The Dashwood Sisters Tell All (18 page)

Ellen still had her arm around me as we made our way out of the cathedral and met the others in front of the building.

“Ell, we’ve got to find Jane's diary,” I said as we walked toward a low stone wall along the walkway to the gift shop. The sky was a somber gray. Fitting, given everything that had happened.

“We’ll find it,” Ellen said.

“Not for the money. I don't mean that.”

“I know you don’t.”

“For mom.”

Ellen nodded. “Do you think she knew about Jane's diary?”

I sighed. “I don't know. If we could just figure out the clues…” I let my words trail off, because Mrs. Parrot stepped up next to us.

“Girls, if I could have a moment.”

“Ell, I think it's time to tell her,” I said. “Daniel should be part of this too.”

Mrs. Parrot's eyebrows arched. “Tell me what?”

“Just a moment,” Ellen said. She stepped away toward the group and then returned with Daniel in tow.

“When we told you about the diary,” I said to Mrs. Parrot, “we left a little bit out.”

“How little was this bit?” She pursed her lips.

“We figured out that there were clues in Cassandra's diary,” I said. “Riddles, of sorts, that may lead us to Jane's diary.”

“And?”

“All we got were these random words. We’re not even sure we have the right words.”

“And they were?” Mrs. Parrot leaned forward.

“
Clothes
or
clothing
,” I said. “Either
squeeze
or maybe
press
. And
school
. Oh, and also
road
. Or at least we think it's
road
. It might be
street
.” It didn't sound like very impressive sleuthing when I said it out loud like that.

Mrs. Parrot frowned. “Are you certain?”

“No,” Ellen snapped. “That's the problem, isn't it?” I knew she was frustrated.

“I have the riddles here somewhere.” I slipped off my pack and dug through it until I found the now well-worn piece of hotel stationery. I handed it to Mrs. Parrot, who donned her thick glasses to study it. Daniel peered at it over her shoulder.

“I see.” She looked up at us. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

Ellen didn't even flinch. “Because we didn't trust you.” She glanced at Daniel. “Either of you.”

“And now you do?” Mrs. Parrot looked more intrigued than offended.

“Now we don't have any choice. Not if we’re going to figure out what these clues mean.”

Mrs. Parrot handed the paper back to me and then put her hand to her chin in the time-honored “thinking” pose. “
Clothes. Road. School. Press
.”

“It doesn't make any sense,” I said. “Have you ever heard of a clothes road? Maybe it means some kind of printer's press.”

And then Mrs. Parrot looked up at us.

“College Street,” she said.

Goose bumps broke out up and down my arms. “The house where she was staying before she died.”

“What about the other clues?” Ellen's voice was tight with emotion. “
Clothes
and
press.
”

Mrs. Parrot looked at Ellen and Daniel, then at me. “That's quite straightforward, my dears. A clothespress is another name for a wardrobe.”

“Are you saying it's in that house?” Daniel looked at Mrs. Parrot with interest. “We’ll never get inside. Tom told us how much the owner hates being disturbed by the hordes of Austen followers.”

Mrs. Parrot slipped her glasses from her face and wiped the lenses on the scarf draped over her substantial bosom. “I doubt that a two-hundred-year-old piece of furniture would still be in the same place,” she said. “It was most certainly sold or given away long ago. These were only rented lodgings, you know, when Jane and Cassandra were here.”

Ellen's shoulders slumped. “Then we’ll never find it. It could be anywhere.”

“What does it matter? We don't even know who the house belonged to back then.” I couldn't believe we’d hit such a dead end.

“That we can find out easily enough,” Mrs. Parrot said. “If the clothespress was part of a larger estate sale, like the one at Steventon when Mr. Austen retired, there might be a notice in the local paper listing the items.” She looked at Daniel. “I believe you might be of some help with that, young man.”

“I believe I might.” He grinned.

It was a faint hope, but at this point, I would take any sliver of a possibility, no matter how small.

Ellen wasn't as quick to latch on to that faint hope though. “It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. Impossible.”

“The Formidables have a tremendous network of resources, my dear.” Mrs. Parrot looked quite determined. “We still stand a chance. No doubt it will take time, but—”

“If that clothespress still exists, it's either a family heirloom or an antique in someone's collection, right?” A faint memory glimmered at the back of my mind. It flickered, and I tried not to grab hold of it too strongly so that I wouldn't snuff it out. “You said it's like a wardrobe, right?”

“Yes, only smaller, most likely,” Daniel said. “Not one of those monstrosities like in those Narnia tales.”

“Would it be plain, or would it have some sort of design on it?” My heart started beating faster.

“It might be decorated,” Daniel said. “With an Asian design. Chinese or Japanese. Japanned cabinets were very popular.”

“I’ve seen one.” The words just slipped out. “I think I know where Jane's diary is.”

