“Perhaps,” Sofia said. They spoke few other words to each other on the way. Sofia seemed to know why Jane wanted to return to the house; she needed to survey the contents of a certain glass cabinet.
They turned down Gay Street and, now out of sight of the rest of the christening party, they ran. With each passing step, Jane’s feeling of dread grew. They arrived at the house, both puffing, starved of breath. Sofia fumbled with the keys in the door. Jane, calmer, took them from her and unlocked it. They raced inside to the sitting room and the glass liquor cabinet.
Where there once sat a stack of six novels, then five, then three, there was now an empty space.
Sofia sat on the floor and placed her head in her hands. “Jane. Your books have disappeared.”
Jane joined Sofia on the floor. “Because I do not write them anymore.”
Sofia searched her bedroom for another hat and Jane stared at the wall. Sofia returned. “I’m beyond sorry, Jane.”
Jane shrugged. “What did I expect? I could both stay here and return home to write? Jane Austen can hardly write novels in that world if she stays in this one. Your prediction has proven half-correct, Sofia. While I have not destroyed the universe, I have destroyed myself.”
WITH NO PLAN for anything better to do, and people expecting their return, Jane and Sofia made their way back to the christening. They stopped at the Bath library on the way, just to check. The same librarian as the first time addressed them.
“Do you have anything by Jane Austen?” Sofia asked her.
The librarian turned to her machine. “How do you spell it?”
“A-u-s-t-e-n,” Jane spelled out in a pitiful voice.
The librarian typed the name into the box. “There’s no writer by that name.”
Sofia bit her lip. “Oh, Jane.” Jane merely nodded. They thanked the woman and left.
They passed the building where they’d visited the Jane Austen Experience. It now housed a patisserie.
To make triply sure they both did not hallucinate some perverse nightmare, Sofia spoke to her theatrical agent using her steel box, her telephone.
“Max, may I confirm my call time for Northanger Abbey next week?” she spoke into the device.
“Northanger what?” the telephone voice replied. Sofia bowed her head.
“The Austen film? The one shooting in Bath,” she said in a feeble voice.
“Never heard of it,” the voice replied. “What are you talking about?” He paused. “Are you okay, Sofia?”
She nodded and said nothing.
“Sofia?” the voice continued. “Who is this Austen person? Is he a writer? Does he need representation?” Sofia replaced the telephone in her pocket. They walked on down the road.
“I think it’s clear,” Jane said. “We can feel satisfied. Jane Austen is gone.”
“What shall you do?” Sofia said to her.
“I don’t know,” Jane said. She spoke the truth.
“What about Fred?”
Jane nodded. What about him? “What do you think I should do?”
“There are two options. You either return to your world and write those books, or you stay here with Fred and be happy, yes? First, full disclosure—if you never return home and write those books, disaster for me. By deciding to stay, everything has gone: your books, your museums, your legacy.” She laughed in a grim tone. “The films based on your books, too, which means my career is likely kaput as well. In short, for me, a catastrophe.”
Jane inhaled. “Good God, Sofia. Your part vanishes, too. I am so sorry.”
Sofia shrugged. “It’s okay. There are more important things.” She smiled at Jane.
“A woman excelling at her profession? There are few more important things to me,” Jane replied. She pushed out her chin.
Sofia held her arm and cleared her throat. “On the other hand, if you do return home, you will write your books, but you will break Fred’s heart. And your own. So yes, quite the dilemma. Helpful, aren’t I?”
Jane bowed her head.
“Jane. Do you love him?”
Jane gazed at the floor. “I have never felt like this.”
Sofia sighed.
Jane shrugged. She could not choose. “May I have more time to decide?”
“If you decide to stay here, you can have the rest of your life.”
They walked toward the church. “I shall know what to do when I see him,” Jane said with confidence. She immediately felt gripped with dread and cursed herself for saying it. Suddenly she did not want to see him, to be forced to decide; she felt rushed. But then, she reminded herself, she had been prepared to leave him before. It would not be so bad; she could do so again.
They arrived at the church, faster than she had hoped, and walked through the doors and down the aisle. Fred stood by the altar. He held the baby. He waved to Jane but his face bore a look of pain. He knew something had changed; he possessed too much intelligence for anything else.
“What’s happened?” he asked her when she reached him. He rocked the child in his arms. Maggie touched his face and cooed; she liked him. He would make a wonderful father.
An odd feeling overcame Jane, one that disarmed her with its rareness. What was it? Oh. Happiness. As one world closed for her, another opened up. She was no longer the voyeur, writing of other people. She had put down the pen and was living instead.
“Nothing at all,” Jane said at last, and took her place by Fred’s side.
“Are you going to leave me?” he said. His voice shook.
Jane looked up at him and inhaled. “I go nowhere,” she said. She did not tell him about the books disappearing, and she had asked Sofia to say nothing. Little reason existed to get into it now; she had made her decision. She turned instead to the future, and the new joys it held, here in the twenty-first century, with the man she was going to marry.
Chapter Fifty
The vicar arrived and welcomed everyone, and the service began. Jane and Sofia took their seats in the front
