Jump to new as of July 1, 2001
"Achoo!" Anne sneezed viciously as a particularly large billow of dust arose and infiltrated her already dust-filled nose. She coughed and fanned away more dust, succeeding only in creating a larger cloud.
Anne Mayfield was exploring the attic of her newly inherited home. A lady named Wilhelmina Scott had had left Anne the house in her will, as Anne was the grand-daughter of Mrs. Scott's good friend, and Wilhelmina had no family of her own. Anne had been quite surprised to receive the notification of her inheritance; she had met Mrs. Scott only a few times. However, she was very grateful to be remembered in such a grand manner!
The house was old, very old, but had been well-maintained. Mrs. Scott had employed a caretaker to keep up the place one she became ill. Anne had been amazed at how clean and well-kept that place was. However, the Scotts had leaned towards the pack-ratish side, and the once-large, spacious attic had become the catch-all for things that they had no use for in the rest of the house, but couldn't bear to part with.
Anne had decided that the first task that she would tackle would be the attic. She had psyched herself up, telling herself that it was mostly a bunch of junk, and that she would be done sorting through it in no time. However, that was not the case..... Every object that Anne found seemed intriguing, and she wanted to spend time looking at each and every one of the items.
Anne came upon a solid oak, rollback writing desk. "How could anyone bear to stash this lovely thing up in the attic?" she wondered aloud, while running her fingers over the intricate carvings all over the desk. She pulled it out into the open and, ignoring the squeaky protestations of the metal & wood, rolled back the top. What she saw stunned her.
"Why, it's all ready to write!" she cried, gasping involuntarily. Indeed, there was a yellowed notebook lying on the desktop, with an old-fashioned pen & inkwell next to it. Anne pulled an old kitchen chair up to the desk and, unconsciously holding her breath, opened the first page.
On the first page, there was a title: "Lizzy's Journal", hand-written in a flowing script. Anne drank in the beauty of the words, which looked like art more than text, before carefully turning to the next page. She eagerly began to read the contents, with a fervour that surprised her somewhat. She knew nothing about what this book could be, but she somehow was desperately intrigued already.
Dearest Journal, the entry began,What a prosaic way to commence! However, I confess that I cannot think of a better title nor address, so I shall stay with the commonplace ones I have chosen. I hope that you shall not think the worse of me for my choice.
If I continue any longer in this line of writing, I swear that I shall sound like a sycophantic clergyman, intent on impressing his patron! Let me attempt to continue with more grace...
I suppose that I should introduce myself. My name is Elizabeth Bennet, though my father calls me Lizzy, and I intend to refer to myself as that within these pages. I am the second of five daughters and am 20 years old. I play the piano-forte (though very ill indeed!) and enjoy reading & writing, which is part of why I've decided to start this journal.
Ugh! How terribly dull I'm sounding! I've always considered myself to have a somewhat interesting life, but I concur that it looks positively moronic spelt out in black and white. Well, no matter. I've told you who I am, and now I can just forget about all of that.
Reading over what I've just written, I realize how strange I sound. I think that I will close now, and hope that my next entry will be more interesting, now that I've the preliminary introduction out of the way!
Love,
Lizzy
Anne was about to continue to the next entry when the phone rang. Leaping up out of her chair, and out of her reverie, she ran downstairs to the phone and said, a bit out of breath, "Hello?".
It was Anne's good friend Melissa, making certain that she'd gotten to the house all right. Anne, thrilled to hear from her friend, began to launch into an animated conversation with Melissa, though she felt considerable disappointment at being taken away from the mysterious journal.
"Tomorrow", Anne thought to herself. "I'll keep reading tomorrow." She snuggled into an overstuffed easy chair in her bedroom, wrapped herself in a quilt, and happily talked with Melissa into the wee hours of the morning.
The late morning sun streamed in Anne's window. She rubbed her hand over her face, yawned, and cracked one eye open. An unknown figure of a lady was sitting in Anne's armchair, reading a book of some sort.
I must be imagining things!, Anne thought to herself. So, she closed her eyes, pulled her covers over her head, counted to 10, then looked out again. The lady was still there.
"Ahhhhh!" Anne cried out inelegantly. "Who are you?" The lady, looking up from her reading, smiled gently and said, "Good morning to you, too, Anne. Or is it good afternoon?"
Now feeling very worried (and, suddenly, much more awake!), Anne leaped out of bed, pulling her comforter with her, and wrapping it around her like a cocoon. She felt safer that way, and, therefore, gained the courage to approach the stately lady who was sitting in her room. "Who are you?", Anne asked again, inching towards the woman. The lady stood up, smoothed out her dress, and curtsied. "You may call me Jane. It's a pleasure to meet you."
