Join Elena Manning as she gets hurled back in time to Victorian London, 1876. Where her skills are put to the ultimate test, as she takes on the guise of a Victorianâ evading discovery, gangsters, marriage proposals and disgruntled gentlemen in snug suits who are not as charming as Jane Austen made them out to be, Elena must navigate this old world to uncover a mystery, and ultimately, find her way back home.
Join Elena Manning as she gets hurled back in time to Victorian London, 1876. Where her skills are put to the ultimate test, as she takes on the guise of a Victorianâ evading discovery, gangsters, marriage proposals and disgruntled gentlemen in snug suits who are not as charming as Jane Austen made them out to be, Elena must navigate this old world to uncover a mystery, and ultimately, find her way back home.
âMarry me, babe.â
Benjamin hiccupped and held one of his cheese puff rings to her face. He blinked unevenly as his last beer lulled him to sleep. He wavered before finally succumbing, his head lolling onto the sofa before a drilling snore erupted from his gaping mouth.
Elena clutched her book and stared wide eyed at the stale cheesy ring in his limp hand. She took up her wine and devoured the remaining half glass of merlot in a large gulp, grimacing as it momentarily caught in her throat.
This was a new low.
Londonâs belly boomed as a crack of thunder sounded throughout her apartment, the rain trickling traced patterns on her windows.
She slumped back into the sofa and stared at the snoring form next to her. Relationships had never been her strong suit, much to the dismay of her well-meaning, but carelessly candid mother whoâd raised Elena on the belief that love was immaterial, but a well-off marriage was a must. Unbeknownst to her mother, Jane Austenâs thesis had severely outdated and a lot of single men in possession of a hefty fortune these days were rather not in want of a wife. Instead, despite protests and promises, often werenât even single, but in want of a mistress with a kinky habit and an only fans account.
Benjamin choked back another snort as if concurring. A lazy hand rubbed over his mouth, spreading the cheese powder that laced his lips onto his cheek.
Elena did her best to hold out hope with Benjamin, that love would come, finally proving to her mother that despite her bullishly self-reliant nature, Elena could find love and work hard and be happy. Regrettably, waiting for love to come with Benjamin, was like waiting for a blistering English sun in December.
There was no guilt in admitting these feelings. After all it went both ways. Benjaminâs proposal was as empty as the crisp packet on his lap. Of course, they cared somewhat for each other, but truthfully, they knew this relationship was a comfortable routine of familiarity. He got to lounge on her comfy sofa most weekends, use her streaming services and fridge supplies, while she got a getaway pass from her motherâs incessant set ups and interrogations surrounding her dating life.
Elena ran a hand down the cover of the novel in her lap.
Austen, Hardy, Brontë. Romanticised historical fiction was her toxic therapy. Toxic, because the brooding gentlemen with impeccable manners and god-given looks were only feeding her false hope about impossible love ideals and fictional worlds she could only dream of.
A crack of lightening struck across the sky, and a slow creak sounded from her bedroom. Elenaâs eyes snapped to the dark room peeking at her from across the hall.
Another bellow of thunder rumbled over the city.
She tossed her book on the kitchen bench and flicked the switch on the kettle.
Tomorrow, she would break it off with him tomorrow.
Thud.
Elenaâs attention flew once again to the blackened hallway.
Usually, a collection of eery sounds in the middle of a storm would have caused some alarm, but the echoes emitting from her bedroom had become a familiar humdrum over the last week thanks to her newly purchased, bargain priced, antique cedar wardrobe. Beautiful? Yes. But sheâd never met a piece of furniture so intent on destroying itself. Moaning and groaning, hanger bars snapping, hinges coming off doors which proceeded to try and crush her flat. As pretty as it was, she was close to taking an axe to the damn thing.
She tore open a packet of wheat biscuits and shoved two into her mouth, chewing viciously and glaring at her bedroom doorway.
Her smiling government ID badge stared up at her passing judgement from its spot on the kitchen bench. âWhaâ?â she spluttered, crumbs flying from her mouth. She looked so happy in that stupid photo. Elenaâs tongue moved over her teeth to dislodge the dry wheat from the crevices of her mouth.
Delusional, but happy.
Perhaps the timing was right to move on from her flailing love life and return her focus to her flailing career. After all, those papers didnât staple themselves, and her senior officer, Mr Marsh, was very particular about his morning brew. God forbid heâd ever use her skills of deduction in any effective way other than hunting down the cityâs best bagels.
