Chapter Text
Jane is now convinced no work will be completed.
Not as she sits motionless at her desk, the cursor which should be flying across the page blinking at her, almost as if to taunt her. Her mind is completely blank, creativity dead. And as she slams the laptop shut in frustration, it dawns on her that this could not be a worse time.
Jane looks at the clock above the door to her office, seeing that almost two hours have passed, with nothing worthwhile happening.
Enough of this.
Jane gets to her feet and snatches her bag off the table. She can’t stay here. Not when she can’t concentrate or do anything productive, and the single picture on her desk seems to stare straight into her, sharing echoing whispers of times in the palace gardens under the summer sun or silent giggles under the covers at night.
Jane opens the door and peaks out of her office. Her assistant smiles at her and opens her mouth, wanting to say something, but Jane cuts her off.
“Hallie. I’m going home.” She says shortly, not bothering to smile.
Hallie nods, watching as her boss walks swiftly out the double doors at the end of the hall and towards the elevators, letting her blonde hair out of its tight bun.
Jane balls her hands into fists. Those lit up brown eyes flash across her mind’s eye and those precious laughs as the girl would watch the jester or chase those little frogs until they hopped into the pond. Those were moments she wished so desperately to have back; she so desperately wished to have her back.
She knows this emotion. Unfortunately she knows it all too well. It starts in her chest as it suddenly grows tight, her lungs feeling trapped, as if in a box. Then she presses her lips together as that sharp stings returns, travelling from the outer to inner corner of her eyes as those salty tears gather at her waterline. Now would usually be the time for her to let out her first sob, grieving for a life that she wished to both relive and forget, for a life that she wished to remember every detail of, yet banish certain parts from her memory.
And yet she can’t. Not when she can feel Hallie’s stare on her back, with the possibility of meeting strangers or colleagues in the elevator. Jane wants no attention drawn to her. When the opportunity arises, the blonde wishes to fade into the background, be swallowed up by everything else; be invisible. Before, she never had the chance to. Not while she sat on her throne next to him, all eyes watching her, waiting for her to make single mistake. But now, with this new start, she had the chance to just be like everyone else.
And God, was she thankful for that.
The elevator dings and Jane, to her joy, is alone. She steps in, not being able to meet her assistant’s eyes through the small glass windows of the doors.
Finally, the steely doors close. She watches the numbers climb down. 10…9…8…7 –
She realises that no one will be entering.
And the old Queen of England allows a single tear to roll down her cheek.
Jane deeply inhales the smell of petrichor from the open window.
As she travelled out of London the rain began to pour, and it didn’t let up until she finally managed to get to Havenbrooke. Rainy days were a favourite of hers. She could sit at her window seat or curl up on the couch and settle deep into her thoughts. While Jane has never been book smart (as historians love to point out), she’s always been a thinker. My sweetheart Jane. Intelligent in dreams, not in books.
Her face scrunches up, now realising what a backhanded compliment that was. Since learning the definition of a backhanded compliment, she’s come to the realisation that a lot of what those courtiers said in court were backhanded compliments.
Rolling her shoulders out of discomfort, Jane turns onto the cobbly path up to the country home. Usually, the home she shared with the other Queens releases whatever tension Jane had built up. Her head cleared, muscles relaxed, and that burning bubble of anxiety she seemed to have in her gut most days seemed to pop. It would all be gone. She’d finally know what utter relief feels like.
Yet it isn’t happening today. As the house begins to loom over the trees – its bright red exposed brick cutting through the sheet of dark green – Jane doesn’t feel relieved. Her lungs begin to feel tight again and her throat starts to ache and burn from the effort of holding in the tears. Her muscles tighten and she grips the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles drain of colour.
Jane wants to scream. She wants to scream, swear, cry, punch something or someone. And yet she’s holding herself back. Remember Janey. You will be Queen, and all eyes will be upon you. Her father didn’t elaborate, but her brother did – No Queen shows emotion in the eyes of the court, nor in the presence of His Majesty.
It was like she was still there. Sat on her throne next to Henry, eyes staring in awe or narrowing in malice, glaring in jealousy, or flickering as they gossiped behind hands. And that was something Jane despised. She much preferred to be hidden amongst the lowlier of the court, a lady hardly anyone knows, or at worst, to be a lady in waiting most courtiers forgot. Being Queen was nowhere on her agenda; and neither was not being able to express a single emotion without being told to stop being a hysteric woman.
“But I’m not a Queen. Not anymore.” Jane whispers as she parks her car to the side of the house. She doesn’t have to reign her emotions in, bottle them up until she can no longer contain it. She can tell someone; she can cry to someone. She can write it all down without it been read by hundreds of eyes. She can be alone when the time calls for it, and not have be constantly followed, she doesn’t have to ask for permission to be alone. She was freer here, and Jane loved it.
Even still, the old Queen was still trapped. She only had two friends outside of the ‘Queen Bubble’, and they had no idea whose presence they were in. To them, it was simply a coincidence she had the same exact name as a medieval Queen of England. Their Janey is a quiet woman who rarely talks about her pas and managed to build a business with some luck and a dream.
She was trapped in a lie.
But not just with them. With everyone.
Jane walks through the entrance of the manor house, happy that the others are too busy to make an appearance. She has it all to herself, which means lots of different places to think, and Jane is in need of a long think.
Throwing her bag onto the settee, Jane heads for her favourite spot in the house – across the threshold of the main parlour room, through the kitchen and into the second parlour room. To the right of the beautiful painting Kitty created, was a small staircase. Continuing up these stairs and behind the door right at the end of the short hallway was a small alcove. Every wall is lined with bookshelves, each shelf filled with books. Some brand new, some so old that a simple touch could turn the cover to dust.
