A Jane Austen Encounter by Donna Fletcher Crow Read Free Book Online Page A

to make a comment, but the lecturer was in full sail. Richard could almost hear the clicking of keys as her students took notes on their laptops. “Edith carried on the tradition begun by her grandmother Catherine. After her completion of The Watsons —interesting that both are supposed to be from Jane’s plan, yet are quite different books—Edith published more continuations of Jane Austen’s novels. She can be said to have set off the phenomenon of the Austen sequel for good. Or for evil, depending on your point of view.”
    Richard nodded. Margaret Dashwood; or Interference, and Susan Price; or Resolution. He was about to mention the titles when Muriel’s monologue took a sharp U-turn. “Still, I suppose it would be interesting enough to see your letter. Anything with an Austen connection seems to rouse a certain level of excitement these days. I suppose the Centre will want to put it in a glass case, at a minimum.”
    “Yes, as you say.” Richard had to restrain himself from bowing to her. He would have liked to turn pointedly to Elizabeth for his next question, but he didn’t want to be rude to Muriel, no matter how domineering she was. “I, ah, was wondering if I could take you ladies to a late lunch.”
    Elizabeth agreed readily, but much to his relief, Muriel said something about meeting Gerri. “Need to see how her work went this morning. She’ll probably be needing a spot of bucking up.” She started to turn toward the exit. “Ta, ta.”
    “Oh, Dr. Greystone, er—Muriel,” Elizabeth called. “Thank you for the tour this morning. It’s really magnificent.” She spread her arm to encompass the entire museum. Muriel gave a jerky nod and left.
    “Oh, my goodness,” Elizabeth took Richard’s arm. “That woman is heavy going. But I did appreciate her showing me around. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.”
    Richard led her to the door. “What do you say to lunch in the Pump Room?”
    They walked downhill toward the Abbey and Roman Baths which were the heart of the city, too busy enjoying the sights and dodging the bustling tourists for a sustained conversation. Elizabeth exclaimed at the overflowing floral baskets hanging from the double arms of the gas lamps marching down the middle of the pedestrianized area. At busy Cheap Street, they were obliged to stand for several moments, waiting for a break in the traffic so they could cross into the Abbey churchyard.
    Richard smiled and quoted, “Ah, the difficulties of crossing Cheap Street, ‘a street of so impertinent a nature.’”
    “Who said that?” Elizabeth asked.
    “I don’t remember. It just came to me. I was hoping you’d know.”
    “Muriel undoubtedly would.” Elizabeth grimaced, then went on. “Actually, I was thinking of Catherine Morland, hastening to the Pump Room, certain she would see Mr. Tilney there.”
    “I don’t remember—did she?”
    Elizabeth looked sad. “Alas. She had been prepared to greet him with her brightest smile, but no smile was required of her. Henry Tilney was the only creature in Bath who put in no appearance that morning.”
    The traffic cleared and they hurried across the street. “You’re amazing,” Richard said. “I do believe you’ve memorized all the novels.”
    Elizabeth laughed. “Just my favorite bits. I should have something to show for teaching that seminar for twenty years.”
    They were fortunate to arrive between the usual times for lunch and afternoon tea, so were shown immediately to one of the small, linen-draped tables that filled the historic room. The ivory walls were ornamented with pilasters and plaster medallions. The tall, fan-lighted windows on both sides of the room were draped with red swags and filled the space with golden light, far outshining the grand crystal chandelier in the center. At the top of the room, the Pump Room Trio, billed as the oldest ensemble in Europe—originally established by Beau Nash—played a jaunty rondo while to their left, visitors