A/N: Warning; this story is mildly based on 'The Great Gatsby', and with mildly I mean that the title is from the book and the first few sentences of this chapter. Some of my friends/muses say that the title suggests it's really freaking much based on the book, but it's not. If you've read the book and then would read this story, you would be seriously able to name the differences. It's just obvious ^^

A bit of crucial information: This story is AU. You see, capital letters and all? And probably OOC as well, but that's inevitable with a plot like this. And it takes place in 'The Roaring Twenties', so just after the First World War, in America. I could be mistaken by some actions the characters make in comparison to how people acted in 1920, but I'm not a historian so bear with me. I'm doing my absolute best. It could also be a bit further back into the past, before the First World War instead of after, but you'll be the judge on that then.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I own only my stupid imagination.

'The Great Mr. Jane'

In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantage that you've had."

That was all he said, he didn't say much more. We've never been on speaking terms much, and we will probably never be, but what he said made me think.

I grew up in the east of the States, with both my parents, looking after me whenever they could. Or, say, they pretended they did but they never actually cared about me.

My mother used to say that women who are too dependent of their parents won't get rich and handsome husbands, and so she forced me to become that sort of independent woman I did not want to be.

By all means, I do love my parents, dearly even. They raised me and they made me who I am today – in a way, at least. They created me and put me on this world – I didn't have a choice in that. They raised me, but that does not mean I would give them any parental rights over me whatsoever. If it had been possible I would have left them a long time ago.

In the end, it had been my mother's downfall; she had taught me that women needed to be fools, beautiful little fools. They shouldn't think about things too much or they will get hurt. By putting me in my room all day long, all on my own, they made me independent and I had a lot of time to think about things.

Yet the lesson my father gave me about judging people is a lesson that I savor much. It is something that makes sense, if you compared it to all the BS that he said most days.

Not that I would ever acknowledge the fact that my parents had any part in making me happy, not at all.

They gave me what I needed alright, with their fortune earned by our wholesale hardware business, but they never gave me what I wanted.

Especially not when they had suggested to go to the South East. That had been the proverbial last straw for me.

That is probably why I'm standing in the west of the States now, but it's still a blur how I got here. I could faintly remember a good looking man on the way here who had helped me find my way, but I'm afraid that's all I know.

Oh, now I remember. I was going to visit my niece.

I had never met her. That's the downside of having a family that's so big you can even question if there are relatives at the other side of the ocean.

I did know that she was my third cousin once removed, so she shouldn't look that much like me at all. Not that I had ever known what 'third cousin' meant. I suspected it meant that we had a great-great-grandparent in common - I realized it was going to be a tough case to find her in a city like Sacramento but I had high hopes nonetheless. I should be able to come up with a believable story still if she didn't believe me though, if I hadn't lost my touch.

I straightened my dress and walked up to the big mansion that appeared to be the biggest in the neighborhood. I had to admit, my niece had a nice catch there. I doubted it that she really loved her husband, but with a house like this, I wouldn't complain either.

I knocked on the door and it took over half a minute before someone opened the door. A young girl, around her twenties, maybe younger, appeared in the doorway, wearing a maid outfit and she looked stressed, fumbling with the cords on her dress as soon as she saw me.

"Uhm... hello? How can I help you?" she asked in an almost angelic voice. I looked her over for a few more seconds, then answered her.

"I'm here to visit my niece, Teresa. I'm Grace van Pelt."

The girl seemed to be startled, but then nodded and retreated a bit. "Wait a minute, Ma'am, I'm going to check if Mrs. Mashburn is ready to welcome you."

"Sure, take as long as you want," I answered, and the girl managed a small smile before inviting me inside. She motioned for me to wait in the hall, and as she rushed up the stairs, I took the opportunity to inspect the interior.

The outside of the house hadn't lied about the inside – big, white/black pillars were standing spread all over the room, quite possibly to support the weight of the rest of the house. The floor looked like you could eat from it, and you could probably see your reflection in it as well. There was silverware on some tables, together with crystal clear wine glasses. All of this made think that I had stepped into a hospital, everything was too clean.

