“That’s what normally happens, yes,” Maggie said. “But what if your interference in the scene in Netherfield the other day means Darcy doesn’t fall in love with Elizabeth like he should? If that happens, he might not be motivated to save Lydia when she elopes with Wickham; then Elizabeth will never change her mind about Darcy, they won’t get married, and the story won’t have its happy ending. And if that happens, I have no idea if it will restart again or…”
Maggie trailed off, but her meaning was clear: or the book would stop existing, and we’d stop existing with it.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she said with a sigh. “Anyway, would you like something to eat? I baked some rolls this morning and I have some damson—”
“No, I don’t want any food,” I interrupted. “Maggie, we can’t just sit here and calmly eat breakfast if you think we’re in danger of being destroyed. We have to get out of this book!”
She gave me a small, sad smile. “I told you, it’s impossible. I spentyears trying to get home and nearly killed myself in the process. Trust me, the only thing we can do now is keep out the way and hope everything sorts itself out.”
“Maybe your attempts didn’t work before, but there are two of us now, so perhaps we can work out how to get back together?” I leaned across the table and grabbed Maggie’s hand. “Tell me everything you tried, please, because—”
She pulled her arm away, stopping me mid-sentence. “You’re wasting your time, Zoe. I’m sorry to sound defeatist, but without a copy ofPride and Prejudice, we can’t read ourselves out of here. And if we try any other way, we run the risk of damaging the story even more.”
“So you’re saying we just have to give up and accept our fate?”
Maggie looked at me, her eyes full of sorrow. “I’m really sorry, but that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I leaned back in the chair, pulling the blanket around my shoulders, and for several minutes we sat in miserable silence. So this was it, then: We had to sit and wait for the next twelve months, or however long it took for the entire novel to play out, holding our breath in the hope that it stayed on course. I hated the idea of being so helpless, but I also had to trust Maggie. She knew how this book magic worked much better than I did; plus, I definitely didn’t want to risk causing any more problems in the story.
Maggie began to pour the tea, and my eyes moved over her shoulder to the fire roaring behind her. On the mantel above it were the pencil drawings I’d spotted when I first arrived, but I’d not looked at them properly. Now I saw that they were all sketches of the same thing: a young man with a chiseled jawline and slightly floppy hair, staring out at me with the same large, piercing eyes as his mother.
I jumped up from the table so quickly that tea spilled everywhere.
“Maggie, I can’t just give up! I’ve done that too many times in my life. When things got hard, I told myself I wasn’t good enough, and allowed other people to convince me I was wasting my time and there was no point even trying. But Nick was the one who told me I was wrong. He said it’s better to keep trying and failing than to give up on something you love; and I know you love your son, Maggie. So please, for Nick’s sake if not your own, let’s keep trying to get home.”
Chapter Thirty
My words must have had some effect, because Maggie agreed to help, although I could tell she was doing it more to humor me than because she believed it would actually work. Still, we decided we’d meet early each morning at her cottage, where we’d try to work out how to read ourselves out. At Maggie’s suggestion, I stole a couple of books about London from Bingley’s library, and when I visited on Monday, she spent several hours reading from them while imagining us returning to Baskerville Books in 2026. I could see her getting increasingly frustrated as she recited different passages out loud and nothing happened, but when I offered to have a go, Maggie rightly pointed out that I was too inexperienced and ran the risk of reading myself into Georgian London by accident.
On Tuesday morning, I woke up before sunrise and dressed, but just as I was about to sneak out of my room to go to Maggie’s, I heard servants’ voices in the corridor outside. I waited for the coast to be clear, but the house seemed to be alive early, and I soon realized why. Today was the day of the Netherfield Ball, the chapter inPride and Prejudicewhere Darcy and Elizabeth dance for the first time, before her family embarrasses her with their crass behavior. It meant the house would be busy all day, so there was no way I could risk leaving my room when there were so many people around.
As the day progressed, I could sense the excitement levels growing. Extra servants had been brought in to polish the silver and arrange the rooms, and from the smells wafting up from the kitchen, the chefs were preparing a feast. From what I could pick up from hearing scraps of conversation in the corridor outside my room, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were not looking forward to the event, but Mr. Bingley was determined to throw the best ball Hertfordshire had ever seen in his effort to impress Jane. I’d always thought his character was a bit of a sap, but it turned out I’d underestimated him: The man was a true romantic.
Eventually, the sun began to set and I heard the first carriages arrive outside. From downstairs, I could hear the musicians start up and the chatter of voices, and I tried to visualize what it must look like, with everyone in their finery and the ballroom decorated with fresh flowers. From my window, I watched the guests arriving, and I saw the Bennets’ carriage pull up, with Elizabeth looking gorgeous in an ivory silk dress. I pictured her going into the drawing room looking for Mr. Wickham and then dancing with Mr. Collins and an unnamed officer, before the big moment of her dance with Darcy.
Just as I was imagining the two of them together on the dance floor, I saw a flash of red hair out the window, and I looked down to see Maggie walking into the house wearing a long cloak over what was obviously a ball gown. What was she doing here? She’d specifically told me we had to keep out the way of the plot, and yet here she was, swanning around one of the most important scenes as if she were a guest herself. But hang on—what if Maggie wasn’t here for the ball? What ifshe’d worked out how to get us both home? If that was the case, then I needed to go and find her now; but I could hardly go downstairs in the simple dress Elizabeth had lent me, as I’d stick out like a sore thumb. No, I’d have to find a ball gown so I’d blend in with the crowd while I looked for Maggie.
And so it was that a little after eight o’clock, I made my way down the grand staircase, wearing a dark-blue silk ball gown that I borrowed from Miss Bingley’s wardrobe. It was gorgeous but even tighter than Elizabeth’s dress, meaning my breasts were squeezed up in a frankly indecent way, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. There was no sign of Maggie in the drawing room or in the library, which had been set up for card games. I moved on to the ballroom, which looked incredible lit by the huge overhead candelabras and was packed with dancers and spectators. This was dangerous territory, as I knew that most of the main characters from the novel would be in here, but it must also be where Maggie was. I edged around the outskirts of the crowd, keeping my head down apart from furtive looks to try to spot her. Finally, I saw Maggie at the far side of the ballroom, standing in a corner, watching the dancers. I hastened my pace to reach her when…
“Miss Knight?”
I ground to a halt. Elizabeth was standing in front of me with a serious-looking woman in a plum-colored dress.
“This is my friend, Miss Lucas,” Elizabeth said. “And this is Miss Knight, a guest here at Netherfield.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Charlotte Lucas said. “Are you an acquaintance of Mr. Bingley’s sisters?”
“Eh, s-sort of,” I stammered. Over her shoulder, I could see Maggie staring at me, her face twisted in horror at the sight of me talking to Elizabeth.
“It is a most charming ball, is it not?” Charlotte said.
“Yes, lovely. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to—”
“Oh, here comes Mr. Darcy.”
My heart dropped. I glanced up to see Darcy crossing the room purposefully on his way to our trio. Shit! I quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t noticed me.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas,” he said formally. “Miss Knight.”
