of the pitch, while the Brontëites claimed the south end as their territory. The mascot for each team moved among the fans, urging them to clap and call out for their players. The excitement was very much not in keeping with the croquet tradition of silence and decorum, and the noise only added to Jane’s anxiety.
The coin toss was a blur. Jane heard Miriam call heads and saw the coin in the referee’s palm, tails up. He looked at Sherman and Jane, and Jane called first shot. Miriam gave her barely a glance as she turned away, and Jane felt an echo of the sickening emotion that had washed over her when she’d grasped Miriam’s hand at the dance. But then Walter held out his hand to Jane and said, “Good luck.”
Jane played the black ball. As her cheering section was situated on the north end, she began on the B baulk line. Not knowing what strategy Walter and Miriam might employ, she hit her ball past the third and sixth wickets so that it came to rest near the peg. Sherman nodded his approval but said nothing.
Walter played next, sending the blue ball through the first wicket and earning a chorus of cheers from the Brontëites. The moorhen jumped up and down, flapping its wings. In response the Janeites’ squid waggled its tentacles provocatively as the team booed.
This was his undoing. Sherman, playing as Jane had from the B baulk line, sent his ball into Walter’s. He then cleverly croqueted Walter’s ball toward the fourth wicket, where it came to stop almost exactly at the fourth corner. Sherman’s ball, in the meanwhile, went toward the number one corner and collided with Jane’s ball near the peg. His turn thus continued, Sherman croqueted both Jane’s ball and his own toward the first wicket and used his additional stroke to move his ball into position to the right of that wicket.
It was a clever move, well done, and the Janeites applauded madly. As they screamed their approval Miriam took up position on the A baulk line and hit her ball into Jane’s. On the croquet she looked at Jane and continued staring at her as she hit Jane’s ball back toward the number two corner and subsequently sent her own ball back toward the baulk line.
The game proceeded in this way for some time, with neither side gaining an advantage and each player gradually passing through wicket after wicket. Every time one of them played a beautiful shot it was responded to with an equally clever one, so the balls moved across the pitch like marbles and the players were constantly changing directions.
As play crept toward the two-hour mark the tension rose higher and higher, until the match more resembled a prizefight than a lawn game. Every well-placed croquet earned applause from the supporting team, and the two mascots were kept busy working the crowd into a frenzy.
Finally Walter and Sherman had pegged out and the match, as Jane had known it inevitably would, came down to her and Miriam. Jane’s wrists ached from holding the mallet and the back of her neck was sunburned. Miriam, by comparison, looked as fresh as she had on her first stroke. She moved around the pitch calmly and methodically, like a cat stalking a mouse that was becoming more and more desperate for escape.
Jane’s ball had passed through the 3-back and was lying halfway between it and the next wicket. Miriam’s was through the 4-back and lined up to reach the penultimate wicket on her next stroke. It was Jane’s turn to hit. She could either take a simple hit through the 4-back, hope Miriam faltered on her turn, and then try to roquet Miriam’s ball, or she could attempt a much more difficult move and try to roquet Miriam’s ball on this turn and hope it gained her an advantage.
She looked at Miriam, who gazed implacably at the peg as if daring it to elude her grasp. This was the deciding moment. Jane could feel it. If she played it safe and waited for Miriam to make a mistake, she could win. Or she could go on the offensive and take the win from her by force. If successful, this would humiliate Miriam utterly. If it failed, however, Miriam would be victorious in more than one arena.
Standing beside her ball, she acted as if she was going to take the easier road. At the last moment, however, she turned her mallet and sent her ball rolling to the left of the wicket. She saw a look of surprise on Miriam’s face as they both watched the ball’s progress. For a moment it looked as if Jane might miss the mark, but then her ball tapped ever so gently against Miriam’s.
Trembling with excitement, Jane positioned her ball behind Miriam’s and hit it from the side. Miriam’s ball rocketed toward the baulk line on her team’s end of the field, while Jane’s rolled toward the east side and came to rest only inches in front of the 4-back wicket. The Janeites went wild.
Now it was Miriam’s turn. There was no way she could roquet Jane’s ball, as the penultimate wicket was between them. However, she hit it neatly into the space between the 1-back and the 4-back, placing it in position near Jane’s ball.
Again Jane had a choice—roquet Miriam once more or pass through the 4-back and dare her to attempt her own roquet. She chose the latter option, using a quick, neat strike to pass through the wicket. She was now directly in line with Miriam’s ball, and it was Miriam’s turn to decide on a strategy.
When Miriam opted to hit her ball through the penultimate wicket Jane knew she was afraid. She was now simply trying to get to the peg before Jane. Sensing this, Jane felt a surge of excitement.
Because of the angle she could not pass through the penultimate wicket behind Miriam. It would take two shots. She knew that Miriam expected her to attempt a roquet. But she didn’t. Instead she merely tapped her own ball and lined it up to go through the next wicket.
Miriam, sensing that Jane was toying with her, hit her next ball to the left of the peg, going toward the final wicket. She hit it too hard, however. Jane could hear the collective gasp from the crowd as the ball stopped just shy of the 3-back wicket.
Jane saw her chance. If she could roquet Miriam’s ball now, she had a good chance of passing her in the race to the peg. But it was a tricky shot, with the peg in the way. Still, if she could bounce her ball off the peg at just the right angle, her ball might hit Miriam’s. It was a ridiculously stupid shot to attempt, and Miriam would never expect it. Which is precisely why Jane chose to attempt it.
She approached her ball and stopped. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths. She felt her wrist muscles tense as she brought the mallet back. Then she struck the ball and prayed.
The ball rolled toward the peg, struck it, and changed course slightly. At first it appeared to be wide, but then Jane saw that it was heading for Miriam’s ball. She watched, her heart pounding, as it slowed down.
When the soft click of contact sounded you could hear a pin drop. Both teams knew what might come next, and no one made a sound as Jane walked to the two balls. Nor did they make a sound as she placed her ball against Miriam’s, struck it, and sent the blue ball back to the southwest corner. This lined her own ball up perfectly with the final wicket. A moment later it sailed through and connected with the peg.
Jane found herself caught up in a tangle of spongy tentacles as the Janeites’ mascot lifted her up and swung her around. Her teammates encircled them, yelling madly, and there was much backslapping and general carrying on. Finally the celebration quieted and Beverly appeared with a trophy, which she handed to Jane.
“Congratulations,” Beverly said. “It was a fine match, and either of our finalists could have won it.”
Jane looked at Miriam, who stood on Beverly’s other side, her mouth set in a rictus of a smile.
Beverly handed Jane the trophy. “Austen wins this time,” she said. “But Brontë will have her revenge next year.”
Again the Janeites cheered, while the Brontëites looked glumly at one another and shook their heads.
“I hope you’ll all join us for the picnic lunch,” Beverly called out. “Baskets can be picked up at the refreshment tent at the far end of the field.”
Byron approached Jane, who was sharing her victory moment with Sherman. “Shall we lunch?” he asked them.
“By all means,” Sherman said. “In fact, I’ve been looking forward to talking to you.”
