The boat ride starts off like any other through the ancient canals of Xochimilco. There's laughter in the distance, floating mariachi music, and the occasional splash of an oar. But then your trajinera turns away from the main path. The air gets still. The water darkens. The laughter fades. You're no longer headed toward a party—you’re heading into a ghost story.

Tucked away in the sleepy English village of Chawton is a modest red-brick cottage with ivy climbing the walls and roses blooming by the window. At first glance, it seems like just another picturesque home from a Jane Austen novel. And that’s exactly what it is—because this house wasn’t just her inspiration. It was her reality.