Secrets in the Snow by Michaela MacColl

Author:Michaela MacColl [MacColl, Michaela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chronicle Books LLC
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

“The whole of his behavior,” replied Elinor,

“from the beginning to the end of the affair,

has been grounded on selfishness . . .”

“It is very true. My happiness never was his object.”

SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

The afternoon spun out tediously. The snow fell more thickly, blanketing the garden, the fields, and the road. The parlor’s fire—stoked periodically by Jacques, who had a knack for making himself useful indoors and out—kept the room close and warm. Henry and James had vied for Eliza’s attention for a while but they eventually fell into a doze. Mrs. Austen napped, and little ladylike snuffles emanated from the couch, competing with James’s masculine snoring. Eliza read her novel, while Jane wrote hers. A typical winter afternoon, except for Eliza’s tendency to watch the clock on the mantel. A most un-Eliza-like habit, Jane thought. Unless Eliza was late for a party, she never had the faintest idea of the time.

Eliza’s agitation worsened as the hour of four o’clock drew near. Jane could hardly contain her curiosity. Did the Comte intend to come calling? Surely he had not hidden himself so carefully to then just walk up to the Austens’ front door? Perhaps he was waiting in the garden. Jane dared not go to the window and look, lest she reveal her suspicions to Eliza. But how could Eliza sneak out to see him without alerting Jane?

Jane decided to give Eliza the opportunity she was sure her cousin was looking for. She yawned and put her pen down. After blotting the paper, she slipped it inside her writing desk. “I cannot keep my eyes open,” she said. “I followed last night’s exertions with a long walk to Deane this morning.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a little while?” Eliza suggested. Her casual tone was belied by the sudden tension in her body.

“I wouldn’t want to leave you alone. The rest of the Austens are poor company this afternoon.”

“Jane, family need make no apologies. I’ll finish my book and then come upstairs for a sleep, too.” She smiled at Jane. “I insist!”

“Very well,” Jane said, marveling at Eliza’s duplicity.

Once in her room, Jane hurriedly put on an old pair of boots and bundled up in her warmest layers, as well as an old white shawl of Cassandra’s she hoped would disguise her in the snow. She slipped out of her room and tiptoed down the servants’ stairs. Shushing the cook and Prudence, she peeked out the kitchen door to see Eliza in the hall, justifying all of Jane’s worst suspicions. Eliza pulled on her dark fur-lined pelisse and slipped out the garden door into the wintry whiteness.

Jane followed Eliza up the deserted lane that led from the parsonage to Reverend Austen’s church. Jane wasn’t surprised. The church was a quarter mile beyond the village and stood empty for six days of the week; it was a perfect place for a clandestine meeting.

Jane’s footsteps were muffled by snow underfoot. An unexpected noise made her jerk her head to see whether she was herself being followed, but she could make out no one in the falling snow.

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