Austenland (Austenland 1)

JANE FLEW COACH TO LONDON and found a black limo (A limo! she thought) waiting for her at Heathrow. The derbied driver opened the door and took her carry-on bag—just a change of clothes, toiletries, and travel entertainment. She was told she wouldn’t need anything else once she got to the Park.

“Is it far?” she asked.

“About three hours, ma’am,” he said, keeping his eyes on the pavement.

“Another three hours.” She tried to think of something witty and British to say. “I already feel like a thrice-used tea bag.”

He didn’t smile.

“Oh. Um, I’m Jane. What’s your name?”

He shook his head. “Not allowed to say.”

Of course, she thought, I’m entering Austenland. The servant class is invisible.

Jane spent the drive going over her packet of notes, “Social History of the Regency Period,” and felt as though she were cramming for a test in some uninteresting but required college course. It was not like her to come so unprepared, and she admitted to herself that she had shut out the reality of this adventure since the moment she had signed the papers and mailed them back to the frog attorney. Even thinking of it now sent sharp, cold pains shooting down her legs, stirring in her the anxious energy it took to make an end-of-game shot in high school basketball.

There were a lot of notes.

• On meeting, a gentleman is presented to the lady first because it is considered an honor for him to meet her.

• The eldest daughter in the family is called “Miss” plus surname, while any younger daughters are “Miss” plus Chris

tian and surname. For example, Jane, the eldest, was Miss Bennet, while her sister was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

• Whist is an early form of bridge played by two couples. The rules are . . .

And so on for pages and pages, all irritatingly numbered with Roman numerals. The epilogue was an admonition written by the Pembrook Park proprietress, who bore the unlikely name of Mrs. Wattlesbrook: “It is imperative that these social customs be followed to the letter. For the sake of all our guests, any person who flagrantly disobeys these rules will be asked to leave. Complete immersion in the Regency period is the only way to truly Experience Austen’s England.”

Hours later, when the nameless driver stopped the car and opened her door, Jane found herself in the quaint, green, rolling countryside she recognized from travel brochures, the sky as cloudy as all English October skies ought to be, and the ground, of course, unpleasantly damp. She was led into a solitary building done up like an old inn, complete with swinging sign that read THE WHITE STAG, which bore a painted carving of a grayish animal that looked remarkably like a donkey.

Indoors was cozy and hot, both effects produced by an unseasonably large fire. A woman in Regency dress and marriage cap rose from behind a desk and led Jane to a seat beside the hearth.

“Welcome to 1816. I am Mrs. Wattlesbrook. And what shall we call you?”

“Jane Hayes is fine.”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? You are certain you still wish to retain your Christian name? Very well, but we mustn’t keep our entire name, right? We shall address you as Miss Jane Erstwhile.”

Erstwhile? “Uh, okay.”

“And how old are you, Miss Erstwhile?”

“Thirty-three.”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook leaned on her arm with an air of impatience. “You misunderstand me. How old are you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows significantly. “You are aware that at this time a lady of thirty-three would be an affirmed spinster and considered unmarriageable.”

“I’d rather not lie about my age,” Jane said, then immediately winced. Here she was entering Austenland where she’d pretend the year was 1816 and that actors were her friends and family and potential suitors, and she worried about shaving a few years off her age? Her stomach shrank, and for the first time she feared she might not be able to see this through.

Mrs. Wattlesbrook was watching her shrewdly. Jane gulped a breath. Could she know? Did she have that uncanny Carolyn intuition, did she sense that Jane was here not as an idle vacationer but because she had a nasty obsession? Or did she assume even worse—that Jane was seeking a fantasy in earnest, that she believed she might find him, find love, on this It’s a Small World ride?

Jane’s mother often told the story of how until Jane was eight years old, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she still answered with conviction, “I want to be a princess.” Perhaps because of her mother’s pleasant mockery, by her adolescence, Jane had learned to hide her desires for such wonderful impossibilities as becoming a princess, or a supermodel, or Elizabeth Bennet. Bury and hide them until they were so profound and neglected as to somehow be true. Sheesh, she was feeling ready to stretch herself out on a Freudian couch.

No matter. Mock her if you will, but Jane was determined to dig up those weedy issues and toss them out. She would enjoy this last trip to fantasyland so utterly that it’d be easy in three weeks to put it all behind her—Austen, men, fantasies, period. But in order for it to work, she had to be Jane, experiencing everything for herself, and so she clung stubbornly to her actual age.

“I could say ‘I’m not yet four and thirty’ if you prefer.” Jane smiled innocently.

“Quite,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook with firm lips, insistent that there was no humor to be had. “For the duration of your stay, there will be one other guest at Pembrook Park—a Miss Charming, who arrived yesterday. When Miss Amelia Heartwright arrives, she will stay at Pembrook Cottage, so you shall see her often as well. I expect all of you ladies to maintain appropriate manners and conversation even when alone. In other words, no gossip, no swapping university prank stories, no yo’s and ho’s and all that. I am very strict about my observances, hm?”