Chapter Text
Early May, 1809, on the road to Brighton
Crowley lifted a box of brandy from the pile in the ground to the carriage and looked around himself. Physical work was usually something that happened to other people and since no one was looking at him, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the carriage was full of boxes and there was only one left on the ground next to him. He lifted it up just as hurried footsteps approached him from behind.
“Mr Crowley? We need to hurry! Are you finished s… Oh, you are a miracle worker!” the person behind him said, and Crowley turned to look at them with a grin on his face. They were dressed in trousers, a wide-cut shirt, long coat reaching under their hips, and their hair was pulled back and covered with a scarf and a hat.
“I told you I got it,” Crowley said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Covered by the darkness they climbed on the seat at the front of the carriage, and Crowley let his companion take the reins. He suspected he’d like driving a vehicle, but he wasn’t too fond of horses. Horses tended not to trust him, but if he could have some kind of, well, horseless carriage, Crowley would much prefer being in the driver’s seat.
“Did you see anyone?” Crowley’s companion asked.
“Nope, not a soul,” Crowley said. “How long until we get to Brighton?”
“We should arrive before sunrise. They’ll be expecting us.”
“Perfect,” Crowley said.
They made good time on the quiet road, only the sound of hooves and nocturnal animals breaking the peace, until the lights of a town began to shine ahead of them. There were some solitary houses on the edges of the road, but no one could be seen yet. Soon the farm workers would start waking up for their daily duties, but by that time the travellers would hopefully already be at their destination.
Crowley’s companion slowed the horses when they got closer to the town and reined them to a stop on a yard at the edge of the town. There were five or six burly men waiting for them.
“Do you have the stuff?” a large rough-looking man, apparently the leader of the group, asked.
“Don’t I always?” Crowley’s companion said as they both climbed off the carriage.
The leader nodded his head, and the rest of the men began to move towards the carriage.
“Nu-uh,” Crowley’s companion said, holding out their glove-covered hand. “The payment first.”
The leader looked as if he was about to argue until Crowley cleared his throat.
“I’d do what they say, buddy,” he said, lowering his shades just a little to give the leader a look. “You wouldn’t want any trouble, would you?”
For such a large man who had probably seen all kinds of trouble in his life and never backed down from it, the leader looked positively fearful.
“Of course not,” he grumbled and took away a heavy bag of coins from his coat pocket. “That should be enough.”
He threw the bag at Crowley’s companion who caught it easily and looked inside. They poured the coins into their hand and tested that it was real, before nodding in satisfaction and waving a hand towards the carriage. The men began to carry the boxes inside while Crowley and his companion watched them.
When the carriage was empty, Crowley smirked at the leader and did a small mocking bow.
“Pleasure to do business with you,” he said.
“Let me know when you’ll need more,” Crowley’s companion said and climbed back on the carriage. Crowley followed their example. They took off just as the sun was beginning to rise.
“So, where can I take you?” Crowley’s companion asked. “I guess I’ll have to take a room somewhere to get a little sleep before I head back tomorrow.”
“I could use a couple of hours of sleep as well,” Crowley said. He could have gone without, but honestly, smuggling a cartful of the best French brandy through the British countryside had taken its toll. “If you wouldn’t mind dropping me closer to home tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind at all. I’m going to Town anyway,” they answered. A tired looking stable boy came to take the horses to the stable, not commenting on their early morning arrival.
Crowley’s companion looked thoughtful.
“Should I sign up for the night as a girl or a boy, what do you think?”
“Boy. It’s a long way to London tomorrow and it’s safer on the roads,” Crowley said.
“Right you are!”
They got separate rooms from the uninterested guest house keeper and climbed the stairs into the rooming quarters.
“Remind me to pay you tomorrow for your work,” Crowley’s companion said, taking off the scarf to wipe sweat off their forehead and revealing a tightly bound bun of hair under it.
Crowley shook his head.
“I don’t need your money. I have all that I need,” he said. “I don’t do any of this for money. But if you insist on paying me, donate my share to a local orphanage. Those kids need it more than I do.”
“Mmm, certainly,” they said. “In that case, would you be interested in hearing about a little project I’ve been planning? It’d be quite a bit bigger than smuggling a few boxes of brandy across the channel and the gain would also be bigger if we manage to pull it off.”
