A Jane Austen Encounter (14 page)

Richard returned her grin. “Our Muriel is a grandstander, isn’t she? It seems she’s gone to extremes to gather her acolytes. I wonder whether it’s publicity for her forthcoming book she has in mind, or just the love of an audience.”

Near the top, a low, curving brick wall offered a perfect vantage point. Elizabeth walked to the edge of the hill and surveyed the tranquil wooded landscape far below. Around them, their fellows were exclaiming on the beauty, the sense of serenity, the startling distance of the vista. “Absolutely lovely.” Elizabeth pulled a small camera from her pocket.

Beth began snapping photos as well, her camera equipped with a professional telephoto lens. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.” She clipped the lens cap on her camera and took out her notebook before asking Claire for her reaction.

Elizabeth thought it all so lovely that it would be difficult to overstate, but she couldn’t help recalling that the “burst of admiration on arrival” in
Emma
had ended in tears as the heroine cried all the way home after Mr. Knightly rebuked her for her rudeness.

Beth turned to interview Richard, and Elizabeth walked back to the brick structure. “What is this?” she asked Paul.

“Salomons Memorial. Leopold Salomons purchased the land and gave it to the National Trust early in the twentieth century.”

Gerri joined them. “They say he’s buried here—standing upright so he can continue to enjoy the view.”

“No, no.” Elizabeth jumped at Muriel’s sharp retort. “That’s another man altogether. You really do need to get your facts together, Gerri.”

Gerri blushed and turned away, but Muriel continued. “Labilliere was his name—he lived nearby. His grave is over there.” She pointed vaguely to the west. “And he’s buried head downwards because he thought the world was topsy-turvy and would be righted in the end. He was buried in 1800, so Jane probably knew of him.”

Muriel raised her voice to encompass all their party. “This way, everyone. There’s a clearing just beyond these trees. We’ll picnic there.”

Sitting on one of Muriel’s rugs and watching the fine spread of sausage rolls, Scotch eggs, and meat pies emerge from the hamper, Elizabeth had to admit that their hostess could hardly be topped for her organizational skills. Almost a pity she went into academia instead of the army. Elizabeth accepted a cup of tea from Arthur, then smiled when he offered the other cup he carried to Claire and took the opportunity to sit by her. Emma and Frank Churchill had flirted outrageously at Jane’s picnic, but these two maintained perfect decorum.

Elizabeth looked around at the unbroken green landscape. “This must be almost as unspoiled as when Emma picnicked here.”

Beth smiled. “Except for the muffled sound of traffic below us and the planes overhead flying into Gatwick, of course. But it’s still one of the top picnicking spots in England.”

“Pity we aren’t in Regency costume, I could use a photo for the article I’m doing for the Centre’s newsletter,” Robert said. “I recently learned that using the word ‘picnic’ to mean an alfresco meal was new in Jane’s day. Before that it had been merely a Jacob’s Join, eaten indoors.”

Elizabeth looked blank.

“Potluck,” Arthur translated for her.

“And why ‘Box Hill’?” Elizabeth asked. “Is it box shaped?”

“Supposedly named for the box trees growing here,” Robert supplied.

Gerri looked up at the tall, broad-leafed tree shading their meal. “Oh, is that a box?”

“Really, Gerri!” Muriel all but sputtered. “The box, genus
Buxus,
of which there are many species, is a low-growing bush used for topiary and hedging formal gardens. One could hardly picnic under one unless one were an ant.”

Robert looked at the branches spreading above them. “I’m not an expert, but I doubt that’s a box. However, I believe some wild species can grow up to ten meters high.”

Elizabeth calculated rapidly. Just over thirty feet, that would be.

“I believe they were harvested for timber in Victorian times.” Gerri seemed to relax under Robert’s words, but Muriel frowned at being mildly corrected. She turned to Paul and asked about the release date of her book.

“Depends on whether you’ve finished that last chapter yet. You’re the one who wanted to delay for more research,” he replied.

“I’ll have it soon. You can count on that.” She turned abruptly to begin directing the reloading of the hamper. Elizabeth was thinking she would like to have a second Penguin bar when Muriel whisked the package into the basket.

Richard offered his hand to help Elizabeth to her feet, and the party was on the move again. “We’ll just put this kit in the car, then have a look around,” Muriel directed.

