“It’s a mile and a ,” ing into the woods, “longer by road.”

    e crossed t  so old you, tom. It’s too . t o a  in disappointment at seeing tationary cranes and macers over t tell t. t up  in a brief conference of mackintoshes.

    Aurelius  by tableau.

    ‘I’ve seen they are?“

    ‘treet. ter the deer here.“

    ‘Do till  here?“

    ‘No. S looks after they’re a nice family.“

    Enviously er ttention o me,” uff—” ure and turned to’s go home.”

    tosurning back toes, he same decision.

    Aurelius and I  friendship.

    to cut out t and tery sky. Stretc an arm to pusra raindrops to add to t fell on us from tree and leaned over it, staring into ts  ened tting bark almost to fur.

    then, “home,” Aurelius pronounced.

    It one cottage. Built for endurance ration, but attractive all ts simple and solid lines. Aurelius led me around t a ell. It  t a o. Except t at tension, almost as large as tself, and taken up entirely chen.

    ‘My sanctuary,“ he said as he showed me in.

    A massive stainless-steel oven,  fridges—it chen for a real cook.

    Aurelius pulled out a c at a small table by a bookcase. talian. One book, unlike t on table. It ebook, corners blunt  ransparent after decades of being tery fingers. Someone ten RECIPIES on t, in old-fasals. Some years later ter  t pen.

    ‘May I?“ I asked.

    ‘Of course.“

    I opened to leaf t. Victoria sponge, date and  loaf, scones, ginger cake, maids of art, ric cake… ting improving as turned.

    Aurelius turned a dial on tly, assembled s. After t everytretc an arm for a sieve or a knife  looking. c smootly, knoly o do,  in front of s. ter into dice, zested an orange. It ural as breathing.

    ‘You see t cupboard?“ o your left? ould you open it?“

    ted a piece of equipment, I opened the cupboard door.

    ‘You’ll find a bag hanging on a peg inside.“

    It cs sides  stitc just tucked in. It fastened rap, attacy clasp at eaco  diagonally across your body. t mig the color of age.

    ‘ is it?“ I asked.

    For a second o me.

    ‘It’s the bag I was found in.“

    urned back to combining s.

    tco Aurelius. Even bent over  tall. I  orybook giant  eyes on oday trap  even go around  sixty years ago o fit inside. Dizzy at t of ime can do, I sat do cs canvas around ened t trap over o carry , to Mrs. Love’s? I ran my fingers over toucrap. Seeking some trace of  my touc reveal if only it kne know how.

    ‘It’s exasperating, isn’t it?“ Aurelius said.

    I o t him behind me, looking over my shoulder.

    ‘You open it—I’ve got flour on my hands.“

    I undid ts of canvas. to a flat circle in ter of wangle of paper and rag.

    ‘My inance,“ he announced.

    ting to be s into t  tensity of a boy staring at a treasure trove. “tory,” ell me  a matter of… of understanding t ent but resigned. “I’ve tried all my life to piece toget o place. take t, for instance—”

    It e, noangled it from ts and smoot out. It tern of stars and floy mottons; it ’s dress or niginy garment, ing to touc ing to mark it  fit over a finger now.

    ‘It’s w I was wearing,“ Aurelius explained.

    ‘It’s very old.“

    ‘As old as me, I suppose.“

    ‘Older t, even.“

    ‘Do you think so?“

    ‘Look at titc’s been mended more tton doesn’t matchis before you.“

    ted from to me and back to th, hungry for knowledge.

    ‘And ted at a page of print. It orn from a book and riddled aking it in my arted to read.

    ‘… not at first aion; but and in act to , I instinctively started aside h a cry of alarm—“

    Aurelius took up tinued, reading not from t from memory: “… not soon enoug  me, and I fell, striking my  tting it.”

    Of course I recognized it. , for I  goodness knows imes. “Jane Eyre, ” I said wonderingly.

    ‘You recognized it? Yes, it is. I asked a man in a library. It’s by Cte someone. S of sisters, apparently.“

    ‘?“

    ‘Started to. It  a little girl. S  takes  I o somet. Nasty , not like Mrs. Love at all. t  later so scerrible scerrible food, but ser t… I seemed to lose interest. Didn’t read t see  fitted after t.“ . ”?  o  relevant?“

    ‘S secretly—tries to burn ter is blind, and Jane marries him.“

    ‘Aried to puzzle it all out. But  doesn’t make sense, does it? t t after t… I  means. I ell me truth.“

    urned back to torn-out page. “Probably it’s not t’s important at all. Per’s just t  meaning. Look here—”

    Inside tigters ten in a large, boyiso t o decip. I tried t letter of every  of every line. Or tried replacing one letter for anoted to rials, eyes feverisill a c see somet had escaped him before.

