‘I’ve never heard of a foxtrot and I’ve got a wild imagination.’
As soon as
the words were out she thought how gauche she must sound.
‘Goodness,
you’ve led a more sheltered existence than I thought,’ Will exclaimed. ‘I was
just coming to ask you to dance.’
‘I’m not sure
that would be possible or appropriate, Mr Milton,’ Jane answered, searching for
the right words. ‘I cannot dance, nor do I have any wish to make an exhibition
of myself.’
It was an
attempt to put him off, and even though she knew the reverse was true, that she
loved nothing better than to dance, she’d already decided that to start again
by having to learn modern dances to the music that was starting to jangle
noisily and persistently in her head, would be impossible. She liked to be the
best at everything, to excel at all she endeavoured to try. Failure was not a
word she liked or allowed in her vocabulary, and besides all that, the memories
of the past were crowding in on her.
She saw a
line of eager young bucks, all waiting to take her hand in the dance. As if
seeing from a distance, a familiar room glowed with candlelight and exquisite
chandeliers, as Tom Lefroy took her arm, squeezed her hand, and led her through
the intricate patterns, whirling her round in a country dance. The room throbbed
with passions unspoken, of bodies meeting, fingers touching, hearts and minds
open to tacit thoughts and caresses. And later, stolen kisses and a sweet
promise beyond the confines of the house, now blazed across her memory and the
gulf of time, as swift and searing as if it had happened yesterday.
‘I don’t
believe you,’ Will was saying as Jane jerked back to reality when she heard his
insistent voice. ‘You have the definite look of a dancer to me. Come on, let me
teach you.’
He came to
stand next to her leaning his weight with crossed arms on the balustrade as she
did, and Jane hoped he wouldn’t see the tears that sprang to her eyes blurring
her vision and thoughts. It was silly to be so stirred up and emotional at
thoughts of the past, but she was overwhelmed by a sudden desire for all that
she had ever known, and for all those she had loved. She longed to share a
conversation with someone who spoke the same language in the cadences and
timbre of her youth, and to feel a kinship and connection with every living
creature in her own time, sharing an appreciation of what was expected, whilst
operating within a familiar system. And although she’d often railed against
such conventions, she almost craved such customary restrictions now. Knowing
she couldn’t go back made her feel worse, and she had to focus her mind to
bring herself back from sudden despair. Blinking back the tears she turned to
see Will looking into the distance, and for the first time she thought she saw
a look of vulnerability. There was an expression of sadness in his eyes as if
he might be far away in his thoughts too.
‘I’ll be a
poor pupil, I’m certain,’ she said, finally giving in to his pleading
expression. ‘And I’m supposed to be chaperoning your sisters, not trotting
about.’
She nearly
added, ‘like a fox’, but the uncharitable thought crossed her mind that if
anyone were like a fox it was Will with his chestnut brown hair, and she cast
herself as a plump hen with ruffled feathers waiting to be snaffled up after
one easy pounce.
‘Are you
changing your mind?’ he said, turning to face her with a smile that spread to
his velvet eyes, sloe black and glittering in the dying light. ‘Have I
convinced you to dance with me?’
‘I hardly
know,’ she muttered before he caught hold of her, pulling her arm gently
towards him until she released her tight grip on the stone rail, and took her
hands in his own.
‘Let me
help,’ he said, easing his right arm round her waist and coming to stand so
closely before her that she felt the blush spread like madder rose paint on a
sheet of moist watercolour paper. Jane felt his fingers pressing into the small
of her back, and he held her other hand aloft. Part of the trouble was that the
music kept stopping, and being so close in the twilight calm felt so intimate.
She was sure any onlooker would think she was allowing herself to be insulted
at his will, and then laughed inside at the idea of being “willed by Will” to
such bad behaviour.
‘First, take
a step onto your right foot towards me,’ he instructed as the music struck up
once more, ‘and then just a small one back again. Follow me after that, and you
won’t go wrong.’
She was not
prepared for what happened next as she obeyed his instructions to the letter.
As she stepped back, so he pulled her against him, following quickly through on
the advance with three rapid steps, until there was no space left between them.