She slung the badge at her gym bag before shoving another two biscuits into her mouth with the palm of her hand. The GCHQ (Government Communications Headquarters), where sheâd worked now for the past several years, had started offering self-defence as an extra-curricular to all employees, and despite her mediocre position as an administrator for the data and intelligence team, every Tuesday and Thursday morning, Elena got to train with the big suits from upstairs, working out her frustrations in one-on-one sparring matches. It was therapeutic both personally, to work out her ongoing disappointments she had dating their kindâ and professionally, because they were all overpaid, overvalued dickheads in need of a little humility.
Another crack of lightening lit up the sky.
BANG.
Elena jolted crushing the biscuit packet in her hand.
Maybe it was that big hairy rat which had been lurking around her neighboursâ front door the past fortnight after heâd forgotten bin dayâ twice.
Idiot. This was London. If there was anything to know about living in this city, it was to never ride the central line during a hot summer peak hour. Never go to Oxford Street on a Saturday around Christmas. And lastly, never ever forget bin day unless you wanted rodents, who could double as your cat, prowling about your home.
Elena shuddered and soundlessly picked up a cast iron frying pan. She headed toward the dark room, twisting the pan in her hand like a tennis racket, armed and ready to scare any hairy intruders who were looking for shelter from the storm.
Elena peaked in from behind the frame and scanned the darkness for any movement or unfamiliar shapes.
Nothing.
She stepped in, twisting the frying pan once more and glanced about.
The cupboard door wavered.
She froze.
There was no breeze, no window open, no draft stirring with every breach sealed because of the storm. She wasnât good with oversized furry critters on the best of days, so if it was anything larger than a soap bar, she was going to lose her shit.
Readjusting the pan to a double handed grip, she stalked slowly toward the wardrobe. She took in a breath and grimaced as her heart picked up.
She flung the doors open and they slammed against the walls.
But there was nothing.
Nothing except her jackets and dresses hanging still and silent.
An odd tingling on the back of her neck triggered the hairs on her arms to stand and a fearful thought crept over her.
Was someone here?
With shallow breath, she turned slowly and scanned the shadows behind her.
Her grip tightened around the pan.
âJust so you knowââ she said, her voice cracking. âI work for the government.â There was a gentle creak and her body seized. âSo⊠so I know a lot of people with guns.â
Silence.
A car drove by the window dispelling the darkness for a fleeting moment.
The room was empty.
Elena swallowed, relieved, as truthfully she didnât have any connections at work outside of the barista of level two who gave her cheap coffee most mornings.
She turned and reached to close the doors, but a glimmer of light caught her eye from the back panelling. It shone through the wood, as if from behind, breaking a thin streak of light onto her face.
She checked over her shoulder.
The night rain softly pattered against the window.
Moving her clothes apart, she brushed her fingertips over the glow.
How odd.
She rested her palm against the grainy wood at the back of the wardrobe and pressed gently.
There was a crack.
Elena closed her eyes and frowned. The shifty old man whoâd sold her the damn thing certainly wouldnât take it back if sheâd broken it. She sighed. Too late now. She pushed again, a little harder this time.
The wood split open and light poured over her swallowing the darkness. She squinted, shielding her eyes as they adjusted to the light.
âWhat onââ her voice dissipated.
With her apartment located on the fourth floor, at the north-east corner of her block, logically, on the other side of that wardrobe, if it could open through the layers of insulation and brick, was four flights of empty air and a clear view into her neighbourâs opposing apartment. Instead, despite the rain and dark skies behind her, Elena stood before a lavish bedroom bathed in sunlight beyond her own.
âImpossible,â she muttered, completely in awe, looking over her shoulder again to check the inky black sky outside her window.
Her eyes moved to the clock on the bedstand.
9:43PM.
Her mind went blank as it tried to process the strange room beyond her own. She waved an arm out in front of her, but where solid wall should have been, her hand moved freely past into the air beyond. She turned her outstretched hand and watched the sun play over her fingers.
It was warm.
She had to get a closer look.
Taking hold of the side panels, Elena stepped in and the cupboard let out a dreary moan.
