Midnight in Austenland (8 page)

“If you will come with us, sir,” he said. “No need to distress the ladies.”

“I'll do as I please!” Mr. Wattlesbrook shouted, throwing his glass on the rug. Red port bled out into the yellow fibers.

“All right, gents,” Colonel Andrews said.

They grabbed Mr. Wattlesbrook and hauled him out of the room, while he hollered and kicked. Mrs. Wattlesbrook shut the door against the noise and turned to the ladies, dabbing at her forehead with a handkerchief.

“I—” She looked at the ceiling. She seemed to have no words. “My husband …”

Miss Gardenside patted the woman's arm. “The drink is the devil, Mrs. Wattlesbrook. And that is all we need to say.”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook nodded. She dabbed at her forehead again and left the room.

“Wow,” Miss Charming said under her breath. “Haven't seen that plot twist before.”

Charlotte stood by the door but couldn't hear any more noise. Perhaps it
was
a plot twist. Perhaps Mr. Wattlesbrook was playing a part, creating a conflict that would need to be resolved by the end of the two weeks.

A maid rushed in with a cloth and began to soak up the spilled port.

But Mrs. Wattlesbrook's story world wouldn't be this messy, thought Charlotte.

Outside, the wind picked up behind the rain, lashing it against the windows. Clouds thickened and sunk low, and it seemed to be evening in the morning room.

“Anyone for tennis?” Charlotte asked.

Home, twenty-nine years before

Charlotte's birthday party. Six little girls in pajamas were lying atop their sleeping bags in the basement. A neat circle, faces in the center.

Her eleven-year-old brother emerged from the stairway, hands in pockets. The presence of the Boy elicited muted gasps and a general clambering for the cover of sleeping bags.

“Wanna play hide-and-go-seek?” he asked with a disquieting grin on his face. “I'll be It.”

Charlotte's friends squealed happily at the idea. Because Tommy proposed it. And Tommy was cute and older and a boy, and therefore,
cool
. Charlotte didn't argue, even though he was hijacking her party. Her friends wanted to, and so, as a good friend and hostess, she should comply.

Everyone hid.

Then the lights went out and the screaming began.

What Charlotte found out later was that Tommy had waited to propose the game until their mother had run next door for a moment and no parent was supervising the house. While he counted, his friend Sam snuck into the basement and turned off the breakers. Then they both donned gorilla masks and went hunting.

Charlotte was the one doing most of the screaming. The pantry had been a very, very bad place to hide. A being with a gorilla face pounced on her from the darkness, and there was no exit—just endless boxes of macaroni and cheese knocked by her flailing arms, hitting the tile with sounds like shotgun blasts. When she finally got free, there was a second creepy-faced psycho blocking the hall. Hello therapy.

Charlotte's mother heard the screams from next door. She unmasked the villains, turned the lights back on, and sent Sam home and Tommy to his room. Tommy laughed all the way there.

At school on Monday, her friends summed up the event as “
So
fun. I was so scared. Tommy is
so
cool!” The terror forgotten, the girls swooned into the arms of sublime crush.

And Charlotte thought, Why are girls stupid?

Charlotte didn't answer herself, and she didn't forget. She'll never forget.

Austenland, day 5, cont.

Dinner entertained the usual suspects, with no Mr. Wattlesbrook to be seen. Mrs. Wattlesbrook gripped her knife and fork a bit too tightly and startled at sounds like the clatter of cutlery or distant thunder.

She expects him to return any moment, Charlotte thought.

But he didn't, and the gentlemen covered up the bleak mood with plenty of conversation.

As per after-dinner custom, the women retired to the drawing room while the men stayed in the dining room, ostensibly to drink and smoke out of sight of the ladies. Tonight they stayed away a little longer than normal, and when they joined the ladies—first Colonel Andrews, then Mr. Mallery, followed a few minutes later by Eddie—only the colonel smelled of smoke, and none of them wafted alcohol breath, though Mr. Mallery and Colonel Andrews usually partook of a postprandial port. Eddie, she realized, always passed up the alcohol, as did Miss Gardenside.

Miss Gardenside seemed perkier than usual, sitting up straight and even rising to walk about. She sat at the piano and began to play, drawing a liquid song from the keys, but stopped abruptly and moved to the window. Lightning turned the night briefly silver, throbbing in and out before going dark again, and thunder groaned not far behind.

“Read some of the book, please, Colonel Andrews,” said Charlotte.

“Quite right, Mrs. Cordial,” he said, pulling the book from his breast pocket. “Excellent suggestion. There is much to learn of Mary Francis, I believe, and this weather creates the perfect ambience. Now, let's see, where were we?

