Midnight in Austenland
Page 36
“He’s so different from … what I left behind. And I know I’m supposed to get wooed and all. That’s how Mrs. Wattlesbrook designed this. But I get scared. I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“Still worried about Mallery? Come, Charlotte, you need to enjoy yourself more. Do you ever allow yourself that? You do not have many hobbies, do you?”
“I work, I take care of my children …” She shrugged.
“Well, in our world, at the very least, you should learn to dance. My—” He caught himself. “Our mother, as you recall, was a dance instructor, and naturally, as her only son, I was often employed as a demonstration partner. Odd that you somehow escaped dance lessons.”
“Yes, that is odd.”
They smiled at each other.
“You learned the country dances from Mrs. Wattlesbrook?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet.
“I don’t remember them very well, and the ball is in four days.”
“The steps are repetitive, and you’re clever. You will be fine.”
He went to a carved wooden box in a corner, turned a key several times, and lifted the lid. A tinny song squeaked out.
“There is a new dance that is just being admitted into civilized society, in this, the year of our Lord 1816: the waltz.”
He pulled her into his arms and began to move—one, two, three, one, two, three. His hand was tight on her back, their middles almost touching. She felt featherlight and a little giddy.
“You are a natural,” he said. “Flows in the Grey blood, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Was she being frivolous? Shouldn’t she be doing something productive, like … um … She briefly wished the murder had been real so she could get back to work investigating. All this vacationing was proving to be a mental strain.
You’re such an idiot, said her Inner Thoughts. Don’t you know how to relax?
She looked at Eddie. It was easier to relax with Eddie there.
“Having fun?” he asked.
She nodded, and her feet skipped a little, adding an extra hitch to the step.
“Ooh, you saucy thing,” he said. “Next time I will teach you the polka.”
“Post haste it is.” Mr. Mallery was leaning against the threshold.
Charlotte stopped, feeling guilty. His confidence seemed to fill the room, leaving no place for hers.
Mr. Mallery approached and bowed deeply. “Mind if I cut in?”
Eddie bowed in return and left them.
It was different dancing with Mr. Mallery. His hands held her in the same places, and yet his touch felt hotter, more intimate. She had to wonder, Did people really waltz in 1816? Why, it was almost scandalous! She wasn’t certain it was bringing her deeper into Austenland, but waltzing with Mr. Mallery did feel wonderful and a little bit naughty.
For the rest of the day, Mrs. Cordial let Mr. Mallery court her thoroughly. They went for a walk around the gardens, skipped stones in the pond, talked about clouds and history and other topics that were time-period neutral.
He maintained a gentleman’s distance, but he never hesitated to offer his arm and take her hand when they walked over uneven ground. When the sun was dallying with the horizon, they stopped to watch the clouds take up the yellow and orange, colors bright and hot like a house fire.
“I abhor the thought of going inside tonight,” he said. “The tedium of the drawing room, all those people. I would rather just listen to you.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve said anything that interesting.”
“You are interesting.”
“Mrs. Cordial!” Colonel Andrews spied them through the open door. “There you are. Mrs. Wattlesbrook is anxious to start dinner, as am I, if you must know. I have a deliriously wild passage to read to you all tonight, and you must attend me or I will be quite put out.”
He made a pouting expression and scampered off.
Mr. Mallery kissed Charlotte’s hand, subtly inhaling through his nose as if enjoying her scent. Wow. If she wasn’t careful, this man would eat her alive. Hm, maybe she shouldn’t be too careful.
“We … we should probably go in,” she said.
All through dinner, Colonel Andrews was especially anxious, his mouth more full of secret smiles than of food. He drank vibrantly and sometimes giggled to himself.
“You are up to something, my bonny wee cream puff,” Miss Charming said.
“Only enchanted by your company and much looking forward to our diversions this evening. The story of Mary Francis progresses, yes it does.”
After dessert and Madeira, the evening hushed into night. The players gathered across the hall on the prolific settees, and the colonel read from his little leather-bound book. He’d begun to adopt a cockney accent for the housekeeper, which required Charlotte to concentrate on his every word.
The kitchen lads provoke Mary, I can see that. Anyone could. I told them to stop teasing her, but I cannot be responsible for the girl, not when she refuses to talk about the abbey. People are curious, and afraid too, as am I. But I never expected what happened. We was in the kitchen cleaning up, and Mary was quiet on her stool, and all were working hard, but maybe some of them was teasing her again. They got a little chant they whisper at her, What do you know of our Mary? Twenty-one nuns she did bury!
So we was working and then there is a howl that makes Cook drop a bowl and we look outside and see something in the kitchen garden. I say it is a ghost, for it is white and filmy and moves around like it is floating, and it howls and says all screeching and horrible with a right odd voice, Leave innocent Mary alone! It says the nuns cannot rest when folk stain Mary’s name with lies. I tell you we all turned white as the ghost and shut up the door and covered our ears. All except Mary. She did not seem afraid. Worried, sure enough, but not afraid. She just went on washing pots and frowned.
And I am writing this by candle, which I should not waste, but I cannot sleep so I write it out and I will say my prayers again. And I will make those lads behave for I do not want to see another ghost my whole life, I do not.
Colonel Andrews shut the book.
“Wow,” said Miss Charming. “A real ghost. And it was protecting her, right-o. So maybe she’s not guilty.”
“Or she is,” said Miss Gardenside, “and her dark deeds gained her unholy friendship with wraiths.”