âIf this is Narnia,â she muttered, grimacing as she pulled a coat hanger from her ribs, âI better get to see some talking lions or meet that cute Prince Caspian bloke.â
Awkwardly hunched in the wardrobe, Elena stuck her head through but was sadly not greeted by a half human-goat man or a plate full of Turkish delight. Instead, she gazed upon a bright and decorative bedroom, lined with green wallpaper and framed with a floor to ceiling window which ran over half the room. A magnificent four-poster bed with a white canopy hung above a soft downy duvet, unmade, as if someone had recently rolled out of it to start their day.
She went to step through but paused, her foot hovering mid-air over a thick pile rug as her brain ticked over. Had she cracked it? If she put her foot down, would she plunge down four flights of empty air onto a dank London sidewalk?
She squeezed her eyes closed and held her breath.
Soft wool moved up between her toes, tickling her feet as she sank down. She opened her eyes and let out an exasperated gasp in relief.
She wasnât dead.
Her laugh died in her throat as the thought seeped in.
Or was she?
Maybe the wardrobe had fallen and crushed her, or there had been an intruder and theyâd shot her in the back of the head without her realising and now this was what death was?
Her Latin professor sprang to mind shaking his head at her in derision as he so often had.
Cogito, ergo sum.
I think therefore I am.
If that were true, with the pace her brain was running at, she was more alive than sheâd ever been before. Maybe she was hallucinating then? She hadnât had that much wine tonight, had she?
Behind her, her modest little room sat silently in the dark on the other side of the wardrobe, the faint patter of rain still audible from where she stood.
She took a few steps into the strange room. The aroma of burning wood and jasmine drifting over her. There was a fireplace in front of a Parisian style sofa with a dainty coffee table in front of it on one side of the room, and a large divider, with a full-length gilded mirror and a small table with amenities behind it on the other.
These were some severe hallucinations.
On the bedside table next to her was a small frame with a sketch of a family. She picked it up and flipped it. The inscription on the back read
Edith, Papa and I, February 2ndâ1876.
The drawn portrait was good, in fact the girl within it looked eerily like her. Her lip curled and she placed the irksome picture back down. She moved to the polished cedar desk in the corner of the room. A leather-bound diary and a small ink pot and fountain pen lay atop it.
She flipped the diary open to a random page.
Monday, October 2nd, 1876.
Itâs been three days since I last saw Elizabeth. I know heâs taken her no matter what the police tell me. What have we done? I never should have left her. My poor Elizabeth. I wish I knew how to find her, or who to turn to, but I donât know what to do, or who to trust. With every passing day, I feel her slipping further from me. I have to find her. No one can ever find out the truth.
Elena blinked, her brows puckering.
She swiped forward a few more pages to an entry dated a few days later.
Â
ThursdayâOctober 5th, 1876.
Elizabeth is still missing and I can only sit here hopelessly. To make matters worse, Edith is planning an introduction with father and the horrid Mr Graves this Saturday. I can only wait in dread for the event. I donât have time to waste, but she is fixated on me finding a match before my twenty-seventh year as she believes me an old spinster. I know she means well, but surely she can see how brainless and half-witted these men are? Most of whom arenât looking for a partner, but a wife to bear their heirs and sit pretty on their arm at social occasions. I will not be subjected to such levels of derision.
There were no more entries after this.
Her fingers trailed over the neat cursive writing.
She couldnât imagine dating in the nineteenth century. Disney-like fairy tales werenât exactly plausible renditions of history considering the misogyny and general male chauvinistic way of life during the era.
Sure, those princesses got a crown and a Prince, but a right to vote?
LOLâ not in your lifetime, Cinderella.
âMiss Elena?â
Elena jerked straight.
âOh my god,â she whispered.
Thereâs people here?
The door handle jostled, and her throat seized.
âIâll bring your tea now Miss.â
A shadow wavered beneath the door before disappearing. Without thought, Elena leapt over the unmade bed and slung open the doors to the wardrobe.
She shrieked stumbling back as a girl in a long white nightie stood in her dark little room on the other side of the cupboard fingering through something on her desk.
Elena stood slowly from the bed.
âHEY!â
The girl turned, and horror struck hard and fast.
It was impossible.
She was looking at⊠herself.
The girl took a step toward her.
âWoah woahââ Elena yelled bumping back into the bed.
She was dumbfounded, the girlâs appearance was perfectly uncanny to her own. The girl stood a little taller as she in turn took Elena in, but she didnât seem surprised, justâ curious.
