The Inspiring Miss Jane Austen - Jane Odiwe

Jane Austen

Someone asked me what had inspired my new book, Jane Austen Lives Again, the other day, and it took me a moment to think about just where the ideas came from and how I ended up writing about my favourite writer in 1925.

Firstly, I love Jane Austen, the person, or the idea of the personality she represents to me. She is wonderful to write as a character because there is an element of mystery about her. For all that we think we know about the woman who penned Pride and Prejudice, there is so much that is uncertain, and even when we are given tantalising clues to pieces of her past, they’re usually snuffed out, to disappear like curling smoke from an extinguished candle flame, whenever we try to get too close. I’ve been very lucky to meet several descendants of Jane’s brothers, and I’ve always hoped I might stumble on some precious nugget of information, a secret never told before. Whilst some have provided me with several intriguing ideas and the occasional unanswered mystery, sadly, the hard evidence for such tantalising tidbits is never really there - though I have often wondered if they’re not spilling all the beans! If I was a non-fiction writer, this might make the job of bringing Jane Austen to life a much harder job, but as a novelist, part of the fun is in being able to use your imagination to make her into a character, whilst trying to remain respectful to her memory, and drawing on the wonderful material we have in the form of her letters and books. Everyone thinks they know Jane Austen - every reader feels she is their special friend, which is partly what makes our greatest novelist a true genius. Her ability to connect with every reader so that they feel it’s a personal experience is part of the wonderful charm of her books. I’ve tried to convey how I feel about her in my own writing, and I hope that readers will like my idea of how I see ‘Jane’.

Lydia, Wickham and Kitty

It goes without saying that her novels are a great inspiration to many people, whether as readers or writers. Her books can be returned to time and again, and every time we read them we find something new to love. Another aspect of Jane’s genius is that we identify with her characters as much today as they did 200 years ago. Everyone knows a couple who seem impossibly matched, like ‘Mr and Mrs Bennet’, we’ve all met a silly ‘Lydia’, or been stung by the barbs of a ‘Caroline Bingley’. We all wish we could go back in time and meet the enigmatic Miss Austen, and have a conversation with her, and this desire of my own has taken me on a journey with my own books. I’ve written a couple of dual time novels, Searching for Captain Wentworth and Project Darcy, where contemporary heroines go back to the 1800s to interact with Jane Austen and other characters inspired by those Jane wrote about in Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice. This time, I thought it would be interesting to place Miss Austen in 1925, an era I thought she might enjoy (like me) and I wanted to explore how she would react to a different time, a new and exciting age where women were becoming more independent. Jane still had firm fans in 1925, and her novel, Sanditon was edited and published at the beginning of the year. Rudyard Kipling and E. M. Forster waxed lyrical on her talents, describing themselves as Janeites, penning articles and poems on their love for her work.

I am a Jane Austenite, and, therefore, slightly imbecile about Jane Austen. My fatuous expression, and airs of personal immunity—how ill they set on the face, say, of a Stevensonian. But Jane Austen is so different. One's favorite author! One reads and rereads, the mouth open and the mind closed. Shut up in measureless content, one greets her by the name of most kind hostess, while criticism slumbers. E. M Forster 1924

Rudyard Kipling wrote The Janeites around this time and Jane's Marriage, a poem which alludes to a mysterious gentleman who loved Jane Austen.

This brings me to another source of inspiration - the wonderful books written by women authors written between the 1920s and 1940s. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons, I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith, and Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson are just three of my favourites - if you haven’t read them you are in for a treat, and if you haven’t time to read them there are very good films of them all to watch. All these authors admired Jane Austen - if they don’t actually mention her by name, it’s easy to see her influence in their writing. Family dynamics are at the heart of the first two books, and I liked the idea of creating a family that didn’t quite sit well together, in true Jane Austen style. There are five girls, all inspired by Jane Austen’s heroines - you might be able to guess which

ones from their names, though they’re not carbon copies. Alice, Mae, Beth, Emily and Cora all have problems to overcome, and whilst some are resistant to Jane’s help, she is determined to do all she can. I loved the idea of placing the Milton girls in a crumbling castle on the edge of the sea in Devon, as part of an eccentric and bohemian family. As Jane ‘teaches’ us a model for good behaviour throughout her books, I wanted my novel to show her doing this as she tries to reform and influence the different characters within the Milton family and beyond.