But Jane’s favourite part was the big window. It looked as if the whole wall had been replaced by it, allowing anyone who entered to look out onto the hills rolling out into the distance, each one a different shade of green, some with farm animals grazing. There is a window seat with red cushions, big enough for Jane to completely spread out or simply sit and gaze out to the countryside and contemplate.
She immediately goes to the right side of the seat, grabbing the fluffy throw and situating herself against the cool wood of the bookshelf. The rain has slowed, yet hundreds of raindrops dot the glass and for moment, grey eyes watch intently as two race down to the bottom of the window. A tingly feeling washes over her body as Jane enters a sense of déjà vu.
She had been here before.
Glancing over, Jane can almost see the outline of her little girl, laughing as her finger traces the trail of her raindrop, eyes still on her racer even as she eats her sweet. She had loved rainy days. She loved to read with Jane’s ladies near the fire or sit on her Mama’s lap as Jane embroidered saying how one day she would be as good as Jane, or simply napping in her Mama’s arms to the sound of the rain hitting the glass.
That familiar sting returns. Jane looks down to her arms folded across her chest, her pale skin and blue blouse and the red of the cushions bleeding together into a watery jumble. If she concentrates hard enough, it’s like the weight of her sweetheart girl is there, that her daughter is there, with her, right now, the one thing Jane wished for every night before she slept.
“If you could have anyone back, who would you have, Jane?”
“Edward.”
Liar. Edward was hardly ever thought of. Perhaps in passing when Anne and Lina talk about their children, but it was rare that Jane’s thoughts ever travelled to that little baby wrapped in golden cloth. She never connected with him. Maybe while he grew in her womb and she would whisper to him on nights when she slept alone, and that one moment before she grew ill where she held him and rocked him and thanked God for giving Henry his longed for son.
But when it came to the discussion of children, her first thought was never Edward, it was Ada. Her sweetheart girl.
History knew of Jane’s son, but none knew of her daughter. Ada may not have been a daughter from her womb, but she was a daughter from her heart, her love. And every time she saw Anne and Elizabeth laugh and talk at the kitchen island or see Lina kiss Mary on the forehead as she reassures her and dotes on her, Jane felt consumed with grief and jealousy.
Catalina and Anne could proudly parade their children around court for courtiers to see and watch as Henry doted on them (until he tired of him and realised their mothers would never give him a son). Ada, to members of the court, was simply a motherless charity case. Jane could never publicly show Ada off or watch as Henry showered her with love and affection. In private amongst her ladies and most trusted advisors, Ada was treated like a princess.
And she was. She was Jane’s princess.
Here in this new world, Jane could boast about how intelligent and beautiful Ada is. She could buy her all her favourite dresses; she could allow Ada to be tutored in a school. No one would bat an eye. She and Ada could live out the life Jane had wanted them to – with Jane as the mother and Ada as the daughter, just the two of them. Together.
But that will never happen. Much the old queen’s deep disappointment, Ada hadn’t reincarnated along with Mary and Elizabeth, and even if Jane had wanted to visit Ada’s grave, she can’t; she hasn’t been able to find one. She checked all of the castles and the ruins, what was left of their summer manors to see if any grave was there, but there wasn’t. She had read whatever public records were accessible to her to see if she could locate a grave for Ada, but none of the Ada’s that came up were her Ada. It was like the girl had been completely wiped of existence, as if she no longer existed in history.
That left a sinking feeling right in Jane’s gut. When she had been dying, weaving amongst different layers of consciousness and pain, she had made Henry swear to her that Ada would be protected and would have a place in court. He had promised her, swore to her he would do whatever it took to keep Ada in court and under his watchful eye.
But then why does Ada have no grave?
Jane whimpers and hugs the throw closer to her chest. Ada should have a grave. Ada should be mentioned somewhere. Ada was so important to Jane and no doubt would have garnered attention at court. So why isn’t she mentioned? Not in books, or movies, or documentaries or television series? All they talk about is Edward. Edward but never Ada.
What did he do to Ada? Did he do something to Ada? But he promised her.
“He promised me.” Jane chokes out, lightly hitting her upper arms with her fists. “He promised me.”
Finally, the barrier breaks. Jane buries her face into the throw and sobs so violently, she worries she might make herself sick. She’s crushed beneath the weight of the truth she has worked so hard to deny: Ada was never reincarnating; she’d never see her sweetheart again. With a scream of anguish, Jane throws the blanket off and chucks the pillows around the room. Books hardly touched crash into the bookshelves, the window, and the door, marks of grief left on the wood.
Sniffling, Jane rummages through her bag, looking for her phone. Waking up from her nap, a wave of determination swept through her. She needed to locate Ada. Though a pang shoots through her chest at the thought of visiting a grave, Jane just needs to know that Ada was taking care of; she needs to know that Henry kept his promise.
She clicks the contact, praying that the woman on the other end isn’t doing conservation in some castle in the middle of nowhere. Anna was one of the Queen’s Jane didn’t talk to all that much, so what she was doing and where was something Jane never really knew. It made her feel a little guilty that her and Anna were kind of distant, especially since they had a chance to create a friendship.
“H-Hello? Jane?”
Jane let’s out a gasp. “Anna! Anna, hi. I-I’m sorry that I’m calling you but I was…I was wondering if perhaps you could help me with something.” Jane says uncertainly, stumbling over her words.
A kind chuckle crackles through the phone. “Jane, meine Liebe. Do not apologise for wanting help or for calling me. I’m glad to here from you! Please. Tell me what you need.”
With tears once again welling up in her eyes, Jane exhales deeply.
I will find you my sweetheart. I promise.
“I must tell you a story first.”