Jane allowed him to guide her, though she could feel the shirt buttons of his
dinner shirt pressing into the silk of her dress, and his leg moving against
her knee, brushing her thigh. His head was next to hers, she felt his skin, and
his breath warm and fragrant on her hair. Suddenly, it was too much, too soon,
and the coiling spiral of desire curling in delicious sensations from the pit
of her being, struck her forcibly. Jane stopped, and pulled back. He saw the
fear in her eyes, and her face flushed with crimson. Will knew he’d gone too
far, and felt sorry that he had. It really hadn’t been his intention to
frighten her or take advantage of her innocence.
As if she
could read his mind, she was determined not to stay a moment longer. Perhaps
she had made an utter fool of herself by over-reacting, but she knew she didn’t
want to allow herself to experience feelings like those ever again. It was a
lifetime since she’d felt such physical longing for another human being or been
so close to a man.
‘I’m sorry,
Will, I don’t feel like dancing any more,’ she said, and averting her eyes from
those dark ones that were studying hers intently, she dashed away.
Will watched
her light figure skipping over the black and white tiles to escape back through
the French doors as quickly as she could. At least she’d called him ‘Will’, he
thought, though he was certain it was quite by accident, but surely that meant
they were making some progress, even if it wasn’t quite correct to think of her
in terms like that. Good lord, what was he doing, thinking that way? He wasn’t
even attracted to her, he thought, least of all by her dimples in that too
round face or by those hazel eyes that resembled amber jewels lit in sunshine.
Why had she reacted so badly? He’d only asked her to dance, and now he really
couldn’t understand why he’d bothered. If she wanted to play being a stuck-up
governess, that was fine. He was only trying to be kind, after all, and make
her feel more at home. Miss Austen was such a prissy young thing, and too full
of her own self-importance. What gave her the right to be so puffed up, and
superior? He’d never known anyone like her, and he couldn’t fathom just what it
was that he found so fascinating on the one hand and disenchanting on the
other. He decided to ignore her from now on, and let her get on with doing what
she clearly loved best, feeling herself to be high and mighty above them all.
Mae and
Julius were still glued to the other’s side when Jane walked back in to the
room. Mae thought she didn’t care how much that disapproving governess stared,
to say she was enjoying herself was an understatement, and she was going to
stay exactly where she was, right by Julius’s side. Generally aware that she
had a devastating effect on men, Mae was confident that Julius was attracted to
her as much as she was to him. Besides the fact that her slight form was
ravishingly swathed in turquoise blue chiffon and pink roses, a panniered robe de style gown designed by Lanvin a
couple of years ago and sent from Paris by her aunt, Lady Celia
Broughton, Mae knew that Julius hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her all
evening. The conversation between them was effortlessly flowing, and they’d
discussed mutual subjects of admiration. She knew he liked playing tennis as
much as she did, and couldn’t wait until she was fit enough to play against
him. They’d talked about their love of art, the bohemian lifestyles of the
Newlyn painters, and the Cornish artists like Laura and Harold Knight whose
paintings were filled with light. They shared the same romantic ideals when it
came to literature too, admiring the writers and artists of the Bloomsbury set
with their unconventional lifestyle.
‘How I should
love to be set free, and live the life of a truly liberated spirit,’ said Mae
earnestly. ‘I have never cared much about conforming to society’s constraints …
all I ask is an independent allowance and a string of admirers to call on me in
my very own London flat every day. Of course, I would not like to idle my life
away entirely. I’d be happy to spend time dabbling in watercolours, perhaps, or
doing charitable works.’
‘And spend your
evenings in jazz clubs dancing the night away, I suppose. It sounds like fun …
but I don’t suppose you’d have a spare room for a friend, would you? I love
nothing more than expressing myself in oils.’
‘For you, darling
Julius, anything might be possible,’ Mae answered knowing she was being completely
outrageous.
‘So, you’re not a
country girl at heart? You wouldn’t miss Devon and its glorious coastline if
you were cooped up in smoky London?’
‘Well, of course
I would prefer to divide my time between the two if I could. There is nowhere
like the sea for inspiration. I love to paint en plein air … there is nothing better than to be out
in the elements for capturing the light.’
‘I quite
agree. I wish you could see my place at Salcombe Magna, which I’m sure would be
just to your taste. It’s utter perfection for painting sweeping landscapes. The
house is set in a valley very close to the sea against a backdrop of lush green
… you must come and see it sometime.’
Mae could not
contain her excitement. ‘It sounds perfect, Julius, when can we go?’
‘We’ll take a
drive there as soon as you’re mended and you’re fit enough to walk all over it.
