Dancing With Mr. Darcy: Stories Inspired by Jane Austen and Chawton House Library by Sarah Waters Page B
Authors: Sarah Waters
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books in this space, do you know?’
‘And I’m sure you know,’ he smiled, ‘that each computer allows its user to view an infinite number of virtual books?’ ‘No actual books, though.’
The man installing the machines looked up and the two men exchanged sympathetic glances. Matt declaimed as if a small crowd was gathered round to hear him: ‘Isn’t what an actual book is quite an arbitrary construct? Engravings, wooden tablets, scrolls, vellum sheets, paper: technology moves on, and we must move with it. Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing.’
‘I like computers,’ Miss Campbell said, ‘but I like books, too. And I don’t think computers can replace them.’
She looked up, curious to see how he’d respond, but by then Matt was sending text messages.
At the launch event she avoided him. Easily done. Matt was busy impressing the local government luminaries who had bankrolled his new library, telling them about the events planned to promote it. They clustered around him, looking even more ironed and dry-cleaned than the librarians, who were at pains to look their best. A champagne reception at work was a rare treat and they were out to make the most of it.
Angela followed Miss Campbell’s gaze.
‘He’s such a high flyer, Matt. I wonder, will he still be with us in six months, or will he move on to some other milestone project?’
‘Who cares?’ said one librarian.
‘Fine by me if he goes,’ said another. ‘We’ll cope without.’
‘He gave me a lecture last week on the benefits of change,’ Miss Campbell said. ‘I took him at his word. I’m selling my flat and moving out of London.’
‘Isn’t now a bad time to sell?’
‘Only the worst for thirty years, they say. But I’m not waiting thirty years for the next good time.’
There was a rush of questions about where she was moving to, and she told them.
‘Oh, not such a long commute,’ Angela said. ‘So you’ll stay on here? At the library I mean.’ The look she gave Miss Campbell said: don’t do anything foolish, my girl.
‘Like Matt says – change can be a good thing. There’s a little library out that way needs a volunteer. I’ll love the work, and if all goes well they’ll think of me when a paid vacancy comes up.’
Half disbelieving, half envious, they raised a toast to her new life and the conversation moved on. Later Angela took her to one side.
‘If you don’t mind my saying, I hope you’ve thought things through. Doesn’t pay to be too impulsive, does it?’
Miss Campbell thought of Mary Shelley. Always hard up. No wonder, since her menfolk were so careless with their finances -but she never let money take over. If she had done there’d be less of interest for a modern reader to learn about her now. As things stood, the time was ripe for a serious in-depth study, and she might just be the person to undertake it.
‘Doesn’t the danger lie in entrusting our future to others? Like bankers, I mean. Perhaps, Angela, we should take charge—’
‘Don’t bring “the recession” into this. I’m thinking of you, is all. You don’t want to make things hard on yourself.’
Miss Campbell smiled.
‘I’m thinking of me, too. I’m thinking, “I only have one life and it could end any time.” There are a few things I’d like to do before that happens, do you know?’
Light and shadow flickered across Miss Campbell’s face as the train passed a stand of bare-branched trees. Then, in the open fields, the sun steadied and she closed her eyes to focus on its warmth. Already the journey felt familiar. This time she was going south to look for a flat. She had boxed her things in readiness; early that morning a man from Oxfam had come to collect her donation.
‘Not the kind of stuff we normally get. Gone off beans, then, have you?’ he asked as he lifted the crates of tinned food.
Miss Campbell smiled. She’d stopped believing there was much point in preparing for a plague or for the end of the
‘And I’m sure you know,’ he smiled, ‘that each computer allows its user to view an infinite number of virtual books?’ ‘No actual books, though.’
The man installing the machines looked up and the two men exchanged sympathetic glances. Matt declaimed as if a small crowd was gathered round to hear him: ‘Isn’t what an actual book is quite an arbitrary construct? Engravings, wooden tablets, scrolls, vellum sheets, paper: technology moves on, and we must move with it. Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing.’
‘I like computers,’ Miss Campbell said, ‘but I like books, too. And I don’t think computers can replace them.’
She looked up, curious to see how he’d respond, but by then Matt was sending text messages.
At the launch event she avoided him. Easily done. Matt was busy impressing the local government luminaries who had bankrolled his new library, telling them about the events planned to promote it. They clustered around him, looking even more ironed and dry-cleaned than the librarians, who were at pains to look their best. A champagne reception at work was a rare treat and they were out to make the most of it.
Angela followed Miss Campbell’s gaze.
‘He’s such a high flyer, Matt. I wonder, will he still be with us in six months, or will he move on to some other milestone project?’
‘Who cares?’ said one librarian.
‘Fine by me if he goes,’ said another. ‘We’ll cope without.’
‘He gave me a lecture last week on the benefits of change,’ Miss Campbell said. ‘I took him at his word. I’m selling my flat and moving out of London.’
‘Isn’t now a bad time to sell?’
‘Only the worst for thirty years, they say. But I’m not waiting thirty years for the next good time.’
There was a rush of questions about where she was moving to, and she told them.
‘Oh, not such a long commute,’ Angela said. ‘So you’ll stay on here? At the library I mean.’ The look she gave Miss Campbell said: don’t do anything foolish, my girl.
‘Like Matt says – change can be a good thing. There’s a little library out that way needs a volunteer. I’ll love the work, and if all goes well they’ll think of me when a paid vacancy comes up.’
Half disbelieving, half envious, they raised a toast to her new life and the conversation moved on. Later Angela took her to one side.
‘If you don’t mind my saying, I hope you’ve thought things through. Doesn’t pay to be too impulsive, does it?’
Miss Campbell thought of Mary Shelley. Always hard up. No wonder, since her menfolk were so careless with their finances -but she never let money take over. If she had done there’d be less of interest for a modern reader to learn about her now. As things stood, the time was ripe for a serious in-depth study, and she might just be the person to undertake it.
‘Doesn’t the danger lie in entrusting our future to others? Like bankers, I mean. Perhaps, Angela, we should take charge—’
‘Don’t bring “the recession” into this. I’m thinking of you, is all. You don’t want to make things hard on yourself.’
Miss Campbell smiled.
‘I’m thinking of me, too. I’m thinking, “I only have one life and it could end any time.” There are a few things I’d like to do before that happens, do you know?’
Light and shadow flickered across Miss Campbell’s face as the train passed a stand of bare-branched trees. Then, in the open fields, the sun steadied and she closed her eyes to focus on its warmth. Already the journey felt familiar. This time she was going south to look for a flat. She had boxed her things in readiness; early that morning a man from Oxfam had come to collect her donation.
‘Not the kind of stuff we normally get. Gone off beans, then, have you?’ he asked as he lifted the crates of tinned food.
Miss Campbell smiled. She’d stopped believing there was much point in preparing for a plague or for the end of the
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