recognize Mimi’s name if Frances shared it.

The January sun was setting fast, and she could hear Josephine walking about the lower level of the house, turning on the electric lights and setting the fire in the other rooms.

Evie suddenly rushed in with duster in hand and stopped short upon seeing the mistress of the house standing by the large drawing-room window.

“I’m sorry, miss, we thought you were back in your bedroom.”

“No apology necessary, Evie—it was a longer visit than anticipated. Please, resume what you were doing.” Frances was always overly polite with her staff—she was terrified of turnover when they were the one constant presence in her life besides the old house and its memories.

Evie gave the smallest curtsy but made no sign of actually resuming her chores. Ever since Christmas Eve she had been desperate to tell the older woman about the society they had formed and their hopes for it. Dr. Gray had asked her not to say anything until they could present a proper offer to Miss Frances for the cottage, but today’s visit arranged by Sotheby’s was concerning Evie, and her gut told her now was the time to speak up.

“Evie”—Frances started, taking her seat on the sofa—“I’ve been meaning to ask, did you finish with that book I recommended?”

“Oh, yes, it was wonderful, just like you said.”

“Some people find it to be too strange and unrelentingly depressing, a little too much of the supernatural at times. But I think Villette is Charlotte Bront?’s real masterpiece.”

“I didn’t find it too otherworldly for me. I was sheer swept away.”

“Please do remember, you and Charlotte both, that you have complete run of the library here, always. Those books are just sitting there. Remember that.”

“Thank you, miss.” Evie still stood there, duster in hand. “Miss?”

“Yes, Evie?”

The young girl came and stood across the sofa from her employer, until Frances motioned for her to take a seat. This was when Evie’s young age showed itself, as all the excitement and plans for the society jumbled out of her in one long rapid-fire sentence.