Posted in Posted by Jane Austen
Jane hurried to light the lamp on the little writing table next to her bed. She rummaged through the pages, pencils and books that littered the top. Where could it be? Her journal had never left the privacy of her room. Surely, she had just misplaced it. At least she prayed that was the case. Then slowly, a thought came from the back of her mind. The man at dinner, though he didn’t look like the type of person to go around stealing young ladies journals, she wouldn’t put it past him. He had the look of someone who could possibly do anything. What would it hurt to investigate? The worst that could happen was that she would be sent back to bed. Jane crept out into the cold hall and went to the corridor where the guest rooms where kept. Large candlesticks on extravagant candelabras dimly lighted the drafty hallway. The old boarding house that her parents bought two years ago was still in need of repairs that needed tending to. Nevertheless, it brought in a steady income that let her and her parents live comfortably. She reached the room that the gentleman in question was assigned too. Well, she didn’t think of him as a gentleman any longer, taking other peoples private things. Jane let out a quiet huff. She bent to look through the keyhole to see if anything could be seen. She drew back startled when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She was about to scream from fright when a hand clamped hardly over her mouth.
Until next time,
~ Jane Austen ~