Ellen looked as though she couldn't decide whether to believe me or shoot me. “How could you possibly know where that particular clothespress is? It could be anywhere.”

“Because I’ve seen it.”

“At Chawton? In the cottage or the library?”

“No, it's at Deane.”

“At Deane?” Daniel looked skeptical. “In the pub?”

I smiled then. Because at least my humiliation at the hands of Ethan would have some benefit. “No. It's at Ethan's house.”

“Ethan's house?” Ellen's jaw dropped.

I nodded. “In one of the guest rooms. With all the other Austen artifacts.”

“But how do you know it's the right one?” Ellen frowned, and I knew she was afraid to get her hopes up.

“He said his mother inherited the house after she married into the Austen family. All of the furnishings came with it.”

“Just because it was in the family doesn't mean it's the one with the diary,” Daniel warned.

“No. But something Ethan said at the time made me curious.”

“Yes?” Mrs. Parrot was on high alert.

“He said it was owned by Jane Austen's niece, Fanny Knight.”

“The one whose father owned Chawton Great House?” Ellen asked.

“Of course.” Mrs. Parrot nodded with satisfaction. “Cassandra might have hidden the diary there, after Jane's death. For some reason she left it behind or couldn't retrieve it.”

“So she could have had her brother track down the wardrobe and buy it,” Daniel said.

“Did her brother or Fanny even know what was hidden in it?” Ellen asked.

Mrs. Parrot shook her head. “One can never account, of course, for the carelessness in large families. Somehow the secret was lost. Perhaps Fanny was afraid to entrust anyone with the knowledge. Or perhaps she never realized the clues were in Cassandra's diary. If she even had it.”

“Look,” I said, “Ethan's clothespress is the best lead we’ve got. I say we go over there and check it out.”

“How are we going to do that?” Ellen asked.

Daniel smiled. “I have an idea.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

W
e’ll show up unannounced,” Daniel said as we piled into the van. He had wanted to take off for Ethan's immediately, but Mrs. Parrot pointed out that we needed Tom and the van. We couldn't have either until the tour concluded and Tom dropped everyone else at the train station.

So Ellen, Mrs. Parrot, Daniel, and I were left to twiddle our thumbs at the hotel for what seemed like an eternity but was really less than an hour. At long last, Tom returned, and we climbed into the van. I filled him in on everything that had happened as we drove back to Deane, and then we hatched our plan.

Tom and Mrs. Parrot would wait for us at the pub down the road from Ethan's house, while Daniel, Ellen, and I tried to get inside the house on the pretext of Daniel's professional interest in some of the antiques that I’d mentioned seeing. I dreaded seeing Ethan again, and I didn't know whether such a crazy plan would work, but we had to try.

“If he doesn't want to show us the Austen stuff, you and I will distract him,” Daniel said to me as Tom pulled the van to a stop in front of the pub. “Your sister can slip away to search for that clothespress.”

I quickly gave Ellen directions to the guest room where I remembered seeing the clothespress. It had been late and dark, and I had been exhausted, so I wasn't sure how accurate my description was. Ellen assured me she would find the diary, no matter what.

Something was bothering me, though, in addition to feeling creepy about returning to Ethan's. Yes, I did feel a little bit like a woman scorned, but I was also uncomfortable with the idea of simply taking the diary out from under his nose. I was pretty sure my mother wouldn't have approved, but Mrs. Parrot knew more about the provenance of the diary than I did. I trusted her to know what was right.

We walked up the lane, since we didn't want Ethan to see the touring-company van. I led Daniel and Ellen around the side of the house to the parking area and then through the gate into the garden.

“Hello?” I called. There was no sign of the workmen Ethan had mentioned. “Is anyone home?”

The kitchen door opened, and Ethan stepped out. He ran a hand through his hair. “Um, hello. This is a surprise.”

Daniel stepped forward. “We missed you on the tour. Tom said that business called you back to London. We took a chance that you might be here.”

Ethan looked confused. “Kind of you to come to say good-bye, but really not necessary.”

I stepped forward, my cheeks hot as fire. “Actually, I was telling Daniel about some of your antiques. He's a dealer, you know, and he thought he might be interested in looking to buy, if you were thinking of selling anything.”

“Well, I hadn't really planned to—”

“Could he at least look? Then if you decide later that you do want to sell, he’ll know what he was interested in buying.”

As we’d hoped, Ethan's greed got the better of him. “Of course. I’d be delighted to give you the tour.” He didn't look as if he trusted us, but he was too greedy to take a chance that Daniel wasn't really looking to buy.

Ethan motioned for us to follow him through the kitchen doorway. I hung back and let the others go first. After all, I had already seen the glories of Ethan's fabulous house.

