“Yes. But try not to observe too much. Don’t make a study of the telegraph poles. Don’t peek over next door’s fence. Who knows what might set you off, what stimuli will send you further down the novel-destroying path?” Sofia marched around the kitchen, placing steel boxes in cupboards. “You might witness electricity, become enamored of it, and decide you want to stay,” she explained, hiding another contrivance. “Then, whoops, you don’t go back, and all your novels—gone!”
“What is electricity?” Jane asked.
“See? You’re showing an interest already. Luckily for you, I don’t know what electricity is so I won’t be tempted to explain it to you. Just accept like the rest of us that it’s there, it’s useful and move on.”
“What shall I do all day then, if I may take an interest in nothing? Stare at the wall?”
“If you like,” Sofia said. She gasped. “That reminds me. Do not switch on the television.” She stabbed her finger in the air as she said it, speaking in a horrified whisper. Jane gave her a confused look. “The paintings that move,” Sofia explained.
“That’s called television? How interesting. Tele is Greek, meaning ‘far away.’ Vision or visio is Latin, meaning ‘to see.’ I’m warmed that the tradition for clumsy hybrids continues in the English language.”
“Yes, well, enough of that,” Sofia said. “Rule two: No more finding things interesting. Just promise me you will not watch television.”
“I promise,” Jane said. It was an easy promise to make; even if she located one of the modern inventions, she doubted she would be able to operate it.
Sofia ceased hiding kitchen objects and sat down next to Jane at the table.
“Perhaps I could read?” Jane asked. “To occupy my time.”
“I suppose there’s no harm.” Sofia walked over to the bookcase. “Let’s see.” She scanned the titles. “You are restricted to things you could read in your own time. Here we are.” She took two large heavy books from the shelves and handed them to Jane.
“‘Sermons to Young Women, by James Fordyce,’” read Jane, “and ‘The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.’ That’s it? These two?”
“They will keep you going. Above all, you must not read these.” Sofia gathered up the remaining five Austen novels: Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. “What’s the matter?” she asked then, when Jane scowled.
“I read some of Mansfield Park,” Jane said. She swallowed. “In a bookshop in London. Only a little, a page or two. Three pages at most.”
“Austen!” Sofia cried. “What were you thinking? That’s probably the culprit! I cannot spell out enough the dangers of this. Rule three: No reading your own work.” She placed the books in a pile in the glass cabinet, next to a dusty sherry bottle. She locked the door and pocketed the key. “Fingers crossed that does the trick.”
Jane stared at the small tower of novels behind the glass. “When shall you be home?”
“As soon as I can,” Sofia said.
Fred emerged from the bathroom, bleary-eyed. He wore only a towel, wrapped at the waist. He saw Jane and Sofia at the table and jumped. “What are you doing up?” he said to Sofia. He shot a nervous smile at Jane. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Fred,” Jane replied. It was all she could muster in light of the sight before her. Previous to this, she had never seen a man’s chest before in her life. Now she had seen the same one twice in three days.
“I have a six A.M. call time,” Sofia explained. “Look, Fred. Jane is going to be staying here a few days, okay? She won’t be in your way.”
“Fine,” said Fred, a little too quickly. “Makes no difference to me,” he added, coughing. He shrugged and his towel came loose. He caught it awkwardly before it fell. He looked at Jane, and she looked away. She felt certain her cheeks now shone a shade of beetroot. “Where’s the kettle?” he asked. He stared at the place on the worktop where the shiny steel pitcher used to sit, the one Sofia had stashed in the cupboard.
“It’s broken,” Sofia replied. “Get coffee at school. By the way, what’s a book about time travel?”
Fred scowled at her. “The Time Machine, H. G. Wells. Why?”
“When was it written?”
“I don’t know, 1850?”
“Sorry, won’t work,” Sofia replied. Fred frowned at her, confused. “Never mind,” she said.
Fred raised an eyebrow at Sofia and turned to Jane. “Can I get you anything to make your stay more comfortable? Any food you like to eat?”
Jane shook her head. “The food is wonderful, thank you.”
“Look at you,” Sofia cried to Fred. “Now you’re Mr. Hospitable? You never offered me special food!”
He ignored Sofia. “You don’t have any clothes, or bags?” he asked Jane.
“I’ve given her some clothes,” Sofia said.
“And my dress is being washed by the white box,” Jane added, pointing to the box by the kitchen sink that rattled and spun. Her white muslin dress swished behind the glass window in a sea of suds and froth. “I don’t know what women do with the seven hours spare every week,” she rejoiced, “liberated by the drudgery of clothes washing!”
Fred laughed kindly and excused himself.
Sofia waited until he was gone, then turned to Jane. “You can’t say things like that, Jane,” she hissed. “You have to pretend like you’re from this day and age.” Jane furrowed her brow, not following. “I saw you appear out of those curtains,” Sofia explained. “It’s my quest now to help you get back to your own time. But if you tell another person you’re from the nineteenth century, that you’re Jane Austen, MI6 will take you away for experiments.”
Jane looked at her curiously, still not following, and now even more confused than before.
“Bad example,” Sofia said, shaking her head. “Just don’t tell Fred you’re Jane Austen—remember, like I said before? Time travel is not a normal occurrence. It’s actually quite weird. Fred has no idea who you really are. He thinks you’re