“Of course?” Crowley said, perking up. “You could tell me about it on the way back tomorrow.”
“That’s a deal, my friend,” they said and yawned. “Now I really must go get some sleep. Departure at 11?”
“Right,” Crowley agreed.
“Before I go, even though you don’t want any money, take at least this,” they said and pulled a bottle from the inside pocket of their coat. “I know you can appreciate good brandy.”
“This I will take gladly,” Crowley said and took the bottle, his thoughts wandering for a moment to a certain angel who would no doubt disapprove of what Crowley was up to and who he was spending time with. “Thanks. Night.”
Crowley gave a mock salute and went to his own room.
When he was alone, he smiled and shook his head. From all the humans he had met over the years, only a few had managed to truly intrigue him with their brilliant minds and strategic thinking, but Jane Austen was definitely one of them. A master smuggler of both goods and information who seemed to know exactly who people were and how they acted. It was fascinating to follow how her brain worked and Crowley was excited to hear about the project she had mentioned. No doubt it would be something that would get Crowley both entertainment and something to report to his superiors downstairs.
With a smile on his face, Crowley crawled under the blankets and went to sleep.
Two weeks later, late May, 1809, London
Aziraphale knocked on the door. It had taken some time to get used to her current presentation. She was five inches shorter than her masculine form, and wearing stays and a floor length gown had their own inconveniences.
Not even mentioning the human men. Some of them really were acting very ungentlemanly towards their feminine counterparts.
No matter. Aziraphale had a job to do, and it could only be done by a woman, so she was stuck as one for the time being.
The door was opened by a manservant who took her spencer and led her to a comfortable sitting room. Aziraphale sat down to wait.
“Oh, Miss Fell,” Jane smiled at her as she stepped in. “So wonderful to see you, my friend.”
“Miss Austen,” Aziraphale said.
“We are friends, aren’t we? You could call me Jane,” she said.
“Only if you call me Zira then,” Aziraphale said, pulling a thick pile of papers from her bag. “I read the manuscript you gave me.”
“Oh!” Jane said, sounding excited. “I know you’re a great lover of reading and novels, and my writing is hardly anything special, but I’d like to have your opinion all the same. Did you enjoy it?”
“My dear, I was immersed in the story. The characters were so well-written. You have a knack for character study, I dare say,” Aziraphale assured her, placing the manuscript on the table. “And it had so many emotions. It managed to take me from laughter to tears in no time at all.”
“Really? That is encouraging of you to say but you’re my friend, so you can be excused for exaggerating a little,” Jane said.
“No, my dear, I mean every word. You have a talent. I have hardly ever read such an accurate description of falling in love. It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. It was a delightful read,” Aziraphale said.
“What do you think of the title?” Jane asked.
“First Impressions? Hmm, I think it needs a little work. I think it needs to be unique, more recognizable,” Aziraphale hummed.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“My dear, you are the literary talent in this room,” Aziraphale laughed. “But let me think. Maybe something to describe the main characters? Something that won’t give the whole plot away from the start but will intrigue people to see what the story is about. Shorter ones are always easier to remember.”
“Something to describe the characters… I will give it some thought. Are you interested in reading another one? This one I have called Elinor and Marianne, named after the main characters, but I will gladly accept your opinions on it,” Jane said and fetched another manuscript.
“I would be proud to read it too, my dear,” Aziraphale accepted the papers. “I would like to have a first edition of both in my collection when they’re published too.”
“Proud to read them? Pride. Hmm,” Janes seemed to be deep in thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I’m afraid that won’t happen any time soon. I have offered the manuscripts to publishers, but they haven’t been interested. I think it would take a miracle for a romance novel written by a woman to be published.”
“A miracle?” Aziraphale said, hiding her smile. “Maybe so, but I do believe in miracles. We shall see.”
“Would you like some tea?” Jane got on her feet and went to talk to the servant.
When they sat at the table with their teacups and some cakes and sweetmeats, Aziraphale commented on the quality of the tea.
“This is delicious, my dear, some of the finest I’ve had in years. Pray, where do you buy the tea leaves?” she asked. A vague redness rose on Jane’s face.
“Ah, I have a friend who imports some quality products. Don’t tell anyone but I suspect this comes through France. I know it’s banned to bring goods across the channel due to the wars, but the tea is good,” Jane said, taking a sip.