    I kne was hopeless.

    ‘ about t object and couldn’t   no y, dirty-looking ts oils dried up, ted into stiff brohe cracked spine.

    Aurelius sh relief.

    And t one more t  finis ain t mig it closely.

    ‘I tuttered, ”— e bot“— me in  it must be my name.“

    ed. “It got  in t  ured at me to o t. ‘Somet t o, over to look lard, but you can see it, can’t you?“

    I stared at tain.

    ‘Can’t you?“

    I made a vague motion her nod nor shake.

    ‘You see! It’s obvious  it?

    I continued to look, but tom letters t o my eye.

    ‘And t,“ tled on Aurelius. t just as easily be Alphonse, I suppose.“

    urned a you’ve seen t.” o op pocket and took out t our first meeting, ing on t cats flanking teps of Angelfield house.

    ‘And tself,“ I ?“

    ‘Just a bag,“ ed it to  delicately. ”It used to smell of smoke, but not anymore.“  to me, and I bent my nose to it. ”You see? It’s faded now.“

    Aurelius opened took out a tray of pale gold biscuits t  to cool. ttle and prepared a tray. Cups and saucers, a sugar botle plates.

    ‘You take tray to me.  sting room, old comfy c  in a minute.“  o me,  things away.“

    I  into Mrs. Love’s front room and sat in a co stow ance—ance—safely away.

    I left tc my mind. as it sometion tention but  a of ory. It didn’t matter. It o me.

    In t, teeply and is covered in patc levels out and trees again. Because of t provides an unexpected vantage point from   I stopped, on my tage.

    t remained of it,  a gray sky. tories on t-ed by its dark stone lintel and teps t led up to it, but tself   a day to be open to ts, and I sled one cats . Like taken t of t. t-ill largely intact, to judge by tion of t  to go. as all t mac myself t looked as if tones still standing, pale and insubstantial as rice paper, seemed ready to melt a stood there long enough.

    My camera angled it from under my coat and raised it to my eyes. as it possible to capture t appearance of tness? I doubted it but o try.

    I ing tance lens  t my g. t excitedly.  ? A uned to see more clearly.

    One of to ted t of it. It ed smile er—I could see it  on iff as a soldier ood, c out, ent ration to keep too-large  from slipping.

    Just as ruck  of sun-ligs ing  of glory. I clicked tter and my po aken. t, over  s sign, and to , in the house, a dismal smudge of gray.

    took my eye off to uck my camera a , tes, equal stride, equal erbalance to tails of tos barely skimming t to lift into the air and fly.

    JANE EYRE AND thE FURNACE

    back to Yorksion for my banis. Judited me rained smile. t  under ed in sains back a feing room, exposing a bit more  it made no difference to ted  s tether.

    t  felt like an eternity. Often nig never quite day, t of t of time. Miss inter arrived late to one of our morning meetings. Soo,  kno pain t put thing else.

    ‘I propose a more flexible timetable for our meetings,“ stled in .

    ‘Of course.“ I kneervieor, could see o control  yet taken full effect. And so  instead of presenting myself at nine every morning, I  instead for a tap at my door.

    At first tap came alen. t drifted to later. After tor altered ook to asking for me early in t our meetings o a  of meeting times a day, at random times. Sometimes s  lengtail. At otimes s  so muced as tic qualities of torytelling itself.

    time gone. I listened to ory, I e tory, ory, and ory t formed tant backdrop of my ts. It irely inside a book. I didn’t even need to emerge to eat, for I could sit at my desk reading my transcript  Judit to my room. Porridge meant it  lunceak and kidney pie ime over a dis did it mean? It could mean anyte a fee away.

    In tiated lapse of time, ts t stood out. I noted t time, separately from tory, and th recalling here.

    this is one.

    I  a ion of a fanatic: tions t came up so rarely on t it  a price to t fell at every point betremes. ticular, edition from turn of tury.  Miss inter in and settled he fire.

    er asked, “ are you looking for?”

    “Jane Eyre.”

    ‘Do you like Jane Eyre?“ she asked.

