The Jane Austen Society(75)
Adeline was really crying now. It was what she had dreaded hearing.
And it was exactly what she had needed to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chawton, Hampshire
February 21, 1946
Colin Knatchbull-Hugessen was walking about the main-floor reception room of the Great House, randomly picking up various objects first from the wooden fireplace mantel with the witches’ marks carved nearby, and then from the sideboard along the oak-panelled wall.
“That dish is from the family china set,” Frances offered from her seat on the edge of the chintz sofa. “Picked out by Edward Austen with Jane herself at his side. See the little family crest on the rim?”
Colin put the Wedgwood oval serving dish back down. “Never cared much for her books. Do you keep many servants around here?”
“Just a handful I’m afraid. The estate can’t financially bear much more than that. But they are all long-term employees except for the two house girls, and they will keep things running for you.”
He looked back at her with some interest. “House girls, huh?”
Frances felt herself become uneasy under his gaze. “And Josephine, whom you just met at the door. Then there’s Tom Edgewaite, who runs the stables and the gardens, such as they are. We also employ a local farmer, Adam Berwick, to manage the fields and pastures.”
Colin was now wandering into the library next door, and Frances got up to follow him.
“Wow”—he whistled—“that there’s a lot of books. You read all these?”
“Not really. I have my favourites—Evie’s collected them, over there, on the lower two shelves. The rest have been in the family for ages.”
“This could make a nice room for a telly.” He turned about in the centre of the room. “You got one?”
“No, I’m afraid, just the radio in the sitting room and the one in the kitchen.”
“Television’s where it’s at. I hear the BBC’s finally opening again soon, now that the war’s over. Hundreds of pounds though for a set, they tell me. Best sell some of this lot off, for what it’s worth.” He randomly picked up one of the older-looking books. “Must be enough in here for two tellies, at that.”
Frances had to bite her lip to keep from saying anything. It was not in her nature to be even remotely disingenuous. But she had the voices of a lot of other people in her head—Dr. Gray, and Evie, and even Yardley Sinclair—and they had all been most strict with her, that she did not owe this “boob,” as Evie called him, anything. That she was completely free to walk away from the house with no obligation at all to help Colin Knatchbull-Hugessen profit off it any more than he was already going to.
Bored with the library, Colin headed for the dining room next, Frances reluctantly following him.
The dining room had always been one of her favourite rooms, with its regal long table, deep-set window seats, and the grand piano in the corner. Colin sat down immediately at the instrument.
“I am actually quite the musician, you know—watch this.” He grinned and started banging out “Chopsticks” on the keys.
Frances wasn’t sure she could stand much more. It was hard to believe she shared even an ounce of blood with this man. Such a thought would normally have made her feel quite snobby, but Colin was so unlikable, he made it easy not to care about that at all.
She showed him the rest of the main floor, then they headed towards the north staircase. Colin noticed the boxes at the bottom of the landing and, in a rare moment of humanity, asked, “Must be hard, giving all this up. You alright?”
“Oh, yes. It’s important the estate be held intact and passed down as far as it is able. We’re all just caretakers here, in a way. Now it’s simply your turn.”
“Well, that’s what I call a fine attitude. Yes, indeed. A fine attitude.”
He motioned for her to walk ahead, and she led the way upstairs. When they reached the second-floor study, which also contained several shelves of books (the most valuable of which Evie had discreetly been moving downstairs during her dusting), he gave another loud whistle.
“Bloody hell, here we go again.” He turned about in the middle of the room, and Frances steeled herself to say what she had been coached to by her fellow society members just two days before.
“It’ll take some time and money, to get everything in the house appraised, I suppose,” she said as casually as possible.
Colin looked back at her with concern. “Well, I don’t want to waste a second—or a shilling—more on any of that than I have to.”
Frances nodded solemnly. “Time is money after all.”
“Precisely,” he agreed, starting to think the old bird was perhaps not quite as out of it as she seemed.
“I am in a position, you see, to make you an offer on the books.”
“How’s that?”
“We have a little society here, only—oh—seven or eight people, local villagers mostly, and we’ve raised money to buy things connected to Jane Austen.”
He cocked his eyebrow at her. “Really? How funny.”
“Yes,” Frances said with an almost embarrassed smile, “it’s just our little pet hobby, you see. Village life doesn’t necessarily provide the most exciting pursuits.”