Emma swung her legs over the side of the bath and got out. She straightened up and smoothed down her hair and clothes.

"The truth is, Miss Edgecombe, I ended up here because I was looking for a place to hide."

Freya's brows knitted. "From what?"

"I'm not quite sure, but I know that I couldn't stand my life as it was anymore. I felt as though I'd spent most of my time staring wistfully out of windows, just wondering what might lie beyond my disappointingly small sphere of existence. Not only that, I wanted to escape from all these insufferable social gatherings and balls: I'd convinced myself that matchmaking and gossiping with my friends could constitute fulfilling and meaningful pastimes. Suddenly it all seemed so futile." She sighed. "So, and I don't know why, I climbed into my bedroom cupboard, closed the door, and just sat there. It was only when I leaned against its far side, that it swung open to reveal this place." Emma pointed towards the bathroom cabinet. "That's where I came through."

Freya didn't reply, but walked over slowly to the place where Emma was pointing. The cabinet itself was slightly ajar and, now that she was close enough to notice, she saw that a soft golden glow was coming from behind its door. After a moment she said, "You know I had plans for today."

Emma smiled. "I won't be long, I just need some time to myself. Just say that you're my friend from Buckinghamshire. I've sent you to Hartfield to keep my father company while I stay with your family, in Aylesbury."

Freya gave an almost imperceptible nod and, after squeezing herself into the cabinet with some difficulty, plunged headfirst into Emma's world.

The sharp and sudden coming together of face and floor resulted in a loud, 'Ow!' and the muttering of several expletives. She lay for a moment on the wooden boards while she tried to gather her bearings.

"Good heavens! Are you quite alright?"

An old man was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a red velvet cloak. His expression was more one of concern than confusion.

Freya scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, still a little dazed from her fall. She tried to formulate an intelligible reply, but thoughts seemed to be travelling through her head incredibly slowly. "Er – yes! Yes I'm fine." She paused for a moment. "Are you Mr Woodhouse?"

The old man looked taken aback. "To be sure! And, I'm glad you're not injured Miss, but if you'll forgive my asking, what were you doing in my daughter's bedroom cupboard?"

"I was… er… well…" Freya racked her mind. "I was running an errand – for Emma – just putting some of her things in order."

"Oh," replied Mr Woodhouse. "I see. And are you a friend of Emma's?"

"Yes – a very good friend. In fact, as I'm sure she's explained to you, it's my family that she's staying with in Aylesbury; a trip she embarked upon in order to see more of the countryside. My name is Miss Edgecombe."

Mr Woodhouse chuckled. "Miss Edgecombe, I'm afraid you must be mistaken. Emma has never been fond of travel at all – quite the contrary. She isn't the type to go gadding off around the countryside on a whim. After all, she would have asked for my blessing first."

"I assure you it's true! She asked me to stay here to help with the estate's affairs for a while and to return the favour to my family." After a moment's silence, Freya opted for a rather awkward curtsy.

"Goodness me! Am I to be told nothing nowadays? Well I suppose you better come downstairs then. We have company and I'll need to introduce you to everyone if you're going to be staying with us." His expression changed. "On second thoughts, perhaps you better change first. Emma appears to have left most of her things behind so you can borrow one of her dresses." He paused. "I know you young do like to indulge these ridiculous fashions and trends, but trousers hardly seem appropriate, given the circumstances." He left the room muttering 'not even a day's notice!' and closed the door behind him.

Once changed, Freya admired her reflection in Emma's dressing-table mirror. Not bad, she thought, rearranging the frills of her dress, but they're going to sniff me out as an impostor a mile off. She sighed. Was she being stitched up here? Perhaps by some TV company who wanted to catch her reaction on camera. She could see it now – 'Freya Edgecombe, 21, an avid Austen fan, was fooled into thinking that she'd fallen through a portal in her friend's bathroom cabinet that led straight into Emma Woodhouse's bedroom!' Nonetheless, she found it hard to doubt that her surroundings were genuine: Emma and her father had been just like she'd imagined them. The only problem was that she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. After all, what would the world of Emma be like given the fact Emma wasn't there?