Becoming Jane

Chapter 18

***Read the author's note down the bottom if you want to know about my little deja vu 'Little J moment' :) ***

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Chapter Eighteen

Little J felt as though she was walking to the hangman’s noose as they made their way to the chancellor’s office. She’d never met nor seen the man, but she felt as though he was an executioner – a killer of dreams.

They came to a solid oak door, the kind that smelled like the woods. In the centre of it was a brass nameplate that read ‘Chancellor Harold Warburton’.

Harrison dropped her hand as he stepped forward to knock on the door.

The three knocks felt condemning, as if each sound twisted and warped her insides further and further into oblivion. She gathered her hair and tossed it behind her shoulders in an effort to appear less feminine. She wondered why she hadn’t just chopped it all off at the beginning … hair was hair, it would have grown back.

“Enter,” said a deep and authoritative voice from inside.

Her heart took off in what felt like a constant hum rather than individual beats. She was sure it was going to stop all together.

Harrison turned the door handle and led her into the grand office that was occupied by Oxford’s chancellor. The office smelled of old books, the kind that made one want to sit in an armchair and read for days. The wood panelled walls were lined with shelves containing books on every possible topic. The large, mahogany desk was intricately carved that let anyone who sat before it know that the chancellor was far richer and more important than they would ever be.   

Before the desk was two deep green velvet armchairs. One was occupied by Mr Francis who smugly looked around at Little J, letting her know that Chancellor Warburton knew everything.

Chancellor Warburton looked like an intimidating man. He looked to be about ten years older than her father, though his was worse for wear. His skin was crinkled at the eyes and mouth and his brown hair was going silver quite quickly. His cold, green eyes were on her, staring at her, as if he knew of a horrific murder she had committed.

“Is this the girl, Mr Francis?” Chancellor Warburton said sternly as he looked Little J up and down. His nose upturned as he finished his perusal of her as if she were a bad smell.

Mr Francis nodded smugly. “It is, sir. She’s been masquerading as a man this whole time – a noble man I might add. James Alcott, the eldest son of the Earl of Ethridge.”

Chancellor Warburton’s eyes flared at the thought of an insolent woman disguising herself as someone rich and important, at least that was Little J’s interpretation of his face. “You have some nerve, girl,” he said darkly. “I can’t decide whether you’re incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. But you’ve got to be something to steal a nobleman’s identity.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Little J replied angrily, not realising how her tone would not help her case. “He gave it to me.”