“I won’t say a word, my dear,” Aziraphale assured her. “I do miss travelling to Paris. There used to be this delightful café where you’d get the most delicious crepes. I visited it once with a… friend.”
“Ooh, which friend is this?” Jane perked up. “A gentleman friend maybe?”
“Hmm, yes, but we haven’t seen each other for a while now,” Aziraphale said, trying to avoid uncomfortable questions. They were so much easier to avoid when both Crowley and she were presenting masculine. Silly humans and their assumed gender roles and sexuality.
“That would make a good novel. Two lovers, pulled apart by circumstance and life, who meet again after years apart and don’t know how to navigate their relationship,” Jane said. “Maybe one was persuaded that the other wouldn’t be a good match for them.”
“I would love to read the novel, my dear, but I assure you, it’s not like that,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “I’m happy to remain unattached. Gentlemen have never queued up at my door and at my old age, I doubt they ever will.”
“You never know! You can’t be that much older than I am. Maybe ten or so years?” Jane said. Aziraphale hid her smile behind her teacup at the inaccurate guess. “But no, I don’t expect to marry either at my age of thirty and something. I suppose I rather like the idea of writing something more mature. Something where the characters are a little older and have more life experience.”
“I’m old enough to have seen all kinds of things in the world and be comfortable where I am now,” Aziraphale said. “Although I would love to read the story.”
“Hmm, talking of novels, would you like to accompany me to a ball one of these days before the season ends? I would like to remind myself what it feels like to be out, research of sorts for my novels, but I feel awkward going alone. But we, as the two old maids we are, could keep company with each other,” Jane suggested.
“I would love to accompany you,” Aziraphale said, thinking about the mission Heaven had given to her. She should talk to a lady and convince her to do some good works. Of course, just spending time with Miss Jane Austen and potentially keeping her writing her novels and spreading the message of love would also count in Heaven’s favour. “When were you thinking? There’s a larger gathering I have been interested in attending next week.”
One week later, June, 1809, London
The assembly hall was already full of people when Aziraphale and Jane arrived. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s preferred way to spend evenings, but it was nice to see so many young people enjoying the activities. She could entertain herself while Jane danced, and she wanted to see if she could get an audience to talk with Mrs Wingfield.
There were a few people Aziraphale recognized but no one that she was interested in talking with for long. As they chatted about the book, Elinor and Marianne, that Jane had given her the last time, they made their way to the main area where they could better see the dancers.
“I do think the novel has a lot of potential! I find the characters rather intriguing and it’s such an interesting dynamic between the sisters and how they approach life and love. I’m not at the end yet, so don’t reveal the ending to me!” Aziraphale smiled.
“Oh good, I have been worried. Do you think it has the potential to be published?” Jane asked.
“Definitely, in my opinion. I’m sure it would sell amazingly well if given a chance,” Aziraphale said.
“I appreciate your notes on the story. Maybe I could ask you about some details after you’ve finished reading it?” Jane asked.
“Certainly,” Aziraphale nodded.
“Thank you,” Jane said and looked around. “Now we'd better go and enjoy the evening… oh!”
“What? Did something happen?” Aziraphale looked around herself.
“I think I just saw a friend of mine,” Jane said and smiled. Aziraphale turned around, a smile on her face, and saw a person dressed in black from head to toe with black shades covering their eyes and red hair curling over their ears walking towards them.
Aziraphale sighed. She should have known she’d run into Crowley sooner or later.
What Crowley had to do with someone like Jane Austen, she had no idea, but apparently, they knew each other. That was just fantastic, Aziraphale thought sarcastically.
“Good evening, ladies,” Crowley addressed them and then talked to Jane. “Miss Austen, wonderful to see you again. You look well this evening.”
“Mr Crowley, this is my dear friend, Miss Fell,” Jane introduced them to each other. “Zira, this is Mr Crowley.”
“We’ve met,” Aziraphale muttered, and was alarmed when Crowley took her hand and touched the back of her glove with his lips.
“Miss Fell, a pleasure as always. You look very nice this evening. Your dress suits you,” Crowley said without a hint of irony in his voice. Aziraphale wished she could have said she didn’t blush hearing the compliment, but she felt her cheeks warm.
Jane was looking at them suspiciously.