Some of the walks down to the sea are only accessible by foot, and I’d hate you
to miss seeing the private beach or the summerhouse I’ve had built there.’
‘Do you live
all alone?’
‘I have been
on my own for some years now, but I’m used to it. I usually spend the winters
in London and the house is left empty until the first of May when I come home.
It’s at its best in summer … Salcombe Magna can be rather gloomy in the depths of
winter. There were catastrophic shipwrecks in the area in the past, and when
the wind is high and the stormy sea bashes the rugged rocks of the coastline on
a grim February night, one can almost imagine you can hear the cries of the
dead and wounded calling for help.’
‘How dreadful
for you. I believe in ghosts, or at least feel that there are vibrations left
behind in ancient places and buildings, especially where there might have been
tragedy or suffering of any kind. I can just imagine how that might be the case
by the sea. I often feel an overwhelming sense of sadness when I look out over
a vast ocean. It’s as if the disappointed hopes of all the people who have
stood there have been trapped in the water to rise out of its depths when a
like-minded someone pauses to contemplate time and space.’
‘How
wonderfully poetic,’ said Julius, ‘I just know you will love the house … there
isn’t a more romantic place, or one so in harmony with its surroundings.
Promise me you’ll be healed very soon.’
‘It’s only a twisted
ankle and a swollen knee. My elbow is healed already, and I’m sure I’ll be completely
better by next week. In any case, I’m certain everything will be cured all the
quicker if you promise to visit me until I can visit you.’
Julius took
up her tiny hand and kissed it. ‘That’s a deal, Mae, you have my word, I
promise.’
Lady Milton
introduced Jane to Captain Bartlett just as they were coming off the dance
floor. As soon as she’d done it, Flora was off, making a quick excuse that she
had to make sure King Zoot and the band were being looked after. It was obvious
the captain wasn’t a great talker, and Jane felt at a loss to know how to steer
the conversation. There was an awkward moment or two whilst she thought about
whether she should be the first to speak, but she could see he was struggling,
searching for the right words.
‘Do you live
far from here, Captain Bartlett?’ she started to say, and then wished she’d
thought of something more interesting or original to say.
‘I have a
house at Sherford,’ he answered, ‘just a couple of villages away. It’s on the
estuary with some fine views towards Exeter in the distance. But you, Miss
Austen, are not a native of these shores, I believe.’
‘No, I
daresay my Hampshire accent gives me away though I have lived in many places as
well as in that beloved county. I spent some time in Bath, Southampton, and
Winchester, as well as in Steventon and Chawton. Yet, I am sure that does not
impress a soldier. I suppose you have travelled in your job, captain, and
probably to places I have never been.’
‘I spent a
lot of time travelling, it is true, and particularly in India, Miss Austen.’
‘India is a
fascinating continent. I had an aunt who lived there for some years and my
cousin was born there although they left for England a few years later. I used
to bombard Eliza with questions about her time spent in such different surroundings
to mine. India to me was a land of
exquisite spices, textures and fragrances - they often sent us exquisite
parcels of flowered chintz, fine muslin and brocades - the very paper they were
wrapped in seemed infused with the scents of jasmine and attar of roses.
‘Yes, there
is no place quite like it, but I sadly had to leave when my wife became ill. We
came back to England and I was stationed nearer home.’
Jane was
surprised to hear him talk of a wife; she had not thought he was married. The
captain paused, and she wondered if the conversation was over. He looked very
sad, she noted, and she waited to see if he’d say any more.
‘We moved
back to Sherford, but sadly, we were not timely enough, and the sickness that
had taken hold of her abroad claimed her short life at home.’
‘Oh, Captain
Bartlett, how very remiss of me. I am so sorry to have reminded you of such
distressing times, please forgive me.’
‘Not at all,
I like to think of Mary, and to talk about her sometimes. People who know me
around here are reluctant to speak of her for fear of upsetting me, I think.
They do not know what to say, and so it’s easier not to say anything at all.
But, it’s over eight years ago since she passed away, and I think it’s time I
was able to talk about the past.’
‘It is not
possible to dictate to one’s heart how long grieving should last,’ Jane said
observing the sorrow in his blue eyes, ‘but time is a great healer.’
‘Yes, that’s
true, though I sometimes wonder whether I will ever recover from the memories
of her and the life we shared. Occasionally I think I could marry again, and
feel almost ready to take a step to that end, and at others I know the time is
not right.’
