The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner Page 0,48
and separate banking practices. This was all to the palpable relief of Adam Berwick, whose financial situation was understood to require his full commitment to his regular employment.
The trust deed, as drawn up in advance by Andrew Forrester, provided for funds raised through both subscription and donation, and thirty pounds was quickly pledged by the three trustees to create an account from which any incidental expenses could be withdrawn going forward.
Each of the three trustees also pledged to uphold various duties, primary of which was the duty to carry out the charitable purposes of the trust and to avoid any conflicts or perceptions thereof. With Andrew Forrester’s role as executor of the Knight estate, the situation felt ripe for conflict, and he agreed to abstain from any voting on the use of funds to purchase the property.
“It’s all still a little dodgy—don’t write that down, Adeline—but it is a charity after all, and we’re none of us doing this for profit, so I am comfortable with the provision for abstention as it stands. We’ll just have to stay very mindful of these issues going forward.”
“What are the rules for voting, with such a small group?” Dr. Gray asked.
“Historically one abides by the rules of parliamentary procedure, which require a majority of the full board, including any who abstain. So, right now, if I abstain from a vote, you and Adeline must both agree for anything to move forward.”
“Ha!” Adeline laughed outright, causing all three men to turn to her.
“Right, well,” Andrew quickly replied, “that in and of itself is reason to invite at least two more members to join us. Five trustees in total should do it.”
“And money?” Adam asked. “To buy the cottage?”
“According to local sales of late,” Andrew replied, “we’re looking at several thousand pounds to buy the cottage no matter what. I move that we try to raise sufficient funds through public subscription as soon as possible. Then we can go to Miss Frances with a pure business proposition and hope that she can prevail upon her father to agree in time.”
Dr. Gray caught these last two words and gave Andrew a curious look.
“You think we should hurry, then? Before he passes?”
Andrew shuffled the papers before him on his lap. “It is my understanding from Adam here that there is outside interest in the Knight estate. Similar to the recent sale of the contents of the Godmersham estate, that also once belonged to Austen’s brother. I brought the catalogue with me—it’s of public record, so I don’t feel it improper to share it with you.”
The other three members of the society passed the catalogue around.
“A reserve price of five thousand pounds for a writing desk?” Dr. Gray exclaimed.
“Apparently it went for almost three times that amount. Adam, tell them what else you know.”
“Apparently someone from Sotheby’s keeps calling Miss Frances.”
Adeline looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Evie. She told me as much.”
“Evie Stone?” asked Dr. Gray. “Whatever is the child up to?”
“Whatever it is,” replied Adeline, “I bet it’s more than sweeping out the hearths. She was far too young to have to leave school when she did. She’s whip-smart—smarter than any of us.”
“I am sure that’s an exaggeration.” Dr. Gray smiled.
“Speak for yourself,” Adeline replied in all seriousness.
“Alright, back to my motion,” Andrew interjected. “I move that early in the New Year we post a small advertisement in The Times and the local Hampshire papers, notifying the public of the incorporation of a trust to accept monies supporting the initiatives of the society.”
“Should we mention trying to acquire the cottage?” asked Adam.
“I think it best,” Dr. Gray answered. “We need to give the public a tangible goal of some kind. Something more impressive than acquiring writing desks and topaz crosses.”
“Again, speak for yourself,” Adeline said pointedly to him. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on Austen’s jewellery.”
Dr. Gray felt strangely gratified—the old Adeline, so sharp-tongued and direct, was slowly, but surely, starting to come back.
Chapter Fourteen
Chawton, Hampshire
Christmas Week 1945
“Do you think we’ll get the old girl to church this Christmas Eve?” asked Tom. He and Evie Stone were picking ivy and holly in the woods to drape about the main entrance hall and drawing room of the Great House, in preparation for the upcoming annual village reception following Christmas Eve service at St. Nicholas.
“It’s always a toss-up,” replied Evie. She was only sixteen to Tom’s twenty, and as she foraged in the snow for the trimmings, her cheeks had that pure ruddy blush