The group was quiet. Charlotte heard a distant howl.
“Still worried about Mallery? Come, Charlotte, you need to enjoy yourself more. Do you ever allow yourself that? You do not have many hobbies, do you?”
“I work, I take care of my children …” She shrugged.
“Well, in our world, at the very least, you should learn to dance. My—” He caught himself. “Our mother, as you recall, was a dance instructor, and naturally, as her only son, I was often employed as a demonstration partner. Odd that you somehow escaped dance lessons.”
“Yes, that is odd.”
They smiled at each other.
“You learned the country dances from Mrs. Wattlesbrook?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet.
“I don’t remember them very well, and the ball is in four days.”
“The steps are repetitive, and you’re clever. You will be fine.”
He went to a carved wooden box in a corner, turned a key several times, and lifted the lid. A tinny song squeaked out.
“There is a new dance that is just being admitted into civilized society, in this, the year of our Lord 1816: the waltz.”
He pulled her into his arms and began to move—one, two, three, one, two, three. His hand was tight on her back, their middles almost touching. She felt featherlight and a little giddy.
“You are a natural,” he said. “Flows in the Grey blood, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Was she being frivolous? Shouldn’t she be doing something productive, like … um … She briefly wished the murder had been real so she could get back to work investigating. All this vacationing was proving to be a mental strain.
You’re such an idiot, said her Inner Thoughts. Don’t you know how to relax?
She looked at Eddie. It was easier to relax with Eddie there.
“Having fun?” he asked.
She nodded, and her feet skipped a little, adding an extra hitch to the step.
“Ooh, you saucy thing,” he said. “Next time I will teach you the polka.”
“Post haste it is.” Mr. Mallery was leaning against the threshold.
Charlotte stopped, feeling guilty. His confidence seemed to fill the room, leaving no place for hers.
Mr. Mallery approached and bowed deeply. “Mind if I cut in?”
Eddie bowed in return and left them.
It was different dancing with Mr. Mallery. His hands held her in the same places, and yet his touch felt hotter, more intimate. She had to wonder, Did people really waltz in 1816? Why, it was almost scandalous! She wasn’t certain it was bringing her deeper into Austenland, but waltzing with Mr. Mallery did feel wonderful and a little bit naughty.
For the rest of the day, Mrs. Cordial let Mr. Mallery court her thoroughly. They went for a walk around the gardens, skipped stones in the pond, talked about clouds and history and other topics that were time-period neutral.
He maintained a gentleman’s distance, but he never hesitated to offer his arm and take her hand when they walked over uneven ground. When the sun was dallying with the horizon, they stopped to watch the clouds take up the yellow and orange, colors bright and hot like a house fire.
“I abhor the thought of going inside tonight,” he said. “The tedium of the drawing room, all those people. I would rather just listen to you.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve said anything that interesting.”
“You are interesting.”
“Mrs. Cordial!” Colonel Andrews spied them through the open door. “There you are. Mrs. Wattlesbrook is anxious to start dinner, as am I, if you must know. I have a deliriously wild passage to read to you all tonight, and you must attend me or I will be quite put out.”
He made a pouting expression and scampered off.
Mr. Mallery kissed Charlotte’s hand, subtly inhaling through his nose as if enjoying her scent. Wow. If she wasn’t careful, this man would eat her alive. Hm, maybe she shouldn’t be too careful.
“We … we should probably go in,” she said.
All through dinner, Colonel Andrews was especially anxious, his mouth more full of secret smiles than of food. He drank vibrantly and sometimes giggled to himself.
“You are up to something, my bonny wee cream puff,” Miss Charming said.
“Only enchanted by your company and much looking forward to our diversions this evening. The story of Mary Francis progresses, yes it does.”
After dessert and Madeira, the evening hushed into night. The players gathered across the hall on the prolific settees, and the colonel read from his little leather-bound book. He’d begun to adopt a cockney accent for the housekeeper, which required Charlotte to concentrate on his every word.
The kitchen lads provoke Mary, I can see that. Anyone could. I told them to stop teasing her, but I cannot be responsible for the girl, not when she refuses to talk about the abbey. People are curious, and afraid too, as am I. But I never expected what happened. We was in the kitchen cleaning up, and Mary was quiet on her stool, and all were working hard, but maybe some of them was teasing her again. They got a little chant they whisper at her, What do you know of our Mary? Twenty-one nuns she did bury!
So we was working and then there is a howl that makes Cook drop a bowl and we look outside and see something in the kitchen garden. I say it is a ghost, for it is white and filmy and moves around like it is floating, and it howls and says all screeching and horrible with a right odd voice, Leave innocent Mary alone! It says the nuns cannot rest when folk stain Mary’s name with lies. I tell you we all turned white as the ghost and shut up the door and covered our ears. All except Mary. She did not seem afraid. Worried, sure enough, but not afraid. She just went on washing pots and frowned.
And I am writing this by candle, which I should not waste, but I cannot sleep so I write it out and I will say my prayers again. And I will make those lads behave for I do not want to see another ghost my whole life, I do not.
Colonel Andrews shut the book.
“Wow,” said Miss Charming. “A real ghost. And it was protecting her, right-o. So maybe she’s not guilty.”
“Or she is,” said Miss Gardenside, “and her dark deeds gained her unholy friendship with wraiths.”
The group was quiet. Charlotte heard a distant howl.