    ‘Very much. Do you?“

    ‘Yes.“

    She shivered.

    ‘Soke up the fire for you?“

    She lowered her eyelids as if a wave of pain had come over her. “I suppose so.”

    Once trongly again, s? Sit do.”

    And after a minute of silence shis.

    ‘Picture a conveyor belt, a , and at t a massive furnace. And on t are books. Every copy in tte. te.“

    “Middlemarch, ” I supplied.

    ‘t t t to it is a  to turn it on. And you can stop it. You o do is pull trigger.  do you do?“

    ‘No, t’s silly.“

    ‘urns to On. t arted.“

    ‘But it’s too extreme, it’s ical.“

    ‘First of all, She edge.“

    ‘I don’t like games like this.“

    ‘Noarts to go up in flames.“

    I sighed and closed my eyes.

    ‘uts coming up. Going to let t burn, are you?“

    I couldn’t eady process to the furnace, and flinched.

    ‘Suit yourself. In it goes. Same for Jane Eyre?“

    Jane Eyre. I hed.

    ‘All you o do is s. I  tell. No one need ever knoarted to fall. Just t fe t of copies. You  to make up your mind.“

    I rubbed my t a rough edge of nail on my middle finger.

    ‘ter now.“

    S remove her gaze from me.

    ‘. All of Jane Eyre will soon hink.“

    Miss inter blinked.

    ‘t one person, Margaret. Just one tiny, insignificant little person.“

    I blinked.

    ‘Still time, but only just. Remember, to live?“

    Blink. Blink.

    ‘Last chance.“

    Blink. Blink. Blink.

    Jane Eyre was no more.

    “Margaret!” Miss inter’s face ted in vexation as s   t  ched in her lap.

    Later, , I t it  spontaneous expression of feeling I er. It  of feeling to invest in a mere game.

    And my oer, I o say so.

    On my , I returned to took t met my criteria. Rig kind of paper, rigypeface. In my room I turned till I found the place.

    ‘… not at first aion; but and in act to , I instinctively started aside  soon enoug  me, and I fell, striking my  tting it.

    tact. Not a single page  torn from. But in any case, he house.

    For a time I sat doing not no matter  make sense of it.

    time  of tograp tray one morning, addressed to me in my fating. It ures from my first day: brambles gros one staircase. I ed at ture of to-face ; over ted. Still, I took it out of tucked it inside to keep.

    t of tograp,  of t puzzling compositions of murkiness.  I remembered  tipping point beter. But my camera ured none of t, nor  possible in t interrupted to make out a stone, a ree or a forest. After ures, I gave up looking. Stuffing tos in my cardigan pocket, I  doairs to the library.

    e  ervie t s could not recall the words.

    ‘?“ I said.

    ‘Your pocket,“ sed. ”You .“

    ‘O’s some pograp limbo state ory and your life, , I mumbled on. ”Angelfield,“ I said.

    By time I returned to myself, tures were in her hands.

    At first s eacraining to make sense of t out a small Vida inter sig implied ations igo a critical line. ito flick tures more cursorily; to s sed to find anyterest, sossed eacer t glance onto table at her side.

    I os landing at a regular rable. top of each a sound like useless, useless, useless.

    to a . Miss inter ting ent rigidity, ure and studying it , I t. ter a long moment, pretending not to feel my gaze upon ucked to be t, tossing t as before.  ed tention resurfaced, s it but added it to t o tell it  if you say so…” sly artless movement, sohem.

    ‘My  doo retrieve tures, but I  deceived.

    And sory .

    Later I looked tures again. For all t tos   difficult to tell ood out from t. I sat on t t  and t just t time to alloo a boy raigraying t at any minute  o slip sideways on his head.

    aken by t pograp t so  y barrier and t sign.

    as it terested her?

    I puzzled over ture for  by time I came to put it aion. Because it perplexed me, I slipped it inside ture of an absence in a mirror frame.

    Apart from tograp mucory  over me.

    t, I remember. ook note of my unusual c my door for a bit of fuss at random . Finiss of egg or fise. o sit on my piles of paper, ce. For  scratc my pages, er’s story, but no matter  myself, I never quite lost my sense of being c particularly lost, it  t seemed to reaco my muddle and ligo my room, my notes, my pencils and my pencil s s, and I took to leaving my curtains open so t if  on my  o the human eye.

    And t is all. Apart from ternal twiligory.