‘I am sure
you will find someone to share your life just when you should,’ said Jane
looking up into George Bartlett’s kind eyes.
‘Ah, yes …
though that’s proving to be more difficult than I expected.’
Jane saw his
gaze shift to Mae’s face, and a look of defeat and resignation showed in his
expression.
‘Mae Milton
is a beautiful young lady who needs someone to look after her,’ he said. ‘I
rather hoped I might be the one to persuade her in time, but I think that idea
is beyond all hope now.’
‘Only time will
tell, captain. Mae and Mr Weatherfield have just met, and are merely in the
first throes of getting to know one another.’
‘But there is
something in their behaviour together, and in their admiration of the other
that I recognise. Mary and I used to be that way, and were drawn like magnets
from the very first time we met. No, I have come to realise there is something
rather bleak about a one-sided love, and if I’m honest I wonder if part of the
attraction for me is that she reminds me so very much of my darling wife.’
‘To love
without any hope of being loved in return is a comfortless state,’ said Jane.
‘Perhaps it would be wise to look around for someone else, a lady who would
return your feelings and love you with all her heart.’
‘You offer
sound advice, and I’m sorry to have burdened you with my troubles,’ the captain
said, ‘but it has been so easy to speak to you on many subjects I’ve avoided
lately. I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone like this for such a long time
… thank you for listening.’
‘It’s my
pleasure, Captain Bartlett. It is easier to talk to strangers sometimes, I’ve
found that true myself.’
‘Don’t be a
stranger, Miss Austen. I hope I will get to know you better in the coming
weeks. I shall certainly heed your suggestions.’
‘One thing
I’ve learned in my life is that sometimes the most unexpected events can turn
one’s life in a moment to new and exciting times. You may find something
happens when you least expect it … I hope you will not have to wait too long.’
‘I hope so
too, Miss Austen.’
The captain
moved away then and Jane later saw him leading Jessie Beales to the dance
floor. The party was in full swing, and almost everyone was up and dancing.
Emily and Jonathan Keeling were laughing their way through an overly dramatic
tango, King Zoot had left his band to dance cheek to cheek with Lady Milton,
and Eddie Wallis was gently teaching Cora the art of the Latin American dance.
Will was dancing with one of the girls who’d arrived in a large party from the
village, and Lieutenant Dauncey was partnering Beth, yet again.
Jane watched
from a corner of the room hidden in the shadows, intrigued and curious, but
glad to have escaped anyone’s notice, or so she thought. Frankie Wallis was
circulating with a bottle of champagne, topping up empty glasses, and he
stopped when he reached Jane.
‘You’re not
dancing, Miss Austen,’ he said putting the bottle down on the sideboard behind
her. ‘Can I tempt you out onto the dance floor?’
‘I’m afraid I
don’t tango, Mr Wallis, and I’m just as happy standing here watching everyone
else.’
‘That’s a
great pity, I’m sure you’d enjoy a tango if you tried. There’s not much to it,
I hope you’ll allow me to give you a lesson sometime.’
He looked as
if he might pick up the bottle again and move on, but he hesitated. ‘Will you
tell Alice I’m sorry she’s feeling unwell. It’s a shame she couldn’t come, I
know how much she used to love dancing.’
‘I will pass
on your message, Mr Wallis, but you should come and tell her yourself.’
‘I’m not sure
she’d want to hear it from me,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed
yourself this evening even if you haven’t had a dance.’
‘I’ve enjoyed
myself very much,’ said Jane thinking of all she’d learned, and of the
unsuccessful attempt to dance with Will. ‘I hope we’ll meet again soon.’
Frankie
reached for the bottle of champagne and Jane was left alone once more. It
wasn’t quite like any party she had ever been to, but it had given her an
opportunity for more observation, and she felt she knew one or two of the
guests rather better than she had before she’d arrived. She decided she must be
more vigilant when it came to Will, and make more of an effort to avoid him. On
the whole she’d enjoyed it, and couldn’t wait to see Alice. She was sure
Frankie had missed her not being there, and it gave her the slightest glimmer
of hope that not all was completely lost between them.