She led back toward the parking lot, then on toward the summit where she pointed out a range of rather dilapidated-looking stone buildings. “Mobilization Fort,” she announced. “Part of a ring of thirteen forts built in Victorian times to protect England from continental invasion. Can’t go in. Full of bats. Little monsters are protected.”

Now she marched them back past their picnic spot and through a thick clump of trees. “Down here you’ll see the pill boxes from World War II. This would have been the last stopgap to defend London, had Hitler invaded— as all thought he surely would do.”

“Thank God he didn’t,” Elizabeth breathed.

“Yes,” Richard said softly, taking her hand and pulling her back a bit. “Watch your step.”

She was happy to take his advice, as the way was getting decidedly steep. She paused to gaze across the wide green vista before her. “I’d far rather think about Emma and her friends than Hitler in this beautiful spot.”

“Yes, or Keats,” Richard suggested. “He wrote the conclusion of
Endymion
after a moonlit stroll on top of Box Hill. Although I should think walking this slope after dark must have been risky.”

“Mm. ‘A thing of beauty is a j—’” but she got no further quoting Keats.

A sharp cry from the path beneath them sent them hurrying forward as fast as an awareness of the ground under their feet would allow.

The others were gathered around Robert and Muriel, both sprawled in ungainly positions on the ground. Gerri, whose scream they had heard, was sobbing and Arthur trying to reassure her while Paul and Claire tried to assist their fallen companions.

Beth was still on the path, clutching her camera. “What happened?” Elizabeth asked her.

“I’m not quite sure. I asked Muriel and Robert to pose there. We were waiting for the others to go on down the trail. Muriel was pointing something out to Robert when she seemed to lose her balance. I’m not sure which one knocked the other down.”

Elizabeth considered. “Where were the others?”

“Just passing them on the trail. That’s why they were standing so close to the edge.”

“Hmm. Did you get pictures?”

Beth looked at her camera with the lens cap still on it. “Sadly, no.”

Below them, Robert struggled to his feet, supported by Claire. “Be careful. Are you dizzy?”

“No, just shaken.”

“Take it easy.” Claire helped him back to the path.

Robert looked at the trail where he had been standing a few moments earlier. “What on earth could I have tripped over? I don’t see any stones sticking up or roots growing over the way.” He sat back down on the hillside. “Sorry, still a bit woozy.”

Gerri turned from Arthur. “Muriel! Are you all right?”

Muriel had pushed herself to an upright position without assistance, but still sat with one foot curled awkwardly under her. Arthur joined Paul, and the two of them helped the sturdy woman to her feet. When she put her weight down, though, she uttered an oath and pulled back so sharply she almost upset all three of them.

“I think the ruddy thing’s broken.” She sat down and surveyed the group standing in a semicircle around her, looking each one in the eye. “All right. What are you playing at? Which one of you pushed me?”

The accusation was met with silent looks of astonishment and a renewed wail from Gerri. They had all been passing within an arm’s length, but surely no one . . .

“Where’s the nearest A & E?” Paul asked.

Arthur already had his mobile out, ringing 999. He gave their location, then rang off. “Ambulance on its way. Could take half an hour, though. I’ll wait in the parking lot to show them where to come.”

He was three strides up the path when Claire called, “Wait. I’ll keep you company.”

“Stop sniveling, Gerri!” Muriel demanded. “Come hold my foot. Need to keep the b— thing elevated.”

Elizabeth and Richard, Beth and Paul stood a bit apart. Elizabeth turned to the reporter. “Beth, you’re a trained observer. What did it look like to you? Do you think anyone could have pushed her?”

Beth furrowed her brow in thought, then shook her head, making her short blond hair gleam in the sun. “I don’t see how. But—”

“What?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, but I had the feeling . . .” She thought a moment longer. “Well, it just looked a bit staged.”

Chapter 13

IT WAS THE MIDDLE of the next morning before Richard had the heart to waken Elizabeth. They had come back to Chawton with the others in Paul’s minivan while Gerri and Arthur followed the ambulance in his car. It had been late evening before Gerri and Arthur returned with a white-faced Muriel hobbling on crutches. They scurried around, elevating her wrapped ankle on a footstool, packing it with ice bags, putting a pillow behind her head, bringing her a book, adjusting the light . . .

