Jane Actually

since forever.”
    Courtney looked at the letter in its frame, sitting on the low table with the tea things Mrs Westerby had laid out.
    “And your mother was Amelia Corwain?”
    “After she married my father, of course, but she was born Amelia Cavendish.”
    “And this Gorrell-Barnes …”
    “No, Barmes, dear, with an ‘M.’”
    “Gorrell-Barmes was a friend of your mother?”
    “Oh more than that, they were engaged, but he died very tragically.”
    “In the war?”
    “Oh no, he was killed by a lorry. It’s still tragic.”
    “Yes, I guess it was to your mother,” Courtney admitted. “And do you know where he got it from?”
    “Mother might have known, I suppose, and maybe she told me, but I’ve forgotten. It’s been sitting on the wall all these years, you see and I’ve not given it much mind. I’m more partial to the Brontës. Austen’s a bit of a bore, but mother adored her.”
    “May I take another look at it?”
    “Please do,” she said pleasantly. She had few enough visitors and still felt the loss of her mother, although she did enjoy her independence again, now that she was relieved of the drudgery of caring for the bed-ridden old woman. So she welcomed the well-dressed American, especially if he knew the worth of the letter.
    Courtney set down his teacup and took up the frame. It wasn’t much bigger than five by eight inches and the letter had been folded to fit in the frame. It showed the name of the intended recipient, Harris Bigg-Wither at Manydown Park, but it didn’t seem to be either franked or postmarked. The handwriting seemed to be Jane’s, but it was difficult to make out. He looked up at the wall where the frame had hung, and although it was overcast now, he knew that on many days it would have been exposed to sunlight. Sunlight and the ink of the day would account for a lot of the fading. It was also difficult to make out because writing from the backside of the paper showed through.
    The paper to his inexpert eye looked authentic. Unfortunately it appeared that water had seeped into the frame, allowing some mould to grow under the glass and some of the letter looked glued to the glass. Another glance at the wall confirmed what looked to be a large stain on the wallpaper.
    Frankly the front of the frame wasn’t very promising. Apart from the name of the recipient, he couldn’t make out much. The backside was far more promising. A typed note explained: “An unsent letter from Jane Austen addressed to Harris Bigg-Wither explaining why she refused his offer of marriage after first accepting it. Fred Barmes 1923.”
    The note had been glued to the paper backing of the frame.
    “Do you have any idea what the letter says?”
    The old woman shook her head no. “I just remember Mum saying ‘Good on her,’ talking about it with my father once. I think she approved of whatever it was Austen said in the letter.”
    Courtney put the frame back on the table. His fingers felt grimy from touching it. The whole house, in fact, triggered a shudder reaction from him. The smell of rising damp made him worry for his sinuses and he also felt itchy from the suspicion that somewhere there must be cats. He wiped his hands on his pants, although he really longed to fetch a wet wipe from his shoulder bag.
    “Well, as I said on the phone, I’m not an expert on documents, just Jane Austen, but if it’s genuine, then I really think it’s worth a lot of money, easily thousands of dollars … I mean pounds. You’ll just need to get it conserved and authenticated.”
    “Will that be expensive?”
    “Um, yes, well I don’t really know. But like I said, if it is genuine … I’m sure you could sell it for a lot.”
    “That would be nice,” Mrs Westerby said. “I want to sell and move into care, now that Mum’s passed on. Only, you see, she said I could never sell it if Jane Austen ever appeared on the AfterNet.”
    Her words left Courtney a little light headed. He could feel the prize slipping from his fingers.
    “Uh, did she say why the restriction?”
    “She said if Jane Austen were to come forward, then the letter really belonged to her.”
    “That’s a noble sentiment, of course,” Courtney began.
    “She made me promise her.”
    This can’t be happening,
he thought.
This could prove Austen had a lover and that’s why she rejected Bigg-Wither.
Or it could disprove it; he had to admit the possibility, but even so, he still would be a party to uncovering a major piece of