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
This is a thoroughly delightful read. Jane Austen re-awakens in the 1920s, 110 years after her death, and faces the new industrial world with her usual aplomb. Trains and motorised cars, along with shorter skirts, must be accepted. In reduced circumstances, she has to work as a governess. Noting the changes in environment, manners and appearance, but never succumbing to depression or undue anxiety, Miss Austen deals with the same daily social tasks and complications that her characters did. She has young women to encourage and chasten into suitable romances – while not remaining immune herself. The author has convincingly captured Jane Austen’s tone and personality. The 1920s come to life in the way that they affected a rural, once rich, family. The characters are true to Austen’s own novels and I am sure, were she defrosted into life for real, she would be amused and pleased to read this novel. Historical Novel Society
Travelling
to Devonshire aboard a steam train, Jane Austen remarks to her
companion and physician: ‘Dr Lyford, if I can survive embalming, the
subsequent resurrection and the effects of transdifferentiation, I will
live to tell the tale …’
Imagine a world where Jane Austen and her favorite characters exist in a Downton Abbey atmosphere—Impossible, you say, and yet, apart from the passage of years, they are all gentlemen and gentlemen’s daughters, as Elizabeth Bennet so succinctly puts it. In Jane Odiwe’s latest novel, Jane Austen Lives Again, our favorite author does not die at 42 in Winchester, but is kept, somehow in stasis, until Dr. Lyford can not only cure her last lingering illness, but revive her again in the prime of her life. The scientific details are not spelled out, and honestly, it doesn’t matter, as Ms. Odiwe’s book will captivate you from the first. Finally we are able to see Jane “live again” sans vampires and magic, and enjoy her introduction to modern life in the 1920’s.
Laura Boyle Jane Austen Centre Online Review
Amazon UK AmazonUS
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
This is a thoroughly delightful read. Jane Austen re-awakens in the 1920s, 110 years after her death, and faces the new industrial world with her usual aplomb. Trains and motorised cars, along with shorter skirts, must be accepted. In reduced circumstances, she has to work as a governess. Noting the changes in environment, manners and appearance, but never succumbing to depression or undue anxiety, Miss Austen deals with the same daily social tasks and complications that her characters did. She has young women to encourage and chasten into suitable romances – while not remaining immune herself. The author has convincingly captured Jane Austen’s tone and personality. The 1920s come to life in the way that they affected a rural, once rich, family. The characters are true to Austen’s own novels and I am sure, were she defrosted into life for real, she would be amused and pleased to read this novel. Historical Novel Society
So
begins Jane Odiwe’s ‘fairy story for grown-ups’, in which Austen is
brought back from the dead - scientifically, rather than miraculously -
and transported to the west of England in 1925. Penniless (her royalties
don’t go far in the Jazz Age) and - naturally - alone, she takes the
traditional route for single women of no fortune and becomes governess
to a clutch of sparky girls in a romantically crumbling castle by the
sea.
She
finds the bohemian Milton family quite enchanting, and is sure that she
can bring some old-fashioned order to their somewhat chaotic existence -
but to her initial dismay finds herself falling for the dark-eyed,
curly-haired, and handsome son of the house. What follows is pure
romance, but with the twists of humour and intrigue that Odiwe’s readers
have come to expect. This is such an enjoyable tale - Odiwe handles the
1920s setting with the same assurance that she has brought to her
Regency-set novels, and her rendering of a 20th century Jane is a
delight. Jane Austen's Regency World Magazine
With Jane Austen being alive in the 1920’s and earning her keep as a governess, Jane Austen Lives Again sometimes felt like Downton Abbey meets Mary Poppins/Sound of Music (which are some of my favorite things!). It
was a wonderful blend of history, fiction, and fairy tale! Absorbing,
ingenious, and immensely satisfying – you definitely don’t want to miss Jane Austen Lives Again!
Meredith Esparza - Austenesque Reviews
Meredith Esparza - Austenesque Reviews
Imagine a world where Jane Austen and her favorite characters exist in a Downton Abbey atmosphere—Impossible, you say, and yet, apart from the passage of years, they are all gentlemen and gentlemen’s daughters, as Elizabeth Bennet so succinctly puts it. In Jane Odiwe’s latest novel, Jane Austen Lives Again, our favorite author does not die at 42 in Winchester, but is kept, somehow in stasis, until Dr. Lyford can not only cure her last lingering illness, but revive her again in the prime of her life. The scientific details are not spelled out, and honestly, it doesn’t matter, as Ms. Odiwe’s book will captivate you from the first. Finally we are able to see Jane “live again” sans vampires and magic, and enjoy her introduction to modern life in the 1920’s.
Amazon UK AmazonUS
