Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

It had been a long time since the Jurisfiction offices had been used as a ballroom; the floor space was liberally covered with sofas, tables, filing cabinets and desks piled high with paperwork. To one side a table had been set up with coffee urns, and tasty snacks were arrayed upon delicate china. There were two dozen or so people milling about, sitting down, chatting or just staring vacantly into space. I could see Akrid Snell at the far side of the room, speaking into what looked like a small gramophone horn connected by a flexible brass tube to the floor. I tried to get his attention but at that moment—

'Please,' said a voice close by, 'draw me a sheep!'

I looked down to see a young boy of no more than ten. He had curly golden locks and stared at me with an intensity that was, to say the least, unnerving.

'Please,' he repeated, 'draw me a sheep.'

'You had better do as he asks,' said a familiar voice close by. 'Once he starts on you he'll never let it go.'

It was Miss Havisham. I dutifully drew the best sheep I could and handed the result to the boy, who walked away, very satisfied with the result.

'Welcome to Jurisfiction,' said Miss Havisham, still limping slightly from her injury at Booktastic. 'I won't introduce you to everyone straight away but there are one or two people you should know.'

She took me by the arm and guided me towards a well-dressed lady who was attending to the servants as they laid out some snacks upon the table.

'This is Mrs John Dashwood; she graciously allows us the use of her home. Mrs Dashwood, this is Miss Thursday Next – she is my new apprentice.'

I shook Mrs Dashwood's delicately proffered hand and she smiled politely.

'Welcome to Norland Park, Miss Next; you are fortunate indeed to have Miss Havisham as your teacher – she does not often take pupils. But tell me, as I am not so very conversant with contemporary fiction – what book are you from?'

'I'm not from a book, Mrs Dashwood.'

Mrs Dashwood looked startled for a moment, then smiled even more politely, took my arm in hers, muttered a pleasantry to Miss Havisham about 'getting acquainted', and steered me off towards the tea table.

'How do you find Norland, Miss Next?'

'Very lovely, Mrs Dashwood.'

'Can I offer you a Crumbobbilous cutlet?' she asked in a more agitated manner, handing me a side plate and napkin and indicating the food.

'Or some tea?'

'No thank you.'

'I'll come straight to the point, Miss Next.'

'You seem most anxious to do so.'

She glanced furtively to left and right and lowered her voice.

'Does everyone out there think my husband and I are so very cruel, cutting the girls and their mother out of Henry Dashwood's bequest?'

She looked at me so very intensely that I wanted to smile.

'Well—' I began.

'Oh, I knew it!' gasped Mrs Dashwood with a dramatic flourish. 'I told John that we should reconsider – I expect out there we are burnt in effigy, reviled for our actions, damned for all time?'

'Not at all,' I said, attempting to console her. 'Narratively speaking, without your actions there wouldn't be much of a story.'

Mrs Dashwood took a handkerchief from her cuff and dried her eyes, which, to my mind, had not even the smallest tear in them.

'You are so right, Miss Next. Thank you for your kind words. But if you hear anyone speaking ill of me please tell them that it was my husband's decision – I tried to stop him, believe me!'

'Of course,' I said, reassuring her. I made my excuses and left to find Miss Havisham.

'We call it Minor Character Syndrome,' explained Miss Havisham after I rejoined her. 'Quite common when an essentially minor character has a large consequential part. She and her husband have allowed us the use of this room ever since the trouble with Confusion and Conviviality. In return we make all Jane Austen books subject to our special protection; we don't want anything like that to happen again. There is a satellite office in the basement of Elsinore Castle run by Mr Falstaff – that's him over there.'