The Jane Austen Society(7)
“Dr. Gray, is everything okay? I really will think about what you said—I probably have gone a little overboard lately. Drunk with power, as they say.” She offered him a wide, happy smile, and he saw for the first time how very happy she was, too.
“When is the date?” He twisted the hat still in his hands.
“We’re in no hurry.”
“You are both still so young, after all.”
“Not too young for Samuel to be sent off to fight for king and country. But, yes, still quite young, as you are always reminding me. It’s alright—it’ll be something to live for,” she said with a grin.
“I’m sure it will, for you both. Well, best be getting on.” He put on his hat and started back down the road that led into town.
Just as predicted, the exchange with Adeline Lewis had done nothing to clear his head.
CHAPTER THREE
London, England
September 1945
The main room on the lower level of Sotheby’s was packed, the bamboo-sided chairs with intricate needlepointed seating having been supplemented on this occasion by extra ones from the other rooms downstairs. Still, many in the crowd found themselves having to stand with their backs to the mirror-panelled walls, reflecting all the people in the room many times over. This only contributed to the air of excitement that buzzed throughout the room as the auction-house director ascended the podium.
“We have before us today the contents of Godmersham Park, ancestral home of the Knight family, seated in the heart of Kent. Famous family and visitors over the years include several generations of the royal house of Saxe-Coburg, as well as the authoress Miss Jane Austen, whose elder brother inherited the estate in 1794.”
The crowd nearest the entrance murmured slightly as a striking woman in her thirties came through the mirrored doors and glanced discreetly about the room. She was able to find a seat near the front when several gentlemen, recognizing her, jumped up to offer theirs.
Sotheby’s assistant director of estate sales, Yardley Sinclair, was watching from the sidelines next to the podium. He was inwardly congratulating himself for arranging the late arrival of the woman, so that the entire room would notice her and the excitement of the day would increase even more. She had visited the auction house several times over the years to inspect various Austen memorabilia, even recently acquiring a rare first edition of Emma for a record-setting price. Yardley had made sure she was among the first to learn of the sale of the Godmersham estate. He knew that the Hollywood studios would have her schedule locked down for months in advance, and he wanted her to have every opportunity to fly over in time.
He watched as she leaned forward and caught the eye of a man across the aisle from her. There was some silent signalling between them, and Yardley’s heart started to beat faster at the seriousness of the couple’s expressions. The gentleman in particular looked thoroughly determined to win at something big today.
Yardley himself was torn about the sale. Godmersham had been one of those historic houses that seemed to survive the First World War, only to lose its final footing with the struggles of the Second. Sotheby’s had had its eyes on the Austen-related contents of the estate for several decades, the author’s reputation only increasing year after year, especially abroad. Wealthy Americans were aggressively driving up the prices for various editions and letters, and Yardley could foresee the day when certain items would outstrip the average collector’s reach. His whole team was hoping today would usher in that new era. For now, items including fragments of Austen’s own handwriting were still reasonably priced, and Yardley was holding on to his own first edition of the collected works from 1833, personally acquired from an antiquarian dealer in Charing Cross when Yardley was still in college.
“Lot number ten,” intoned the director of Sotheby’s, “is this exquisite necklace of a cross. In topaz. Acquired by Charles Austen, brother to Jane Austen, from reward money received for capturing an enemy ship whilst in the Royal Navy. Accompanied by a similar but not identical cross, also in topaz. Both on solid-gold chains and described through a series of Austen-Knight family letters as belonging to each of Jane Austen and her sister, Cassandra. Affidavit copies of those letters are included in the catalogue before you.”
Yardley knew that the famous film star now sitting in the third row was most interested in three items from the catalogue: a simple gold ring with a turquoise stone that had verifiably belonged to Austen, the two topaz necklaces, and a small portable mahogany writing desk that had passed down through the Austen family over the years. Although Sotheby’s could not confirm that Jane Austen herself had written at the desk while at home or travelling, this was one of only two desks known to have belonged to her immediate family. The other one was lost somewhere in private hands.
“Lot number ten,” the director repeated. “Bidding begins at one hundred pounds, with a presale estimate of one thousand. One hundred pounds—do I hear one hundred?”
The actress gave the slightest nod of her head.
“We have one hundred pounds. Do I hear one fifty? One hundred and fifty pounds?”
Another nod, this time from a few rows back. The actress looked back over her left shoulder, then glanced quickly at the gentleman across the aisle.
Bidding proceeded like this for several minutes. When one of the bids went from one thousand pounds to fifteen hundred, the auction-house director looked over at one of his other colleagues standing along the mirrored wall to the right of the podium. The two men exchanged nods. “Two thousand pounds,” the director announced sharply. “Do I hear two thousand?”