“Julia! That’s not very nice.”
“She says so in the book,” Julia said innocently.
“You have to take what they say with a grain of salt. You know how some girls will say things like—‘oh, I know I failed that test’ but then they get an A. Or ‘oh, this dress makes me look hideous’ but they look fabulous.”
“Some girls, yeah,” Julia agreed. “Others can be like, ‘Interesting shirt, but if you like it, I guess it’s fine.’”
“Ouch,” Aurelia said, shaking her head. She paused, then added, “Blanche is kind of like that, isn’t she? Cutting and mean.”
“Who’s Blanche?”
“Haven’t you read that far? She comes to Thornfield Hall to visit Rochester for a few weeks.”
“Um, I guess I’m not there yet.” Julia kept dusting for a moment, then dropped the feather duster to her side and turned around, her head thrown back. “It’ssoslow, Aunt Aurelia.Pleasedon’t make me read anymore!”
“What?”
“It’s like torture—slow torture.Nothinghappens. She’s just in this big house and that’s it.”
“That’s notit. You’ve got to keep going! Brontë is building dramatic tension. You’ve got to get through the slow bits since they’re building to something bigger.”
“Ugh!”
Julia let out a long sigh, looking to Aurelia as though she might relent. Aurelia raised an eyebrow, making it clear that she lacked any mercy whatsoever when it came to books.
“Fine. I’ll keep reading. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to finish it. I’ll be lucky if I can get through a word a minute.”
“Here,” Aurelia said, holding out her hand. “Give me the duster. You go up to the window seat and keep reading.”
Julia dragged herself upstairs, the book hanging loosely from her hand, then dropped onto the window seat and started reading. Aurelia smirked in satisfaction and then began her own halfhearted attempts at dusting.
11
Thatnight,Aureliahadbeen able to get down to the shop at midnight without waking Julia. She chatted with the characters as a group for a few hours, but then took the opportunity to speak with Jane alone when Rochester settled himself into the armchair to talk with Peter. Jane didn’t like leaving his side, but when she saw him comfortably chatting with Peter, she seemed more willing to move around the shop on her own. She and Aurelia walked upstairs and sat together on the window seat.
They’d been talking for nearly an hour, with Aurelia gathering details she could use to pique Julia’s interest in Jane’s novel, when Aurelia heard a voice coming from the other end of the mezzanine.
“What are you doing down here?”
Aurelia looked up to see which of the characters was talking, but there was Julia, standing in the doorway that led to the flat.
Aurelia’s mouth fell open at the sight of her.
“Julia! What—how did you—you’re here?”
Julia started walking toward her and Aurelia stumbled to her feet, her eyes racing around the shop as she waited for the characters to disappear back into their books. But they were still there, looking at the newcomer.
“I’m standing right in front of you, Aunt Aurelia,” Julia said, the sarcasm thick in her voice. Even in the wee hours, she seemed to be able to conjure up that teenage tone with zero effort.
“Yes, but how are you—why didn’t—”
Aurelia felt caught out, as though she’d been found doing something she shouldn’t be doing. Again, she looked around at the characters, trying to process what was happening. The few times Oliver had come into the shop after midnight, the characters had vanished instantly, yet here Julia was and here they were. Had something changed? Or was it something about Julia?
“What can you see right now? Me and what else?”
“A bunch of people dressed in weird clothes.” Julia looked around and then amended her observation. “Old clothes, I guess. What is this? A fancy-dress party? Why aren’t you dressed up? Why didn’t you invite me?”
“You can see them?”