Two big stairs lead to the first floor in a faint turn, one left and one right, and just as I was about to climb the stairs to look at the expensive stuff that was stored there, when I saw a blur of dark-brown hair and white cotton and lace run past me, only to rush back to stand in front of me.

"Grace?" the woman asked, and I nodded. A smile crept on the woman's features and she motioned for me to follow her. We walked to the living room together and I realized when I saw a big portrait of her and a man hanging above the fireplace that this woman was my niece.

"I have heard so much about you – oh, all positive, don't worry. It has been a while, hasn't it?" she asked, and I smiled.

"A lifetime, to be precise." She rolled her eyes, but she sat down on the big couch, sprawling her white dress around her just so that it looked acceptable.

She smiled at me, and her emerald green eyes smiled just as much. I knew not to judge but I could see in the way she cared that she was a loveable woman.

"Well then, since we haven't had a proper introduction yet: I'm Teresa Mashburn. That," she said, pointing at the painting I had seen earlier, "is my husband, Walter Mashburn."

"Really a catch, huh?" I asked, and she wanted to shrug, I could see it in the way her shoulders twitched, but instead she smiled and nodded.
"He is."

"Do you have children?"

Teresa's smile widened and she nodded again, this time a bit more enthusiastically, making her long subtle curls bounce beside her face. She raised her arm and pointed at a painting behind me.

I turned around, never actually moving in my chair, and was immediately met by piercing green eyes, as piercing as Teresa's but mixed with an odd form of blue that gave the child's eyes an almost mysterious look. The kid did have the same hair as her mother, though. For the painting, the girl's locks had been braided and attached to the top of her head, giving her a playful bun. Overall, the girl had a pretty appearance.

It didn't escape my attention that neither of the females had hairstyles that fit today's fashion standards - but then again, knowing the stubborn temperament of my family, however far away, Teresa would probably encourage her daughter to find her own style.

"That's Christina. She is seven now."

I smiled as I turned back to Teresa. She was looking with nothing but admiration at her daughter, before she noticed my attention was on her and she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"Why are you here, Grace?"

"My, uh... my parents and I... we had a disagreement, of some sorts."

Teresa looked me over for a few seconds, obviously trying to put her finger on my personality but failing. Concerning that, I was a closed book. That's what my mum taught me. It was best to keep things you didn't want to discuss to yourself.

"I won't ask," she said, and ran a quick hand through her hair. "If it is going to be necessary, you can live in the old house at the end of the street. It's my husband's."

Okay, so the Mashburns were influential – or rather, Walter Mashburn was. Teresa merely had the luck to have the good looks so she was fancied by a man like him. And probably, she was a 'beautiful, little fool', like my mother described women with Teresa's status. It was new money that Teresa had, and easy money, since the only thing she had to do was being pretty and carrying his children – which weren't that much children, apparently.

I could remember hearing a few men talking about the Mashburns while on my way to Sacramento. I had heard things like 'richest man in the city, state even' and 'married to a pretty young thing'. That last thing wasn't true anymore, obviously, since Teresa was evidently in her mid-thirties. If anything would come to happen to their marriage, she would be alone for the rest of her life – nobody wanted a woman her age.

"That would be just fine, thank you."

Teresa smiled, let out an absent sigh and when she looked at the window for a brief moment, she almost jumped up. She realized what she had done, apologized to me and walked over to the front door of the house. The fact that she didn't let the maid open the door meant this was someone that Teresa really cared about, and when I heard the distinctive sounds of people kissing, I knew it was her husband.

I felt a wave of warm feelings spread itself through the house.

They talked for a few minutes, before both of them walked into the living room. I stood up and walked over to Walter.

