“What is the point?” Jane said.
“The point is, the actions Rob made in one time affected what happened in the other time. He went back and forth, changing things and erasing events until eventually, he erased himself and, if I recall correctly, the universe.” Sofia stared at Jane.
“That does not sound ideal,” Jane said.
Sofia nodded. “If you stay here, that is what will happen.”
The drinks arrived. Jane sipped hers and scowled. The hot, brown liquid sank to the back of her throat, strangling her from the inside. “The bitterness of this substance astounds me,” she said. “But I feel strangely compelled to drink more.”
“It’s coffee, Jane. Suck it down,” Sofia replied. She took a large gulp from her own cup. Jane did the same and found herself buzzing like a bumblebee. She felt disgusted by the drink, but also glad; in some way it made everything seem clearer. She focused her mind back on the issue. The moment when the book had vanished from Sofia’s hand disturbed her—not the magic of it, which unnerved her, of course, though no more so than the other strange acts she witnessed—but the true feeling of horror came from the thought that something she had written, which had been published and sent out into the world, now ceased to exist. “What can we do?” she asked Sofia.
“I don’t know. The damage might already be too great.” Sofia cleared the table and held up a saucer. “This plate represents you in your own time line.” She placed the saucer with great ceremony at one end of the table. “You are a woman from the year 1803. At some point in your life, you write a series of novels. These books are published and remain in print two hundred years later. That is your story, your time line.” She ran her finger along the table in a line. “But this teacup is you now.” She picked it up. “Instead of following your destiny to write those books, you have come here.” She moved the teacup away from the saucer. “You have created an alternative version of events, a new time line.”
Jane looked at the cup, then the saucer, then back again. She blinked.
“The longer you stay and immerse yourself in this world, the less likely it becomes that you will return to your own time. If you are not in your own time, you cannot write the books for which you become famous.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know what I was thinking, showing you that museum. Jane, don’t you see? Going out into the world, interacting with people—you changed history. I shouldn’t have let you go to London. One of your books has already disappeared. More will follow. And if you keep doing it, eventually all of your novels will disappear. You will disappear.”
She touched Jane’s arm and lowered her voice. “It’s quite the confusing thing to get one’s head around,” she said. “It might take you a while to understand.”
“If I never return to 1803, I never write those books,” Jane said.
“Or it might be quite easy for you to understand.”
Jane raised her china cup and blinked down another large gulp. The bitter substance coated her tongue and lingered in her throat. It seemed to prickle her insides and ring her mind like a bell. She found herself jumping in her seat a little. “What can be done?” she asked with a flinch.
Sofia picked up her own cup. “We need to get you back to your original time line.”
“But Mrs. Sinclair is gone! How do we do that?”
“I don’t know. But you should take a good look around. This is the last time you will be leaving the house.”
Jane looked around the shop and surveyed the contents. The steel box that produced the coffee gleamed from the serving counter, wooden tables and chairs littered the room in ramshackle pairings of twos and threes, and the transient gentleman from the public library dozed in one corner. “I feel unsure as to what I am taking a good look at,” Jane replied.
“It’s an expression, Jane,” Sofia replied with a sigh. “I was trying to be dramatic. You’re not supposed to be looking at anything.” She grabbed Jane’s head, turning it away from the room and back to her face. “I meant I want you to stop falling in love with the twenty-first century. Don’t you understand? You went out into the world, you talked to people, you saw your books, you rode the tube! You took a photograph—with a phone! The more you grow to love this time and place, the less likely it becomes that you will leave! We’re going straight back to Fred’s and you won’t be going outside again. You cannot risk further reducing your chances of returning home.”
Jane nodded. “But if I remain inside your brother’s house, how will I discover the means to return home?”
“You cannot go outside,” Sofia said. She drained her cup and stood with determination.
“What is it?” Jane asked.
“It’s up to me, Jane. This is my hero’s journey. I am going to get you home.”
Jane nodded, confused. “Oh. I am honored. Thank you.”
“No problem. Now close your eyes and I’ll escort you home.”
Jane and her savior walked home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning, Sofia dragged Jane out of bed and filled her ears with a list of rules and demands, designed to protect her from erasing herself and, if correctly recalled, the universe. “Rule one: You must not go outside,” Sofia declared, as she passed Jane a plate of toast, butter, and a boiled egg.
“May I go in the garden?” Jane asked, pointing out the window. She placed a piece of toast in her mouth and chewed with delight. The bread was far softer than the loaves from the Austen house, baked by