Every one of the books mentioned above has a fairy tale element in the descriptions of the worlds created or in their happy endings, and I very much wanted to mirror this idea and write a grown-up ‘Cinderella’ story of my own. I will just briefly mention the heroes in my novel - there are several, all inspired by Jane's heroes to some extent or other, and Jane has admirers of her own.
 Finally, I love doing the research for a new novel and Pinterest can be very inspiring for creating mood boards. I had a wonderful time putting this board together. 
Following on is an excerpt from Jane Austen Lives Again - I do hope you enjoy it. 
A descendant of her Winchester doctor, John Lyford finally perfects the latter’s work on transdifferentiation, though it takes until 1925 to do so, and in accordance with her last wishes and the help of her sister Cassandra, she’s given a new lease on life. She looks and feels about Elizabeth Bennet’s age, but has all the wisdom from her past life. The only problem is that with little money she has to get a job, and so the young doctor manages to place her in a household as a governess, which is not her idea of an exciting prospect. She soon finds out that the family don't really need a governess as such, but they very much need her help. As she adjusts to her new life, Jane’s memories often intrude, and there are flashbacks to the past. In this scene, at a party, modern life threatens to overwhelm her, and she can’t help harking back to her former life, and an old love.

Beyond were French doors leading out onto a terrace, with wonderful views over the valley and steps leading down to a sunken garden. Roses bloomed over an arbour fixed at points along the terrace,

and the scent on the evening air made Jane feel she’d been transported to some foreign clime she’d once read about. There was no one else in sight and leaning on the balustrade she watched the sun lowering in the sky sending blue shadows over the black and white tiles, setting the pots of white lilies aflame. A few Chinese lanterns bobbed in the warm breeze above her head, blushing pink as if lit by glow-worms. It was incredible to think she’d found such a peaceful haven, and though she knew she couldn’t stay there all night, at least it gave her a little respite from all the frenzied activity inside. The music floated out on the scented air, and she could imagine them all kicking up their heels, until there was a pause and tumultuous applause broke out, and a loud voice announced a foxtrot to slow down the pace so they could get their breath back. Jane couldn’t imagine what that dance could be, and couldn’t help picture a sly fox with a waving bushy tail trotting his way down a henhouse full of plump birds. She laughed out loud for it really was a ridiculous picture.

‘Is it a good joke?’ said a voice behind her.

Spinning round she came face to face with Will, the last person she expected to see.

‘I’ve never heard of a foxtrot and I’ve got a wild imagination.’

As soon as the words were out she thought how gauche she must sound.

‘Goodness, you’ve led a more sheltered existence than I thought,’ Will exclaimed. ‘I was just coming to ask you to dance.’

‘I’m not sure that would be possible or appropriate, Mr Milton,’ Jane answered, searching for the right words. ‘I cannot dance, nor do I have any wish to make an exhibition of myself.’

It was an attempt to put him off, and even though she knew the reverse was true, that she loved nothing better than to dance, she’d already decided that to start again by having to learn modern dances to the music that was starting to jangle noisily and persistently in her head, would be impossible. She liked to be the best at everything, to excel at all she endeavoured to try. Failure was not a word she liked or allowed in her vocabulary, and besides all that, the memories of the past were crowding in on her.

She saw a line of eager young bucks, all waiting to take her hand in the dance. As if seeing

Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy

from a distance, a familiar room glowed with candlelight and exquisite chandeliers, as Tom Lefroy took her arm, squeezed her hand, and led her through the intricate patterns, whirling her round in a country dance. The room throbbed with passions unspoken, of bodies meeting, fingers touching, hearts and minds open to tacit thoughts and caresses. And later, stolen kisses and a sweet promise beyond the confines of the house, now blazed across her memory and the gulf of time, as swift and searing as if it had happened yesterday.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Will was saying as Jane jerked back to reality when she heard his insistent voice. ‘You have the definite look of a dancer to me. Come on, let me teach you.’

He came to stand next to her leaning his weight with crossed arms on the balustrade as she did, and Jane hoped he wouldn’t see the tears that sprang to her eyes blurring her vision and thoughts. It was silly to be so stirred up and emotional at thoughts of the past, but she was overwhelmed by a sudden desire for all that she had ever known, and for all those she had loved. She longed to share a conversation with someone who spoke the same language in the cadences and timbre of her youth, and to feel a kinship and connection with every living creature in her own time, sharing an appreciation of what was expected, whilst operating within a familiar system. And although she’d often railed against such conventions, she almost craved such customary restrictions now. Knowing she couldn’t go back made her feel worse, and she had to focus her mind to bring herself back from sudden despair. Blinking back the tears she turned to see Will looking into the distance, and for the first time she thought she saw a look of vulnerability. There was an expression of sadness in his eyes as if he might be far away in his thoughts too.