“Where do you know each other?” she asked, clearly trying to sound casual, but her tone of voice betrayed her astonishment.
“We… we go a long way back,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t remember a time when I didn't know Cr… Mr Crowley.”
“Indeed,” Crowley says. “It seems we keep running to each other in the most peculiar places.”
“It’s maybe not that peculiar as we both live in London,” Aziraphale said and turned back to Jane who was still looking at them.
“I was on my way to get some refreshments,” Crowley said. “Would you like me to bring you some too, ladies?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Jane said in a voice that told Aziraphale she was going to interrogate Aziraphale about Crowley as soon as Crowley didn’t hear them. “Thank you, Mr Crowley.”
Crowley gave a short bow and walked away.
“Oh my, the way he looked at you, Zira,” Jane said. “Are you sure he’s not in love with you?”
“Nonsense; Mr Crowley doesn’t look at me in any specific way,” Aziraphale said but couldn’t help glancing where Crowley had gone. “I’m sure he doesn’t feel anything more towards me than towards you.”
“Has he ever made his interest known? Oh! Has he proposed? Oh my, I wish I had taken a notebook with me. This meeting could give me some material for that story about two lovers pulled apart by fate who meet again later in life,” Jane said. “You seemed to be quite taken with him as well.”
“You imagine things, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Their talk about something else got interrupted when a young man came to ask Jane to dance. Jane accepted the invitation and Aziraphale watched her walk among the couples.
After a minute, Aziraphale felt someone stop next to her and give her a drink.
“Aziraphale, what are you doing here?” Crowley muttered as Aziraphale accepted the drink and took a sip.
“Thank you,” she said. “I need to talk to one specific lady, and Jane asked me to accompany her. I thought I could perhaps get two birds with one stone, as they say. What about you?”
“Well, I don’t have a specific job tonight, but these assemblies and dances always give an opportunity to spread some indiscretion and annoyance,” Crowley said. “What’s the name of the lady?”
“It’s Mrs Wingfield, if you can believe me,” Aziraphale said.
“I think I know her husband actually,” Crowley pondered. “Would you like me to make some introductions, angel?”
Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley suspiciously.
“Are you now helping me to do my job without any benefits to you?” she asked. Crowley shrugged.
“We both know we will always eventually get even,” he pointed out. It was true that they tended to do enough favours for each other that it never felt unequal. It was more likely that Aziraphale was indeed in debt to Crowley.
“Well, I would appreciate the help,” Aziraphale said. “We should have at least twenty minutes before Jane returns from the dancefloor.”
It took them five minutes to find the Wingfields in the crowd. Crowley greeted Mr Wingfield like an old friend and did the introductions. Aziraphale managed to have a good chat with Mrs Wingfield in the little time they had and was confident that if she saw her again, she could talk with her more about her Heavenly business. While she was talking with Mrs Wingfield, Crowley kept the husband busy with his stories and gave Aziraphale inconspicuous glances between his sips of drink. In the end, Aziraphale curtsied to the lady and nodded to Crowley as a sign that her work was done.
“That was very kind of you,” Aziraphale said when they were walking back to where Jane could find them again.
“Shut up. I’m not kind,” Crowley growled under his breath. Aziraphale smiled. It was such a familiar disagreement between them.
When Jane appeared again, she looked like she was having the time of her life and already had a drink of her own in her hand.
“That was fun,” Jane said. “Why don’t you two go and dance too?”
Crowley gave Aziraphale a questioning look and offered his hand.
“Would you like to, Miss Fell?”
Aziraphale didn’t take the offered hand, although her heart was beating a little faster. It was an unknown territory and Aziraphale wasn’t prepared to take the step. Being discovered would mean they would both be in such trouble.
“I’m flattered by you asking, Mr Crowley, but we both know I don’t dance,” she said. Crowley let his hand drop back at his side.
“Not even this time?” Jane tried to persuade her.
“No, thank you. Although Mr Crowley’s offer is very kind,” Aziraphale said pointedly, looking at Crowley who snorted.
“In that case, I will continue making my rounds. It was a pleasure to see you both, Miss Austen, Miss Fell. Have a good evening,” he said and bowed before leaving.
“Zira!” Jane scolded her. “I’m certain he has feelings for you.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense, my dear,” Aziraphale said.