For a few moments, I doubted why my niece had married this man. Yes, he had some potential to be handsome but in the end, of course, money counted. He was a man of mid-thirty, begin forty, with a hard mouth and a supercilious manner. From these two shining arrogant hazel eyes he was scanning me from head to toe, stopping at my chest for a few seconds. He didn't bother to censor it for his wife, who chose to simply ignore it. Under those riding clothes, you could see he wasn't overly muscled but he did seem to have enough strength, seeing as a great pack of muscle shifted when he reached out to shake my hand. Overall, this man didn't look polite at all – he had a cruel body.

"Walter Mashburn," he said, taking my hand and placing a kiss on the top. "And you are...?"

"Grace van Pelt."

"She's family," Teresa added, and I nodded. "The daughter of Max and Rose."

Walter's eyes shot open wide as he remembered who my parents were.

"Oh, Maxwell van Pelt. Yes, I know him. Do sit down," he said, pointing at the couch I had just sat on. Walter and Teresa sat down next to each other, keeping an appropriate distance.

Then, our conversation died into an awkward silence. I could feel the tension between the two. It was as if they had been arguing before he had left and had only kept up a mask pretending everything was fine by kissing once he had come home. It was clear to me they had a secret way of dealing with things.

I had my doubts about this marriage.

"So you gave her the house next to Jane?" Walter asked Teresa. She nodded, and then turned to me.

"He can be a bit... stubborn, Mr. Jane, but on the whole, he's a nice man," she said. Walter huffed.
"Sure he is. If he throws parties, he is. He is nothing good, Teresa, you should know that by now."

Teresa looked at her husband who was openly expressing his abhorrence towards this Mr. Jane, her eyes showing all too well that she didn't agree with him. But she just nodded, and averted her eyes.

It all fell into place in that moment, but I decided not to question them. They had to find out themselves. If they hadn't already, that is.

And after all, who were I to judge? Maybe I was entirely wrong. I didn't want to destroy that important first impression by saying things that weren't correct.

That moment, I heard a loud shriek and before I knew it, Teresa was being attacked by a little girl.

"Chrissie," she chuckled and hugged her daughter to her. If Walter was disturbed by the behavior of his daughter then he was really good at hiding it, but he didn't need to voice his thoughts for me to notice - he had that sparkle in his eyes that I saw in my own father's eyes too many times whenever he was vexed. "Where is Johanna?"

Christina shrugged, and wriggled herself in between her parents. "I don't know. She was doing my hair and she ran away to open the door and I haven't seen her since."

"Oh, Good Lord, she's distracted way too fast," Walter said. Teresa shot him a pointed look.

"She probably just forgot what she was doing."

"We should hire a new maid."
"But maids in general are not supposed to look after children, Walter. You wanted to save money."
"Well fine, we'll get Christina a nanny then. But only because she's not behaving properly."

"Who? Chrissie or Johanna?"

"Both."

Teresa almost groaned and averted her eyes from her husband once again. Christina reached out to grab her mother's hand and placed a brief kiss in her palm. Teresa smiled. It was evident that Christina knew exactly when her parents were having an argument, and knew exactly when she had to comfort her mother.

Christina was taking her mother's side much too clearly, which made me wonder if she felt anything for her father.

That's when Christina noticed me. Her eyes widened for a bit, then she jumped up to run towards me.
"Wow, mummy, look at her hair! It's so beautiful!" she exclaimed, diving down beside me.

"Chrissie, please," Teresa uttered as Walter had crossed his arms and refused to look at the little girl. Christina pouted, then calmed down and straightened her back.

"Hi," she told me, and I smiled. I reached out to shake her hand, and she did.

"I'm Christina Mashburn. It's a pleasure to meet you," she said in a scripted manner, and I looked at Teresa for a few moments, who just shrugged and crossed her legs.

"Hi Christina, I'm Grace van Pelt."
"Grace, that's a beautiful name."

"And Christina is too."

She chuckled.

"I'm something like family of your mother, Christina. I'm from the East."

"What do you mean with 'something like family'?"