‘I’ll be a poor pupil, I’m certain,’ she said, finally giving in to his pleading expression. ‘And I’m supposed to be chaperoning your sisters, not trotting about.’

She nearly added, ‘like a fox’, but the uncharitable thought crossed her mind that if anyone were like a fox it was Will with his chestnut brown hair, and she cast herself as a plump hen with ruffled feathers waiting to be snaffled up after one easy pounce.

‘Are you changing your mind?’ he said, turning to face her with a smile that spread to his velvet eyes, sloe black and glittering in the dying light. ‘Have I convinced you to dance with me?’

‘I hardly know,’ she muttered before he caught hold of her, pulling her arm gently towards him until she released her tight grip on the stone rail, and took her hands in his own.

If you could go back in time and meet Jane Austen, what question would you most want to ask her?

Jane Austen Lives Again - Jane Odiwe

In my new novel, Jane Austen Lives Again, Jane is brought back to life in 1925 and has to get a job. Her doctor finds her a position as a governess to five girls in Devon, and though Jane is rather dreading the whole thing, she knows that without any money to live on she has little choice. Her only hope is that she'll have time to write in the evenings when the children are in bed …

Here's an excerpt from Chapter One - I hope you enjoy it!

 Jane and her doctor are travelling to her new home in Devon by train.

‘Manberley Castle sounds like a title for one of my books,’ Jane said at last, pushing all memories of the past from her mind. ‘The Miltons of Manberley has a lovely ring to it, perfect for a novel.’

Dr Lyford smiled. ‘I believe it dates back to the twelfth century, though I’m assured there are more modern additions. The last building took place in about 1815 so you should feel quite at home.’

‘And how did the Miltons come by their money?’

‘Well, they’re sugar millionaires, so I’m guessing their family history and wealth was built on the misery of others.’

‘Ill-gotten gains, how perfectly dreadful, and at the expense of so much human suffering, though in my day those who profited from the trade of their fellow men had no qualms in doing so. It is a fine thing to learn that such abhorrent practices are completely stopped. I hope the Milton forbears had a conscience, and helped to put right the wrongs of previous generations.’

‘I couldn’t say, Miss Austen. I am certain Sir Albert Milton is like most men of his class since the war; still trying to hang on to the life he’s always known and enjoyed, that of squire and landowner. But times are changing, and their way of life, though seemingly luxurious to many, is not quite as lavish or extravagant as it was once upon a time. I believe Sir Albert is still very much the gentleman of leisure, though his heir seems to have a lot more about him. He runs the estate, providing much employment for local farmers and workers. By all accounts William Milton is very much a modern man, not afraid to get his hands dirty.’

‘Quite right, too. I’m not certain I could be in the employ of a feckless family content only to laze away their days. You mentioned there is a lady of the house … is she an idle creature or am I to expect hidden depths? Is Lady Milton a useful sort of person or one inclined to lie out on a sofa?’

‘With five girls I expect she has her hands full, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything much about her ladyship or her children.’

‘Though you say she is a second wife, and I’m guessing William is the son of his first.’

‘William is in his late twenties, I believe, and the succession of younger girls most likely from a different mother, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘But you do have a list of their names? I must try and familiarise myself with them.’

Dr Lyford took out his wallet from his jacket pocket, pulling a piece of paper from inside. ‘Yes, here we are. I’ve written them out and made some brief notes. I was able to talk to the housekeeper on the telephone. Her name is Mrs Naseby; rather an abrupt and evasive woman, but seemed able to distil the essential personalities of the children in one or two words. I thought it might help … give you an idea before you meet them.’

Jane grasped the paper and read. ‘Alice … kind and considerate, Mae … needs a tight rein, Beth … headstrong, Emily … has rather too much her own way, and Cora … reads excessively. Goodness, if I’d read this before, I’m not sure I would have agreed to your plans, though Alice sounds promising and Cora is clearly a little girl I could get along with.’