By this time, Anne had determined that this must all be some strange dream. Without any other options, she decided to go along with this charade. "How lovely to meet you, Jane." Anne attempted a curtsey, but it didn't quite come off properly, as it's hard to curtsey at the best of times, never mind with a blanket wrapped around you. "I'm Anne, but I suppose that you knew that already." Judging by Jane's accent, Anne guessed that she was British. Too tired and confused to think of anything but clichés, Anne asked, "Would you care for a cup of tea?".
"Yes, dear, that would be lovely." Anne led the way to the kitchen, her comforter trailing behind her.
After setting the kettle on the stove to heat, and setting the table for an impromptu tea, Anne motioned for Jane to sit down. She sat, arranging her skirt around her.
For the first time, Anne noticed Jane's old-fashioned clothes. It's not enough that I have strange dreams, Anne thought to herself, The people in them have to dress strangely, too?
"So," Anne hedged, "Err.... What.... brings you here?"
Jane held up the book that she had been reading. Anne recognized it as the antique diary that she herself had been reading the night before. "This," Jane said seriously, "is what brings me here."
Anne, with a quizzical look on her face, said, "Come again?"
Jane stood up, and began pacing around the small kitchen, holding the diary in one hand, and a cloth bag in another. "You have unearthed a treasure that was lost many years ago. You see, I'm an author. When I was in the midst of writing one of my books, I created diary entries for each of my main characters, to help me understand them better."
"That's a great idea!" enthused Anne. "But I still don't see what that has to do with me."
"I had meant to destroy the diaries once I had finished writing the book. I was worried that someone might find them, and think that I had written them as myself, not as a character. However, I neglected to do so, and consequences came. Not the ones I expected, but a far more serious sort. The diaries, somehow, became the portal to the universe of my book."
Anne began pinching her arms frantically. "Ow!" she yelped. "This is just getting really strange now. I can wake up, anytime now!"
Jane continued on, ignoring Anne's yelps. "I have no idea how this might have happened. Astrophysicists have come up with many theories, but, frankly, I'm not a science person. The bottom line is, it's happened. Anne, since you were the one to find the diaries, it's up to you to go into this universe."
Anne began to laugh hysterically. "You want me to..... ahahahahahah! hahahahahahah!" Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and she fell to the floor in fits of laughter.
Unmoved, Jane said, "You're my only hope. If you don't go into the universe, my book will disappear forever, in this universe."
"Why don't you just go into the universe yourself? Why do you need me?"
"It's the rules. Plus, where would the plot of this story go if you didn't go to this universe?."
"Oh."
An uncomfortable silence ensued.
Reminding herself that this was, of course, just a very strange dream, Anne braced herself, and said, "All right. I'll go."
Jane smiled, her smile saying scores upon scores of thank-yous. Then, she disappeared.
Anne blinked. Well, I already knew that this was a strange dream. Why not have disappearing Janes?
She bent over and picked up the cloth bag and diary that Jane had left behind. Looking inside the bag, Anne found a stack of other diaries, and a few strange looking dresses, very similar to the type that Jane had been wearing.
Without warning, the kitchen began to spin, and poor Anne held onto the cloth bag for dear life. She barely had time for one frantic thought before she felt herself falling through the air, and then landing inelegantly on her gluteus maximus.
Opening her eyes, she looked around. One thought sprung to mind.
Where in the world am I?
Anne sprang to her feet and jumped out of the way as a carriage came rattling past her, coming much too close for comfort. "Wait a minute, a carriage? Oh, no.... now I really know that I'm going insane!" Anne shook her head.
A voice from inside the carriage yelled "Whoa there! Halt!". The driver obligingly stopped, as a tall young man climbed out of the vehicle, and ran over to where Anne was. "Oh my.... are you all right, miss? I'm afraid that you are not well! I apologize for my carriage! We did not see you! Oh, dear, are you all right?" The young man bent over her anxiously, his curly blond hair flapping a bit in the morning breeze.
"I am quite all right, I believe.. nothing seems to be broken." Anne laughed weakly, while wondering all the while, "What is going on?!?". She stood with the assistance of the young man.
"Do allow me to escort you to wherever you are headed! I will not hear of anything else." he continued, when she protested. Panic struck Anne as the pair walked towards the carriage. "Where am I headed? It will seem quite strange if I don't know, but yet I have no ideas." "I would... not wish to inconvenience you." she attempted.