I hear sounds in the girl Mary's room at nights, my own chamber beside hers. Pacing or scraping. It is unnerving, but whenever I mean to ask her about it come morning, she looks so sad and tired I hold my tongue. The girl Betsy what used to board with her ran off one night and never come back to collect her wages. Cook tells me she feels a cold wind around the girl Mary and to get rid of her. Even if—

Colonel Andrews stopped reading as the electric lights in the room crackled and flashed, then went dark. Only the glow from the candles and a few kerosene lamps remained, their trembling flares making pockets of uncertain light. Charlotte stood from the couch and instinctively went closer to Eddie. He put a hand on her back.

“Lights out, Mallery?” he asked.

Mr. Mallery checked the electric lamps, clicking them on and off without effect. He stepped out and was gone a few minutes. Probably checking a breaker, Charlotte thought with an eerie feeling of déjà vu. He returned, a candle in hand, and shook his head. At least he hadn't donned a gorilla mask.

“Quite a storm,” he said. “It has stripped us of all but firelight tonight, I think.”

Charlotte took several steps closer to Mr. Mallery and his candle. The rain clawed at the window as if looking for a way in. The night storm seemed much closer now that the electric lights didn't blaze it back. No one spoke for a few moments. It seemed unlikely that anyone was ready for sleep. Charlotte's own mood was zigging and zapping her pulse.

“Now what on earth can we do in the dark to pass the time?” Colonel Andrews said, his voice velvety.

Miss Charming giggled.

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook with an offended sniff.

“I have it!” The colonel's voice brightened. “Let us play Bloody Murder.”

“Ooh, the name alone gives one the shivers,” said Miss Gardenside.

“Bloody Murder,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said. “That is most certainly not my cup of tea.”

“Now, Missus—” Colonel Andrews began.

“I will retire,” she interrupted. “Do not let the ‘murderer' take refuge in my chamber, and keep things proper, sir, and you young creatures may have your merriment. Good night.”

Charlotte watched Mrs. Wattlesbrook leave, a candle in hand, and wished she could go too. Which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and however ominous the game sounded, it was just a game.

“How do you play Bloody Murder?” Charlotte asked casually.

Colonel Andrews smiled. “I approve of your eagerness, Mrs. Cordial! And I shall not leave you in suspense. First we put out all the lights in the house.”

Colonel Andrews picked up a brass extinguisher and capped three candles on the mantelpiece, then turned off the kerosene lamps. He nodded at Eddie, who licked his fingertips and quenched the candlewicks on the sideboard.

The room seemed to put on a shawl against the chill of the night. Miss Charming squealed in delighted terror.

“One of us will be the murderer,” said Colonel Andrews, lifting the last remaining lit candle closer to his face, pushing the shadows up.

“The murderer hides somewhere in the dark house,” he continued. “After a count of fifty, the rest of us hunt him out—each of us alone, mind you. The first to discover the murderer wherever he hides gives a shout of ‘bloody murder!' and all the hunters flee for the drawing room. With the shout, you see, the murderer is loosed from his hiding place and can pursue.”

“And what happens if he catches us?” Miss Gardenside asked, her tone playful.

“If the murderer touches you, you are dead and fall where you stand. The murderer tries to touch everyone before they can get to the safety of the drawing room. The last one touched will be the next murderer.”

A hand grabbed Charlotte's shoulder. She screamed. It was Eddie.

“Upon my word, Charlotte,” said her brother, “you are providing this game the perfect music.”

Charlotte took some comfort in the fact that surely no one could see her blush in the dim light. Only Colonel Andrews's face was strictly visible, though it was flickering like the flame.

“I don't really understand,” Charlotte said shyly. “If there were a murderer hiding somewhere in the house, why would we all split up and hunt him out? I mean, wouldn't we want to stay away? Or together at least.”

Colonel Andrews clicked his tongue. “You are delightfully practical, Mrs. Cordial. We hunt for the glory of discovering the culprit!”

“And because it's fun,” said Miss Gardenside.

Theoretically, thought Charlotte.

There was a cracking noise in the dark. Eddie stepped into the circle of candlelight, six matches in his fist.

“Whoever draws the short stick is the murderer,” he said.

Charlotte drew first, relieved her match was long. It was the solitude she feared most, going out into that dark house, waiting alone. She would make a horrible murderer, more afraid of her victims than they were of her, a feeble spider trembling on her web. Stay away, flies! Please, stay away!

The other two ladies likewise drew long sticks. The colonel offered his fist to Mr. Mallery, who hesitated before drawing. His match was half the size of the others.