‘Which is precisely why I haven’t shown you this previously. I did wonder if it was a good idea, but I do think Mrs Naseby has probably not painted the Milton girls in the best light.’

‘I should say not. Heavens, whatever shall I do?’

‘Think of this job as a temporary measure. I couldn’t find you any other employment with your limited experience, and at least if you can stick to it, you’ll gain some valuable skills along with a reference at the end of a year or two.’

‘A whole year … or two.’ Jane found it hard to keep the dismay from her voice. She couldn’t help thinking about her dear friend Anne Sharp who’d been a governess to her niece Fanny. Sweet Anne who’d always been a constant source of pleasure, a clever, witty woman, cheerful and capable, the most uncomplaining person she’d ever known, and always determined to get the best out of life. If Anne had managed it, then so could she.

The train was pulling into the station. Dark, sullen clouds up above were brimming with raindrops like the tears she felt welling inside, and before she’d gathered her belongings, the heavens opened. Water fell in torrents, pattering on the roof of the Victorian waiting room, gurgling down the drainpipes and running in streams along the platform, dribbling down the name painted on the station sign. Jane rubbed at the misty glass with a gloved hand, and peered out anxiously. Stoke Pomeroy looked grey and unwelcoming, cold and dark, despite the fact that it was the beginning of June.

‘This is where we part company, Miss Austen,’ said Dr Lyford. ‘Now, you have my address and telephone number in Dawlish if you need me. I shall be there for six weeks before heading back to London.’ He looked at his companion of whom he’d grown very fond in the last few weeks. ‘Do call or write if you need anything.’

Jane took a deep breath. ‘I shall be perfectly fine, Dr Lyford, do not worry.’

‘Sir Albert said there’d be someone to meet you.’ The doctor opened the door, stepped onto the platform briefly and called the porter to take her suitcase.

‘Thank you, Dr Lyford, thank you for everything.’ Jane knew the words were vacuous, but it was impossible to express just how she felt. If only she’d written him a letter, she thought, the written word always came so much more easily. She watched him step back inside the train, shutting the door with a finality that left her shuddering with fear at the thought of being alone. Jane told herself to stop being so silly and extended her hand through the window, shaking his vigorously.

The guard appeared, doors slammed, a flag waved and the great beast ignited once more shunting off in loud roars leaving a trail of dragon’s breath behind it. Jane watched her doctor being taken away, and suddenly felt rather alone. No one else had got on or off the train apart from herself and she wasn’t quite sure what to do, as she waited. Struggling with her umbrella to prevent getting any wetter, she got it up at last and walked up and down the platform. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting for her and then she wondered if perhaps there’d be a pony and trap with a trusted servant waiting outside beyond the gate. Handing her ticket to the man at the exit she stepped out of the safety of the station to discover there was nobody waiting for her there either, but there was a bench under a shelter so she took a seat and watched the rain gurgling in the gutters and bouncing off the road like large pennies.

Nothing could have surprised her more than the sight of a sleek black motor drawing up a few minutes later, and a liveried chauffeur stepping out to address her. Dressed in navy with a smart peaked hat and leather gauntlets, he took her case and opened the rear door with a flourish. ‘Miss Austen, please take a seat.’

Jane had never been in a car before, though she’d taken a trip into Winchester with Dr Lyford’s housekeeper on the omnibus. She was relieved to be sitting in the back of the vehicle and glad to see a glass partition dividing her from the driver in front. Forced conversation with a stranger was never a very useful activity to her mind, and she didn’t want to chat to the chauffeur. He didn’t look like the talking sort, and for that matter, wasn’t quite what she’d expected at all. He had a very cock-sure way about him, and an arrogant air, which made her feel most unsure of herself. Jane needn’t have worried; he didn’t speak though once or twice she caught him watching her through the rear view mirror which was unnerving, to say the least. She noted his dark hair underneath the cap, and the way he drove with his head on one side, his elbow resting on the window and one hand casually holding the wheel. He was speeding down the narrow lanes, which made Jane shut her eyes and hold onto the strap as she swayed from side to side. It wouldn’t do to be ill, she thought, as she opened one eye to see the world flashing past in a blur of green hedges and cow parsley.

They were ascending out of the valley when she saw her first glimpse of the sea, a slice of lavender ribbon under an oppressive sky, and as they wreathed along the cliff top road she saw the greater expanse below, white horses crashing down on the beach, and a strip of sand stretching along an endless coastline.