Ethan led Daniel through the various rooms, and Ellen and I followed. Ethan paused to point out the paintings and furniture that might be of interest to Daniel, who made appreciative comments. Daniel's approval fed Ethan's ego. I could almost see his chest swelling. But there was no mention of the Austen room or the family heirlooms, and Daniel and I exchanged a frustrated glance. By the time we arrived on the terrace in the rear of the house, Ethan and Daniel were acting like the best of friends, but I began to fear that this plan wasn't going to work. Ethan hadn't led us anywhere near the guest room or the clothespress. Not even so much as an Austen-related pen nib.

In the corner of the terrace, a table stood beneath the shelter of a mammoth hanging wisteria. “Please stay for a cup of tea,” Ethan said. He pulled out a chair for me, and Daniel did the same for Ellen. “If it won't bore you ladies too much, Daniel and I can discuss business.”

Ethan disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a tea tray. Now if we could just create some sort of distraction to get Ellen back in the house while Daniel and I kept Ethan occupied.

Mimi was about as subtle as a sledgehammer, the way her eyes kept shooting daggers at me. What she couldn't see, seated so close to Ethan, was that he was watching the rest of us like a hawk. I had the strangest feeling that he knew exactly why we were there.

My chance finally came when Ethan served the tea. I knew what I had to do, but it was going to be excruciating. I held the cup close to my lips, listened to the drone of conversation to make sure I’d picked the right moment, and with one quick flick of my wrist, dumped most of the contents of my cup into my lap.

“
Owww!
” I leaped to my feet. I wasn't a complete idiot. I’d made sure my napkin was positioned to soak up as much of the spill as I could. I snatched the napkin away, flung it beneath the table, and turned my back to its occupants.

“Ellen! Are you okay?” Mimi must have leaped to her feet in one flying movement, because she was instantly beside me. Tears burned my eyes. I hadn't meant to stage quite so authentic a catastrophe. But it would be worth it if I could locate that diary.

“I’m fine. I just need to find a bathroom…” I let my voice trail off on a teary note, which was entirely real.

“Ethan?” Mimi looked over her shoulder at him. “I can show her where it is, if you don't mind.”

He was on his feet too. “Of course. Do you remember the way?”

“I can manage.” Mimi took my hand and led me through the terrace doors and into the house before Ethan could offer to guide us. She stopped me a few feet inside. “You’re a braver woman than I am. You didn't have to be quite so…dedicated to the cause.”

“Can we just find the bathroom?” I said. “This really does burn.”

Mimi might not have had a memory for birthdays or when it was her turn to do the dishes, but she made her way to the guest bathroom without a single wrong turn. She ushered me inside and closed the door.

“The room with the clothespress is right next door. I’ll keep Ethan occupied as long as I can.” She reached up on a shelf above the sink and handed me a small towel. Then she frowned. “Where will you hide it if you find it?”

I looked down at my dreadful elastic-waist shorts. “Sadly, I think there's plenty of room in here.”

Mimi laughed. “Finally. A purpose for such a fashion monstrosity.” She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “Work fast. I don't know how long I can distract him.” And then she disappeared from the bathroom.

I dabbed at the tea stain until most of the liquid was absorbed, and then flung the towel in a hamper. Before I left the bathroom, I peeked my head out the door to see if the coast was clear. Then I darted into the room next door and closed the door behind me.

The room was decorated in a traditional blue-and-white theme. The four-poster bed had been draped with thin, gauzy hangings, and the window seat contained enough pillows for a small village. But there in the corner stood the object of my search.

The clothespress was the size of a large chest of drawers. I flung open the doors, but the interior was empty. Nothing but bare wood with no possible hiding places.

Now what?

I wasn't giving up that easily. I ran my hands over the exterior, searching for any possible openings, and that was when I found the hidden door on the side. I swung it open and found six drawers. I jerked open each one, knowing it was futile to hope that the diary would just be sitting there. I examined the drawers for false bottoms, backs, or any other trickery I could think of. Finally I removed every drawer from the clothespress and flipped them over, checking underneath. Nothing. I stared into the yawning hole. The material of the lining was frayed and musty smelling. I ran my hands over it but found nothing there either.

No, no. We couldn't get this close and not find the diary.
Think, Ellen. Think
.

And then I looked up, at the top of the space. Several inches separated the first drawer from the top of the clothespress itself. I ran my hands across the material there, and then I felt it. A tiny catch, like the ones on the back of a picture frame. I found another catch, then a third and a fourth. Each time I turned one, the false top inched downward. I almost wasn't ready when, after I’d turned the fourth one, the panel fell from the hidden compartment into my waiting hands.

I pulled it out and saw the book sitting there on top of the flimsy panel. I blew the dust off the cover. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn it was Cassandra's diary. But Mrs. Parrot had been right. They were a matched set.

I gently opened the cover to the flyleaf. There, in a very neat hand, was written,

Private Property of Miss Jane Austen.
Do Not Read.
That Means You, Cassie.