The girl gave her a small bobbing curtsy.
âMy name is Elle.â
Elena swallowed, unable to speak.
The girl raised a brow.
Her brow.
âIâmââ
âElena Manning, yes I know who you are,â the girl said. âIt seems we have that in common.â Elenaâs fingers tightened into a death grip on the blanket behind her as the girl took a few steps toward her.
âOur name?â
âYes.â
âYour name is Elena Manning?â Elena remained frozen in place, her eyes dropping down the girl once again. âI think weâve got a little more in common than that.â
âI found the door a few days ago after my father had the wardrobe acquired at my request,â the girl continued. âI must say, itâs a very curious place here. You have so many implements and machines.â She picked up Elenaâs phone from her bedside table and inspected it closely.
âHow curious,â the girl whispered in wonder.
Elena took in a shaky breath.
âCalm down Ariel itâs just a phone.â
The girl glanced up, confused.
âMy name is Elle.â
Elena opened her mouth to retort but the girl continued.
ââI wish I could ask you about it all but Iâm afraid we donât have much time.â She smiled in wonder and showed Elena her phone screen. Elenaâs mouth dropped open as her unlocked home screen stared back at her.
âDid you justââ
âI am yet to move beyond your servant quarters,â Elle continued, putting the phone back in its place, âI assume the rest of the house is beyond the locked door in the other room?â she pointed.
âIâm sorry?â
âThe servantâs door? Outside the room next to us.â
The girl motioned to Elenaâs kitchen.
âThatâs not a servantâs door, thatâs my front door.â
âItâs just these three rooms then? And no servants?â
âJust these threeâ?â Elena audibly scoffed. Did this girl understand how much a one-bedroom apartment went for in Stratford these days?
âListen, Elena or Elle or whatever your name isââ
âElle, I prefer Elle.â
Elena pressed her lips together.
âIt doesnât matter what your name is. Right now, what is happening, is Iâm having a mental breakdown. Do you understand? I think I fell asleep on my sofa, after reading my book and having one too many winesââ Elenaâs head snapped back as a pen hit her square in the head.
âYou are not dreaming,â said Elle, âand we have to hurry.â
âOW!â Elena yelled in utter shock as a piercing pain stung the middle of her forehead. âDid you just throw a pen at my face?!â
âYouâre not dreaming, and youâre not dead. But you are in a completely different world to the one you know, and I need your help. We donât have much time before the door closes now youâve passed through.â
Elena shook her head manically as the girl spoke.
âStop stop stop,â she said laughing. âI get there are words coming out of your mouth, but at the same time, I have absolutely no idea what youâre rambling on about. Iâm in a world different to the one I know? What the hell does that mean? Where am I?â
âMy bedroom. In my fatherâs house at Grosvenor Square.â
Grosvenor Square?
Elena blinked.
âIâd hardly say thatâs another world just because you live in the rich people part of town.â
âItâs not just that.â
âHow about we address the fact that you and I look exactly the same? Itâs one thing to walk through a cupboard and be shipped across the city to a different time zone, but thisââ she said motioning between them. âIf this is some kind of âParent Trapâ scenario where my motherâs been lying to me my whole life and I have a long-lost twin, Iâm going to lose myââ
âWe donât have time for this.â
âFor what?â
âYouâre a policeman are you not? You find people?â
Elena's face contorted.
âWhat?â She let out a small laugh. âIâm not a policeman. What on earth gave you that impression?â
âYour identification papers say you work for the government, that you find bad people?â
Elena did her best to comprehend the girl.
âI work in administration for criminal intelligence. Itâs a far cry fromââ
âI need you to find someone.â Elena shook her head overwhelmed at the conversation. âIt appears weâve been connected of sorts by this magical wardrobeââ
âRight,â Elena muttered, âas one does.â
ââthe man who sold it to my father and I, he spoke all this dribble about it being magical for the special few, if youâre one of twoââ
The shifty old man who had sold Elena her wardrobe had said something similar. Chuckling to himself that he hadnât seen one like her in a while. She thought heâd mistaken her for someone else or that he was a bit off his marbles.
 âObviously, I thought it was all a tale,â Elle continued, âbut then it opened for me, and I went through, and Iâve been able to pass freely between my home, and yours for some days now.â
Elenaâs brows shot up.
