“No, no,” I protested. Though I could hardly admit to my numerous rereadings and a thirty-page paper I’d written as an undergraduate, I said: “As soon as I had finished, I read it again. This time, knowing what was coming and looking for the clues.”
“Did you really? I am all astonishment. Henry has chosen his wife well indeed, if I am always to have such flattery close at hand.”
LIAM RETURNED WITH A LETTER FROM HENRY AND LOTS OF HOUSEKEEPING news. Breaking the lease had been easy, and he had overseen the packing and removal of those possessions we’d acquired in London that might prove useful here; they would make a slow and expensive trip by wagon to Chawton. Mrs. Smith and her sister had declared they were happy to move to the country, a pleasant surprise; it turned out they had grown up near Basingstoke and had family nearby. Jenny, as I had expected, wanted to be paid off and try her luck elsewhere, while handsome Robert, to my disappointment, did too. This meant Jencks would again be our only manservant except for the ex-climbing boy Tom.
“Jencks says he wants to garden.” We had taken a walk so as not to be overheard discussing all this: it was an early February day of weak sunlight and dramatic clouds. It was cold, there was still a little snow on the ground, yet something about the light was different; I sensed the world moving toward spring. “That he knows everything about gardening, and he did it in Scotland.”
“Is that where he’s from?”
“Yorkshire.”
“Does he know the plants are different here?”
“He seemed to really want to stay.”
“How is he going to garden and be your valet at the same time?”
“We’ll figure it out. Maybe it will be good for him. He will be too tired to listen at doors.” I had never voiced this suspicion and was surprised to realize Liam shared it.
“I wish you could have managed to get rid of him and keep Robert.” Liam did not reply. “There’s something about Jencks that worries me. I think he’s got a crush on you.”
“I’m sure it’s not that.”
HENRY’S WAS A GOOD LETTER, FULL OF FEELING AND INFORMATION; I felt myself growing fonder of him as I read it. He was headed to Oxford, where he would stay with an old friend for the next few months while preparing for his ordination. Edward had promised him the curacy at Chawton once that happened; it was a small income but better than nothing. With the money I brought to the table, however, we would have enough to marry on. I admired the politic delicacy with which he expressed all this, but felt a little less fond of him after getting through that part of the letter. He concluded by promising he would come to Chawton to see me as soon as he could.
“So you talked to him about money?” I asked once I had finished and given the letter to Liam. “What is the size of my fortune, anyway? Did we ever decide on that?”
“Fifteen thousand seemed right.” He was folding and unfolding the sheet of paper but showed no hurry to read it.
“That’s all?” It was a lot of money for a woman to possess, yet it seemed small considering how wealthy we’d been pretending to be. “Was he disappointed?”
“It’s a bit more than half of what we have left. It seemed fair.” He added: “He’s doing very well to marry anyone of any fortune at this moment in his life. If he was disappointed, he didn’t own it.” His eyes met mine; we had stopped walking without intending to.
My question had been joking. What fortune are we pretending I have? His reply unsettled me, with its implication that our pretense could assume reality, that the portal might fail, and Liam give me half our money and send me off to marry Henry Austen. But he could not have meant it to come out like that. If I had to spend my life here, it would be bearable only with Liam, I realized, and put this thought away as the dangerous thing it was.
“How are we going to manage all this?” I asked. “If I can only somehow get to the letters and the manuscript in time to break off the engagement before Henry moves to Chawton and takes up the living.”
And before a letter comes back from Jamaica. And in time to get to the portal.
I’D DREADED LIVING IN SUCH A SMALL HOUSE WITH LIAM, AND IN some ways it was just as unnerving as I’d feared. Our bedroom doors faced each other across the narrow hallway; if I tried, I could hear a creak as he got into bed at night, or splashing as he used his washbasin in the morning. Though I mocked myself for it, I always went out to the privy, no matter how rainy, late, or cold it was, rather than risk being overheard peeing into a chamber pot.
Planting started in the kitchen garden under cold frames. We acquired chickens and two Jersey cows, which Tom was given charge of. A tiny cat, black except for one white front paw, made herself at home, first in the outbuildings, eventually insinuating herself into the house. I did not want to name her, for then she would be ours, but she was soon known as Alice B. With the help of Sarah and Mrs. Smith, I learned how to make butter and soft cheese, to distinguish weeds from seedlings, and to brew beer. Several dresses, among the first I had acquired the previous fall, were downgraded to work wear. I was occupied from first light until dusk, and I was strangely happy. Too tired for insomnia, I seldom lay awake thinking of all my problems, and of Liam so provokingly near.
In London we had taken no notice of the Sabbath, but here we had to in order not to stand out, attending morning and afternoon services at the church down the hill from Chawton House. “Observing Protestants in their natural habitat,” Liam called it, but I liked the way the church smelled: musty, like time. I enjoyed studying the dim interior, the stained glass, thinking about Cranmer, and Henry VIII, and Thomas Cromwell, turning over in my mind the archaic, resonant phrases from the Book of Common Prayer:
See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise. Redeeming the time, because the days are evil. I studied my fellow churchgoers’ fashion choices, pleased whenever I was able to recognize a hat from a previous week disguised with new ribbons. Then said the king to the servants, Bind him hand and foot, and take him away, and cast him into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. For many are called, but few are chosen.
THE OTHER DAYS OF THE WEEK, I WOULD OPEN MY EYES WHEN THE bedroom was still dark, with a sense of anticipation, dressing by feel. Downstairs, Sarah would be reviving the kitchen fire that was banked overnight and Mrs. Smith rolling out dough or grinding coffee. Tom, who had grown several inches since the day he fell out of the chimney, would duck his head to me and smile shyly on his way out to the livestock.
“Awake already, miss?” Mrs. Smith said, as if surprised every time, and I would pause to enjoy the smell of the coffee; always wishing to drink some right then, but it was not made yet and would taste even better after a couple of hours’ work. The sun was coming up, mist was rising off the pond, the chickens were awakening.