At last Elizabeth had ventured to ask what the doctor advised. Muriel’s mocking laugh showed what she thought of the “avoid HARM” caution she had been given. “No Heat, Alcohol, Running, or Massage. Can you believe our government pays the NHS to tell me not to go jogging on a sprained ankle? No wonder this country’s in the fix it is.” She turned to Gerri dithering beside her. “Don’t stand there, girl. You know where the whiskey is!”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, you’re on a pretty strong painkiller. They said—”

Muriel’s expletive made even Richard jump. Gerri produced the bottle.

Now Richard entered their bedroom bearing two cups of tea. He set the tea down before waking Elizabeth with a kiss. “Sorry, Sleeping Beauty, but if we’re going to Steventon, we should be about it.”

“Mmm,” Elizabeth returned his kiss, then scooted up in bed to take her morning tea. She drank deeply. “Ah, civilization. I think this is a custom we should continue when we get home.” She took another sip and then returned her cup to the saucer. “Do you think Arthur will still be able to take us?”

Richard smiled. “I rather expect he’ll be glad of an excuse to escape for a few hours.”

A short time later, Richard’s analysis was proved right when he answered a knock on the door to find not only Arthur ready for a day out, but Claire as well. “You’re escaping too, are you?”

Claire grinned. “I did my duty, stopped by their room to check that all was well. Gerri was off to an appointment with the librarian. She assured me Muriel was comfortable and insisting Gerri spend the day on research. There’s no reason for the rest of us not to enjoy the day.”

“What are the others doing?”

“Beth is going into Alton— more of her Jane Austen Trail feature. I think Paul and Robert are going with her.”

“Great. Let’s go, then.” Elizabeth joined them, looking dazzling, Richard thought, in a red jacket and trim black pants.

They were soon heading northwest along a curving road bordered with hedgerows and overhung with trees through the verdant Hampshire countryside. “It’s little wonder Jane loved Hampshire so much,” Elizabeth commented after several moments gazing out the window. “It’s so gentle, so . . . so English.”

Richard couldn’t agree more, but his mind was working in quite another direction. “How well do you know Muriel, Arthur?”

Their driver chuckled. “Well enough. She’s all right, really. Pretty overbearing, of course, but it’s just her way. She does get things done. And she is a brilliant scholar.”

“Yes, I appreciate that. But why does she ride Gerri so hard?”

“Ah, you’ve got me there. Whether she wants Gerri to succeed for her own sake or whether Muriel wants the glory of developing raw talent . . .” He shook his head. “Who knows?”

“There’s something else that’s been puzzling me. Why is she pushing Paul so about the publication date of her book? Does she need the money from an advance or something?”

Here Claire laughed. “Do you mean to say that academic publications in the States pay advances worth getting worked up about?”

Now Richard laughed too. “Point taken.”

“I think maybe I can answer that, though,” Arthur said. “I’ve just picked up bits and pieces, but the scuttlebutt around St. Frideswide’s is that our Muriel has her name in for a Fellowship that’s coming vacant this autumn. I expect a newly published work on Jane Austen could make her a shoo-in for the position.”

That made sense. Richard was wondering if that might also answer his first question. Would Muriel try to take credit for Gerri’s work too, thereby giving her even more advantage? But before he could voice such a mean suspicion, Elizabeth spoke up.

“But I thought Muriel was already a Fellow.”

“No.” Arthur grinned. “She does like to give that impression, doesn’t she? But she’s just a lecturer. Fellowships are jolly hard to come by.”

“Is that something like having tenure?” Elizabeth asked. Richard smiled at the tone of her voice. Elizabeth knew all about the academic fights and the games some people would play to get tenure. As department head in even a small, obscure college, she’d had to deal with more than her share.

“Not sure about that,” Arthur replied. “But there’s a lot of status and probably some money, too. Fellows have privileges at High Table—even get rooms in the college. Free, I think, but I’m just a poor research assistant. I don’t know a lot about such rarefied strata.”

Richard was beginning to understand. Muriel could well be feeling quite desperate to gain that position. Desperate enough to hit Claire over the head to get the first look at a possible find at the Centre? Desperate enough to have himself and Elizabeth followed in case they found something of value in Chawton? Surely no such ulterior motive played a part in her offering to oversee their tour.