I chuckled, and shook my head. "It's a long story. Let's just say that I'm your mother's niece."
"But you don't look like each other-"
"Christina, could you go look for Johanna now?" Walter asked, interrupting our little talk, and the girl once again pouted. She nodded though, walked over to her parents to kiss both their cheeks, and then ran off to find the maid.

I could feel the tension once again, and the whole warm feeling I had felt when Walter had stepped into the house had disappeared. Husband and wife were now turned away from each other. The expression on their faces was edging anger, for both of them, but I didn't give it much more thought.

It wasn't like I hadn't seen married people like this before. Most men like Walter wouldn't marry women that they loved – simply women that other people loved so that his reputation would become even better.

Poor Teresa.

Walter sighed, and got up. "I have a meeting."
Teresa nodded, but didn't get up. Walter rolled his eyes, not in a funny way but in a way that you could see he was annoyed, and walked out of the room.

I waited until I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs to confront Teresa.
"Do you still think he's a catch?" I asked her. She shot me a pointed look, as pointed as she had given her husband, then her expression softened a bit as she realized that I couldn't possibly know her position.

"It's not his fault, Grace."

"Do you care to elaborate on that a bit more?"

Teresa shrugged. "Maybe."

I swallowed, looked around the room and my eyes fell on the painting of Christina once again. I couldn't put my finger on it exactly why, but I had the feeling that Christina was the reason for the couple's disagreements.
"Is it something Christina did?"

"No."

"You then?"
She swallowed thickly, and nodded.

"The... the blue-green eyes... Walter doesn't have..."

Teresa got up and ran two hands through her hair. She groaned as she arrived at the window, clearly hesitating in telling me the truth.

"Teresa, you can trust me-"
"Christina isn't Walter's."
My thoughts had been confirmed in that very moment, and as Teresa hugged her body with her arms, I knew it was a difficult subject for her. Obviously, she didn't want to damage their marriage since that was the only thing she had at the moment, but this was something that was going to ruin it no matter what if it left the confines of this house. But it couldn't be nobody had noticed this. It couldn't be that I were the first person to notice that the blue in Christina's eyes came from a different man than Walter.

"It... it was a mistake. A big, big, mistake. But Walter can't forgive me. I cheated on him and he can't forgive me for it. It's not like he doesn't cheat on me, I know the truth, in fact, I know all of his mistresses, but..." She groaned, and looked at the painting of Christina again. "I don't have another choice. I want the best for my little girl." She sighed, and looked at me again. "I'm glad you're here. I can a have a distraction now."

She walked back to the couch. "You need to promise me something, Grace."
I nodded.
"Don't tell Walter you know this. And don't go around the city telling people you know this either. I don't know how many people know but I don't want to be the center of attention, you see. Not in that sense of the word."

"I see. Your secret is safe with me."
"Oh, and don't talk with Mr. Jane. Please, don't."

Now that was a strange demand, but I would stick to it either way.
"Sure. No talking. Got it."
Teresa smiled weakly, but let out a sigh of relief. She sat down, repeating the same movement she had done before with her dress.

As I heard a loud laugh from a few rooms away, I realized that coming here to visit my niece was going to be more adventurous than I had anticipated before.

A/N: So Christina is not Walter's, obviously. So whose is she then? *wink wink* You'll get a confirmation, I promise.

I hope I have your interest now with this chapter! Let me know if you want to read more!

And you'll find out eventually why this story is called 'The Great Mr. Jane'. I know it looks like Lisbon or Van Pelt are the main characters now, and they are, but Van Pelt is so important because it's her point of view and Lisbon is only, let's say, 'an accessory', to Jane's story. But we'll get there, Lisbon will be awesome in this story, I promise! My love for Lisbon will always win against everything ^^

I could have stretched out the thing about Christina not being Walter's but it was better to just cut to the chase right away. There are still a lot of things to be revealed, obviously, so I didn't really ruin the surprise factor. Or did I? :P And Christina is NOT Kristina Frye, I hate that woman so no.