Michael Ford - Jane Goes Batty

“It’s a squid,” said Beverly. “See the tentacles?”

“It looks like a—”

“It’s a squid ,” Beverly said.

Jane decided not to press the issue. “And is the other one a crow?” she asked.

Beverly sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a moorhen,” she said. “It’s the mascot for the Brontëites. I think it’s very appropriate.”

“You were able to find a moorhen costume?” said Jane.

“I had it made,” Beverly explained.

“And why a squid for the Janeites?” Jane asked. She found it a peculiar choice, and wondered why Beverly thought it appropriate to represent her work.

“It symbolizes the—”

“Good morning, ladies.” Byron’s greeting interrupted Beverly’s explanation. He then looked at the two approaching mascots. “Is that a—”

“It’s a squid!” Jane and Beverly said in unison. Jane glared at Beverly, who pretended not to notice.

“And a moorhen,” said Byron. “I imagine that’s for the Brontë fans.”

Jane turned on him. “Why would you assume that?” she asked. “What is it about a squid that says Austen?”

Byron shrugged. “It’s just that—”

“Time to begin!” Beverly shouted. “Players, please gather round.”

The twenty-four croquet players assembled around Beverly. All of them, Jane noticed, were dressed in pristine white. Only she was dressed for softball. I look like a tourist , she thought. All I need is a fanny pack . She realized she was still holding the softball glove, and she tried to hide it behind her back.

“We’ll be playing by International Association laws,” Beverly informed them. “If you don’t know all of them, don’t worry. Our referees are here to help. I will be captaining the Brontëites and Jane Fairfax, one of our illustrious local authors, will captain the Janeites. Let us now break up into our respective teams and discuss strategy. Brontëites, follow me.”

Beverly moved off, taking half of the players with her. Jane couldn’t help but notice that the Brontëites as a whole were a dour-looking team. Almost none of them smiled, and they seemed uncomfortable in the warm, sunny weather. Several of them kept looking up at the sky, as if praying for dark clouds and rain.

Jane turned her attention to her own group. In contrast to Beverly’s team, the Janeites were a far cheerier bunch. Equally comprised of men and women, they chatted gaily and seemed eager to begin. This lifted Jane’s spirits considerably. She was also very pleased to see that Sherman Applebaum—dressed in a white suit—was among her players.

“Good morning,” she said. “We have a lovely day for playing today, so I hope you’re all excited.”

All around her heads nodded vigorously.

“Brilliant,” Jane said. “Now, before I pair you up, how many of you have croquet experience?”

She expected eleven hands (not counting her own) to be raised. After a suitable amount of time had passed, however, only three were seen. Two of them belonged to a pair of elderly men whose white hair and mustaches matched their clothing. The third was that of a girl who appeared to be no older than thirteen.

“I see,” said Jane, her hopes sinking quickly. “Well then, the three of you will be captains of your individual teams. You may choose your playing partners. The rest of you can pair up as you like.”

There was a minute or two of looking around, finger-pointing, and raised eyebrows as the players assembled themselves into duos. At the end of this time one player remained unpaired. Sherman smiled at Jane. “I believe this puts us together,” he said, coming to stand beside her.

Jane gave him a smile of gratitude. If she had to suffer through the next two hours, she preferred to do it with a friend.

“Very good,” she said. “Now each team will go to a pitch and we can begin.” She pointed at the first team. “You’ll play on one.” She went through the remaining teams in succession, sending each to its respective pitch. “And that leaves us with the sixth pitch,” she said to Sherman as her players dispersed.

“I must confess that I told a small untruth,” said Sherman as he and Jane walked across the field. “I have played a bit of croquet in my time.”

“How much of a bit?” asked Jane.

“Grand Champion of St. Basil’s Preparatory School for Boys, 1959,” said Sherman. “Although I haven’t played much since. I know I might have been of service assisting those who have not had as much experience, but frankly, I am a poor teacher.” He looked at Jane. “Also, I hate to lose.”

“You are a treacherous old goat,” Jane said, adopting a scolding tone.

“Positively diabolical,” Sherman agreed as they reached their pitch. “By the way, we haven’t discussed the note found in Jessica Abernathy’s pocket.”

“I’d almost forgotten,” said Jane. “Is there any more to it?”

Sherman shook his head. “No more than I told you last night,” he said. “Apparently this Violet Grey person was to meet Miss Abernathy. That’s all I know. I was hoping you might have some thoughts on the matter.”

Jane considered whether or not she should tell Sherman that she did indeed know Violet Grey, and that Violet was one of Jessica’s sorority sisters. She could not, of course, reveal Violet’s true identity, but she felt she owed Sherman something.

“There’s a Violet Grey who writes a blog about romance literature,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s the same one, but given Jessica’s position, it wouldn’t surprise me that the two knew each other.”

“Is this the same Violet Grey who wrote some unflattering things about your novel?” Sherman asked.

“Yes,” said Jane, slightly horrified that Sherman had read Violet’s crushing review of Constance , in which she’d stopped just short of accusing Jane of plagiarism.

“I wonder if we ought to mention this to Officer Bear,” said Sherman. “Not now, of course, but when the festivities are over.”

“You’re probably right,” Jane said. “It might be helpful.”

“Right now, however, I believe it’s time for us to kick some serious ass,” Sherman said.

The two of them met their opponents, neither of whom they knew, at the edge of the pitch. After introductions the referee performed the coin toss, which Sherman and Jane won after calling tails. They elected to go second.

Unfortunately for their opponents, neither of whom appeared to have any experience, the match was a massacre. Starting at the A baulk line, one of the opposing players placed the black ball into play by hitting it out of bounds. The referee placed it back on the yard line, and Jane then struck the red ball so that it too went out of bounds. She then watched as the second opponent inexplicably placed the blue ball on the B baulk line and attempted to roquet his partner’s ball. The distance between them was too great, however, and he succeeded only in rolling past the south boundary, resulting in his ball being placed on the yard line a short distance from the black ball.

After that it was all over. To the amazement of Jane and the consternation of their opponents, Sherman passed through all the wickets on his first turn. Unnerved by this display of prowess, the other team made blunder after blunder, and after only three turns Jane too had traversed the course forward and back and knocked her ball against the peg. The game over, she and Sherman shook hands with the other team and with the referee then went to watch the other matches.

The remaining games took far longer to complete, but one by one they ended until the score stood at three matches for the Janeites and two for the Brontëites. The final match pitted Jane’s youngest player and her partner against Miriam Ellenberg and Walter. Seeing them there, Jane wondered how she could have missed them earlier. Had Beverly hidden them from her, or had Jane simply been too preoccupied to notice them? Ultimately it didn’t matter, but Jane was still unnerved by the situation. She was particularly distressed to see Walter playing for the Brontëites, although she knew this was due to Miriam’s literary preferences and not his.