"Nonsense! I would not hear of anything else!" A warm smile broke through the young man's worried countenance. "I am headed to Hertfordshire, along with some friends. Have you ever been there?"
"Erhm.. no... I mean, yes... I mean, that is where I am headed!" Anne blurted out, glad to at least have a name of a place.
"Upon my word! How extraordinary. In that case, I you shall accompany my friends and me, and stay with us in Netherfield as long as you like!"
Anne was about to protest when she realized that she had no connections and nowhere to stay. This gentleman's kind offer was positively serendipitous. "You are too kind," she returned, "but I shall accept. Thank you, Mr....".
"Bingley. Charles Bingley." Mr. Bingley's face lit up with a genuine (and quite adorable) smile, reminding Anne of a teddy bear. "And you are..."
"Anne Mayfield." Anne tried her best to attempt a curtsey, as she recalled Jane to have done, but still found it rather awkward, even without the comforter.
"Here we are!" Mr. Bingley opened the carriage door for Anne, and she climbed in, noting two other figures inside.
"This is my brother, Mr. Hurst." Mr. Bingley informed Anne as he climbed in after her. "And his wife, my sister Louisa. Hurst, Louisa, this is Miss Anne Mayfield."
They both nodded their recognition. Louisa seemed to engrossed in a book of some sort, and only attempted a few words of introduction before returning. Mr. Hurst was a bit more gracious (though only a bit). He spoke of the damned waste of a day by traveling by carriage, and how dangerous they were, as evidenced by this mishap.
Anne was about to return to speaking with Mr. Bingley, when Mr. Hurst said, "At least she has a little shape to her. Not all angles and points like that Caroline."
Turning to him, Anne asked, rather confused, "Excuse me? Did you say something?".
"Me? No, nothing at all." Mr. Hurst returned to looking about the window.
"Though she might have a hearing problem, for all that."
Positive that something had been said, Anne asked Mr. Bingley, who gave her an inquisitive look, and replied in the negative.
Thoroughly confused at this point, Anne dug around in her cloth bag for something to do, as all the other occupants of the carriage seemed to be occupied, even Mr. Bingley. Her hand closed around a book, and she pulled it out, grateful for something to do. The book reminded her of the journal she had found in the attic, except that this one showed no signs of aging. Its title page read "The Journal of Robert Hurst". Intrigued at the coincidence of names, Anne opened it up and read on.
Journal, it began,Today I go into Hertfordshire with Louisa and Charles. Bah! I feel certain that there will be no decent gaming tables, and their local liquor supply will likely consist of one bottle of currant wine. It's trips like these that make me long for London.
We're supposed to attend some sort of ball tonight or tomorrow, I'm not sure which. Now that I'm a married man, I can't even look forward to the fun of a fling with one of those country girls. Of course, I shall still have to fight them off with a stick. Actually, no; Louisa will do that for me.
Louisa's banging on the door telling me that we shall never reach Netherfield if we don't leave now. Good! I hope that we never reach it. Spending weeks in a country manor, likely populated by manic ghosts, is not my idea of a good time. And with Darcy and Caroline and Charles, yet! Charles I can only take for so long; I feel that I need to borrow Louisa's parasol to keep his sunny disposition out of my face. Caroline always looks as if she's sucked lemons, unless she's chasing Darcy (who I do believe was cut out of stone).
Louisa's banging down the door, so, off I go.... I know, I shall secret a few bottles of brandy in my luggage. Capital plan!
Robert
Anne closed the book and shoved it into her bag guiltily. She stole a look at Mr. Hurst who was, by this time, snoring loudly. "*snort* A... ball..... what a waste of an evening.....*snort* No... noo! Stop! The ghosts are after me! *snort*" Anne could guess what he was dreaming about.
As the carriage clattered along, Anne's thoughts were in a whirlwind. Is this what Jane had meant? If so, what was she supposed to do?
"At any rate, I have Mr. Bingley on my side, and he's a real sweetie." Anne thought to herself. "And I'll just have to brave the rest of them as best as I can!" Despite her pep talk, she was rather uneasy at meeting Darcy and Caroline.
Countless bumps and jars later, the carriage pulled up in front of Netherfield, where another carriage was already waiting. Mr. Bingley assisted Anne out, and led her up to where two people were standing, their backs to Anne.
Steeling herself, Anne curtseyed and introduced herself. Her hands trembled only slightly as the pair turned around to face her. What she saw shocked her down to her boots.