The car finally slowed and she saw the chauffeur’s hand reaching for the partition to slide it open.

‘I’m sorry if my driving is a little fast,’ he said.

Jane met his gaze in the mirror. He was staring intently again and she didn’t know where to look. It made her feel very uncomfortable and she had the feeling he was enjoying her discomfort.

‘I must admit I prefer a slower pace,’ she answered, ‘I am not used to being driven about.’

‘I’ll try my best to drive as you wish,’ he said, his eyes still on her face. Jane wished he’d watch the road, and although there hadn’t been another vehicle anywhere since they’d left the station, she was sure they’d meet with an accident sooner or later if he persisted on staring into her eyes.

There was silence for a while for which she was glad, and then the car turned off the road into a drive between tall rusted gates with ornate gateposts topped by crumbling stone urns. A gatehouse looked neglected, ivy climbed over the windows, which were fogged with green moss and mould. There was no keeper to welcome them or wave them through; there’d clearly been no occupants for a while.

‘Have you been a governess long?’ he said at last.

‘Not very long, no.’

Jane thought his questioning impertinent and pursing her mouth stared determinedly through the window at the overgrown tangle of laurels and rhododendrons on every side, bursting into flower and dripping in the rain. Her first impressions of the place were not exactly  reassuring, but she hoped things might improve as they reached the house.

‘The Miltons are an undemanding bunch,’ the driver went on, ‘though what some folk might call slightly odd or eccentric, I suppose.’

Jane regarded the back of the young man's head steadily. ‘I prefer to make up my own mind about people, I thank you, but in any case, I do not think this is a subject for conversation. I dislike gossip and I would appreciate you refraining from further discussion on my new employers.’

‘Just as you please, Miss Austen.’

He appeared to find her amusing, she noted, as he made no attempt to disguise the laughter in

his voice. He kept his eyes on the road after that and as they drove up the long drive the house made an appearance at last in open ground, a gloomy Palladian façade that time seemed to have forgotten with rows of windows on either side of a central pediment. Crouched on a cliff top, the house would enjoy astonishing sea views, Jane thought, and with the stunning scenery of hanging woods on the other side where the village of Stoke Pomeroy could be seen happily nestled in the valley, she decided she’d never seen such a splendid situation. A tower, the only remains of the oldest part of the ‘castle’ formed an extension on the west side with crenellations, and gothic windows clearly added at a later date. But for the peeling stucco and an air of abandonment, the house should have been the jewel in the crown. Lashing rain and skies as green as gunpowder added to the general sense of despondency and Jane felt her spirits sink. The chauffeur swung the car round to the left and to the side of the building.

‘You’ll find the servant’s door at the bottom of the steps,’ he said, and without another word handed her out of the car and deposited her suitcase at her feet before getting back into the vehicle to roar away over the gravel drive.

Jane stared after him hoping she wouldn’t have much occasion to see him again. He thought far too much of himself, she decided, and with his brooding good looks she was sure he must create havoc amongst the maidservants. Overhead she heard the mournful mewing of wheeling gulls, and tasted the brine of the sea on her lips.  Taking a deep breath, she picked up her case, and opening the cast iron gate at the top of the stairwell made her way down the steps until she reached the small door at the bottom.

Jane Austen Lives Again will be available for pre-order on Kindle next week and published in November.

Jane Austen's Emma, Governesses, and a New Book.

Jane Austen’s life was cut tragically short at the age of 41. If you’re a huge fan of her work, like me, then the six completed novels she finished, whilst perfectly demonstrating her genius, will never be enough. I’m always torn when it comes to deciding which is my favourite, and I love them all for different reasons. Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion vie for the top spot, but I also love Emma. This December will mark 200 years of its publication, and it was with this book in mind that I started to think about the present novel I’m working on.

Emma was written as Jane was beginning to be recognised as a talented writer, and whilst she was still not making much money from her writing she knew her work was being well received by critics and the public alike. Emma was her first heroine to be wealthy and privileged; perhaps living not far from her brother Edward’s house at Chawton and seeing first-hand the lives of his daughters, which were in great contrast to her own, gave her some of the inspiration for her writing.

