Sofia gathered the words in her head to turn him down. She’d be gentle, but also tell it to him straight—he deserved that much.
“Look, Dave, you’re a really great guy,” she began.
He nodded with what seemed like resignation. He exhaled a huge puff of held breath. “I understand, all good,” he replied. “No explanation required.” He drove on.
Could she be with someone who was nice to her? It sounded unglamorous and dull.
“Okay, fine,” she said.
“Fine?”
“Yes, fine, let’s get a drink,” she said.
Dave kept his eyes on the road. An elderly woman drove past in a Morris Minor and overtook them, shouting hints out her window at ways Dave could improve his driving. Dave waved to her in return, with the biggest grin Sofia had ever seen. They arrived back in Bath and Dave dropped Sofia at Fred’s house, wishing her luck with the letter and hoping for Jane’s safe return to 1803. They made a plan to go out the following week.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Sofia showed Jane Mrs. Sinclair’s letter. Jane read it and sighed.
“Sofia. You are a wonder. I think you paid a fortune for this.” She touched Sofia’s arm.
Sofia coughed. “Never mind that now. We have work to do. I’ll get your dress.”
Jane stiffened. “You want me to go back right now?”
“Did you have another time in mind? Jane, I thought we were on the clock here.”
“I suppose. Of course, yes.” Jane turned her head and looked into the house.
“Where’s Fred?” Sofia asked. “Is he at work?”
Jane nodded. “If I leave now, I won’t say goodbye.”
Sofia nodded. “Do you want to wait?”
Jane gazed at the floor. “No.”
“I’ll fetch your dress.”
AN HOUR LATER, Jane had put on her white muslin dress. She changed to her brown boots and donned her brown gloves, bonnet, and pelisse. She tied her hair in a Grecian knot. She curled the short pieces around her face.
Sofia inhaled when she saw her. “My God,” she said.
“Do I look different?” Jane said, worried.
“You look exactly the same as when I met you,” Sofia said.
“Good.”
“A little taller, maybe.” Sofia took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”
“I am ready,” Jane said. They turned to the door.
“It’s Fred!” Sofia cried, pointing out the window. “What’s he doing here?” Fred walked up the garden path. Jane froze. “Quick, run!” But it was too late.
Fred shuffled up the path with a confused look on his face.
“Fred,” Sofia said in a cheerful tone. “What are you doing here?” Sofia and Jane both nodded an awkward hello.
Fred looked at Jane’s ensemble, her bonnet, boots, and pelisse, and the smile drained from his face. “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked. Jane turned away and made no reply. “Jane. What’s going on?” He stared at her. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
Jane shook her head. Finally, she turned to him. “I am going home, Fred.”
He stepped backward and stumbled over a kitchen chair. He turned and walked out the door.
“Fred,” Jane called after him. “Come back.”
He walked down the path.
Sofia grabbed Jane’s arm. “It’s better this way.”
Jane nodded.
THEY ARRIVED AT the hall and walked to the area behind the stage. Jane took her place among the pile of black curtains, the place she had first appeared. The sight of Fred walking toward her, the look on his face, still haunted her. She turned to Sofia.
“I have no words,” Jane said. “A rare occurrence for me.”
“There are no words for this situation, Austen.”
They embraced. Sofia read aloud. “To reverse any spell, repeat the incantation, then to the blood of the talisman add the blood of the subject.” She shrugged. Sofia gave Jane a pin. “Here goes nothing.”
Jane pricked her finger with it, then removed the scrap of manuscript from her pocket. She dropped her blood onto the page and swallowed. “Take me to my one true love,” she chanted.
“Goodbye, Jane,” Sofia said.
“Goodbye, Sofia.” Jane shut her eyes and waited for the dust to come as before.
Nothing happened.
Jane opened her eyes. “I’m still here.”
Sofia scanned the letter. “What? You repeated the incantation; you added a drop of blood. I don’t understand.” She handed Jane the paper. “Why is there always some complication?”
“To the blood of the talisman add the blood of the subject,” Jane read aloud. She frowned. “This is the talisman, yes?” She held up the scrap of manuscript where Mrs. Sinclair had first scrawled the spell.
“Correct,” Sofia said.
“And I am the subject,” Jane said. She pointed to herself.
“That’s right,” Sofia said.
They stood in silence. Jane ran back in her mind through everything. Take me to my one true love. “No,” she said. “I am not the subject.”
“You aren’t?” Sofia said. “Who is, then?”
“Jane,” said a voice behind them. A figure walked toward them in the darkness.
“He is,” Jane said.
“HOW DID YOU know we would be here?” Jane asked Fred. She felt relief and sadness to see him.
“I worked it out,” Fred said. He saw the smile on her face and looked at her with hopeful eyes.
“I have little right,” Jane said to him, “but if you would be so kind as to give me a drop of your blood.”
His face fell; he shook his head. “No. I came to stop you. What happens if I do not give you my blood?” Fred asked.
“I cannot return to 1803,” Jane said.
“Good,” Fred said. “I will see you at home.” He walked out.
“No, Fred. Come back!” Sofia shouted. But he had gone.
JANE SAT ON the floor of the hall with her arms crossed over her chest. Sofia paced the floorboards and hatched a succession of schemes.
“I could offer to give him a hot shave,” Sofia suggested. “Then I could accidentally on purpose nick his throat and collect whatever blood happened to spurt forth.”
“You do not think holding a hot blade to his neck is a touch dangerous?” Jane said. “I have witnessed you cut an orange. Your dexterity left something to be desired.”
“True. And knife throwing is on my CV. Go