âI beg your pardon?â
âDonât worry, I would try and come when you and your husband were asleep.â
All those creaks and strange noises, the haunting of her wardrobe hadnât been the wardrobe at all, it had beenâ
âYou!â This was unbelievable. âAnd Iâm not married.â
The girl lowered her voice as if now was the time to take caution.
âThe naked man in your bed?â
âBenjamin?â Elena laughed. âHeâs not myââ
The cupboard between the two girls creaked.
âOh no,â Elle said stepping back.
âWhat?â
âItâs happening, we must hurry.â
âWith what?â Elena said as the wardrobe wavered. âWhatâs happening?â
âI went back to the old clerk for answers, he told me that once both halves have crossed over, a deal by the first must be struck and completed for each to return.â
Return?
Elena moved to the wardrobe and put her hand out, but her fingers touched something invisible. She pushed harder and her palm flattened against the air between them.
âIt's not letting me back through!â
Elena beat her shoulder up against the invisible wall in a panic.
âHow come you were able to cross back and forth?â
âYou hadnât yet crossed over.â
âOh well that seems fair!â she yelled.
âWe have to strike a deal.â
âThen give me something quick to do and we can switch back.â
Elle paused.
âMy friend Elizabeth is missing⊠Iâ I need you to find her.â
Elena stopped hitting her shoulder against the invisible wall, her face dropping in disbelief.
âThatâs the deal you want to strike? You donât want to maybe go for something a little easier? Pick up that pen? Oh done! Problem solved, we can switch back.â
âI donât want to switch back.â
âWhat?â Elena spat in disbelief. âTrust me when I say switching lives with me wonât be fun for you.â
âIt doesnât matter what happens to me, I just need someone capable to find her.â
âListen to me, I donât know what papers youâve rummaged through and found in my apartment when Iâve been sleeping you little creep, but to clear things up, Iâm not what you think I am, I work as an administrator for an officer. The only cases I see are when I peer over his shoulder as I serve him coffee. Iâm sorry but no, you need to do this yourself or go talk to the police. Give me something else to do!â
âThe police think sheâs gone willingly because theyâre to fearful to go near this case. Sheâs been taken by some very dangerous people, and I canât find her on my own. My skillset is sewing and knowing how to hold polite conversation.â
Elena was as dumbfounded as she was angry.
âSewing. Really?â
Not that Elena could speak, she could barely hem a skirt.
âItâs life or death for Elizabeth. She needs you more than she needs me.â
âOh, for god sakeââ
âAnd at least this way Iâll know youâll be motivated to find her.â
Elena swivelled from her pacing to face the girl.
âMotivation? Is that what youâre calling this? Because it feels a lot more like blackmail.â
âIf you donât accept my offer, the door will close on both of us and youâll be stuck where you are forever.â
Elena laughed. âIn Grosvenor Square? How terrifying.â
Elle stepped forward, her eyes welling.
âPlease, Iâm begging you.â
Elena pinched the bridge of her nose. She really thought Benjaminâs proposal was going to be the strangest turning point of her night.
Boy, how wrong she was.
âJust tell me something before I do.â
Elle nodded.
Elena pointed to the diary on the desk at the end of the room.
âIs that your diary?â
Elle nodded.
âWhy is it dated October 5th, 1876? Tell me thatâs not the date here.â
Elle shook her head.
âNo.â
Elena closed her eyes and let out a long breath as a wave of relief rushed over her. âFor a second I thoughtââ she shook her head, dejected. Sheâd always wanted a case of her own, albeit she imagined herself hunting terrorists or dingy drug lords. But perhaps a smaller case like this was the starting point she needed to show her boss she was ready to take on more.
âFine. Iâll do it. Iâll agree to find your friend. Give me a laptop and your wi-fi password and Iâll figure it out as I go.â
Elle looked baffled.
âI meant itâs not the fifth.â
Elena shifted on her feet, her brow puckering again.
âIâm sorry?â
âTodayâs the seventh.â
Something deep and sharp rushed through every part of her being. Her fingers and toes exploding with pins and needles, numbing her from the inside out.
âAnd the year?â
Before Elle could answer, she registered a faint rhythmic clopping of horse hooves and trundling wheels on stone. Her eyes snapped to the window behind her. Sheâd lived in the thick of the city for years so wasnât numb to the chaos of urban life. Sirens, honking cars, drunken teens to screaming football hooligansâ sheâd slept through it all.
