Murder in Abbot's Folly by Amy Myers

Tanner’s time. Not much to look at,’ Gerald said apologetically.
    He was right. The room was empty, although the walls had once been wallpapered. Enough had been torn off to reveal a painted wall beneath, and old gas mantels indicated where oil lamps or candles must once have been. No spiders or even cobwebs though, Georgia noticed, so the rooms were still being cared for up to a point; they were merely barren of life.
    But to Dora, they weren’t, Georgia thought. It was clear from looking at her rapt expression that to her Jane Austen still walked these floors. It must have given Dora pleasure, because she was much brighter now that the subject of Laura’s death had been temporarily put aside.
    â€˜Dear Jane describes this room so clearly in The Watsons ,’ Dora said. ‘Remember? The tea room was a small room within the card room, and in passing through the latter, where the passage was narrowed by tables, Mrs Edwards and her party were hemmed in. And, Georgia,’ Dora added, ‘Mr Howard was nearby.’
    Who? Georgia nearly asked, then remembered he was a character in The Watsons and probably the man that Emma Watson was destined to marry.
    The room beyond the tea room was also empty. ‘The card room,’ Gerald explained gruffly. Georgia could see that this opened off the large Assembly Room itself, into which Dora led the way. Disappointingly – though Georgia didn’t know quite what she had expected – this too was empty. She had hoped for candelabras, polished floors, and potted palms, but this had few hints of what it had been like in its heyday.
    â€˜Not like Bath, of course, or Tunbridge Wells,’ Gerald admitted, ‘but, after all, Harblehurst was only a village then, even though the Edgar Arms was well known locally.’
    â€˜Remember Emma Watson, Georgia?’ Dora trilled. ‘Can’t you just see her dancing with Master Charles Blake? Remember Emma being told by her sister that the party would arrive early as Mrs Edwards might then get a good place by the fire? And there it is!’
    It was an impressive – and atmospheric – Georgian fireplace with two rather battered chimney-board figures flanking it. Somehow the hearth succeeded where the rooms themselves alone failed. Georgia could imagine the music of the violins, the dancing master calling the moves of the sociable country dances and the excitement of the cotillion.
    â€˜Oh, what fun it must have been,’ Dora said wistfully.
    Perhaps, Georgia thought, but now it was cold and smelled of disuse. It was a room in waiting – but waiting for what?
    Peter echoed her thoughts. ‘What are you planning to do with the rooms?’ he asked politely.
    Dora glanced at Gerald, who gave a warning cough, and she evaded the question. ‘The potential is enormous,’ she replied dutifully. ‘You’ll remember, Georgia, that The Watsons is set in Surrey, but clearly Jane is describing Kent and the Edgar Arms. The Edwards party enters the courtyard of the inn and takes a wide staircase up to the first floor where there is a short gallery, in which they pass a bedchamber out of which Tom Musgrave appears. We’ll go down that way, for at the foot of the stairs is a very special room. While they are in these rooms they hear the sound of horses and a carriage entering the courtyard. The Osbornes are coming, the Osbornes are coming, everyone cries. Can’t you see it happening, Georgia? Of course the novel was set here. Come, you shall see the staircase.’
    She hurried them both out of the assembly room and into the gallery somewhat faster than necessary, it seemed to Georgia. Whatever lay in Tom Musgrave’s bedchamber or the other rooms on this floor they were not to know, for Dora was intent on returning to the ground floor by the wooden staircase, while Gerald escorted Peter back to the lift. This staircase was much wider and more ornate than the kitchen