Julia Golding - Jane Austen Investigates: The Abbey Mystery

Clever, playful, and gripping. A real treat for bookworms.

Lucy Strange, award-winning author of The Secret of Nightingale Wood, Our Castle by the Sea, and The Ghost of Gosswater

Julia Goldings Jane Austen Investigates offers a gripping detective story with an abundance of Easter eggs for Austen fans. Golding gives us a feisty young Jane, who, unfazed by the snobbery she faces, stands up not only for herself but for those on the margins of her late 18th-century world. This is a delightful riff on the wit and irony of Austens works; of her wonderful juvenilia, especially.

David Taylor, Associate Professor, Faculty of English, University of Oxford

Text copyright 2021 Julia Golding

This edition copyright 2021 Lion Hudson IP Limited

The right of Julia Golding to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Jane Austen and her family were real people, though they appear in this book as imagined characters.

Published by

Lion Hudson Limited

Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Business Park,

Banbury Road, Oxford OX2 8DR, England

www.lionhudson.com

ISBN 978 1 78264 334 0

eISBN 978 1 78264 335 7

First edition 2021

Cover image Lion Hudson, cover design by Laura Tolton

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Contents

Notebooks containing details of Jane Austens first investigations were recently found hidden in a trunk stored in the attics of Janes family home. There are signs that Jane expected her papers to be discovered, for they begin with a warning from young Jane herself.

Warning

Any resemblance to persons living or dead in these case notes is entirely intentional. Names of people and places have been changed to protect the wicked but you know who you are!

J.A.

I t had to be acknowledged that the life of a clergymans daughter in deepest rural Hampshire was disappointingly full of duties. There were few things for an adventurous girl to do. That was why Jane always considered it fortunate to be in the carriage accident. Without that disaster, she would never have met the Abbey ghost.

Jane had not begun the day intending to be thrown from a coach nor to go ghost-hunting. She had been striding along the Steventon Road behind her older sister, boots making a satisfying stomp on the ground. Cassandra swung her basket, knocking off the tops from the cow parsley. After calling on an elderly lady with a hacking cough FOR TWO HOURS, both Cassandra and Jane had to misbehave. There was nothing more annoying than a persistent cough especially in someone else.

If only something exciting would happen! If it didnt come soon, Jane felt she might EXPLODE with frustration. Maybe she should disguise herself as a sailor and go on a voyage like those of Captain Cook without his grisly end?

Listening to Old Mrs Taylor is like being in the path of stampeding cattle, said Cassandra.

Jane plucked a fat blade of grass, held it between her thumbs, and hooted rudely.

Imagine being that old! Fifty-six! continued Cassandra.

Jane didnt feel she need add anything. Her older sister was well able to chatter away for both of them. Words were Janes greatest treasure and she spent hers carefully.

Did you hear what her son called us? asked Cassandra.

Interfering halfwits, Jane replied. She thought for a moment. Interfering I accept, but Ive a whole wit at least.

Cassandra walked backward a few steps. What about me, Jane? Your older, more beautiful, more talented and far more modest sister?

Jane wrinkled her nose. Ill allow you a whole wit, but sadly its a dim one.

Cassandra chuckled. Im the dimwit? She loved it when Jane insulted her their family was unique in that way, liking nothing better than a joke at their own expense.

The rhythmic thud of hooves alerted the sisters to the approach of a carriage. The lane was narrow and windy, so they climbed the bank. A four-wheeler appeared around the bend, paintwork in green and yellow, brass lamps gleaming. All told, a flash vehicle for a fashionable gentleman.

Janes heart sank.

As soon as Cassandra saw who was driving, her cheeks went pink and she rearranged the basket carefully on her arm so that no hint of her as Batterer of Blooms remained.

Its George Watson! whispered Cassandra.

I know, said Jane. She had suffered all summer from her sisters adoration for the local squires son. Her sister had rarely liked a stupider fellow.

George heaved on the horses reins in a move that must have hurt their poor mouths and drew the carriage to a juddering stop. He gave a flourish of his hat. Ladies! He then giggled.

George Watson was officially HOPELESS.

Mr Watson, said Cassandra in a breathy tone unlike her usual. At sixteen, she was in that delicate area between girl and lady. George had won her heart by treating her as grown-up.

Miss Austen, Miss Jane, would you care for a ride in my new phaeton? Ive taken delivery only this morning.

Why, Mr Watson, that is so kind of you. Im sure my sister and I would be much obliged, said Cassandra, taking his offered hand and stepping up beside him.

WHAT was her foolish sister doing? George Watson had only been driving the phaeton since the morning. He should at least have to pass a test with an experienced coachman, but sadly even fools like George were allowed out on the roads with no proof they knew one end of a horse from the other.

Jane? pleaded Cassandra. They had both promised their mother they would not separate.

The things she did for her sister.

Against her better judgment, Jane scrambled up beside Cassandra. Being only thirteen, she was not considered old enough to need a hand. Acquainted with Jane from her infancy, George probably still thought she rolled down the grassy slope behind the rectory.

Which she did when no one was watching.

Tally ho! George called to his matched pair of horses and flicked the whip. Jane silently calculated how much the carriage wouldve cost him and came up with a sum that was more than her father earned in a year.

Surprisingly, the ride started well. George kept the horses to a steady pace and avoided the worst of the ruts. Jane began to enjoy herself. Sitting this high, she could see over the hedge to the wheat fields with their knee-high crop. Poppies wound among the stems as butterflies danced above. Maybe George had changed?

But then George had to prove he hadnt changed one little bit. They reached the final approach to the rectory, a stretch of road shaded by elms.

What say you to making a dashing entrance? he asked Cassandra.

Oh no, said Jane. NO! she repeated.

Mr Watson, that would be delightful, agreed Cassandra, elbowing Jane.

With a bark of laughter, George flicked the whip and the phaeton surged forward.

Cassie! hissed Jane, clutching Cassandras arm. Dont you know your Greek myths?