But horse hooves?
That was unusual.
Slowly, she approached the window, drawing back one of the heavy curtains.
She swallowed, and her heart fell from her chest into some part of her lower stomach.
Trundling over the cobbled streets below were horses and carriages of all sizes, filling the roads like cars in peak hour traffic. Men strode around in tailcoats and top hats, hurrying on-foot to their destinations, tipping their hats to women dressed in ornate floor-length dresses who passed them by. Labourers in flap caps and worn clothes scrambled the streets, manoeuvring through the traffic with their baskets of produce and brooms and tools. Shop keepers positioned their produce and swept their stalls while cabbies around them, prepped their carriages and patted their horses as they waited for passengers.
âWhat the hell is this?â Elena whispered.
She turned back to Elle.
âElle? What the hell is this?â
She strode back to the cupboard and whipped the few items hanging to each side.
A wave of nausea hit her like a punch in the stomach. Her fingers gripped the cupboard doors to keep her standing, but her blood was already rushing from her head to her toes.
Elle was gone, as was her room, and a solid wooden panel stared back at her.
âElle?â she called.
But no one answered.
She banged on the back of the cupboard. She pushed and hit it, but it wouldnât budge.
âNo no no no no.â
Moving to the back of the wardrobe, she heaved it from the wall and shoved an arm behind it to feel for a hole. âElle are you there? Can you hear me?â But her hands met solid wall. She opened the cupboard one last time and pummelled the back of it.
âElle?â
There was no response.
She took a few weak steps back and collapsed onto the bed, dragging her hands over her face. The faint patter of horse hooves and carriages continued to waft around her as she sat still and silent, head in hands.
She glanced back over her shoulder, and moved once again to the window, throwing back the curtain violently. There were no skyscrapers, no digital billboards, no movie posters or lights or telephone poles. There was no trace of twenty-first century life before her. It was loud and busy, with people milling around, with places to go, and people to see.
The people, the buildings, the haste; despite the obvious differences, it was still reminiscent of Londonâ
But of one that was far from her own.
Thanks to Reedsy for an ARC of this book. My one and only complaint is that it ended on a cliffhanger. I know some people love that, but Iâm not one of them. And the truth is, I already want to read more from LM Bean. In fact, Iâve already gone to their website and signed up for their mailing list. Considering the amount of emails I have to weed through on a regular basis, this is high praise, indeed. Okay, I do have one other complaint, also related to the ending. The setup for the next book is a little shaky. Iâm hoping book two will more fully explain how the final events could have taken place. And yes, I DO want to read book two.
Elena Manning is thrust from present-day London to 1876, while Elena âElleâ Manning trades places with her. The exchange is very well thought out and executed, with Elle setting the terms for them to return to their respective periods. Elena must find Elleâs missing friend, Elizabeth, who has been kidnapped. Elena is not exactly excited about her predicament until she meets bad-boy, Henry Graves, who she describes thusly: âIn all his dark splendour, everyone around him turned to scenery, as if they were drawn in pencil, while he was stained in permanent black ink.â
Told entirely from the POV of Elena, we know how much she is fighting her attraction to Graves for several reasons. First of all, the first time she encountered him, he was threatening another man. Next, her mother introduced her to Graves as a potential suitor, which was awkward. But most importantly, Graves is one of Elenaâs primary suspects in the disappearance of Elizabeth. But the attraction between them is undeniable and she finds herself seeking opportunities to be alone with him. After the first time, she wonders, âWhy had she let him kiss her? And when was he going to do it again?â In regard to time alone, I had to wonder about the freedom afforded Elena while in 1876. She was constantly disappearing on her own, traipsing around London, and even being alone, behind closed doors, with Graves. I could understand her tendency to do things on her own, but based on the time period, I was really surprised she wasnât forced to have a chaperone.
I could overlook that, as well as several editing mistakes (some not insignificant), because I enjoyed the story and the writing so much. Even in describing something as mundane as a building on a corner, the author is flowery: âThe green paneled ground floor bent around the street cornerâŠâ And I loved when this happened to Elena. âShe double tapped the back of the book next to her with her ring finger to check the time. Idiot. She thought realising it was her book." I now count myself as a fan of LM Bean and Iâm looking forward to reading more. I highly recommend this book.