Emma is portrayed as a match-maker and someone who thinks she understands human nature, including her own, and the joy of the book is discovering not only how far the truth is from her real understanding of the people around her, but also seeing her growth and the changes she makes as a character. Before she started writing Jane Austen wrote, ‘I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like …’ But, although there are traits of Emma’s personality that we may not like to start with, in the end we can forgive her mistakes, and it’s her faults that even help to make her likeable.

Chawton House where Jane's brother Edward lived

It's not possible in a short blog post to write everything that could be included about this wonderful book, but essentially Emma is a book about courtship and marriage, and we see how very different the prospects of the main female characters are dependent on their status in life. Emma is rich and she protests at the start of the novel that she doesn’t see the necessity of marriage, though she’s happy to meddle in other people’s relationships imagining that she’s helping to bring them along. She thinks she will be able to elevate the status of her young friend Harriet who is an illegitimate girl living in a nearby school. As the novel progresses we see her view of marriage gradually change. Austen uses charades very cleverly to show Emma’s misguided efforts to bring the wrong people together. When her friend Harriet declares an interest in a poor farmer, Emma can only persuade her to consider the vicar who has better prospects. Mr Elton presents a ‘courtship’ charade when Harriet is visiting which leads Emma to think he is serious in his regard for her friend. When Emma realises she’s been blind to the fact that Mr Elton is actually in love with her we understand that the charade was never meant for Harriet. The many misunderstandings concealed in charades and riddles keep us from guessing what is going to happen. It’s a book that hides its secrets with tremendous skill, and on first reading the revelations come one by one with wonderful surprises in store. A second reading cements all that was first discovered, and is just as revelatory as on the first. Every time I read it I discover something new. I don’t want to give anything away, but if you don’t know the book I promise you won’t be disappointed with all the twists and turns of the plot.

Olivia Williams as Jane Fairfax

Jane Fairfax is another character I want to mention. She is the only young woman that Emma envies, yet she is poor and is set to become a governess. Emma doesn’t like Jane Fairfax, but Jane Austen writes of her in glowing terms. Jane has all the traits and accomplishments that Emma feels she is lacking in herself. She is clever, beautiful, and is a talented singer and pianist. Jane Austen writes her character sympathetically, and I can’t help wondering if she ever worried that the fate of becoming a governess might befall her. As she comes to her own self-realisation, Emma thinks about the inequalities between women of independent means and those who are poor. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill’s importance in the world, and Jane Fairfax’s, struck her; one was every thing, the other nothing. 

Austen compares the lot of the governess to a form of slavery and we know she witnessed the life at first-hand. Her dear friend, Anne Sharp served as governess to Fanny Knight, Jane’s niece at Edward’s other house, Godmersham Park, Kent, from 1804-6. Jane sent a presentation copy of the three volume edition of Emma inscribed to her friend when they were published, and I can't help thinking that in some ways Emma is partly a tribute to the woman whom Jane revered. They remained good friends until Jane died.

At the end of Jane Austen’s life she wrote a poem called Winchester Races. Jane knew she was dying and though the poem is a reference to St. Swithin I’ve always been intrigued by these lines:

When once we are buried you think we are gone

But behold me immortal!

I can’t help wishing that even though she achieved immortality in her writing, that she could have found a way to be cured so she could write all the books she wished. And that’s what set me thinking about Emma, governesses, and a new book which will be published in November, Jane Austen Lives Again. Although Emma started as the inspiration for this book, I soon found other nods to Jane's novels creeping in - you'll find Persuasion, Sense and Sensibility, and Pride and Prejudice all making their influence known.

© Jane Austen Lives Again

When Jane Austen’s doctor discovers the secret to immortal life in 1817 she thinks her wishes have come true. But when Jane wakes up from the dead, she hasn’t reckoned on her doctor being a descendant of the original Dr Lyford or that it’s taken over a 100 years to perfect the process. Finding herself in 1925, a penniless Miss Austen must adjust to the Jazz Age, get herself a job, and discover the only one suitable is in the most dreaded of all occupations. Becoming a governess to five girls of an eccentric bohemian family at the neglected and crumbling Manberley Castle is not exactly her dream job, and Jane soon finds she’s caught up in the dramas of every family member. The children are not quite what she’s expected, and her employer, Lady Milton is at her wit’s end.  But Jane loves nothing more than a challenge, and now living in a new body half her real age, but with all the wisdom gained from a lifetime in the past, she resolves on putting the family in order. If only she can resist falling in love, her common sense and resolve will win the day and change the lives of them all!

Jane Odiwe