“Mr. Mallery is the murderer!” Miss Gardenside shrieked.

Later Charlotte wondered if she misread his expression, because the gentleman's face seemed momentarily alarmed—more, even a little frightened. Was it possible that he too hated the dark, the solitude, the waiting? She almost took pity on him and volunteered to be his partner. But he so quickly recovered that she didn't trust her memory.

“Very well, then,” said Mr. Mallery. “I suggest you all prepare yourself for a speedy death.”

Miss Gardenside giggled. Charlotte shivered as if icy fingers were tickling her ribs.

“A right jolly fright I've got,” Miss Charming said with glee.

“I'll warn the servants to stay in their chambers or in the kitchen,” said Colonel Andrews. “We shall limit our playground to rooms with open doors, all right?”

He left, taking the only candle with him.

“Colonel, the candle—” Mr. Mallery began, but Andrews was already gone, leaving them in darkness. “What a dolt.”

There was silence. The room was absolutely dark after the departure of that single light. Charlotte didn't dare move for fear of touching people unexpectedly, and maybe in unexpected places, which would so not be Regency appropriate.

“Should we sit down?” Miss Gardenside whispered.

“I fear I would sit on you rather than the sofa,” Eddie whispered back.

“Why are we whispering?” Miss Charming whispered.

“Well, we
are
in a dark room with a murderer,” said Charlotte. “No need to alert him to our presence.”

“Ho hum, poor me,” Mr. Mallery said somewhere to her left. “A murderer, all alone, and no one to murder. If only a potential victim would speak up and alert me to her presence.”

Miss Gardenside giggled.

“Got you!” Eddie said suddenly, seizing the lady's arm.

Miss Gardenside screamed. So did Charlotte. Stupid brothers.

“What? Wait! Do not start without me,” Colonel Andrews said, rushing back in, the candle flame bobbing. He placed the candle in a holder on the mantel. “We are safe. The servants absconded, and the house is ours. Go on, Mallery. We will give you till fifty.”

Charlotte stood close to the candle and watched their elected murderer leave the room, his expression decidedly sneaky. Charlotte put her arm through Miss Charming's.

“Want to be hiding buddies?” she whispered.

“Don't be silly,” Miss Charming whispered back. “If we're together, it makes cornering a gentleman and accidentally kissing him on the mouth a lot harder.”

“Oh. Right, of course …”

Colonel Andrews took care of the counting. “Fifty” came quickly. Charlotte could see the indistinct figures of Miss Charming and Miss Gardenside bobbing with excitement as they ventured off into the inky house. The colonel and Eddie both wore dark jackets, and the blackness swallowed them up at once.

Stop it, Charlotte. This is just a children's game. And you aren't a child. You're fine.

Her heart beat like a fleeing rabbit's, but she left the safety of the drawing room and its single spark of light. She could hear the creak of steps and hurried breaths of the others, and she tried to make for the sounds, hoping for any companion in the dark. She thought she was on the trail of Colonel Andrews, but when she caught up with him, instead she found her own face in a mirror guarding the dining room.

“Hello?” she whispered in the black. “Hello? Anyone there?”

A rustle from the corner. Was it Mr. Mallery? He wasn't really a murderer, of course. Nothing to fear. And if it was Mr. Mallery, she could yell “bloody murder” and get this game over with.

She reached out, feeling cloth. Her breath caught. His jacket? No, it felt like velvet. The drapes.

The sound of running feet upstairs sent her spinning, looking for danger. The drawing room and the safety of its candle felt way too far away. She started to run and slammed her leg into a chair. A cry escaped her lips, and she might have fallen, but hands caught her. She couldn't scream—her breath was already gone. But the hands were warm and righted her, one holding her hand, one steadying her back.

“Are you hurt?” Mr. Mallery whispered. She could hear his distinct tone in that whisper, even if she couldn't make out his face. “Your heart is thumping like a beast.”

She wasn't surprised he could feel her heartbeat through her back. She could feel it in her fingernails and eyelashes.

“You scared me,” she said.

“Isn't that the purpose of the game?” he asked. “Truly, I am not certain, so perhaps you could enlighten me.”

“I'm as much in the dark as you are,” she said, then laughed.

He didn't laugh, but his hand moved on her back, a comforting kind of pat. It was so small a gesture but felt like fire on her skin, and instead of calming, the pounding of her chest magnified. A man was holding her in the dark. She sighed at her own pathetic heart.

“I believe you are obliged to yell ‘bloody murder,' ” he said.

“I don't really want to.” She wanted to stay still. For the briefest moment, the dark felt like a good place to be.